September 26, 2012

Up Yours, Pants!

I'd like to take a moment to talk about pants.  Not what's in them.  Not how they look on people.  The two-legged, three buttoned, self-esteem destroying abominations that every single one of us puts on one leg at a time.  I hate 'em.  I do.  I'll scream it from the rooftop - "Fuck Pants!"

September 23, 2012

Pass the Beer and Banish the Ghost.

From the "This town is so damn small" files, have you ever found yourself in the presence of someone who was a part of your life during some of your lowest moments, years later, only to have them not realize it was you?  There's some real satisfaction in that, isn't there?

September 19, 2012

Tips from the Rubber Dick Store

Tell me you didn't have a similar thought.
The day after Christmas in 2011, The Samurai of Spoken Word had their first ever show at the Pizza Shoppe in Benson.  Since that day, we've grown an awful lot as a troupe.  We've had people audition who've made it, a few we've had to say we need more out of them, and some who've sadly, left our ranks.  However, one thing that's become almost a ritual for us is to visit the hilariously nicknamed "Rubber Dick Store" after every show.

September 17, 2012

A Bit of Token Zen

I've used a few centering thoughts over the years to keep me from grinding my teeth down to stubs in the face of ignorance, frustration, anxiety, and hardship.  However, the two most important ones that I've used to keep my neurosis in check enough to fit them in my car have been, firstly, "The world takes you much less seriously than you take yourself.  The second has always been to be the bamboo.  (I can't help but hear Chevy Chase from Caddy Shack saying "Be the ball.  Nananananananananana." every time I parade that thought across the back of my eyes.)  These two ideas have done more for my sanity than any therapists' couch might ever accomplish.

September 4, 2012

Gimme Yer Dough

I'm dreaming again.  It's 10:15 on the Tuesday after Labor Day, and I've got this silly thought in my head that perhaps, I would be one of the few who would actually enjoy being a collections agent.  Give me permission to be a creeper and try and find ways of getting in touch with a deadbeat, show me the rules about what can and can't be said, put a quarter in me, and turn me loose.  I'm having visions of grandeur that involve me standing on piles of money stained with tears, wearing a viking helmet, and yelling into a phone.  I wonder how many other help desk agents have these sorts of wet dreams?

I think it comes from all the years I've spent swallowing being yelled at by people on the other end of the phone.  Occasionally, I've deserved it. However, if you're screaming that you need help right goddamed now, and you refuse to help me help you solve your problem, then you can wait till we have someone available to drive to your location.  And you know what?  I will sleep fitfully tonight if that means you have to wait till tomorrow afternoon.  For fuck's sake, my crystal ball has been cracked for the last 6 months, and government employees don't take home enough to put a down payment on a new one right away.  However, these are all things that I can only think, never say.  Well, never say *and* keep my job.

My need for justice, to balance the scales, makes me pretty sure I've got enough of this venom banked to be very effective at not backing down till someone opens their wallet or hangs up.  The thing is, my skin's thick enough for me to almost make it a game.  Heck, even just sitting here, I could probably whip up a collections bingo card based on the kinds of things I hear working an IT help desk.