This week has been busy. So busy that I haven't been able to blog at all, which I hate as it is my only hobby apart from reading. Although, truthfully, reading is more of a necessity than a hobby, so blogging is all I've got. I can't wait to go around and catch up on all of your blogs.
As for my new job selling cemetery plots, well what is there to say except that it sucks. I knew it would the minute I sat down at my desk in the office cubicle farm (I hate cubicles) and found a note the previous seat filler had scrawled on a memo pad and left in the desk drawer. Here is what it said:
This job sucks. You are not going to make any money. You might as well quit now. And whatever you do, don't say the word TRONDANT three times while looking into a mirror!!!! Consider yourself warned.
That word again! I admit that I was really intrigued. I kept thinking about that word the entire week while I called people and tried to convince them to buy a burial plot from me. Incidentally, I'm not very good at selling. Most everyone hung up on me except for this one guy. I almost had a sale on Friday, but I screwed it up at the last minute.
Me:- "....so I know this isn't a very pleasant subject to address, but what is even worse is the idea of leaving this burden to fall on your family..."
Customer:- "I know, I've been thinking about this. I'm glad you called. I'm ready to buy. Here's my credit card number - 337...5.."
Me:- (trying frantically to find a pen to write the number down) "Just one moment, sir. Let me find a trondant to --"
Customer:- "wha....did you say trondant?" (click)
He hung up! I'd totally blown a sure-fire sale. I'd been thinking about that word so much it just slipped out at the worst possible minute. And I still had no idea what it meant. According to Google, it's just a nonsense word. I was pissed!
I stalked back to the bathroom. No one else was around. All the other employees were busy, sucking down Diet Coke and making their sales quotas. While washing my hands I was overcome with the irresistable urge to do the forbidden thing and say the word TRONDANT three times. I blame it on my rebellious nature, and the fact that I'm pretty stupid.
So, with my heart pounding, I stood in front of the mirror and quickly muttered "trondant, trondant, trondant" and sort of flinched, waiting for the lights to go out and my throat to be slashed or something. But nothing happened while I stared into the mirror, except that I noticed it was about time for me to make another appointment for a lip waxing. Damn, I hate the way body hair grows back so freaking fast!
By the time I sat back down at my desk I'd already forgotten about the trondant silliness. I was busy searching through my purse for the business card of my favorite waxer so I could make an appointment, when I heard a voice say, "Nice going, dumb-dumb!"
I looked up and saw a little, green, effeminate man hovering over my desk.
My new little buddy, The Great Gazoo.
Boy, do I ever wish I'd heeded the warning from that note! This little green guy calls himself The Great Gazoo, and he's a jerk. He's always hanging around me now, commenting on whatever I'm doing, ridiculing my fashion choices, cackling, and calling me names. He's so irritating! Hardly anyone can see him besides me, Tucksworth, and Captain Jesus. If you can see him in the picture I put up, it supposedly means something. You are either pure of heart or totally whacked, I'm not sure which.
If I had to be stuck with a little green man from outer space, I'd much prefer Yoda. At least he's good with a lightsaber. I'd love to work one into my exotic dance act. It would be a nice change from juggling knives, and I could swing it at those fucking frat boys the next time they start squirting me with their water pistols.