Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Go on Vacation

Unfortunately, my fellow bloggiteers, I shall be leaving for vacation soon, so I fear that this will be the last post before I depart (for two weeks - never fear I shall return!)

Okay, enough of that talk.

This story takes place at the local Krogers (a grocery store):

So this week we are leaving for vacation, right? For those who have known me for more than 5 seconds know that most of my 'real life' stuff can be found here at this blog. (It is the same link, do not fear!)

Anyways, I decided that I would buy Kroger-brand DIP(tm) so that we could have some for the trip and so that I could enjoy a healthy portion at work.

So I went into our local Krogers.

Rushing through the store before work (let's say I had like 30 seconds to get in and out before I would be 5 minutes late for work), I grab what I need and head to the nearest not-long-line queue.

"Miss, I'm open!" An elderly cashier grins at me as I stand watching the clock overhead slowly ticking my job security away. Eager as a schoolchild, I rush into her line.

Watching as a young man strides away, I just glimpse him as he turns around and gives this lady the finger.

Oh God, please tell me he meant it for another cashier I groan to myself, hitching a fake grin on my face and turning to the elderly cashier. I watch as she stares at the young man's ass.

"Such a nice young man..." She smiles, clearly not knowing which finger the 'nice young man' just offered.

Appalled that this woman was looking at a 20-somethings ass like it was her grandson, I yank her back to reality with a loud, fake cough.

"Of course,” She says distractedly, grabbing my 3-dollar Kroger DIP and beeping it across her scanner.

The total comes out to be $3.05 -- damn sales tax. I hand her 10 bucks. She quickly retrieves the change from her drawer, and I think this transaction will end in about 2 seconds when...

"Five plus one makes six,” She starts, handing me the money in the process. I look at her with glazed eyes as she starts to count the change into my hand, clutching the receipt in her other hand like a hostage. "25 cents, 50 cents, 60 cents, 70 cents and 95 cen...whoops!"

"Oh, damn,” The elderly cashier says, bending over to retrieve the change that has fallen into the crack of her turn-style bag tray. I quickly note that she gave me 70 cents already.

"Oh it's okay,” I say, trying to grab my bag.

"No, it'll just take a second,” The lady says, grabbing my arm with surprising speed, holding it fast with strength even I didn't have.

I glance anxiously at the clock. If I don't leave in the next 10 seconds, I will officially be unemployed.

"Please, it's just change; you can keep it,” I say desperately, trying to pry her fingers off.

"Just one...more...second..." She breathes, her determination annoying. Her voice is failing as she tries to hold onto my arm and also retrieve the quarter at the same time.

"I have to go, lady!" I say loudly, acting as if she is trying to rob me.

I finally pull free of her grasp, and I am surprised to find myself still clutching the bag, the DIP waving dangerously below.

"Just...just keep the change,” I say roughly, stumbling back a few steps in my surprise. As I stride to the door, I hear a voice behind me, filled with glee.

"Oooo, it's a quarter!"

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Find a Problem Report Form

Remember a few days ago, when I had to go turn on someone's monitor just to 'fix' it? Here, let me refresh your memory...

Save the Mailroom

Read that, and then read what I feel everyone should have to fill out before they come to us (the Tech Team) to fix their computer 'problems'.

Heh. Heh. :-)


Describe your problem: ____________________________________________

Now, describe the problem accurately:

Speculate wildly about the cause of the problem:

Problem Severity:
A. Minor__
B. Minor__
C. Minor__
D. Trivial__

Nature of the problem:
A. Locked Up__
B. Frozen__
C. Hung__
D. Shot__

Is your computer plugged in? Yes__ No__

Is it turned on? Yes__ No__

Have you tried to fix it yourself? Yes__ No__

Have you made it worse? Yes__

Have you read the manual? Yes__ No__

Are you sure you've read the manual? Yes__ No__

Are you absolutely certain you've read the manual? No__

Do you think you understood it? Yes__ No__

If `Yes' then why can't you fix the problem yourself?

How tall are you? Are you above this line? _______

What were you doing with your computer at the time the problem occurred?

If `nothing' explain why you were logged in.

Are you sure you aren't imagining the problem? Yes__ No__

How does this problem make you feel?

Tell me about your childhood ______________________

Do you have any independent witnesses of the problem? Yes__ No__

Can't you do something else, instead of bothering me? Yes__

Friday, July 08, 2005

Break the Golden Internet Idol

These past few days have been nothing short of torture for me, really.

I've had to restrain myself from killing my brother over small things like setting my fork in the wrong place, pouring me juice instead of water for dinner, all because of what?!

Because I'm having withdrawals from the Internet.


What else could explain these random mood-swings, angrily thrashing at my brother whenever he comes as close to say "Hi" to me?

And, it's not even close to 'that time of the month', not that you needed to know. ;-)

"It was an accident, I swear!" I kept telling my parents over and over again yesterday.

I was just sitting there, fiddling with the intricate and detailed settings of our Internet through my mothers computer, where one slip-up could cause severe devastation to the Golden Internet Idol (AKA the Router), when IT happened.


As I imagine my brother convulsing on the floor from not being able to be on the Internet at home, I am at work, savoring the fact that here, the Internet will NEVER go down.

However, I now count down the seconds into which I will be home and without Internet.

Last night I spent hours just staring at my computer blankly, wondering what people ever did without the Internet.

Breaking into a fit of rage, I re-install Windows XP Profession Edition on my computer.

"Yeah, that'll teach 'em!" I say over and over, rocking back and forth in my chair like a crazed person.

I think I need a hug.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Count the Thread

So I went to the local Wal-Mart the other day to look for sheets for the upcoming year. I noticed that the last time I had to buy sheets, there was only a few aisles and colors to choose from.

This day, however, Wal-Mart seemed to have expanded. They now house about 4 aisles worth of 'bedding', with several thousand colors and 'thread count'.

So, I'm standing in an aisle, looking at a particularly nice blue-colored sheet. I pick up the package to better inspect the color, when I see, out of the corner of my eye, a nice elderly lady motion at me from the left. Wondering if she, also, enjoyed this color, I walk over to her.

"Sweetie, I don't think I would go with the 500-count thread." The elderly lady deadpans as soon as I am within earshot, smiling all the while.

Did she just make a sexual remark about my bed? I wonder for about a second as I turn the package slowly over in my hands. I see the "500-Count Thread" in GIANT BOLD LETTERS on the back of it.

"Er, I don't think my bed really cares how many threads are in this pair of sheets." I crack, smiling up at the wall-o'-sheets. The elderly lady hoots.

I can see that the price rises exponentially with the thread count.

"Now, I would suggest the 1500 count thread,” The elderly lady says slowly, plucking a particularly flowery sheet package from the shelf and handing it to me. I turn it around slowly in my hands, taking in every detail.

Not only does it cost so much that I would have to take out a 5-year loan to pay for it, but the elderly lady is also acting as if everyone should buy 1500 thread count sheets.

I quickly cover up the random sputtering with a vicious, hacking cough. The elderly lady, looking concerned as she glances at me, takes the package back as if I were going to contaminate the sheets if I coughed on them.

I walk back to where I was looking at sheets previously. I yank a pair of red sheets off of the shelf, looking at them angrily.

"Not only do these cost so much that you will have to amputate your legs to pay for it, but they are also bullet-proof!" I imitate the overly-happy elderly woman, looking down the aisle and smiling at her.