Saturday Night Fever

I know it may come as a shock to all of you readers, however the average Saturday night in Boleland is typically pretty low-key. I hate to destroy the illusion of raver parties paired with loud club music, but regrettably that is not the case. Such was this Saturday night.

..............or so I thought.

Sitting at the kitchen table, I was loudly clacking away on my computer completing my homework essay on Accounting Transactions while the dogs were growling and playing out in the backyard.  They darted up onto the patio next to the sliding glass door like a pair of groupies rushing the stage at a Pink Floyd concert. I glanced over and did a double take when I realized there were strange colored paw prints all over the concrete. Rising out of the kitchen chair I slowly walked to the door and realized the color was strange because it was crimson. In fact, scanning the patio it resembled a crime scene straight out of a K-9 spin off of CSI.
I gasped and asked the two happy faces staring back at me expectantly "WHO'S BLEEDING!?" The tails wagged even harder now and the dumb young one looked down and realized there was an enticing fresh food source all over the ground just beckoning to him. "BENSON! STOP! *gag* Stop licking the blood!" I felt like maybe that was odd that my dog would be cannibalizing himself so by manner of deduction swiveled to the other furry face.  Peering at Loxi I see her back paw has dark red covering the tip, so I rush out to the patio and immediately slipped on a patch Benson had missed. *gag*
Between chasing Loxi to try to get to her without terrifying her, (who is quite skittish anyway and terrified of her own tail let alone a giant screaming human stomping after her) while hollering at Benson to quit licking the ground like frosting off a cupcake, and also trying not to vomit or slip on it, it was quite a challenge.  Finally, I came to my senses and pushed the fat dummy inside, while slowly creeping to Loxi who was sitting with her ears back and sad dog face as if she were in trouble.  Loxi had managed to rip of the entire nail on the back paw from its root while WrestleMania IV was transpiring. James happened to be on the phone with a longtime friend who he hardly ever talks to and I could hear him through the window in our bedroom chatting. In my prettiest damsel in distress voice I bellowed "JAMES! I NEED YOUR HELP! PUT ON SOME PANTS!"
We come to a conclusion that James will Google how to fix the injury, Noah will apply pressure with paper towels, while I run to Target and gather bandages and tape and dog nail clippers.  What I didn't mention was that the claw was dangling by a thread of flesh and it needed to come off. My stomach roiled at the very thought of re-opening the geyser, as it seemed to bleed like a head wound. While at Target I text my big sister just to make sure the process I had in my head was copacetic to what needed to happen to avoid infection. It was; except the part about not adding ointment, I was prepared to discharge an entire tube of Neosporin + Pain on her little toe, but logically was told that it would inhibit the scab forming. She confidently assured me I could clip the nail without barfing, and that it would be sore for a while and bleed like the dickens, but should heal quickly.
I raced into the backyard with all of my equipment, doused the clippers with Rubbing Alcohol and as I'm leaning down I notice an empty bag of Doritos on the ground next to Noah. "I got hungry".  I first tried to yank on the nail which sent up a collective surprised gasp among fellow Bolens so I held firmly to her foot and chanted internally "don't puke, don't puke, don't puke" and clipped the offending nail from it's fleshy thread.
I positioned a gauze patch on it, wrapped it with the ace bandage, then shimmied her foot into one of James' socks and taped the top with pink duct tape. She bounced right up with wagging tail and ran inside behind Noah

McDreamy can suck it.

Final step was to hose off the patio that looked like a pack of werewolves were conducting a midnight celebratory raindance after a bloody buffet. After what seemed like hours and gallons of water being spewed all over the cement, the evidence of the aftermath wouldn't completely disappear. I resigned myself to the fact that the patio will remain a delightful pink hue. 

In celebration of Valentines Day.

What's in the Mail Today?

For any typical red-blooded American the mail is a source of intrigue, excitement or in worst case scenarios, bad news. This is also applicable to the work environment as companies attempting to charm a representative into doing business sometimes send treats or fun memorable trinkets to persuade an employee to evolve into a client. Of course, there are bills to be paid and angry customer notifications but at times it can be rather fulfilling to check one’s wooden labeled inbox for correspondence. Then, there are the instances you really aren’t quite certain what to do with the mail. Letters that arrive with no return address are the first indication that a mail-sorter within an organization should take pause. These types of letters are opened gingerly by designated employee, while subtly wincing with anticipated dread on what can possibly be the contents of the envelope that the particular sender refrained entirely from claiming a return address on their post.

Today my company received such a letter.

Opened by my dear friend and the payroll and benefits employee of 38 generous years with the company, she tentatively slit the envelope open and was silently shocked at the contents. Delivering it to my supervisor the HR Manager immediately , who happened to be standing in the doorway of my office, generated curiosity from anyone within the vicinity at her exclamation of surprise.
“OH MY GOD!!!”
Mouth hanging open she closed the letter, and then fumbled to open it again to verify the contents, then slapped it shut again. Naturally I launched out of my chair demanding to know what causing such an intrigue and random hysterical cracks of laughter from my manager. She asked me,
“Are you sure? Are you ready for this?” Only adding much further eagerness in my desire to rip it out of her hands and feast my eyes on whatever it was that was causing such an uproar.
“Yes! Yes!” I chanted emphatically while bobbing up and down like a Baptist grandmother in a Sunday sermon.
She turned the paper, neatly folded in thirds opening it one section at a time, slowly savoring the moment and the look on my face as the depiction in front of me unfolded.

It was a brunette.
Naked.
Sitting with her knees up and ankles pulled back completely spread eagle with a wondrous pouty look on her face. She may have been biting her finger, but I’m not certain enough to recall. All the parts she was born with were on display on an 8X10 piece of paper printed out and neatly folded into a plain white envelope, stamped and dropped in the mail from some anonymous pervert for HR to envision on Tuesday the 23rd.

My first thought was ‘Goodness, that’s quite a commitment to print that out. I imagine they need a whole new ink cartridge for their printer after this masterpiece was printed because that sharp of an image demanded a considerable amount of mixed blues, reds and yellows.’ However, my first verbalized question was “So, there’s no return address??” I mean…..someone needs to take credit for the brouhaha they've caused in my company’s HR department.

She replied, “Nope, just someone from Indiana gave us quite the entertainment for today. I kinda want to thank them a little for this laugh!”

We all grouped together around the spectacle and giggled like a bunch of 12 year old boys looking at the bra section of the J.C. Penny catalog for a moment. She then disclosed she was terrified it someone playing a cruel joke on me my last day and at first thought the girl in the picture was me. I howled with laughter at that admission, then instructed her to quit looking at all of the fleshy body parts and concentrate on the face because it clearly wasn’t me. She then marveled at why anyone would have that kind of picture of me anyway, and that was clearly a ridiculous thing to think.
Then, she suddenly straightened up as if suddenly a light bulb went off above her head and she quickly turned on her heel and walked out of the HR department, around the corner into the President’s office. I trailed behind her and suddenly heard her approach his desk with the exclamation,
“Hey! I got some fan mail for you!”

There are definitely some people and experiences I will miss when I leave here……….

Two-Toned Shoes in Stall #2

There are many unique challenges in my day to day work life that most people may find unacceptable or abhorrent, that I merely find entertaining. I believe it makes me capable and adept at my position of a Recruiter; taking things as they come, and allowing strange instances to shine with the bright shade of comedy instead of the darker hues of distaste and negativity. Today was the day I drew my line in the sand with a specific behavior I designated as profanely inappropriate: an older trainee disrupting my private bathroom time.

I walked in at the usual time every morning after my oatmeal and Starbucks coffee, ready for my relaxation and therapy known as Stall #1. To my dismay it was occupied so with minor irritation I settled for Stall #2 which was the middle stall of a restroom containing three stalls. This proceeded to be the first lapse of judgment that morning. While I was settling in comfortably for the duration, another person entered the room and acquired Stall #3. "Hell" I thought "A full house." so I proceeded in mentally talking myself down from the anxiety ledge. As I'm willing myself to focus and not inadvertently welcome stage fright, the woman in my coveted Stall #1 suddenly exclaims at DEFCON 1 level;

"OH MY GOODNESS! I LOVE YOUR SHOES!!!!"

I perked up in horror in my contained area praying she wasn't talking to me. I jerk my head down to look at the girl to my right who was wearing a strange style of leather type worn sandal librarians sometimes wear and suddenly knew beyond a shadow of all doubt it was to my unfortunate stall she was addressing.

I ignored it.

Librarian shoes next to me assumes she is the gracious recipient of this compliment and chimes in with "Oh you do???? Oh thank you! I got these from my sister who's a teacher, so I'm surprised you like them"

Stage fright is starting to ascend so I frantically start bashing the flusher on the toilet in efforts to enforce the silence that SHOULD be commencing in the public bathroom, and to hopefully allow swift movement so I'm able to depart without being required to answer. However, they don't allow this racket to deter them in any way. They simply raise the volume of their bawdy across-the-stalls conversation to be heard above my deliberately boisterous water-wasting activities.

Loudmouth proceeds with "I just love them, the two toned pattern on them is really quite adorable. In my day we didn't have heels that looked like that...."

Confusion has now set in on the opposite stall and I can almost envision in the sudden silence the girl cock her head to the side like a confused beagle and say "Heels? Oh..........I thought you were talking to me!"

Loudmouth "No, this young lady in the stall next to me with the fabulous fashion sense"

So now the poop has effectively reversed back up into this young lady's bowels, nesting uncomfortably back into my intestines and set up Vacation Bible Camp for the rest of the day. I'm one hundred percent certain there are picket lines and angry curse words being flung about up there while I angrily flush the toilet again and slam the seat around to make my point. I am still utterly and completely ignoring these two women.

I ask you this readers; who finds bathroom conversation acceptable? Who doesn't understand the rules of engagement when it comes to restroom etiquette? We all understand at a young age that we go to that far off place deep in the imagination and pretend no one else is in there while we do our daily business. This is not the location I want to hear about how adorable my shoes are or asked when I got my last pedicure. Take note readers, there are weirdos out there that find this time to be the most convenient moment to comment on such things and we must continue the fight to ignore and sustain silence. Only this may change poor behavior in these social pariahs that have never learned or absorbed this valuable lesson of keeping your trap shut while people are deep in the throes of restroom concentration.

Our colon may never forgive us if we don't.

Biloxi Blues

For those of you who have read my previous postings here, or know me at all, you are well aware I have many talents, however one of them is not grace. To give you an example of the early onset of this awkward behavior, my mother gave me the option when I was young to go into ballet or gymnastics. When the choice was presented, I could read in her eyes the clear signal with which would be the wisest choice. Plus, ballet is stupid. With that forewarning, you also need to embrace the fact that this is apparent in every and all activities in my daily life. Yesterday, I decided to take my dog hiking with me. To give you a background on Biloxi, she is a rescue that we adopted who spent the entire first 4.5 years of her life stuffed in a kennel. Her legs were very atrophied when found and it has taken quite some time to get her strength up to par, as well as her shyness. She is very timid and meek (not surprising) and usually spends her days on Noah's bed because whether it was right or not, she feels safest and most comfortable in a sectioned off area. However, Biloxi loves walks and lately she's been accompanying me to the mountain for my regular hikes and has done incredible with yanking me swiftly along the trail. Yesterday was no exception, however I wanted to take her for a longer walk than my usual 2.5 miles, so I chose the 4 mile intermediate hike. Once on the trail I realized it was much too chilly for my usual tank top apparel and I found it difficult to get my ice cubed feet to move along at a steady pace. Coincidentally, I kept tripping until finally the terrain won and I fell chest first into the muddy trail. Knocked the breath out of me a bit, and I scared the tar out of my pansy dog with the collision into the ground. She reacted by darting forward with all of her might to flee from her clumsy owner, which resulted in my arm nearly forsaking its socket. I got up and brushed myself off a bit looked around to see if I needed to do a curtsey for any fellow hikers that may have been audience to my sudden descent. All clear, so we were off. Loxi was quickly making friends with fellow dogs, and only occasionally getting her hackles up as if her tiny self was frightening in any sense of the word. She was getting comfortable with her surroundings and sniffing any interesting bushes and peeing all over everything with a surface. Up ahead I could see a pretty serious looking jogger coming our way and anticipating his swift arrival I pulled Loxi closer to me to give him room on the petite trail. Suddenly, out of nowhere, as if she was possessed by the gods of fearlessness, Loxi darted to the left of me to sniff a bare looking bush that apparently so enraptured her attention she couldn't wait one more second to whiff it's scent. Unfortunately this was perfect timing to pull the leash taut and perfect angle to trip the unsuspecting jogger before he had a moment to slow down and dodge the catastrophe. Loxi was strangled, I was one step closer to being armless and we had a very pissed off jogger peering at us after managing to catch himself. I felt somewhat as if I was in a cartoon with how perfectly that whole scenario played out. I apologized profusely and Loxi wet herself in fear, and yet he was still quite perturbed as if woman and dog had banded together in a sudden evil scheme to make him look foolish. Muttering something about her being a rescue (as if this explains away her clotheslin-ing nimbleness) and turning around abruptly we continued on down the mountain. Deep in thought I realized my dog and I could be a force to be reckoned with for any person approaching us, we just simply have to get our timing right. I am working on a command that will suddenly make her race away from me and hold her ground. I'm pretty sure "Kennel!!" will administer the desired effect. ;)

What's Up Dog?

Last Friday afternoon our lead trainer walked into the training room with a light step and teasing spirit. Asked the class "What smells like updog in here?" After a few confused faces blinked back at her one of the trainees asked "What's updog?" She responded "Nothin' much G!" which was met with chuckles and shaking of heads. Flash forward to today and one of the trainees pulls Donna aside and with a sense of urgency exclaims "I have to talk to you. Both you and Dana, I have to clear the air!" Then with a heightened fervor, repeated the statement "I HAVE TO CLEAR THE AIR!!" Concerned, Dana and Donna escort him to a private room to allow him to express whatever was on his mind.

Before I launch into the details of that meeting, allow me to give a bit of background on this particular fellow. When he speaks, regardless of the situation or subject he wears a smile; almost like a baboon, it's a permanent fixture on his face at all times. At times it's difficult not to smile back at him when he speaks, since human nature is to return expression when conversing. Additionally, he happens to be the most anxiety filled human being on this planet. Piglet would be envious of the mini details this gentleman toils over, it absolutely radiates off of him. When first hired he explained to Donna that he was so riddled with anxiety that sometimes he just needed to take a walk, which normally wouldn't be that big of a deal, but this guy would be hoofing it around the building all day and would never complete a sale let alone a phone call. Also, he mentioned he has nerve damage all over his body (no real commentary as to why) and that's why once he receives a new handout or form he immediately crumples it up. (I think he does that because anxiety dictates his every move and a flat piece of paper is unacceptable to a person who is a ticking time bomb.) Once, while Donna was on break and outside smoking, he approached her and stated "Hey, I know this is gonna sound weird, (Oh, side-note? We hate this lead up to a sentence, because they're weird anyway. So, if what they're about to say is "weird" to THEM...well, it's guaranteed to be a bizarre off the wall statement) but I can't smell anything. I mean, I have no smell whatsoever so if ever I stink one day I need you to tell me, because I really have no sense of smell" I'm unsure of the response to that declaration since the story was told to me second hand, but I am confident that there really isn't an appropriate one.

So, back in the office present day, he starts off by saying "On Friday, when you said that it smelled in the training room..." Both trainers at first were baffled, unsure what situation he was referencing. He explained further, visibly unbalanced and nervous, grin never faltering "When you said it smelled like up dog in the room!?"
Donna explained that it was a joke and that she didn't notice an odor, but he continued on with his explanation,
"Because, remember that one day I told you I couldn't smell? And how also I have no feeling in my nerves? Well I don't know when I smell! So if that was me I didn't know it! I'm sorry that I smelled like updog!" Donna assured him (while heroically maintaining a straight face) that he did not smell and why would he think it was him?
"Well, because I have no smell I can't tell when I stink. Sometimes it happens to my feet, or 'down there'" And gestured to his private-part area. I believe Donna and Dana may be in the wrong profession and should actually be Oscar winning actors because the fact they didn't collapse into hysterical fits of giggles at that moment is astounding to me. Perhaps it was the state of shock that allowed them to carry on. Donna asked, "Oh, is it incontinence?" He explained, "no it just gets gassy sometimes" and that when he farts he has no idea because having nerve damage he cannot discern when a gas bubble may be surfacing so he pretty much just lets them rip. And therefore having no sense of smell has no idea that the cheese had been cut.
To sum up the meeting he made it very apparent that Donna and Dana are recommended to alert him if, and when this happens and remove him from the room. Like a service dog for an epileptic, the trainers are now required to usher him from the cubicle when any foul odors emit from his designated work space. So, it is now conceivable that among a very long list of duties the training team has, it is necessary to now also add "fart sniffers" to the checklist.
I believe I may sew them some badges for this new 'duty'.

I Got That "Face"

For those of me that know me and know me well you are perfectly aware that I have that kind of face where people tell me stuff. And not pertinent information either, really nitty gritty down and dirty personal stuff. I don't mind it, I enjoy people and I love my friends who tell me things about themselves and ask for my advice it makes me feel loved and appreciated. The times I wish I had an ogre scowl permanently etched on my face is when I'm interviewing a candidate for a telemarketing position and I hear family drama, drug problems and infidelity within a marriage. Ummmm when did I sign up for this??

Today's interview was a potential re-hire who was here back in 2004. My boss had spoken to him prior and done the phone interview due to my conflicting schedule with an in-house interviewee at the same time. So keep in mind this is the very first conversation I had with him. We sat down and I discussed the compensation to see if it was at a level he would be content with, then chatted a bit more because something felt "off" to me. I just knew if I kept him in there and let him talk for a minute he'd tell me. As this is a common occurrence for Amanda since middle school; my face hasn't let me down yet.

Applicant: "So here's the thing, my wife passed away October 7th and she was the main breadwinner for our home so the thing is I'm still unsure what I need to earn to make ends meet for myself. I never paid the bills, she did everything."

I honestly felt bad for him and apologized for his loss. I explained a bit further on compensation and what the limitations were and what he could expect reasonably as far as earnings to really help him paint a picture. We discussed that he needed to figure out finances first before he could really commit to a full time position and my stance in that I have to ensure we are spending our training dollars wisely. He agreed, and went on further.

Applicant: "You see they don't know if it was an accidental drug overdose or if it was suicide. (Whoa...my heart was kind of breaking for him at this point) and her whole family hates me and thinks it's my fault so they all won't speak to me (now I wasn't following...why would they hate him?) so I know Christmas is gonna be hard and I'm not sure if I'm ready for the next training class"

Okay, fair enough at this point I just needed to get him on his way because he obviously isn't certain if this job is what he needs at this moment. I attempt to gently yet sensitively interject to explain a future training class may be best for his situation. But he kept talking.

Applicant (While lowering his voice in a conspiratorial whisper) "You see, I'm under investigation since they always look at the spouse first I wasn't even home that night! (Um..I wasn't questioning you..you haven't even let me say a word..) And, okay, what happened was, I was having an affair, okay? I f*&ked up. (Nice language in an interview, sunshine..sheesh) And the day after she died the water was cut off, the rent check bounced; she knew, and was planning on leaving me and serving me divorce papers the following week! (by this time my head is in my hands and he has me completely absorbed in his Telenova) On the flip side, because it may be ruled as suicide when the toxicology report comes back I may not get the life insurance. (at this he lowered his voice so low I had to lean forward. I think he honestly thought the room was bugged) Not only that, the woman drank like a fish and was a functioning alcoholic (Oh gawd! Really dude??) and had a gastric bypass which you aren't supposed to drink at all with! (Well technically you're also not supposed to cheat on your spouse and sneak around and lie to her, but that's neither here nor there) So right now I have the numbers of three lawyers (shows me his file folder with three names and phone numbers as if I asked for immediate proof of this statement) that I'm talking to because I just don't know what to do. In the meantime I have two roommates and am letting them stay in the bedrooms while I sleep on the couch, my credit is shot to s*&t (another quarter in the swear jar mister) I may have to file for bankruptcy and my wife may have killed herself because of a mistake I made." At this point I am torn because I'm feeling very badly for him and his current situation, yet I also am unsure what to do with all the dirty laundry piled up around me, as my washing machine is tiny. I gave him my card and genuinely told him I was sorry for what he was going through and to give me a call once his life settled down a bit and he knew what he needed salary wise.

Now, while his story is unfortunate and heartbreaking, what I am attempting to shine light on is the fact that his main objective was to sell himself for an open position within my company. Somehow the conversation was so derailed and tragic he left with only my card, but with a slight bounce in his step as if he felt cleansed; and from what I could tell, I probably should have charged him 100 dollars for that hour. I am also entertaining the idea of looking into another career field, possibly in military intelligence, specifically at Abu Ghraib, as there would be no need for torture anymore.

All I would have to do is sit down, cock my head to the side and say "Tell me a little about yourself"

The Wrap Around Skirt Recites the Serenity Prayer

Ladies and gentlemen: the story you are about to hear is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.
This morning I was here early to cover for the receptionist and a particularly joyful employee (lets call her Janet, shall we?) walked in
"HIIIIIII MONICA!!!! Oh, you're not Monica" And stood there for a good 5 minutes staring at me with a befuddled expression (whilst swaying), concentrating on turning the wheels to discover in the deep recesses of her prefrontal lobes what my name could be. Finally the brain cells gave up their torrid laboring and she meandered on her way to her workstation. Mind you, I DID do orientation with her and she HAS been employed here for 3 months, but it's understandable as I can easily slip one's mind.
A minute later my boss (lets call her Martha) told me that when the Director of Operations (lets call him Pedro.) came in to please send him in her office ASAP. I did, and continued on with my morning. Soon, Martha came out and stated that there is a cab coming for an employee and for me to keep my eye out. maybe about 10 minutes after, I noticed that the green cab was parked in visitor's parking, so I tippy-toed in to notify Martha as she had requested. Promptly, the supervisor of the Customer Service team (lets refer to him as Atom) exited rather swiftly from Martha's office and leaned on the desk looking forlorn and said pathetically,
"Mandy, I'm a nice guy right? I mean, what have I done to deserve this?"
"What happened Atom?"
"Janet came to work completely drunk. I mean, I had to leave that office because of what is going on in there!" He later stated that her skirt became disengaged and fell off right there in the middle of the meeting and he couldn't bear to stay due to his own embarrassment.

After about 10 minutes Martha walked her out and while Janet was zig and zagging all over the parking lot in very high heeled winter type boots (in 100 degree weather, yes I thought it strange as well) to the cab she did actually make it without falling, or in any additional state of undress. Martha came back in and later amongst a small handful of HR employees proceeded to narrate the incident. The following is her depiction;

"After our little meeting addressing her behavior, I explained to her that a cab was coming to pick her up from work as she was in no state to drive or even take a bus. So when Mandy came in to tell me the cab was here I said 'Okay, time to go Janet!' and as she stood up her wrap-around skirt completely and inadvertently fell off! Atom leaned over absentmindedly; probably not aware it was her skirt, but that maybe it was a sweater or something, and picked it up and handed it to her. Then once the realization hit him what it was he had in his hand, he stood up and vanished from the office. So then, she's trying to stick her foot in like a step in skirt, but it's a wrap around so she's getting her drunk feet all tangled (I can only imagine what it must have looked like to see inebriated Janet attempting to balance on one foot with the skirt belt dangerously snarled around an ankle) so I tell her to give it to me. I yank the belt out of the hole while she's drunkenly informing me 'I made that skirt, I made it myself!' then I wrap it around her. Janet attempted sticking the free end in the threading hole around the waist, but unfortunately her own thumb was covering the entry so she was jamming it into her fingers wondering what the problem was. Meanwhile my phone started ringing and it's the cab driver stating he's here and to hurry up since his meter was running. So I hang up and try to help the struggling Janet (who still hasn't really figured out the schematics of the wrap around with her BAL being at a 2.0) who is sort of fighting me while telling me that she can do it. Finally I grab the ties from her hands and just short of tackling her, say firmly "LET ME DRESS YOU!!!" and wrap that belt so tightly around and tie it in a double knot and push her out the door."

How do you like that folks? The Vice President of HR manhandling the belligerently drunk and dressing them like a toddler. Later, when our HR Generalist (lets call her Leisal) asked Atom,
"What would you have done if she wasn't wearing a slip??" In which Atom replied,
"I would have had to leave the building. Taken a personal day, that just would have been too much for me. I don't know how you guy do this everyday."

The Case of the Purple Monkey and Wonky Dream-Catcher

Had to share an email that came through the Human Resources inbox a minute ago because I found it hysterical.

To; PHX
Subject; MISSING ITEMS
"Team,
We have a plant in Unit 301 and normally there is a purple stuffed monkey and a dream catcher hanging from it, these items disappeared sometime between 3:00 yesterday afternoon and 6:30 this morning."

We know how to decorate here and aren't afraid to blast out a scathing email in efforts to locate missing beloved ornaments. My first envisioning was an employee at the 1979 Arizona State Fair and winning said items after several hundreds of dollars spent on games designed to drain your pockets. Then that employee feeling it was a great idea to bring them to work and halting at the nearest unsuspecting silk plant,

"Oh goodness me, is this a plastic plant NOT decorated gaudily? Well lets rectify that!" And then shamelessly dangling the horrid baubles off an unsuspecting dusty limb, where there they stayed for the next 33 years. My best conclusion is the new janitorial service breezed in last night with specific intentions on cleaning and were quickly distracted by the dangling beauty. Perhaps while dusting the nearby desk, the dingy purple monkey (which really can only be called brown) caught one young cleaning person's eye and horrid unsavory intentions were quickly devised. "What is this gorgeous toy?" They may have asked themselves. "Why is this treasure just hanging here for anyone to snatch up? It's much too valuable an item to be hung in such a manner!" And quickly sneaking it in their pants crept out into the night, disregarding their job altogether and gleefully hopping and punching victorious fists in the air while crying out, "I'VE FINALLY FOUND IT! I AM COMPLETE!!!"

I'm pretty certain the Dream-Catcher may have been met with a similar fate. While the young cleaning person was stealthily creeping from the building striving for a quick escape; (purple monkey stuffed in pants) I see his boss come to the area to ensure it was tidy because, as we all know, good help is hard to find these days. Seeing a gently swaying feather and bead encrusted vision on the plant, he steps forward for a closer look and whispers excitedly to himself,

"Oh my stars I've finally found one! I have been unable to locate one of these lovely devices meant to catch your bad dreams! I am so envious of the large overweight women I see who insist on having seven or eight suspended from their rear view mirror in their 1985 Chevy Citation. Or the delicate earrings some of those same women adorn, in case during their daily activities, they fall into an unexpected micro-nap and can fall victim to a nightmare."

Quickly sliding it off the limb and dropping it into a nearby cleaning bucket he promptly covered his prize carefully with bottles of chemicals and calmly yet anxiously strolled from the building at the end of his shift. Nervously walking to his car and anticipating implication from a possible co-worker who possibly observed his actions, he was relieved to finally turn the ignition, hang his beautiful knickknack on his mirror, and drive into the sunrise towards freedom.

Or.......

Someone saw them as the trash they were, and threw them away not knowing they held any level of importance to anyone and is still too abashed to say anything since the detectives and dogs were sent out to locate their return. I like my version best.

Even Prefontaine Had Off Days

It's T minus 3 months until I need to be at my fittest and be the desired weight for a specific personal goal I've set for myself. That being said, my running partner has since injured himself and cannot accompany me during the duration. Last night I made the huge blunder of taking my children and as I'm certain the entire neighborhood heard my not-so-pleasant hollerings of "COMON!" "SYDNEY PICK IT UP!" "NOAH YOUR STOMACH IS FINE, TUCK IN YOUR SKIRT!" to motivate them into keeping up with me it was not an eventful exercise regimen as we only accomplished a single mile in 22 minutes. So tonight I had the Herculean task of trying to convince James to allow me to go alone. I brought up several compelling arguments that the kids were not acceptable running companions as they complained the entire way and were 3.5blocks behind me for almost the entire breadth the night before. James suggested taking along our slightly overweight black lab as he could obviously use some exercise and would love to join me. To which I immediately shot down in saying that Max was too fat to keep up with me.
James then lost patience and said, "I don't really care about your pace and who's going to slow you down I care about your safety!"
Oh. Okay. Sometimes it is terribly inconvenient for us compulsive-types to be married to someone who has logic. I then weakly stated, "James I am a fast runner"
to which he replied, "I am not at my most athletic at this point of my life and I can outrun you as if you were standing still"
I stood my ground and plead my case in the form of whining and bellyaching until finally he threw up his hands in exasperation and told me this would be my one and only time I could go by myself while it was dark.
Hightailing it out of there before he changed his mind was key at this point so I gathered up my iPhone and headphones and scampered out the door. I wound the ear buds around the back of my neck so it wouldn't become tangled and started my jog. Something very strange was going on with my iPhone however, and as I ran the sum of 5steps I skipped through about 37 songs. There seemed to be some sort of problem with the settings and every time that I would move my arm the song would skip to the next with a charming little electronic "Veloop!" until I was so frustrated I yanked it off my arm and started fiddling with the settings until I started veering off the sidewalk and almost colliding into an unsuspecting couple walking their Polmeranians. I muttered an apology and finally found the "Ipod" category where I found what could only be the culprit. "Shake to Shuffle" and turned that handy little setting to the 'off' position. Not very practical a setting when one is jiggling around in a running-type motion.
As if that weren't annoying enough, I didn't have any playlists set up (again, because had to hightail it out the door asap) so I kept getting Brandy Carlile, Sinead O'Connor and Motzart on shuffle who, don't get me wrong are all wonderful artists, but not in this circumstance while I'm trying to pound the pavement. Finally "A Boy Named Sue" was located that put a smile on my face and off I went to the next block. Soon my headphones started their own rebellion and wouldn't stay in my right ear, so I was repeatedly screwing them in my battered ear canal with the gentleness of a jackhammer. Right around the fourth time they popped out I squealed like a stuck pig and tried to jerk it back around to the front of my neck to see if that would mitigate the nuisance and only succeeded in wrapping the cord around my hair, pulling my own ponytail so forcibly I yanked my own head back. This only heightened my aggravation to cataclysmic proportions and soon, I am embarrassed to tell you, I proceeded to whip myself around in fury. Picture me growling, flinging my arms around trying to untangle my headphones, pulling at my own hair all while still attempting a jog must have been a pretty entertaining sight to witness. I am certain it was parralell to a swarm of bees chasing me.
Only traveling about 4 blocks I knew he precise moment I resolved to surrender and turn around and head home. I had to poop.

Bippity Boppity Boo

One of the procedures for all applicants in the interview process is to do a phone screening first to ensure there isn't an obvious speech impediment, and to be sure they can string a few words together to form a coherent thought or very least a complete sentence. One of my favorite things is applicants that have very telling ringback tones or voicemail messages. I left a message for a girl who's message was,
"Bippy boppy bibbity booppity boppity boobitiy!" BEEP... Strange. Nothing else like "leave a message" or "it's Miranda" just the mystifying babble of a Disney character. I left a message for Cinderella's Fairy Godmother to give me a call back when she had a moment to do a phone interview with me. I hold myself at high standards and hold to my professionalism and (barely) refrain from bursting out laughing on the message, however in this case it was difficult.

She called me back a day or so later and I could tell immediately that she just got out of high school, and was relatively young. Not a lot of experience but I believe in giving people a chance to at least talk to me and see if they astound me. So one of the questions I ask is based on whether they’re smart enough to paint a visual picture for the customer over the phone since the only tools they have to use are their words and creativity. So the question is,



Me; "This sales position requires good verbal communication skills. Can you give me a quick example of a position or role you have held where verbal communication skills were considered a key factor?" (Pen poised waiting for her answer)



Her; (Extensive pause…….could hear her rusty wheels attempting to turn) "Ummmmmmmm well, how do you mean…?"



Me; (Okay Amanda, dumb it down a little. Just got out of high school) "Well at times you have to describe a product in detail to a customer because sometimes they need more information and you at times have to go in depth. So has there ever been a time where you had to go into great detail with someone with your explanation to really make them understand your point of view or what you were trying to get across? Maybe if you were telling a story to someone. Even like a situation in school, doesn’t have to be in a professional setting."



Her; (Still no immediate response, can hear her inhale and exhale.) "Well, how about in driving school?"



Me; "Um……okay….."(trying to give her the benefit of the doubt, but sorta scratching my head at this point)



Her; "Well, in driving school we really needed to know how to take a right hand turn safely, and a left hand, (I actually wrote down the first part of this sentence) you had to watch for oncoming traffic. (I stop writing.)So you have to wait until it's clear before you turn! (visualize me with my mouth open.) Also when you come to a yellow light you really need to slow down (trying not to laugh) or a red you need to be sure to come to a complete stop. (By this time I’m enjoying myself and encouraging her with ‘Uh huh’s and ‘Absolutely’s) Always check your mirrors any time you want to change lanes for safety purposes, since someone may be in your blind spot."



Me; "Great example! (in my passively sarcastic way) Well thank you for your time, the HR team and I collaborate once I’m completed with all my phone interviews and decide on the best candidates for in-house interviews. If you’re a leading candidate we’ll give you a call by the end of business on Monday and if not we will keep your application on file for 6 months and review for every training class."



How about that one? Turns out the thingamabob that does the job is NOT bippity-boppity-boo.