7-27-01 - No Fuss, No Bus
Here's a really long story where nothing really happens.
And hey! Have a swell weekend!
7-26-01 - Patent Pending
I've always wanted to invent something. I hear stories about people who invent things, like Post-It Notes and Liquid Paper (the latter invented by Michael Nesmith's mom), and I say, "Hey, why can't I invent something? I spend half my friggin' life in offices, I should be just as aware as anyone of what needs to be invented to make office life easier." Then I look around in embarrassment, because I probably should have just thought it to myself instead of saying it out loud, particularly in the middle of a conference call.
But, for some odd reason, all my invention ideas have to do with food, which is odd because: a) I rarely eat anything, b) I never cook, and c) I'm not even sure my apartment contains an actual kitchen. I mean, there's a room over there with a sink and a couple of big white boxy things, but I'm not sure what it's for. I'm currently using it store deceased insects.
Still, I have ideas for three possible food-related inventions, which are as follows:
1) You sit down to dinner. You have some nice, warm bread, and you go to spread butter on it, but you only took the butter out of the fridge a few minutes ago, and it's hard as a rock. First, you sprain your wrist trying to cut off a slice with your butter knife. You can't get a thin, spreadable slice off, and wind up with a huge trapezoidinal hunk of butter that weighs about six pounds. Then you mash the bread flat trying to spread the butter on it. You wind up with mangled bread with big chunks of cold butter smooshed here and there. Even if the butter eventually melts, you wind up with sections completely soggy with butter, and other sections dry as a bone! And don't even get me started on rolls! Trying to spread cold butter on a roll, you wind up digging out all the soft bready parts with the knife, leaving you with just a crusty little pouch. Hardly a pleasant dining experience.
Well, the invention I came up to deal with this heartbreak is a bread basket with a little compartment attached to the side for the butter. Between the butter compartment and the basket is a little window, and the heat from the bread passes through the window and heats up the butter! I call it a 'Busket'! Like, butter plus basket!
The only problem? I think I've been beaten to the punch. Someone I shared this idea with said they've seen a Busket-type dealie at a several restaurants already. Crap.
2) Another invention I have in mind is for a special kitchen faucet. The faucet would have a dial, so when you're cooking something, and you need, for example, 2/3 cup of water, you just turn the dial to the right setting, turn on the faucet, and that exact amount of water pours out! This way, you don't have to mess around with measuring cups, the water goes right into the pot! Because, lord knows, everyone hates washing measuring cups when they're done with them... not that you'd need to wash them, since you only used them for adding water... I guess if you were adding milk to something, then you'd have to wash them, and it would be a little weird and unrealistic to invent a kitchen faucet that dispensed milk. So, that's more or less useless. Again, crap.
3) My third invention has to do with flavoring. You know those pretzels you buy, and they have that fine, dusty coating of mustard-flavored power on them? Damn, those things are good. I love that mustardy powder. Lord only knows what else you could put it on besides pretzels. So, I thought I could sell it in little bottles or containers. I could call it 'Dustard'! It could come with a tiny little brush, so you could dust it onto whatever you wanted! Pretzels, crackers, chips, butter, Post-It Notes. Anything!
Considering my track record, I'm sure this already exists in one form or another. So, once more, crap.
I guess I'll have to just keep working. Maybe I need to focus on an area I know a little more about.... you know, I do have this idea for a specially treated cigarette... the smoke works as aroma therapy, calming the militant non-smokers nearby. I don't know what to call them yet, but I've got the tagline worked out:
"Plain old cigarettes are satisfactory... but these are ol-satis-factory!"
Heh. See? 'Cos, uh, "olfactory" means, like, sense of smell... and uh... so that's... with satis... factory... it's like... pun... and...
7-25-01 - REWARD OFFERED!!!
"HAVE YOU SEEN ME?"
MISSING: ONE (1) TEMP
ASSIGNED TO: Jerry Frears in Marketing (just a reminder: Jerry prefers that all admins call him 'Mr. Frears', particularly in front of clients. Let's all be professional, okay????)
ANSWERS TO THE NAME OF: Craig, Greg, or Gary, or perhaps Donald. We don't know his exact name; we mostly just called him "Jerry's Assistant". In the past, he has also responded (albeit somewhat sluggishly, according to Jerry) to "New Guy", "You", and "Temp". Jerry said he would generally just rap on the temp's desk to get his attention, however, and that sure seemed to work!
APPEARANCE: Height: 5'10 or so. Weight: About 175 lbs. Hair: darkish. Face: oval. Above is the only picture we could find of him, taken before Marketing's "Re-Direct and Re-Connect Bi-Weekly Brainstorming Session" (run, as always, by Jerry Frears, pictured on the far right -- wearing the tie we bought him for his B-Day!!! -- btw, Susan, you still owe me your share... I don't mind putting up the money but I'm not made of it!!!!). In the photo, the missing temp is to the extreme far left. Well, you can kind of see his pants and part of his head. Frankly, it's his own fault, we told him to skootch over when we took the picture. And, anyway, we don't normally include temps in our meetings, so he was lucky to be there. Boy, these temps we hire practically get a free education, huh??? It's just too bad they take it for granted.
Jerry's son Connor managed to "blow up" the image for greater detail (Connor is such a whiz on these computers!!!)
"Greg" or "Craig"
WEARING: Khakis, white button-down shirt, black shoes. (While we're on the topic of clothing, folks, let me just remind everyone that SANDALS are NOT acceptable under the current dress-code guidelines. Everyone in the office doesn't need to see your toes, ladies!!!! (And, frankly, Jerry Frears isn't that happy with employees wearing Khakis, especially temps, preferring they wear proper dress slacks. We have an image to maintain, people! We're Marketing, not Accounting!).
LAST SEEN: Friday, July 20, 2001, at 2:49pm. Jerry Frears reports that he had seen the temp in the breakroom and told him to "stop sitting around doing nothing" and "get back to pricing kayaks." (Jerry is planning a kayaking trip with Connor! Doesn't that sound exciting??? Oh, he's always off on one adventure or another! I'm jealous!!!!)
Jerry then stood there waiting for the temp to finish his break, and followed him back to his desk, where he made a comment about the sandwich the temp had brought him for lunch having had too much mayo on it. Jerry gave him a "dressing" down (ha ha!) and said to be more careful with his (Jerry's) lunch in the future, if he ever wanted to get anywhere in the company. Then, Jerry snapped his fingers, pointed towards the temp's computer, and said "Kayaks. Prices. Now. Chop-chop." The temp vanished soon after, and no one has seen him since. Weird!!! Someone call the X-Files! (just kidding!)
PLEASE CONTACT: Sandra Clemens at EXT. 541 with any information (I'm standing next to Jerry in the photo, btw). In the meantime, I'll be filling in as Jerry's admin, so I **really** have my hands full this week! Please don't bother me with anything unless it's really important, no trivial stuff... you all have noggins -- use them!!!
NOTE: This is the fourth temp to go missing from Marketing this fiscal quarter. By some bizarre coincidence, they have all worked for Jerry Frears. Boy, some bad luck for Jerry this year!! Don't worry, Jerry, we'll find someone reliable one of these days!!!
7-23-01 - Tempz in tha Hood
On Friday, I mentioned a horrible experience I had getting home from San Francisco on Thursday night. I haven't quite finished writing it yet, so it'll be along later in the week, complete with lots of diagrams and self-pity. Stay tuned!
Anyway, my job. I've spent the week training this 21 year-old punk how to take over the job when I leave. This training took all of fifteen minutes on Monday morning, because all I really know how to do is answer the phones. The rest of the week I spent sitting in my supervisor's office, since she was on vacation the whole week, which was really the whole reason I was called into this assignment.
I did nothing in the way of work. Nothing. The rest of the people in the office seemed uncomfortable telling the new kid what to do, so they would come to me, explain what they needed done, and then I would go explain it to him. I can kind of see their reluctance to speak with him directly, because he's really annoying.
He's this little white boy who drives an IROC-Z and so desperately wants to be a hip-hop gangsta. He obviously wants everyone to think he's really cool, or perhaps "phat" would be a more relevant word, or possibly "dope", if I understand the terminology correctly. He wears big pants and absolutely the biggest sneakers (if that word is still used these days) I've ever seen.
Anyway, the pipsqueak asked me at one point:
"So, yo. I gotsta be like, sendin' some faxes right now. And, like, check it... I know how to send a fax to, like, one numba. I can do that hella good. I got dat. I's down wit dat. But, and here's da thing, yo, I gots ta be sendin', like--"
(here he made this back-and-forth gesture with his hand, almost as if he were scratchin' out a funky-fresh cut on a turn table)
"-- da same fax ta mul-ti-ple numbaz, yo. So, like, what I gots ta be knowin' is--"
"You need to know how to send a broadcast fax," I bluntly cut him off.
He tilted his head, squinted his eyes, folded his arms, and pressed one thumb just below his bottom lip, in what I assumed was some sort of 'you dissin' me?' pose.
"Yeaahhhhhhh," he said. I expected him to follow it with a "boyeeeeee," but he refrained from doing so, thankfully.
Now, perhaps I'm just a square, or as he might say, I'm "whack." And honestly, if he feels he needs to "represent" in the office, I won't be gettin' all up in his face, a'ight? I just wish he'd can the posturing, and ask me the damn question.
Anyway, he started bothering me so much, I just stopped taking him the 'projects' they were bringing me, instead stacking them in a pile to leave for my supervisor. After all, Friday was my last day, so I'd be gone when she got back. Who cares if there was a huge pile of uncompleted work sitting there? I wouldn't have to deal with it.
At the end of the day Friday, I took my timecard in to be signed, and found out that they wanted me to work next week (this week) as well. I said sure! No problem! Happy to!
Then I rushed back to my supervisor's office to complete all those projects that I'd left sitting there. Oh, and replace the change I'd stolen for the bus.
'Cuz I don't wanna be gettin' da smackdown from the bizznitch when she's back in da house, yo.
Diversions this week: Tired of reading unfunny comic strips day after day? Well, now you can make your own unfunny comic strips (brought to my attention by Lots42)! Check out Strip Creator! Also, just in time for winter, it's the incredibly unintuitive Build a Better Snowman! And, one of the most addictive things I've ever played with on the web, the Soda Constructor. It eats up hours. You've been warned (the links are cleverly hidden somewhere on this page).
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