A note before we tell this story: We like to curse (quite a bit, actually), but we try to keep this blog free of the seven dirty words and their associates because we have smart, conniving children who we fear will figure out this URL someday. We don't want them to experience us in all our foul glory, since we work hard to keep our language clean when they're around in the hopes that they will defy their genes and not sink to our depths. So we'll put some dashes in the gratuitous words we have to use to tell this story. We can take it, and we know you can take it, but we don't want to sting our children's pure, untainted eyes.
And children, if you're reading this, close the browser immediately and go back to watching your mindless cartoons, you scabby little monkeys.
And now our story.
We work with a woman who is tie-up-the-sleeves-and-run-for-your-life crazy. She has a good heart, but she is unquestionably nuts, and she would probably tell you more or less the same thing. We are not her boss, but our performance is judged in part by her performance, and this keeps us up some nights.
She was on the road working in a stressful situation with unfamiliar people. We were nearing the end of a conversation on the phone when she stopped midsentence.
"G--------!" she yelled. "I think I've lost my cell phone! Where is it? F---! S---!" Then after a moment, "Wait, I'm talking on it."
"I'm sorry," she said. "Sometimes I drive myself crazy." Believe me, we know the feeling.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment