THIS JUST IN
–Fiona, now 6, to her mother:
“Why haven’t we bought any more animals?”
“We bought 2 fish, plus we have 2 cats.”
“But all we do with the fish is give them food and look at them.”
“Well, that’s all you really can do with fish, and you and your brother were the ones who wanted the fish. And I don’t want to take care of any more cats than the two we have.”
“But what if I took care of them?”
That’s the oldest trick in the book, right? It was time for me to get out of the car (McDonald’s waits for no one), but Fiona had already launched into, “When I’m an adult, I’m going to…” Have a country estate so she can have endless numbers of animals, no doubt. Not that we’re in a position to talk–we have a raccoon living in a brushpile on the property who’s had to be rescued from the garbage can twice, and Rom ducks whenever he goes out the back door to avoid disturbing the spider that’s spun a web across the doorframe. (Nick adds to notes: “Security provided via spider, avoid back door.”) Maybe our pet raccoon and spider are the reason why, when the window was accidentally left open and unscreened all night, the cats did not attempt to escape. Nightmare In Progress…Speaking of which–
HOUSEHOLD TIPS FROM ROM THE DOMESTIC GOD
Not only does it wash dishes and greasy, oily wildlife, but Dawn dish detergent can be used to wash your house! No more green scum on the siding!
I saw a tanker truck that said “Silvertip Propane” with a picture of a snarling grizzly bear on it. Do you really want to remind people that your product is deadly? I mean, we’re not re-filling flame-throwers here. Are we? I don’t know what flame-throwers are filled with. I suppose a flame-thrower could also remove the green scum on the siding.
Remember the story I told of the 4-year-old jumping up and down yelling “I’m Captain America!”? That’s Trump’s foreign policy.
Dear Hanes, if you put a label on a package of socks saying, “Our Softest Socks! Feel Here!” I will touch them when I walk by. Every time. (I did eventually buy them.)
Irony in action: I got home the other day, clutching my broken umbrella, and found the new umbrella I’d ordered waiting on the porch. And getting rained on.
AND NOW, A DRUM ROLL, OR MAYBE SOMETHING LESS INTIMIDATING ALONG THE SAME LINES
In the spirit of tying up loose ends, taking them off the table, and sweeping them under the rug, here are the rest of the things they didn’t know about me at work.
–Remember my 2nd post, my story about the time I got beaten up at a previous job? Sure you do, just look up the archives for February 2013. Ever wonder why I never mentioned what that job was? (Maybe not, since no one asked me.) I was working at a massage parlor. Yes, that kind of massage parlor, yes, I was desperate for money, and yes, I was terrible at it. I ran afoul of the dress code there, too, as I seem to have done at every job I’ve had. I hasten to add that I did nothing that was not completely legal in St Louis County in 1976, so you law-enforcement types can just sit back down.
And two more mysteries cleared up about my 911 job, which will be of interest mostly to the supervisors who dealt with me, neither of whom still work there, but both of whom are readers here:
–The time I got in trouble because I was screwing up ALL THE TIME, and couldn’t seem to stop, no matter how I tried? That was scary. (And LET’S GET SERIOUS for a moment–IT WAS SCARY PARTLY BECAUSE OF THAT CREEPY THING THEY DO WHERE THEY SEND A MESSAGE AROUND TO EVERYONE WORKING SAYING “WE JUST ARRANGED FOR SOMEONE TO COME IN AND WORK FOR THE PERSON WHO’S GETTING IN TROUBLE WHILE WE TAKE THEM OUT OF THE ROOM, AND DON’T LET THAT PERSON KNOW IT’S GOING TO HAPPEN.” COULD YOU BE A LITTLE MORE LIKE 1984???) They said they might fire me, then asked if there was trouble at home they should know about that might be affecting my performance, which there wasn’t. I didn’t know what was happening to me any more than they did. In retrospect, it must have been a hormonal imbalance occasioned by my recent surgery–eventually, the problem went away by itself.
And, the time I got in trouble because I forgot to do the move-ups for a working fire in the county? I was waiting for a phone call from Wisconsin telling me my mother had died. As it turned out, I didn’t get that call until I’d left work, but I probably should have called in sick that day or something. I didn’t mention this when I got complained on, because I didn’t want them to think I Couldn’t Handle the Job.
There. Now they can correct my Permanent Record, which they’ve probably burned by now anyway.
Stepping out of the confessional, and getting silly once again, because I can’t think of a segue (I guess I can’t handle this job, either), tune in next time for a new feature on S.G.–reviews of restaurants you’ll never see reviewed–the fast food places on St Joe! Sure, someone’s probably already doing that on YouTube, but I doubt I’ll be on YouTube unless the Sour Neon Crawlers really take off, or Nick and I do our drunken chess tournament.