The final chapter.
At last, I shall become free of this experience.
As noted in 'part II' of the Crazypants saga, the man is a paranoid, OCD, control freak who believes that selling a product is best conducted by having a wonderful looking facility. Wonderful looking is best described by the Captain as a place that is sterile, lacks life and above all is SYMMETRICAL. Everything must have an anal balance which is evident throughout the entire complex but never more so then in our lovely store front. An important place to be sure as it is the place all potential clients see first, the front door. So, the storefront, located right on a minor Chicago street, is stark white with white tiles, white walls and a sterile white ceiling lighted whitely with comfort removing flourescent lighting. The place drains your energy upon entering and really quite reminds one of a tax preperation service. There are five desks lined up perfectly along each wall, three on one side, two on the other. It is utterly important to the Captain that these desks line up precisely. On each desk is a small shelving unit with a company sign placed 'just so' in front and topped off with a lovely company frisbee. There are a few blue banners with the company logo hanging in the room to offset the monotonous white. The frisbees are also the same blue color. It is important to understand the importance of the frisbees. They MUST be there at all times otherwise the 'flow' of the room will be destroyed. Once we gave a frisbee away to a potential client who expressed interest in this minor item and the Captain noticed immediately.
"Where's that frisbee for the back desk?! You CANNOT give away the frisbees, we only have a limited supply and they have to be here to keep the office looking slick!"
When I worked on updating the company website I saw to it to include a picture of myself giving away a frisbee to a poetential client.
Another important aspect of the office is the furniture. When I came on-board the office had no particularly nice furniture and I was promised that very soon the crappy, mismatched chairs would soon be replaced by lovely blue chairs that will make our office the best in the city. Naturally, this happened some 8 or 9 months later and then we we're told that we definitely had the best sales office in the whole city (with in our field). IN fact, once when I was complaining that we really ought to think about some kind of advertising (any kind) I was told by the Captain that advertising costs money and that we should try and get the Chicago papers to come to our office and see how beautiful our office was. Then we could offer to challenge all our competitors to prove that our's was, in fact, the most beautiful in the whole city...Hell, why stop there? Why not declare it the best in the WHOLE FUCKIN' WORLD!!!
Our small, stale, awful office was the apple of the Captain's eye. Not a week went by when he didn't come down and step up to the front and center of the office to be sure that everything was correctly in it's symmetrical place. He would adjust all the little shelving units, make sure the fancy blue chairs sat at the appropriate distance from our desks, make sure the frisbees were facing the correct way. This seemed theraputic for him as he would frequently do this during times of stress. The company is about to fold up due to financial incompetence and the Captain busies himself by routinely checking the symmetry of our office or else hangin utterly pointless certificates and correpsondence from the mayor on our walls throughout the company. My favorite part of this process is after he finsihed making all his minor adjustments to the various shelves, chairs and frisbees in our office he would then go back to the front of the room and squint his beady fucking eyes, and lean to the right and left quickly...Apparently, the office was symmetrical from straight on AND from an angle.
Shortly after the fancy blue chairs arrived and took their places of honor before our desks we also received some even fancier, 'over-stuffed' furniture to sit in the very front of our office. Ya know, for clients to sit comfortably and wait in the unlikely event that somebody would be busy. This furniture was the dealmaker, it was the single most important aspect of our office to really make sales pick up! The process of selecting and purchasing said furniture took the better part of 9 months and man was it ever important! The original plan was to get two love seats for either side of the office, however, upon further review the Captain realized that everyone who comes to our business would undoubtably be homophobic so he nixed the love seats and went for four 'overstuffed' chairs. Comfort was coming to our office and there would be no worries about it turning anyone gay to boot!
The magic day was set and naturally the wrong furniture arrived as those special chairs were 'on order' so we had a few weeks of bliss with substandard loaners, one of which was a loveseat which was lovely for us as we now had somewhere to lay down while waiting for the influx of clients that was never coming. A month later, the real magic day occurred ALL OF A SUDDEN as a truck driver wandered into our office one quiet afternoon and said he had some chairs to deliver. Now, in normal world we would say, "Yes, bring them in." They would, we would place them in their appropriate location, they would remove the loaners and life would continue. At some point, after the new, precious chairs were placed we might notify the company president (or more likely his secretary) that the new chairs have finally arrived, to which he might reply, "good." Not so with the Captain involved. The Captain was just sitting down at a meeting with most of the company managers to go over the final plan for a client appreciation event that was coming up when the security guard informed him that the chairs have arrived downstairs. To which he replied, "WHAT!? They were supposed to call me ahead of time!?" He got all redfaced and immediately left the manager meeting with nary a word. They had no idea what had happened and why the Captain suddenly left.
He blasts into our office all redfaced and began shouting orders, "Get those old chairs ready to be removed, WHERE IS THE DELVIERY MEN!?!" They were in the alley getting ready to bring in new chairs and were met with a psychopath as the Captain ran out to the alley and simply erupted, "WHY DIDN'T YOU CALL AHEAD, I WAS TOLD YOU WOULD CALL AHEAD!!?!" Poor guys hadn't a clue but apparently this was all their fault. Captain calmed down and proceeded to direct the delivery men in their careful installation of these seemingly relgified artifacts that to the naked eye appear simply to be four chairs. This ten minute job was then stretched into a forty-five minute debacle as the Captain insisted that each chair be brought in individualy and carefully inspected by myself AND the Captain's secretary (she's a woman so the Captain assumes that she somehow has a magic eye for trouble, whatever that might be, she naturally had no idea what she was supposed to be looking for.) The Captain also noticed that one of the delivery guys had dirty boots so he was barred from treading on our precious floor, so it was up to myself and the Captain to move the scared chairs into place.
After 45 minutes of nonsense the chairs were in place and the Captain blustered off to conduct the meeting that was ruined by these awful delivery people. We enjoyed the new chairs by taking them for test sits and laughed about the free comedy show we just watched. Over the course of the evening (we worked to 7pm every night) other employees would come down and also enjoy a momentary sit. The Captain loved these chairs and often bragged about how the material could withstand well over 10,000 rubs and Oh don't they make the office look just wonderful! Needless-to-say, the number of clients brough in by the sacred chairs remained at it's usual zero.
Time went on, and the chairs became part of our scenery and often myself or the other sales reps would change up the monotony of any given day by spending some quality time parked in lovely new editions. One late evening, my international sales rep was sitting in the sacred chair nearest my desk whilst we complained about the utter lack of support or advertising (beyond the afore mentioned chair installation) our office received when the Captain passed the store front window on his way home for the night. He seemed to pay particular attention to the international rep. and knocked on the window and gesticulated wildly. The International rep. smiled and waved and I said under my breath, "I think he wants you out of the chair?" The INt. Rep. said, "What? Why?" and before I could answer the Captain blustered into the office and somewhat jokingly said, "What are you doing in that chair, ha ha, you have a chair behind your desk! You should be getting clients! Ha HA!" The Int. Rep. smiled and laughed and sauntered back over to his desk and the Captain left. Leaving me wondering how serious he was...Is the Captain really going to want us to stay out of the chairs?
Sure enough, a few weeks later, I was sitting in the very same chair nearest my desk while talking to the other sales rep. It was another quiet morning with nothing going on and all of the sudden the back door flings open and The Captain storms in, again redfaced, and yells, "GET OUT OF THAT CHAIR!!! YOU HAVE CHAIRS BEHIND YOUR DESK!! STAY OUT OF THAT CHAIR!!!" Then he demanded me to produce a database report (something he knows that I loathe to do) and storms out of the office. At which time, I decided to act like I was treated and proceeded to jump on all the chairs WITH my filthy shoes on! He proceeded to visit several other departments throughout the facility to inform them that no one is allowed to sit in those new chairs downstairs, they are only for clients, not the security guard, not the business manager NO ONE! He told this again to the other sales rep. when I sent him up with my report as I was unsure if I could behave myself in the face of this retarded stupidty. He yelled at me as if I were a nine-year old covered in melted chocolate...About sitting in a chair some three feet away from my desk, man!?
I knew this day that it was time to start planning for my future as I figured that if I didn't find another job stat I was sure to face unemployment yet again. Sure enough, a few weeks later I was "Let go, nothing personal, we just don't have any money, sorry." Sadly, the company has acted like job repellant on my resume and I remain unemployed currently...Thank you Captain Crazypants! Last I have heard, I wasn't the last to be laid off as the company is now operating under "Plan B" and several other staff members were let go as well.
The Captain was said to be upset that someone watered all plants in the facility without permission and now all the plants have signs on them declaring, "Do Not Water." The company is falling apart and this guy is worried about the fucking plants...There are more people fired from the place this year then there are employed and Captain still has absolutely no sales strategy, or plans to advertise what-so-ever. I feel for my friends left behind and I hope they escape successfully soon...Shit, I hope that I can find a new gig so I can laugh comfortably when this company collaspes after 100 years of service it merely took one insane ASSHOLE to destroy it in four years.
And so ends the Captain Crazypants saga...
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
From The Vault
This one is a favorite of mine written a couple years back and recently rediscovered. Enjoy...
'A Woman Sinks a Man'
I was washing dishes in the kitchen when he shuffled into the room. I glanced up from the sink and said, "Hey Grandpa." He didn't look at me but he offered a half wave as he sat down at the kitchen table. He did not say a word he just sat and stared out the window at nothing in particular. I continued to wash the dishes and finish scrubbing the pots and pans. Twenty minutes rolled by and I periodically would glance over my shoulder to see if he was still sitting there. He just sat there, motionless and continued to stare out the window at nothing. I finished scrubbing the last pot, turned off the water and sat at the table across from my Grandfather. As if we had been in the middle of a conversation he glanced at me and suddenly spit out,
"A woman can sink a man."
He sighed and opened his mouth a second as if to continue but seemed to think better and closed his mouth and returned his gaze to somewhere outside. I was not clear as to what he meant but figured it may have something to do with his Navy days. Grandpa would sometimes talk about his ship, serving in the navy, the big one, what have you fairly randomly. Is this what he meant now?
"Was that the ship you were on Grandpa?"
He seemed to snap to on that and his steel grey eyes flicked to my face, then squinted in what may have been suspicion.
"A ship? What are you talking about, boy?"
Embarrassment quickly slapped my face and I felt it run hot as it turned red.
"I, uh, I thought um...Well, what were you talking about, Pa?"
A small bolt of frustration flitted through his eyes.
"What am I talking about?" He grunted, "A woman. You know what they are, don't you?"
"Um, yeah?"
"Well, a woman can sink a man, OK? That's what I am saying."
I searched the surface of the table for some explanation. My eyes appeared as clueless as I was and Grandpa noticed.
"I'm sunk, son. Your Grandmother sunk me." This realization seemed to sadden Grandpa an his eyes appeared to twinkle as tears began to well up. He fought them away by sniffing sharply and rubbing them out of his eyes. I still did not fully understand but I nodded anyway.
"Ya see, boy, marriage is a bitch."
This suprised me as I seldom, if ever, hear my Grandfather swear. An occasional 'bastard' here or 'dammit' there but even those were rare and most often related to traffic. He continued.
"They start out so young and pretty, don't they? You'd do anything in the world to make them smile. Then after a year or two that all starts to fade, the sex life goes out the window and you wake up one day and realize that your marriage has become some kind of competition. A competition that you can only lose! Everything becomes an argument. Everything becomes a God damn compromise."
I raised my eyebrows, which seemed to register slightly with Grandpa but he continued anyway, getting angrier as he went.
"For forty years I have had to do everything her way. This morning I woke up and noticed that my life went down a sinkhole...I don't know when it did, I didn't even notice I was suffocated until today."
He paused a moment and stared into my still not really understanding eyes. He studied me another moment, looked back out the window and then back again with some intention of continuing. He seemed to think better of this and looked back out the window.
"Grandpa? Why are you telling me this?"
He didn't look at me this time.
"For the love of God, boy, do yourself a favor don't get married." He turned back to me with a very intent look. "Can you promise me that? If I ever taught you anything I taught you to never get fucking married! Ok?"
My mouth dropped open, I can see dammit, bastard and I can forgive bitch. I'll even ignore the reference to his 'sex life,' which is something I definitely do not want to know about, but the 'F word?' That's a little too much.
"Grandpa, you're swearing, Mom wouldn't like to know..."
He cutt me off abruptly.
"Better leave your Mom out of this, 'kay sport. I'm talking here, to you. Just me and you, alright? Man to man, and I am telling you the best advice I got right now. Do not get married, boy. Hear me? Don't do it. It will suck your life away. You may not know about getting laid now..."
"I know what it is!"
"Oh yeah? You been with some women already?"
"Well, no but I know what it means."
"Good, now shut up and listen, once you start doing it you're not going to stop, ok? You're not gonna' want to stop. Then one day you're gonna' meet this real looker. You're gonna' meet her and you're gonna' fall in love with her. The sex is gonna' seem perfect and you're gonna' lay awake some nights and you're gonna' think about what a great life you're gonna' have together. You're gonna' start buying her shit, you're gonna' take her to the zoo, or some art museum that you normally wouldn't be caught dead in. You'll skip and dance and hold hands and kiss her ass right in the middle of Marshall Field's God forsaken appliance department. Then, without even questioning what you are doing, you will find yourself standing at that alter with a big stupid grin on your face and you will be sure to think that you got yourself some steady pussy for the rest of your life!"
My eyes went wide as I covered my mouth in shock; My grandpa just said 'pussy!' As if he read my mind he paused a second and said,
"That's right, boy, I just said pussy and I'll say it again! Pussy, pussy, pussy. A great, big, hairy pussy! You like that!? Never thought you'd hear Grandpa say that, did you?"
He laughed. I shook my head in disbelief, not knowing how to respond to this. Naturally, I have heard the word from friends and cousins thousands of times but it was coming from my Grandpa's mouth and it just didn't seem natural.
"Oh come on boy! It's just a word. It's not as if I am telling you about your Grandmother's pussy?"
I waved a hand in his face and closed my eyes in protest. This made him chuckle.
"Relax boy, were having a man to man here. You'll value this talk a lot more down the road. Well, here's the news, boy. Marriage is not the cavalcade of pussy that you'd think it was. Oh no, for maybe the first six months it's sex paradise then a year goes by, then two, then ten, and you won't even know what happened! It just stops! You don't have sex anymore and instead you have matching towels and rugs in your bathroom. You're getting yelled at for using the wrong soap. Your shelves become entirely filled with six thousand different bullshit porcelain statues. Then, one day a huge, God Damn, crucified Jesus Christ appears over your bed and, should a bleedin' miracle occur, and you actually do have sex with your wife. You gotta' watch fucking Jesus Christ himself watch you get it on. Can you imagine how terrible that is?"
His face was beet red and he had been pounding the kitchen table to punctuate just how terrible he thought it was to be sexually evaluated by Jesus Christ. I, however, was in a mild state of shock that this litany of profanity and personal information was spilling out of my Grandfather. He stopped speaking and looked at me with furious eyes, he seemed to expect a response.
"I, um, I don't know what to say?"
Grandpa seemed incredulous.
"Say you'll never get married, boy! Say that you hear me! Say that once you start fucking women you don't stop! Don't pick one to hang on to, she'll just suck your soul dry, boy. Fuck 'em long, fuck 'em hard and get the fuck outta' there, boy! There's something I learned in the navy, boy. How do ya like that?"
My mouth fell open again, I was dismayed, confused, offended all at once. Just then I heard my Grandmother call from upstairs.
"Arthur are you down there?"
Grandpa rolled his eyes.
"Oh God Dammit, would you tell her I went for a God damn walk?"
He stood up and shuffled over to the door and let himself outside, muttering to himself, "God damn Jesus, God damn Christ, God dammit..." He snapped the door closed behind him and I watched him disappear down the front walk. I stared after him while feeling as if I had just been slapped. My Grandmother appeared from the living room.
"Where's your Grandpa?" She said in a short manner. I looked at her with my eyes wider than usual.
"He said he was going for a God Damn walk."
Grandma's mouth dropped open a second, her eyes wnet wide but quickly wnet back into a skeptical squint.
"He said that?"
I nodded.
"Hmm. Well, did he happen to tell you what he did with our crucifix? It disappeared this morning and when I asked him about it he started carrying on and yelling liek a crazy person. He didn't swear at you, did he?"
I nodded.
"Oh Joseph and Mary, I am sorry sweetie he has been a crotchity old man latley. So, he didn't mention the crucifix?"
I shook my head, "Maybe it's in the garbage?" Grandma looked at me doubtfully.
"Why would you say that?"
"Dunno, I just get the impression he was mad about that and maybe he threw it away?"
Grandma crossed herself and murmured, "lets just see" under her breath. Sure enough she found her crucifix broken in the garbage can behind their house. She was not pleased and when she cam back into the kitchen she thanked me for visiting, gave me five dollars for helping with the dishes and asked me to leave as she and Grandpa were going to need to talk alone. I took my money and left. My Grandpa never spoke to me like that again. Nor did he ever mention what he said to me again. No apologies either. I never looked at him quite the same way after that night.
'A Woman Sinks a Man'
I was washing dishes in the kitchen when he shuffled into the room. I glanced up from the sink and said, "Hey Grandpa." He didn't look at me but he offered a half wave as he sat down at the kitchen table. He did not say a word he just sat and stared out the window at nothing in particular. I continued to wash the dishes and finish scrubbing the pots and pans. Twenty minutes rolled by and I periodically would glance over my shoulder to see if he was still sitting there. He just sat there, motionless and continued to stare out the window at nothing. I finished scrubbing the last pot, turned off the water and sat at the table across from my Grandfather. As if we had been in the middle of a conversation he glanced at me and suddenly spit out,
"A woman can sink a man."
He sighed and opened his mouth a second as if to continue but seemed to think better and closed his mouth and returned his gaze to somewhere outside. I was not clear as to what he meant but figured it may have something to do with his Navy days. Grandpa would sometimes talk about his ship, serving in the navy, the big one, what have you fairly randomly. Is this what he meant now?
"Was that the ship you were on Grandpa?"
He seemed to snap to on that and his steel grey eyes flicked to my face, then squinted in what may have been suspicion.
"A ship? What are you talking about, boy?"
Embarrassment quickly slapped my face and I felt it run hot as it turned red.
"I, uh, I thought um...Well, what were you talking about, Pa?"
A small bolt of frustration flitted through his eyes.
"What am I talking about?" He grunted, "A woman. You know what they are, don't you?"
"Um, yeah?"
"Well, a woman can sink a man, OK? That's what I am saying."
I searched the surface of the table for some explanation. My eyes appeared as clueless as I was and Grandpa noticed.
"I'm sunk, son. Your Grandmother sunk me." This realization seemed to sadden Grandpa an his eyes appeared to twinkle as tears began to well up. He fought them away by sniffing sharply and rubbing them out of his eyes. I still did not fully understand but I nodded anyway.
"Ya see, boy, marriage is a bitch."
This suprised me as I seldom, if ever, hear my Grandfather swear. An occasional 'bastard' here or 'dammit' there but even those were rare and most often related to traffic. He continued.
"They start out so young and pretty, don't they? You'd do anything in the world to make them smile. Then after a year or two that all starts to fade, the sex life goes out the window and you wake up one day and realize that your marriage has become some kind of competition. A competition that you can only lose! Everything becomes an argument. Everything becomes a God damn compromise."
I raised my eyebrows, which seemed to register slightly with Grandpa but he continued anyway, getting angrier as he went.
"For forty years I have had to do everything her way. This morning I woke up and noticed that my life went down a sinkhole...I don't know when it did, I didn't even notice I was suffocated until today."
He paused a moment and stared into my still not really understanding eyes. He studied me another moment, looked back out the window and then back again with some intention of continuing. He seemed to think better of this and looked back out the window.
"Grandpa? Why are you telling me this?"
He didn't look at me this time.
"For the love of God, boy, do yourself a favor don't get married." He turned back to me with a very intent look. "Can you promise me that? If I ever taught you anything I taught you to never get fucking married! Ok?"
My mouth dropped open, I can see dammit, bastard and I can forgive bitch. I'll even ignore the reference to his 'sex life,' which is something I definitely do not want to know about, but the 'F word?' That's a little too much.
"Grandpa, you're swearing, Mom wouldn't like to know..."
He cutt me off abruptly.
"Better leave your Mom out of this, 'kay sport. I'm talking here, to you. Just me and you, alright? Man to man, and I am telling you the best advice I got right now. Do not get married, boy. Hear me? Don't do it. It will suck your life away. You may not know about getting laid now..."
"I know what it is!"
"Oh yeah? You been with some women already?"
"Well, no but I know what it means."
"Good, now shut up and listen, once you start doing it you're not going to stop, ok? You're not gonna' want to stop. Then one day you're gonna' meet this real looker. You're gonna' meet her and you're gonna' fall in love with her. The sex is gonna' seem perfect and you're gonna' lay awake some nights and you're gonna' think about what a great life you're gonna' have together. You're gonna' start buying her shit, you're gonna' take her to the zoo, or some art museum that you normally wouldn't be caught dead in. You'll skip and dance and hold hands and kiss her ass right in the middle of Marshall Field's God forsaken appliance department. Then, without even questioning what you are doing, you will find yourself standing at that alter with a big stupid grin on your face and you will be sure to think that you got yourself some steady pussy for the rest of your life!"
My eyes went wide as I covered my mouth in shock; My grandpa just said 'pussy!' As if he read my mind he paused a second and said,
"That's right, boy, I just said pussy and I'll say it again! Pussy, pussy, pussy. A great, big, hairy pussy! You like that!? Never thought you'd hear Grandpa say that, did you?"
He laughed. I shook my head in disbelief, not knowing how to respond to this. Naturally, I have heard the word from friends and cousins thousands of times but it was coming from my Grandpa's mouth and it just didn't seem natural.
"Oh come on boy! It's just a word. It's not as if I am telling you about your Grandmother's pussy?"
I waved a hand in his face and closed my eyes in protest. This made him chuckle.
"Relax boy, were having a man to man here. You'll value this talk a lot more down the road. Well, here's the news, boy. Marriage is not the cavalcade of pussy that you'd think it was. Oh no, for maybe the first six months it's sex paradise then a year goes by, then two, then ten, and you won't even know what happened! It just stops! You don't have sex anymore and instead you have matching towels and rugs in your bathroom. You're getting yelled at for using the wrong soap. Your shelves become entirely filled with six thousand different bullshit porcelain statues. Then, one day a huge, God Damn, crucified Jesus Christ appears over your bed and, should a bleedin' miracle occur, and you actually do have sex with your wife. You gotta' watch fucking Jesus Christ himself watch you get it on. Can you imagine how terrible that is?"
His face was beet red and he had been pounding the kitchen table to punctuate just how terrible he thought it was to be sexually evaluated by Jesus Christ. I, however, was in a mild state of shock that this litany of profanity and personal information was spilling out of my Grandfather. He stopped speaking and looked at me with furious eyes, he seemed to expect a response.
"I, um, I don't know what to say?"
Grandpa seemed incredulous.
"Say you'll never get married, boy! Say that you hear me! Say that once you start fucking women you don't stop! Don't pick one to hang on to, she'll just suck your soul dry, boy. Fuck 'em long, fuck 'em hard and get the fuck outta' there, boy! There's something I learned in the navy, boy. How do ya like that?"
My mouth fell open again, I was dismayed, confused, offended all at once. Just then I heard my Grandmother call from upstairs.
"Arthur are you down there?"
Grandpa rolled his eyes.
"Oh God Dammit, would you tell her I went for a God damn walk?"
He stood up and shuffled over to the door and let himself outside, muttering to himself, "God damn Jesus, God damn Christ, God dammit..." He snapped the door closed behind him and I watched him disappear down the front walk. I stared after him while feeling as if I had just been slapped. My Grandmother appeared from the living room.
"Where's your Grandpa?" She said in a short manner. I looked at her with my eyes wider than usual.
"He said he was going for a God Damn walk."
Grandma's mouth dropped open a second, her eyes wnet wide but quickly wnet back into a skeptical squint.
"He said that?"
I nodded.
"Hmm. Well, did he happen to tell you what he did with our crucifix? It disappeared this morning and when I asked him about it he started carrying on and yelling liek a crazy person. He didn't swear at you, did he?"
I nodded.
"Oh Joseph and Mary, I am sorry sweetie he has been a crotchity old man latley. So, he didn't mention the crucifix?"
I shook my head, "Maybe it's in the garbage?" Grandma looked at me doubtfully.
"Why would you say that?"
"Dunno, I just get the impression he was mad about that and maybe he threw it away?"
Grandma crossed herself and murmured, "lets just see" under her breath. Sure enough she found her crucifix broken in the garbage can behind their house. She was not pleased and when she cam back into the kitchen she thanked me for visiting, gave me five dollars for helping with the dishes and asked me to leave as she and Grandpa were going to need to talk alone. I took my money and left. My Grandpa never spoke to me like that again. Nor did he ever mention what he said to me again. No apologies either. I never looked at him quite the same way after that night.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Captain Crazypants II: What's WRONG with that guy?
Every good story deserves a sequel of less quality. Captain Crazypants is no exception! The original Crazypants stories have captured the imagination of about all who have read or been told the tales. After telling these tales I am often peppered with many questions about who is the Captain and is he really that crazy? I assure you that he really is and for this installment I have elected to go into more detail (again without revealing names and locations to keep myself protected legally) about this man who, without a doubt, has been the single most insane and awful boss I have ever experienced. That is really saying something as I have had a lot of jobs and a lot of bosses...The Captain takes the cake, hands down.
The most common question I get is, "Did he really ask you to collect all the doorstops in the facility and why?!" That is the absolute truth, he really asked me to collect the doorstops from all over the facility, wipe them up and store them in one place. Then I absolutely had to leave a note for his secretary so she can make a sign indicating to all that this is where the doorstops go. He carefully explained this task to me about three or four times as he is fairly repetitive and seemed to think that I might be deaf or perhaps he thought I spoke limited English. This task had to be done right away because;
"You never know when we'll have a special event all of the sudden and we will need to prop open all the doors at once!"
Why? Well, you see, the Captain has some kind of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) attached to an insatiable need to be the company facility manager ( in addition to the sales director, marketing director, HR Department, and 100 other jobs that the company President in ‘regular world’ need never worry about) coupled with everyone's favorite trait...CONTROL FREAK!
I am no psychiatrist so I am not qualified to officially diagnosis the Captain however, I am certain that he has this disorder based on the unofficial opinion of a psychiatrist I know and the basic insanity of being employed by this rube. In addition to worrying incessantly about all the wrong things and firmly believing that our company can sell our product solely based upon the appearance of our facility, the paint job and most especially the furniture. He also had an absurd management style with absolutely no regard to employee morale, in fact, I believe he thought we were all just yappy muppets that he is paying to waste all his money. The Captain, as well as his #2 the business manager, always acted as if the company budget was actually their own personal cash. To get anything done like hire a temporary worker, have some promotional materials produced, or even ordering office supplies it was akin to asking your dad for $20 when you both know you didn’t wash the car that day. A good manager generally will have a team of employees of various rank and position who he/she respects and listens to. Decisions are made by initiating a quality give and take between the manager and his/her employees which can be best achieved with meetings, memos, clear communication and a little thing called listening.
In the Captain's case, there was none of that as he never, ever listened nor was he interested in any other opinions other than his own ever. The Captain's idea of a good employee was someone who simply ran around in little circles saying, "Yes sir, of course sir" at all times and never, ever question anything the Captain says. The Captain also prefers that the employees rarely, if ever, communicate to each other. Should he find out that an employee talked to co-worker and in any way, shape or form question the good Captain that employee is then marked as a gossip and will quickly find his or herself barred from any discussions relevant to the operation of the business. When that happened to me the Captain began to completely disregard my existence and there were whole weeks where he wouldn't even look in my direction. Then came the layoff…
This occurred due to my questioning of the “controls” put in place with the arrival of our new computers (see 'Dirty Chair Wheels" in ‘Crazypants.’) With a new, higher tech network in place the Captain realized that this gave him an opportunity for more control. He wanted to be sure to block out certain aspects of the computer world such as porn, gambling and he'd hope shopping on the internet. Not the worst of ideas, but he also realized that the sales team had spent a lot of their time playing video games on their computers rather than spending all their time on the phones selling the product (there are reasons why we didn't call much will I'll get to soon.) So, he told the IT consultants (we had no full time IT staff as that would cost too much) to be sure to block out the 'games' from the computers. Which they promptly did by blocking out the solitaire, minesweeper, spider, etc. feature on Windows. Not a big deal as no one really played those games much as the internet games were so much better. Though the Captain understood what computers were and how to get IT consultants to do things he wants the stark reality for the Captain was that besides, “talking the talk” he simply could never, “walk the walk” when it came to computers. He never sent e-mail and we believe he didn’t know how to use this e-mail. I once gave him a CD-RW of some marketing materials I made and he got pissed at me because he couldn’t save anything on the disc. He knew how to operate those floppy things by simply clicking ‘save.’
“Why wont this damn CD work!? This is all my damn, gossipy employee’s fault!”
It so happened that my computer was blocked first and this bothered me as I had mentioned to the business manager that as soon as you start being the internet police that will become a full time job turning the few employees we had against the management. I also suggested that if there is a perceived 'problem' then it might be prudent to mention it to someone. Have a staff meeting (something that NEVER happened) or perhaps a simple memo detailing the 'rules' which also never occurred. Instead the Captain had the games blocked and one by one various employees began to notice and wondered, "What the fuck is wrong with the computers?" I also happened to mention that this was happening to a couple of different co-workers and additional employee, all by himself, actually approached the IT consultants (the message that came up when you attempted to access the games said "contact the IT staff”) and asked what was wrong with the computers. The Captain heard from 'someone' that I had been complaining about the games being blocked and assumed it was I who dared approach the IT consultants.
At this point, you might wonder, where is the problem? To the Captain, it was a huge problem! He never, ever spoke to me about any of this and told another co-worker that he was REALLY MAD at me for spreading rumors, complaining and assumed I was also pissed at the Captain for daring to block the solitaire. None of which was true. He never listened, jump to his own crazy-ass conclusion and this is why I believe I was ultimately laid off. How could he employ someone who is so clearly out to get him and his roody-poo company with such insidious gossip. I was no longer running in little circles saying, "Yes sir!" I had turned against him and was attempting to turn the rest of the staff against him as well. At least, that is what I think he thought as he never communicated anything to me and the only reason I know any of this is based on what other employees said the Captain said to them. Nice management style, eh?
The reason we spent time playing games in the first place was due to having hardly anyone to call to sell our product to. Our product is a significant investment that is not readily 'sellable' to anyone via cold calling and we could really only sell the product to those in specific need of our services who generally found us. The trick was to find us. We didn't advertise, we weren't listed in any guide books with-in our field, we weren't even in but one of the six area phone books. The one we we're in had no ad, just a simple listing. The Captain had promised the company board that with-in three years he would raise the number of sales from about 450 to an incredible 1,200. When hired I was told that that particular quarter we had sold 450 units, after a month or so I happened to learn that the Captain also liked his exaggerations and the actual number of units sold was a paltry 300. We struggled through the whole next quarter and was unable to change that number at all and by the spring quarter we still had a mere 300 sold. In summer, that number dropped to 136 which is reason #2 I was laid off as the budget was now in a severe deficit and they could no longer afford me, "Nothing personal! It's just business."
Another reason I was tagged as someone who is against the Captain is because I have a lot of experience selling this same kind of product and I know for a fact that the sale of the product cannot be supported without some simple, common, everyday advertising, brochures and a number of other marketing materials. Even with all those things in place it can be challenging to sell such a product. The Captain insisted that we did not need advertising as that would be just "spending money" and wouldn't yield any clients. I maintained that all out competitors advertised often and fiercely and this left us in the shadows. When a prospective client ever heard about us, undoubtedly, they would look in the paper, or a listing guide to see how we measure up. When we weren't present in any of these (or any other area) it instantly detracted from our credibility. The Captain maintained that those kinds of ads were simply there to re-affirm already sold clients in their purchase, not unlike a car commercial. This was so dead wrong it often became difficult to stifle laughter in the Captain's face. Thus instead of listening to reason the Captain simply thought I was a dissenter. In fact, after arguing with him on several different occasions about how advertising (even a little) would definitely increase the number of leads and prospective clients he finally snapped at me, "How many times do I have to tell you!? WE DON'T ADVERTISE!" This declaration took me by surprise, while he often argued against advertising he always seemed to think that soon we would...He never said that he wouldn't advertise ever until he finally figured it would shut me up.
The Captain never listened to anyone, if you ever had to tell him anything or try to even have a regular conversation he would always cut you off mid-sentence, always with an asinine assumption as to what you were going to say. He often would offer some kind of shitty analogy or story about his past to explain how your idea was wrong. After several months I had heard the same stories so many times I could recite them myself, often doing a pretty killer impersonation of the Captain which entertained many a co-worker. If, by some miracle, he did shut his little yap long enough for you to speak he would often chew on the arm of his glasses and his eyes would flick left and right real fast giving you the distinct impression that he wasn't actually listening to you at all. Then he probably would come back with another useless story about how things used to be, or how he did things back in the '80's and blah blah blah.
Captain Crazypants is an older man, not sure exactly how old but I would suppose somewhere in his early sixties. Along with his control freakiness, his obsession with facility and a distinct inability to listen to anyone he also has a collection of strange nervous ticks. He is a very short, bald man with a trimmed, white beard and a circle of white hair. He also had beady little eyes that never seemed to stop flicking everywhere. I have it on good authority that when he opens file cabinet drawers he would pull them open and then shut them three times before going in and then open and slam them shut three more times with a good shake to be sure they are closed and locked. His paranoia was fairly intense and he always acted as if there were people ‘out there somewhere’ plotting to get in to the files, or the offices, or supply closets. When long time co-workers were suddenly ‘let go’ (happened about every 3 months or so, ya know, so he could exert his authority) the now ex-employees were always escorted out of the building by the security guard and another trusted staff member. Once on the street the ex-employee is then instructed that he/she can no longer enter the building with-out calling ahead so they can arrange for the security guard to escort him or her into our well protected, rented in a large, public office building space.
The best tick the Captain had was this totally bizarre habit of grabbing and adjusting his crotch while in conversation. No one knew why? Did he have scabies? Crabs? One co-worker thought maybe he had a lot of junk to move around down there. I thought maybe it was a 'around the guys' kind of thing but when I mentioned it to a female co-worker she said she had noticed it as well and often worried he would do it in front of clients or other company visitors. I think he actually did but most people are polite and usually don't mention it. IN fact, when I came on board I was one of the first to notice this habit out loud and eventually it became a trademark gesture among co-workers when doing the Captain's absurd business.
For instance, you would see the Support Services manager doing something so far outside of his job description you would ask him, "What the fuck are you doing?" He would then roll his eyes and grab at his crotch and you instantly knew he was doing some totally pointless errand for the Captain (ala collecting doorstops) and nothing more would need to be said. Collecting doorstops was not the only crazy crap he would need done and always right away. One of the companies lawyers had stopped by one evening, shortly after a new paintjob was finished in several offices, and the Captain told him to go into the offices with the lights out and a flashlight to "inspect the work done." The Captain always was sure that any contract work or furniture delivered would be defective as those people were not as adept at whatever as the Captain was. So, here’s a professional, seasoned lawyer in a dark office inspecting the newly painted walls with a flashlight and wondering what the fuck was he supposed to be looking for?! He never found out as the Captain never explained what he should be looking for. The Captain rarely explained anything and when he did it often would befuddle you even more. After some time, when you get sort of used to him, you tend to just do his absurd jobs and think about maybe writing about it or something.
Stay tuned for Part III which will tell about the symmetrical furniture of doom and the importance of the company frisbees...
The most common question I get is, "Did he really ask you to collect all the doorstops in the facility and why?!" That is the absolute truth, he really asked me to collect the doorstops from all over the facility, wipe them up and store them in one place. Then I absolutely had to leave a note for his secretary so she can make a sign indicating to all that this is where the doorstops go. He carefully explained this task to me about three or four times as he is fairly repetitive and seemed to think that I might be deaf or perhaps he thought I spoke limited English. This task had to be done right away because;
"You never know when we'll have a special event all of the sudden and we will need to prop open all the doors at once!"
Why? Well, you see, the Captain has some kind of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) attached to an insatiable need to be the company facility manager ( in addition to the sales director, marketing director, HR Department, and 100 other jobs that the company President in ‘regular world’ need never worry about) coupled with everyone's favorite trait...CONTROL FREAK!
I am no psychiatrist so I am not qualified to officially diagnosis the Captain however, I am certain that he has this disorder based on the unofficial opinion of a psychiatrist I know and the basic insanity of being employed by this rube. In addition to worrying incessantly about all the wrong things and firmly believing that our company can sell our product solely based upon the appearance of our facility, the paint job and most especially the furniture. He also had an absurd management style with absolutely no regard to employee morale, in fact, I believe he thought we were all just yappy muppets that he is paying to waste all his money. The Captain, as well as his #2 the business manager, always acted as if the company budget was actually their own personal cash. To get anything done like hire a temporary worker, have some promotional materials produced, or even ordering office supplies it was akin to asking your dad for $20 when you both know you didn’t wash the car that day. A good manager generally will have a team of employees of various rank and position who he/she respects and listens to. Decisions are made by initiating a quality give and take between the manager and his/her employees which can be best achieved with meetings, memos, clear communication and a little thing called listening.
In the Captain's case, there was none of that as he never, ever listened nor was he interested in any other opinions other than his own ever. The Captain's idea of a good employee was someone who simply ran around in little circles saying, "Yes sir, of course sir" at all times and never, ever question anything the Captain says. The Captain also prefers that the employees rarely, if ever, communicate to each other. Should he find out that an employee talked to co-worker and in any way, shape or form question the good Captain that employee is then marked as a gossip and will quickly find his or herself barred from any discussions relevant to the operation of the business. When that happened to me the Captain began to completely disregard my existence and there were whole weeks where he wouldn't even look in my direction. Then came the layoff…
This occurred due to my questioning of the “controls” put in place with the arrival of our new computers (see 'Dirty Chair Wheels" in ‘Crazypants.’) With a new, higher tech network in place the Captain realized that this gave him an opportunity for more control. He wanted to be sure to block out certain aspects of the computer world such as porn, gambling and he'd hope shopping on the internet. Not the worst of ideas, but he also realized that the sales team had spent a lot of their time playing video games on their computers rather than spending all their time on the phones selling the product (there are reasons why we didn't call much will I'll get to soon.) So, he told the IT consultants (we had no full time IT staff as that would cost too much) to be sure to block out the 'games' from the computers. Which they promptly did by blocking out the solitaire, minesweeper, spider, etc. feature on Windows. Not a big deal as no one really played those games much as the internet games were so much better. Though the Captain understood what computers were and how to get IT consultants to do things he wants the stark reality for the Captain was that besides, “talking the talk” he simply could never, “walk the walk” when it came to computers. He never sent e-mail and we believe he didn’t know how to use this e-mail. I once gave him a CD-RW of some marketing materials I made and he got pissed at me because he couldn’t save anything on the disc. He knew how to operate those floppy things by simply clicking ‘save.’
“Why wont this damn CD work!? This is all my damn, gossipy employee’s fault!”
It so happened that my computer was blocked first and this bothered me as I had mentioned to the business manager that as soon as you start being the internet police that will become a full time job turning the few employees we had against the management. I also suggested that if there is a perceived 'problem' then it might be prudent to mention it to someone. Have a staff meeting (something that NEVER happened) or perhaps a simple memo detailing the 'rules' which also never occurred. Instead the Captain had the games blocked and one by one various employees began to notice and wondered, "What the fuck is wrong with the computers?" I also happened to mention that this was happening to a couple of different co-workers and additional employee, all by himself, actually approached the IT consultants (the message that came up when you attempted to access the games said "contact the IT staff”) and asked what was wrong with the computers. The Captain heard from 'someone' that I had been complaining about the games being blocked and assumed it was I who dared approach the IT consultants.
At this point, you might wonder, where is the problem? To the Captain, it was a huge problem! He never, ever spoke to me about any of this and told another co-worker that he was REALLY MAD at me for spreading rumors, complaining and assumed I was also pissed at the Captain for daring to block the solitaire. None of which was true. He never listened, jump to his own crazy-ass conclusion and this is why I believe I was ultimately laid off. How could he employ someone who is so clearly out to get him and his roody-poo company with such insidious gossip. I was no longer running in little circles saying, "Yes sir!" I had turned against him and was attempting to turn the rest of the staff against him as well. At least, that is what I think he thought as he never communicated anything to me and the only reason I know any of this is based on what other employees said the Captain said to them. Nice management style, eh?
The reason we spent time playing games in the first place was due to having hardly anyone to call to sell our product to. Our product is a significant investment that is not readily 'sellable' to anyone via cold calling and we could really only sell the product to those in specific need of our services who generally found us. The trick was to find us. We didn't advertise, we weren't listed in any guide books with-in our field, we weren't even in but one of the six area phone books. The one we we're in had no ad, just a simple listing. The Captain had promised the company board that with-in three years he would raise the number of sales from about 450 to an incredible 1,200. When hired I was told that that particular quarter we had sold 450 units, after a month or so I happened to learn that the Captain also liked his exaggerations and the actual number of units sold was a paltry 300. We struggled through the whole next quarter and was unable to change that number at all and by the spring quarter we still had a mere 300 sold. In summer, that number dropped to 136 which is reason #2 I was laid off as the budget was now in a severe deficit and they could no longer afford me, "Nothing personal! It's just business."
Another reason I was tagged as someone who is against the Captain is because I have a lot of experience selling this same kind of product and I know for a fact that the sale of the product cannot be supported without some simple, common, everyday advertising, brochures and a number of other marketing materials. Even with all those things in place it can be challenging to sell such a product. The Captain insisted that we did not need advertising as that would be just "spending money" and wouldn't yield any clients. I maintained that all out competitors advertised often and fiercely and this left us in the shadows. When a prospective client ever heard about us, undoubtedly, they would look in the paper, or a listing guide to see how we measure up. When we weren't present in any of these (or any other area) it instantly detracted from our credibility. The Captain maintained that those kinds of ads were simply there to re-affirm already sold clients in their purchase, not unlike a car commercial. This was so dead wrong it often became difficult to stifle laughter in the Captain's face. Thus instead of listening to reason the Captain simply thought I was a dissenter. In fact, after arguing with him on several different occasions about how advertising (even a little) would definitely increase the number of leads and prospective clients he finally snapped at me, "How many times do I have to tell you!? WE DON'T ADVERTISE!" This declaration took me by surprise, while he often argued against advertising he always seemed to think that soon we would...He never said that he wouldn't advertise ever until he finally figured it would shut me up.
The Captain never listened to anyone, if you ever had to tell him anything or try to even have a regular conversation he would always cut you off mid-sentence, always with an asinine assumption as to what you were going to say. He often would offer some kind of shitty analogy or story about his past to explain how your idea was wrong. After several months I had heard the same stories so many times I could recite them myself, often doing a pretty killer impersonation of the Captain which entertained many a co-worker. If, by some miracle, he did shut his little yap long enough for you to speak he would often chew on the arm of his glasses and his eyes would flick left and right real fast giving you the distinct impression that he wasn't actually listening to you at all. Then he probably would come back with another useless story about how things used to be, or how he did things back in the '80's and blah blah blah.
Captain Crazypants is an older man, not sure exactly how old but I would suppose somewhere in his early sixties. Along with his control freakiness, his obsession with facility and a distinct inability to listen to anyone he also has a collection of strange nervous ticks. He is a very short, bald man with a trimmed, white beard and a circle of white hair. He also had beady little eyes that never seemed to stop flicking everywhere. I have it on good authority that when he opens file cabinet drawers he would pull them open and then shut them three times before going in and then open and slam them shut three more times with a good shake to be sure they are closed and locked. His paranoia was fairly intense and he always acted as if there were people ‘out there somewhere’ plotting to get in to the files, or the offices, or supply closets. When long time co-workers were suddenly ‘let go’ (happened about every 3 months or so, ya know, so he could exert his authority) the now ex-employees were always escorted out of the building by the security guard and another trusted staff member. Once on the street the ex-employee is then instructed that he/she can no longer enter the building with-out calling ahead so they can arrange for the security guard to escort him or her into our well protected, rented in a large, public office building space.
The best tick the Captain had was this totally bizarre habit of grabbing and adjusting his crotch while in conversation. No one knew why? Did he have scabies? Crabs? One co-worker thought maybe he had a lot of junk to move around down there. I thought maybe it was a 'around the guys' kind of thing but when I mentioned it to a female co-worker she said she had noticed it as well and often worried he would do it in front of clients or other company visitors. I think he actually did but most people are polite and usually don't mention it. IN fact, when I came on board I was one of the first to notice this habit out loud and eventually it became a trademark gesture among co-workers when doing the Captain's absurd business.
For instance, you would see the Support Services manager doing something so far outside of his job description you would ask him, "What the fuck are you doing?" He would then roll his eyes and grab at his crotch and you instantly knew he was doing some totally pointless errand for the Captain (ala collecting doorstops) and nothing more would need to be said. Collecting doorstops was not the only crazy crap he would need done and always right away. One of the companies lawyers had stopped by one evening, shortly after a new paintjob was finished in several offices, and the Captain told him to go into the offices with the lights out and a flashlight to "inspect the work done." The Captain always was sure that any contract work or furniture delivered would be defective as those people were not as adept at whatever as the Captain was. So, here’s a professional, seasoned lawyer in a dark office inspecting the newly painted walls with a flashlight and wondering what the fuck was he supposed to be looking for?! He never found out as the Captain never explained what he should be looking for. The Captain rarely explained anything and when he did it often would befuddle you even more. After some time, when you get sort of used to him, you tend to just do his absurd jobs and think about maybe writing about it or something.
Stay tuned for Part III which will tell about the symmetrical furniture of doom and the importance of the company frisbees...
Monday, June 13, 2005
Starbutt
Man, I had heard that once you cross the border into your thirties is when you just start to notice that your body isn't holding up as well as it had been all along. Hang-overs hang longer and harder, workouts leave you sore for days instead of hours, doctor visits have to become more regular and so on. The good part about doctors now is that they start wanting to finger your asshole if you're a guy more often. I am not a big fan of this so I avoid it all costs.
However, my ass, for the first time in my life, has been causing me trouble. It started with a weird, unusual itch that evolved slowly into a downright burn at times. It just felt like something was happening in the depths of my butt that hasn't happened before. I assumed it has to either be ass cancer or hemorrhoids so I treated my ass with a wide variety of ass creams and gels to no avail. So, one day recently, I finally gave in and paid a visit to my local physician. It is uncomfortable enough having to have some near stranger fondling my body parts in ways that just are not sexy but to have to go in and start a conversation with Dr. Bouquayteet (A fine, learned Indian fellow) all about my ass is not high on my list of things I like to do.
"Dr. Boobietit? My butt has been itching and burning BAD...What could it be?"
Dr. Bouquayteet really doesn't care for the way I pronounce his name and his usually gentle expression turned sour a moment and he coldly suggested, "Probably hemorrhoids. Turn around and drop your pants." He magically produced a glove and snapped it in on and paged the nurse who conveniently entered the room just as I was bending over the exam table with my pants down.
"Oh Dr. Bouquayteet, look at that man's balls!? They hang so low..." Then Dr. Boobietit and she shared a giggle. This did not make me feel comfortable. Dr. Boobietit even jingled them with a gloved finger and they broke out into a laugh. I was humiliated.
"HEY!" I barked.
"Yes, well Mr. Assberg, maybe we can use my proper name, eh? Dr. BOO QUAY TEET, Yes?"
The nurse laughed some more then asked if he needed some petroleum jelly to which the doctor said, "No, I believe we will be doing this exam dry." She laughed again and left the room saying something about how she doesn't need to see any more.
Dr. Boobietit then calmly said, "You need to relax here while I check this out..." He spread my hairy cheeks then exclaimed,
"Bishnu! "
And stepped away with his eyes popping.
"What?! WHAT IS IT!?"
"Mr. Assberg, did you not know that there is a series of storefronts being built in your ass?"
I narrowed my eyes, "Please Doc. What is it really?"
"I am not kidding there is a mini-mall going up in your ass, Mr. Assberg. In fact, it appears the Subway has already opened!"
The silence was palpable. I finally said, "Please. What is really wrong?"
Dr. Boobietit then held a mirror up to my ass so that I may see and sure enough there was a small storefront half finished in my ass! The open for business Subway on the north end while the shop next door remained vacant with a small sign that appeared to read, 'Coming Soon' a something something I couldn't read. Before I could speak any further the door to the Subway opened and a couple of ass-sized construction workers came out, apparently having just finished their lunch, and they went to work on the unfinished side of my ass plaza.
"Hmm, Mr. Assberg, I would suggest the burning you feel from time to time may be a result of those fantastic Subway sandwiches being toasted! I quite like the Chicken Bacon Ranch myself." This seem to amuse him more than confuse him...Which I found odd as I was completely bewildered.
"Doc? This doesn't concern you at all?" A measure of panic had no begun to register in my voice.
"Oh, no no no noooo, This sort of thing is happening more and more these days. Development is the way of the future and really you need to look at the bright side!"
"bright side?! BRIGHT SIDE!?! THERE IS A BRIGHT SIDE TO HAVING A SUBWAY IN MY ASS!!!!"
"Ohhh yes, Mr. Assberg Subways are everywhere and they really can increase the value of the property they're located in. Your ass is probably worth twice as much as it was before! And I should probably tell you that it looks like the other shop is going to be a Starbuck's!"
Starbuck's!?!"
"Well, really it will be a Starbutt's as they call it when they build in people's butts."
"You mean to tell me that their are other people out there with Starbuck's and Subways in their asses?!"
"Sure, many people...They are always shocked at first but then they get used to the discomfort and quite enjoy it. They end up never having to go far for a good cup of coffee or a nice sandwich, it is very nice. Okay?"
The way he said 'Okay' gave me the impression that this examination was no over and he wasn't going to do anything about it. He could see from the look in my eye that I was still not through.
"Mr. Assberg, do not worry this will become very profitable for you. I recommend that you get in contact with the lesser company that contracted your ass to be built in. They will likely pay you a marginal fee as a sort of property tax. Be thankful that they have not chosen a 7-11 as they always come with a gas station and believe me you would not like having a major traffic pattern in your ass."
With that he patted me on the back and quickly turned and left the room.
"Wait! Dr. Boobietit!"
"Dr. BOO QUAY TEET!" He said behind him as he left the examination room.
It has been a few months since my 'diagnosis' and Dr. Boobietit was right in that I became used to the strange discomfort associated with having two popular businesses operating on the edge of my anus. It has made lunch easier and more convenient for myself as the Subway manager, a nice Pakistani woman named Ruby, gives me free sandwiches though she reminds me that she doesn't have to as she pays her rent to a lesser company called "Every Corner of America." Which, by the way, has never returned any phone calls or letters outside of a check for $500 I received for this apparent 'property tax.'
The sandwiches taste the same but the coffee is less desirable. The Starbutt's has altered their menu to reflect the location so instead of Americana they serve Tim-Tainted brown water. I am told that this sells fairly well. Not that I know anyone who patronizes my ass as my friends and family refuse to believe me, look to see that they are there and obviously they do not choose to buy anything.
I heard a rumor that a Walgreen's is going to be built on top of my balls, just beneath my dick next fall. I can't wait.
However, my ass, for the first time in my life, has been causing me trouble. It started with a weird, unusual itch that evolved slowly into a downright burn at times. It just felt like something was happening in the depths of my butt that hasn't happened before. I assumed it has to either be ass cancer or hemorrhoids so I treated my ass with a wide variety of ass creams and gels to no avail. So, one day recently, I finally gave in and paid a visit to my local physician. It is uncomfortable enough having to have some near stranger fondling my body parts in ways that just are not sexy but to have to go in and start a conversation with Dr. Bouquayteet (A fine, learned Indian fellow) all about my ass is not high on my list of things I like to do.
"Dr. Boobietit? My butt has been itching and burning BAD...What could it be?"
Dr. Bouquayteet really doesn't care for the way I pronounce his name and his usually gentle expression turned sour a moment and he coldly suggested, "Probably hemorrhoids. Turn around and drop your pants." He magically produced a glove and snapped it in on and paged the nurse who conveniently entered the room just as I was bending over the exam table with my pants down.
"Oh Dr. Bouquayteet, look at that man's balls!? They hang so low..." Then Dr. Boobietit and she shared a giggle. This did not make me feel comfortable. Dr. Boobietit even jingled them with a gloved finger and they broke out into a laugh. I was humiliated.
"HEY!" I barked.
"Yes, well Mr. Assberg, maybe we can use my proper name, eh? Dr. BOO QUAY TEET, Yes?"
The nurse laughed some more then asked if he needed some petroleum jelly to which the doctor said, "No, I believe we will be doing this exam dry." She laughed again and left the room saying something about how she doesn't need to see any more.
Dr. Boobietit then calmly said, "You need to relax here while I check this out..." He spread my hairy cheeks then exclaimed,
"Bishnu! "
And stepped away with his eyes popping.
"What?! WHAT IS IT!?"
"Mr. Assberg, did you not know that there is a series of storefronts being built in your ass?"
I narrowed my eyes, "Please Doc. What is it really?"
"I am not kidding there is a mini-mall going up in your ass, Mr. Assberg. In fact, it appears the Subway has already opened!"
The silence was palpable. I finally said, "Please. What is really wrong?"
Dr. Boobietit then held a mirror up to my ass so that I may see and sure enough there was a small storefront half finished in my ass! The open for business Subway on the north end while the shop next door remained vacant with a small sign that appeared to read, 'Coming Soon' a something something I couldn't read. Before I could speak any further the door to the Subway opened and a couple of ass-sized construction workers came out, apparently having just finished their lunch, and they went to work on the unfinished side of my ass plaza.
"Hmm, Mr. Assberg, I would suggest the burning you feel from time to time may be a result of those fantastic Subway sandwiches being toasted! I quite like the Chicken Bacon Ranch myself." This seem to amuse him more than confuse him...Which I found odd as I was completely bewildered.
"Doc? This doesn't concern you at all?" A measure of panic had no begun to register in my voice.
"Oh, no no no noooo, This sort of thing is happening more and more these days. Development is the way of the future and really you need to look at the bright side!"
"bright side?! BRIGHT SIDE!?! THERE IS A BRIGHT SIDE TO HAVING A SUBWAY IN MY ASS!!!!"
"Ohhh yes, Mr. Assberg Subways are everywhere and they really can increase the value of the property they're located in. Your ass is probably worth twice as much as it was before! And I should probably tell you that it looks like the other shop is going to be a Starbuck's!"
Starbuck's!?!"
"Well, really it will be a Starbutt's as they call it when they build in people's butts."
"You mean to tell me that their are other people out there with Starbuck's and Subways in their asses?!"
"Sure, many people...They are always shocked at first but then they get used to the discomfort and quite enjoy it. They end up never having to go far for a good cup of coffee or a nice sandwich, it is very nice. Okay?"
The way he said 'Okay' gave me the impression that this examination was no over and he wasn't going to do anything about it. He could see from the look in my eye that I was still not through.
"Mr. Assberg, do not worry this will become very profitable for you. I recommend that you get in contact with the lesser company that contracted your ass to be built in. They will likely pay you a marginal fee as a sort of property tax. Be thankful that they have not chosen a 7-11 as they always come with a gas station and believe me you would not like having a major traffic pattern in your ass."
With that he patted me on the back and quickly turned and left the room.
"Wait! Dr. Boobietit!"
"Dr. BOO QUAY TEET!" He said behind him as he left the examination room.
It has been a few months since my 'diagnosis' and Dr. Boobietit was right in that I became used to the strange discomfort associated with having two popular businesses operating on the edge of my anus. It has made lunch easier and more convenient for myself as the Subway manager, a nice Pakistani woman named Ruby, gives me free sandwiches though she reminds me that she doesn't have to as she pays her rent to a lesser company called "Every Corner of America." Which, by the way, has never returned any phone calls or letters outside of a check for $500 I received for this apparent 'property tax.'
The sandwiches taste the same but the coffee is less desirable. The Starbutt's has altered their menu to reflect the location so instead of Americana they serve Tim-Tainted brown water. I am told that this sells fairly well. Not that I know anyone who patronizes my ass as my friends and family refuse to believe me, look to see that they are there and obviously they do not choose to buy anything.
I heard a rumor that a Walgreen's is going to be built on top of my balls, just beneath my dick next fall. I can't wait.
Monday, April 25, 2005
Crazypants
People are crazy. Everyone I know and everyone you know is at least a little crazy. It's what makes life interesting and entertaining! Watching people try and convince others that they are, in fact, perfectly sane and normal is what keeps us alive. I worked for a crazy person once. Well, I have worked for many crazy people as I believe a prerequisite for being in charge of something demands a particular level of insanity. My crazy employer is best known as Crazypants. Lets call him Captain Crazypants because it sounds good.
Doorstops.
The first time I realized that Crazypants was actually Captain Crazypants happened late one week night. I share an office with three co-workers, one of which was off and another was missing when Captain Crazypants needed him...RIGHT NOW! Captain Crazypants looked everywhere, all four floors of our fine facility and just could not find him and it made him MAD! The missing co-worker was one of our very few bilingual employees and we needed to translate for some potential clients at that very moment. Mostly because Captain Crazypants couldn't figure out that these particular clients were no longer interested in our product and very much wanted to leave. Unfortunately for them they bumped into the Captain on their way out and craziness ensued. The clients managed to slip out whilst an increasingly maddening Captain Crazypants frantically searched our facility for our missing, bilingual co-worker. The missing co-worker finally turned up (moments after Captain Crazypants declared, "He had better turn up or he'll be out of a job!") and calmed the good Captain down.
However, Captain Crazypants was still rather redfaced and needed to expend this negative energy someway so he decided it was time to randomly dictate a task to myself.
"I need you to go around the whole facility and collect all the door stops, wipe them down,s curb them really good and then put them all in one of the drawers in your storage area so that they all will be in one place. be sure to leave a note for the secretary so she can make a note indicating that this is where all the doorstops go."
I looked at him rather blankly.
"You see, you never know when you we will suddenly have a special event and we will need to prop open all the doors in the facility at once. Don't forget to leave a note for the secretary and wipe them down real good."
And so it was...I collected all the doorstops and placed them in the appropriate drawer and left the note for the secretary. I did not scrub them real good though. I am such a rebel.
Asians.
It was early on a Friday and Captain Crazypants strolls into our office:
"You know what we really need?"
He looked at me as if I should already know the answer to this random and subject less question.
"More Asians! How can we get more Asians in here?"
Again, he looked to me as if I had a plan in place and I only needed his approval to initiate 'Operation get More Asians.' I simply shrugged and said, "Uhhh...I don't know?" By coincidence an Asian person happened to walk by the window.
"Ah, there goes one now! Get him! (Ha HA) Seriously though, we really ought to have more Asians here, don't you think? How can we get more Asians?! I KNOW! I have an Asian friend that works in a bank, I'll go call him and see what he thinks! Later guys!"
He left and I have never heard another word about getting more Asians.
Dirty Chair Wheels.
Last winter we had new computers delivered and installed. Well, I should say that we had new computers delivered and myself and a couple of other co-workers had to unload the truck and help with the installation. This to save Captain Crazypants all the trouble of hiring people that know what they are doing. Captain was sure that we would be able to install some eighty new computers (and remove the eighty old ones) in a single weekend. Naturally, the project dragged on for two weeks. Consultants were hired for the networking but they only did the wiring they did not do any of the actual physical work of installing the machines. So, the whole process was messy and stupid from the get-go however the best part didn't happen until the very end of the process.
I was manning the store front while my co-workers were busy re-arranging one of the offices that contained some twenty or so of the new machines. They had to take out all the old machines, fix up all the desks and chairs in the room then put in the new machines. Lucky for me, I had nothing to do with that project until right when I was putting on my jacket to leave for the day...Enter Captain Crazypants:
"Oh you're not leaving already are you? Can you do me a favor? I need you to go up and help the security guard move some leftover chairs into the storage room behind your office, ok?"
Seemed reasonable enough, moving chairs only takes a few minutes, no problem! So, I go upstairs to find that there are twelve chairs left and the security guard informed me that he already cleaned them so all we have to do is cover them with garbage bags and roll them on down to my storage room. Not a problem. So, I proceed to cover the twelve chairs (which were stacked in pairs) with garbage bags and the security guard and I were just about to roll the chairs down to the freight elevator approximately thirty feet away. Captain Crazypants intervened:
"No, no I want those chairs completely covered."
Blank look from me, "Well, they are?"
"No, the bottoms are still exposed. I don't want those wheels to get dirty while you bring them down to the storage room. You see, I want those cleaned real good and covered so that if one of the chairs in the office happens to break we can just run down and grab a new one and drop in there without having to clean the wheels again!"
I stifled a laugh. The Captain pointed knowingly at his head,
"See! I'm always thinking ahead, saves us work down the road!"
So, we turned over all the stacks of covered chairs and tied off the garbage bags so that the wheels on the chairs would not get dirty. We then had to carry the chairs down to the freight elevator and up into my storage room. This five minute job then became a thirty minute job which I got overtime for.
Thinking ahead indeed.
Paranoid Suspicions.
A little while ago our organization was under review by a group of peers from our field. Captain Crazypants had spent the better part of the year being obsessed with passing this review. For whatever reason, the Good Captain was certain the presentation of our facility was paramount to passing this review. So he spent large amounts of time cleaning, making others clean and ordering new furniture and fussing over the colors of said new furniture. He even had painters in to re-paint walls that hardly needed a paint job. Though that was worth it to see a regular old plain yellow be converted to a neon yellow one might only see in a juice box. As the date of our review loomed ever closer Captain Crazypants became more frantic culminating in this:
"I need you to close the facility down an hour early on Saturday."
Again, I gave what had become a trademark blank look of non-understanding.
"See, the chairperson of the review committee is flying in at about 12:30 on Saturday and I know that he is coming early to get a jumpstart on our review over the rest of the Committee. Ya see, one of the other committee members is also a Captain just like me and the chairperson isn't a captain. So, he is probably worried that this other captain is going to run roughshod all over his chairmanship so he is going to want to bone up on Saturday. The rules state that the committee must review together so we can't have that. So, I need you to close this place up tight, lock it up like a drum and get out of here no later than 1 pm. I would pick him up myself but then he will twist my arm and get int here anyways...So we can't have that so I sent another co-worker to pick him with specific instructions to STALL! He will act sick, or act like he is starving and has to get something to eat..Anything to keep that Chairperson away from the facility on Saturday. I don't want him to even see the exhaust from your car when he gets here, ok?"
This is funny for several reasons: Number one is that I am closing down an entire business during regular Saturday hours based simply on Captain Crazypant's paranoid suspicion that this other Captain is planning to somehow 'run roughshod' all over this chairperson's honorary authority. Not because it is actually going to happen or because the chairperson actually wants to get in early to bone up on our documentation. It is also a good time to point out that all the documentation they are set to review has already been mailed to the chairperson, the other Captain, the rest of the review committee and most of the Organization's staff. Essentially, Captain Crazypants is going through this ridiculous plan is so that he can avoid having to come in on Saturday.
The real surprise is that we passed that review with flying colors leading me to believe that everyone in this field must be as crazy and full of shit as we are.
Doorstops.
The first time I realized that Crazypants was actually Captain Crazypants happened late one week night. I share an office with three co-workers, one of which was off and another was missing when Captain Crazypants needed him...RIGHT NOW! Captain Crazypants looked everywhere, all four floors of our fine facility and just could not find him and it made him MAD! The missing co-worker was one of our very few bilingual employees and we needed to translate for some potential clients at that very moment. Mostly because Captain Crazypants couldn't figure out that these particular clients were no longer interested in our product and very much wanted to leave. Unfortunately for them they bumped into the Captain on their way out and craziness ensued. The clients managed to slip out whilst an increasingly maddening Captain Crazypants frantically searched our facility for our missing, bilingual co-worker. The missing co-worker finally turned up (moments after Captain Crazypants declared, "He had better turn up or he'll be out of a job!") and calmed the good Captain down.
However, Captain Crazypants was still rather redfaced and needed to expend this negative energy someway so he decided it was time to randomly dictate a task to myself.
"I need you to go around the whole facility and collect all the door stops, wipe them down,s curb them really good and then put them all in one of the drawers in your storage area so that they all will be in one place. be sure to leave a note for the secretary so she can make a note indicating that this is where all the doorstops go."
I looked at him rather blankly.
"You see, you never know when you we will suddenly have a special event and we will need to prop open all the doors in the facility at once. Don't forget to leave a note for the secretary and wipe them down real good."
And so it was...I collected all the doorstops and placed them in the appropriate drawer and left the note for the secretary. I did not scrub them real good though. I am such a rebel.
Asians.
It was early on a Friday and Captain Crazypants strolls into our office:
"You know what we really need?"
He looked at me as if I should already know the answer to this random and subject less question.
"More Asians! How can we get more Asians in here?"
Again, he looked to me as if I had a plan in place and I only needed his approval to initiate 'Operation get More Asians.' I simply shrugged and said, "Uhhh...I don't know?" By coincidence an Asian person happened to walk by the window.
"Ah, there goes one now! Get him! (Ha HA) Seriously though, we really ought to have more Asians here, don't you think? How can we get more Asians?! I KNOW! I have an Asian friend that works in a bank, I'll go call him and see what he thinks! Later guys!"
He left and I have never heard another word about getting more Asians.
Dirty Chair Wheels.
Last winter we had new computers delivered and installed. Well, I should say that we had new computers delivered and myself and a couple of other co-workers had to unload the truck and help with the installation. This to save Captain Crazypants all the trouble of hiring people that know what they are doing. Captain was sure that we would be able to install some eighty new computers (and remove the eighty old ones) in a single weekend. Naturally, the project dragged on for two weeks. Consultants were hired for the networking but they only did the wiring they did not do any of the actual physical work of installing the machines. So, the whole process was messy and stupid from the get-go however the best part didn't happen until the very end of the process.
I was manning the store front while my co-workers were busy re-arranging one of the offices that contained some twenty or so of the new machines. They had to take out all the old machines, fix up all the desks and chairs in the room then put in the new machines. Lucky for me, I had nothing to do with that project until right when I was putting on my jacket to leave for the day...Enter Captain Crazypants:
"Oh you're not leaving already are you? Can you do me a favor? I need you to go up and help the security guard move some leftover chairs into the storage room behind your office, ok?"
Seemed reasonable enough, moving chairs only takes a few minutes, no problem! So, I go upstairs to find that there are twelve chairs left and the security guard informed me that he already cleaned them so all we have to do is cover them with garbage bags and roll them on down to my storage room. Not a problem. So, I proceed to cover the twelve chairs (which were stacked in pairs) with garbage bags and the security guard and I were just about to roll the chairs down to the freight elevator approximately thirty feet away. Captain Crazypants intervened:
"No, no I want those chairs completely covered."
Blank look from me, "Well, they are?"
"No, the bottoms are still exposed. I don't want those wheels to get dirty while you bring them down to the storage room. You see, I want those cleaned real good and covered so that if one of the chairs in the office happens to break we can just run down and grab a new one and drop in there without having to clean the wheels again!"
I stifled a laugh. The Captain pointed knowingly at his head,
"See! I'm always thinking ahead, saves us work down the road!"
So, we turned over all the stacks of covered chairs and tied off the garbage bags so that the wheels on the chairs would not get dirty. We then had to carry the chairs down to the freight elevator and up into my storage room. This five minute job then became a thirty minute job which I got overtime for.
Thinking ahead indeed.
Paranoid Suspicions.
A little while ago our organization was under review by a group of peers from our field. Captain Crazypants had spent the better part of the year being obsessed with passing this review. For whatever reason, the Good Captain was certain the presentation of our facility was paramount to passing this review. So he spent large amounts of time cleaning, making others clean and ordering new furniture and fussing over the colors of said new furniture. He even had painters in to re-paint walls that hardly needed a paint job. Though that was worth it to see a regular old plain yellow be converted to a neon yellow one might only see in a juice box. As the date of our review loomed ever closer Captain Crazypants became more frantic culminating in this:
"I need you to close the facility down an hour early on Saturday."
Again, I gave what had become a trademark blank look of non-understanding.
"See, the chairperson of the review committee is flying in at about 12:30 on Saturday and I know that he is coming early to get a jumpstart on our review over the rest of the Committee. Ya see, one of the other committee members is also a Captain just like me and the chairperson isn't a captain. So, he is probably worried that this other captain is going to run roughshod all over his chairmanship so he is going to want to bone up on Saturday. The rules state that the committee must review together so we can't have that. So, I need you to close this place up tight, lock it up like a drum and get out of here no later than 1 pm. I would pick him up myself but then he will twist my arm and get int here anyways...So we can't have that so I sent another co-worker to pick him with specific instructions to STALL! He will act sick, or act like he is starving and has to get something to eat..Anything to keep that Chairperson away from the facility on Saturday. I don't want him to even see the exhaust from your car when he gets here, ok?"
This is funny for several reasons: Number one is that I am closing down an entire business during regular Saturday hours based simply on Captain Crazypant's paranoid suspicion that this other Captain is planning to somehow 'run roughshod' all over this chairperson's honorary authority. Not because it is actually going to happen or because the chairperson actually wants to get in early to bone up on our documentation. It is also a good time to point out that all the documentation they are set to review has already been mailed to the chairperson, the other Captain, the rest of the review committee and most of the Organization's staff. Essentially, Captain Crazypants is going through this ridiculous plan is so that he can avoid having to come in on Saturday.
The real surprise is that we passed that review with flying colors leading me to believe that everyone in this field must be as crazy and full of shit as we are.
Friday, April 08, 2005
Happy Shapes
Man, I love cereal.
I have eaten cereal for as long as I can remember very nearly every day of my life. Probably not every day but damn close. You would think that by now I would be completely fucking sick of eating cereal. How much dry, sugary crap with skim milk poured over it can one man take? I have no answer to that question as I have yet to reach that limit in nearly 32 years of existing. I eat many varieties depending on my mood and my taste particularly when I am in the store making my cereal selections. Sometimes I feel like fooling myself a little and buy something that represents itself as being vaguely nutritious, Frosted mini-wheats, some variety of raisin bran or even better a raisin-nut-fiber concoctive will work. Other times I like to get some over-sugared, marshmallow laced crap.
There are many more varieties of over-sugared, marshmallow laced crap out there on the market. Growing up I was always a big fan of the monster cereals. You remember those, Frankenberry, Count Chocula, Boo Berry and occasionally (depending on where you were) you might find Fruity Yummy Mummy. To me, those cereals reigned supreme should you be in the mood for some marshmallowed goodness. The old standard in marshmallow cereals has been (and may remain today) Lucky Charms. I never liked them due to a shitty aftertaste and the notion that the cereal parts were bland, out numbered the marshmallows something like 6 to 1 and had the exact same shapes as the goddamn cat food. Poo on that shit.
These days, living in my own, private 'adult-a-verse' I have found myself adverse to the brand name cereals largely due to the fact that an average box of cereal in my area tend to run around 4 or 5 fucking dollars. Why does cereal cost so much these days? It can't possibly be the production of the actual cereal can it? How can that have changed so much over my short life?! It hasn't, you're paying for a brand name, it's aggressive advertising campaign and mostly because they will charge as much as you can pay. Which sucks.
My solution, generic cereals! Yes, one might feel a little sad shopping for their breakfast cereals from the metal bins near the end of the aisle. You know the bins because you pass them all the time and wonder why anyone would want their cereal in a plastic bag as opposed to all these bright colored boxes featuring characters that may have been with us all of our lives. I like saving a buck and I have no problem buying my cereal in a bag. Those bags are almost always re-sealable, ya know! I have many favorite generic cereals, plain old Frosted Mini-Bites is not bad at all, Tootie Fruties are better than Froot Loops if you ask me...But the best one, my favorite of all the generic cereals is hands-down Marshmallow Maties. Essentially, they are simply Lucky Charms without the Leprechaun. They have a Kangaroo wearing sunglasses as their mascot thus denoting that this fine cereal is supposedly Australian. I, however, ignore this Kangaroo and have long ago decided that Marshmallow Maties was produced and sold exclusively by a Pirate. THE Pirate, in fact. This Pirate has no name, he's not Redbeard or Captain Cock, no, no, no...He is THE Pirate and his bounty in life is this fantastic cereal available only in a plastic bag for (sometimes) almost half the cost of those wimpy, lame and catfood like Lucky Charms.
Whenever I would approach the bagged cereal part of the cereal aisle I always said under my breath (or to myself if others were nearby, the secret of my insanity must be kept!)
"ARRRRRRRR! Whar be my Marshmallow Maties, Arr!?"
I would find them and if they were on sale I might add a pleasant, "Blow me down! They be on Sale, Arrrr!" If they were priced a little higher than I thought fair, I would still buy them, but I might give a fair, "Shiver me timbers! Be this cereal made from gold, arrrrr?!" There has never been a day when my 'Maties' weren't there. That is, until about a month ago...
I have been living with a tighter than normal budget lately as I am saving up to get myself a leg up on my crushing debt. One day soon I will find my escape route, I have the map just need the cash. So, I jaunted into my local grocer as I often do with the intention of getting the absolute bare minimum goods that I will need to get through a lean weekend. I had about $25 and a tight list of items to acquire including my beloved Marshmallow Maties (Arrrrr!) I arrived at the end of the cereal aisle and perused the various metal bins. There was the Frosted Mini Bites, The Golden Puffs, The Honey Buzzers and all the rest but there was one noticeable absence...
"ARRRRR! WHARrrr BE MY MARSHMALLOW MATIES, ARRRRR?!?!"
They were gone. The sign was gone, the box they inhabited had bags of Golden Puffs in it's place.
I thought, "Well blow me down...arrr...?"
In a bin to the far left of where my 'Maties' were (arrr!) was a new bagged cereal...Happy Shapes.
"Happy Shapes?! What the FUCK are Happy Shapes?!" Even their bag was lame. It had a lion (I think) dressed up as a clown and juggling these supposed happy shapes above a big, shit-eating, you-ain't-gettin'-no-more-fuckin'-Marshmallow-Maties-Bitch Grin. Behind this "lion clown" was a single elephant and a single giraffe, there to mock me I suppose. The only thing going for this sad product was that it was actually even cheaper than the coveted 'Maties.' Knowing that I was jonesing for some marshmallow, over-sugared goodness I though it was time to branch out. So I bought the fucking Happy Shapes. All the while, I kept thinking about the letter I was going to write the Pirate, "Arrrrr, Dearrrrrrr Sirrrrrrrrr, I be writin' ye to find out wharrrr ye hid me Marshmallow Maties!?" Now is a good time for you, the reader, to stop reading a moment and look away from your computer monitor and say, "Arrr, Whar be my Marshmallow Maties!?" in your best pirate voice...You won't be disappointed.
See? Wasn't that fun? If anyone else happened to be around you at the time that may have made it even more better. Don't explain it to them, let them figure it out! That's why they have their own brain.
Back to the Happy Shapes...
Those fucking things are not really all that happy. In fact, after eating a bowl, the experience quite resembles an Easter basket filled with all the shittiest, cheapest, peep-like, stale-jellybean candies rotting in your mouth. Awful, crappy and bland and the I guess the only real happy shape is sort of a semi-rounded square. The one good thing is that the marshmallow to cereal ratio is like 2 to 1 so, at the very least, you get a lot of marshmallows in every bite. Trouble is that they all taste like sugary chalk. Ya know what else? Marshmallow Maties is made by a company that you know, Malt-O-Meal and you can tell because it says so right on the bag! Guess who made Happy Shapes? NO ONE! There is no company behind it, there is small print on the very back and bottom of the bag called AmeriValue but I cannot find it on the web. So, Happy Shapes came from nowhere! In fact, due to the way I live in my own "adult-a-verse" I wonder if perhaps only I can see and buy these Happy Shapes. Some people are psychic and see dead people, some people are double jointed and can bend in all kinds of funny ways, some people are talented and well connected and live happy lives...
Me?
I see Happy Shapes.
I have eaten cereal for as long as I can remember very nearly every day of my life. Probably not every day but damn close. You would think that by now I would be completely fucking sick of eating cereal. How much dry, sugary crap with skim milk poured over it can one man take? I have no answer to that question as I have yet to reach that limit in nearly 32 years of existing. I eat many varieties depending on my mood and my taste particularly when I am in the store making my cereal selections. Sometimes I feel like fooling myself a little and buy something that represents itself as being vaguely nutritious, Frosted mini-wheats, some variety of raisin bran or even better a raisin-nut-fiber concoctive will work. Other times I like to get some over-sugared, marshmallow laced crap.
There are many more varieties of over-sugared, marshmallow laced crap out there on the market. Growing up I was always a big fan of the monster cereals. You remember those, Frankenberry, Count Chocula, Boo Berry and occasionally (depending on where you were) you might find Fruity Yummy Mummy. To me, those cereals reigned supreme should you be in the mood for some marshmallowed goodness. The old standard in marshmallow cereals has been (and may remain today) Lucky Charms. I never liked them due to a shitty aftertaste and the notion that the cereal parts were bland, out numbered the marshmallows something like 6 to 1 and had the exact same shapes as the goddamn cat food. Poo on that shit.
These days, living in my own, private 'adult-a-verse' I have found myself adverse to the brand name cereals largely due to the fact that an average box of cereal in my area tend to run around 4 or 5 fucking dollars. Why does cereal cost so much these days? It can't possibly be the production of the actual cereal can it? How can that have changed so much over my short life?! It hasn't, you're paying for a brand name, it's aggressive advertising campaign and mostly because they will charge as much as you can pay. Which sucks.
My solution, generic cereals! Yes, one might feel a little sad shopping for their breakfast cereals from the metal bins near the end of the aisle. You know the bins because you pass them all the time and wonder why anyone would want their cereal in a plastic bag as opposed to all these bright colored boxes featuring characters that may have been with us all of our lives. I like saving a buck and I have no problem buying my cereal in a bag. Those bags are almost always re-sealable, ya know! I have many favorite generic cereals, plain old Frosted Mini-Bites is not bad at all, Tootie Fruties are better than Froot Loops if you ask me...But the best one, my favorite of all the generic cereals is hands-down Marshmallow Maties. Essentially, they are simply Lucky Charms without the Leprechaun. They have a Kangaroo wearing sunglasses as their mascot thus denoting that this fine cereal is supposedly Australian. I, however, ignore this Kangaroo and have long ago decided that Marshmallow Maties was produced and sold exclusively by a Pirate. THE Pirate, in fact. This Pirate has no name, he's not Redbeard or Captain Cock, no, no, no...He is THE Pirate and his bounty in life is this fantastic cereal available only in a plastic bag for (sometimes) almost half the cost of those wimpy, lame and catfood like Lucky Charms.
Whenever I would approach the bagged cereal part of the cereal aisle I always said under my breath (or to myself if others were nearby, the secret of my insanity must be kept!)
"ARRRRRRRR! Whar be my Marshmallow Maties, Arr!?"
I would find them and if they were on sale I might add a pleasant, "Blow me down! They be on Sale, Arrrr!" If they were priced a little higher than I thought fair, I would still buy them, but I might give a fair, "Shiver me timbers! Be this cereal made from gold, arrrrr?!" There has never been a day when my 'Maties' weren't there. That is, until about a month ago...
I have been living with a tighter than normal budget lately as I am saving up to get myself a leg up on my crushing debt. One day soon I will find my escape route, I have the map just need the cash. So, I jaunted into my local grocer as I often do with the intention of getting the absolute bare minimum goods that I will need to get through a lean weekend. I had about $25 and a tight list of items to acquire including my beloved Marshmallow Maties (Arrrrr!) I arrived at the end of the cereal aisle and perused the various metal bins. There was the Frosted Mini Bites, The Golden Puffs, The Honey Buzzers and all the rest but there was one noticeable absence...
"ARRRRR! WHARrrr BE MY MARSHMALLOW MATIES, ARRRRR?!?!"
They were gone. The sign was gone, the box they inhabited had bags of Golden Puffs in it's place.
I thought, "Well blow me down...arrr...?"
In a bin to the far left of where my 'Maties' were (arrr!) was a new bagged cereal...Happy Shapes.
"Happy Shapes?! What the FUCK are Happy Shapes?!" Even their bag was lame. It had a lion (I think) dressed up as a clown and juggling these supposed happy shapes above a big, shit-eating, you-ain't-gettin'-no-more-fuckin'-Marshmallow-Maties-Bitch Grin. Behind this "lion clown" was a single elephant and a single giraffe, there to mock me I suppose. The only thing going for this sad product was that it was actually even cheaper than the coveted 'Maties.' Knowing that I was jonesing for some marshmallow, over-sugared goodness I though it was time to branch out. So I bought the fucking Happy Shapes. All the while, I kept thinking about the letter I was going to write the Pirate, "Arrrrr, Dearrrrrrr Sirrrrrrrrr, I be writin' ye to find out wharrrr ye hid me Marshmallow Maties!?" Now is a good time for you, the reader, to stop reading a moment and look away from your computer monitor and say, "Arrr, Whar be my Marshmallow Maties!?" in your best pirate voice...You won't be disappointed.
See? Wasn't that fun? If anyone else happened to be around you at the time that may have made it even more better. Don't explain it to them, let them figure it out! That's why they have their own brain.
Back to the Happy Shapes...
Those fucking things are not really all that happy. In fact, after eating a bowl, the experience quite resembles an Easter basket filled with all the shittiest, cheapest, peep-like, stale-jellybean candies rotting in your mouth. Awful, crappy and bland and the I guess the only real happy shape is sort of a semi-rounded square. The one good thing is that the marshmallow to cereal ratio is like 2 to 1 so, at the very least, you get a lot of marshmallows in every bite. Trouble is that they all taste like sugary chalk. Ya know what else? Marshmallow Maties is made by a company that you know, Malt-O-Meal and you can tell because it says so right on the bag! Guess who made Happy Shapes? NO ONE! There is no company behind it, there is small print on the very back and bottom of the bag called AmeriValue but I cannot find it on the web. So, Happy Shapes came from nowhere! In fact, due to the way I live in my own "adult-a-verse" I wonder if perhaps only I can see and buy these Happy Shapes. Some people are psychic and see dead people, some people are double jointed and can bend in all kinds of funny ways, some people are talented and well connected and live happy lives...
Me?
I see Happy Shapes.
Japanese Wisdom
There is really nothing you must be.
And there is nothing you must do.
There is really nothing you must have.
There is nothing you must know.
There is really nothing you must become.
However. It helps to understand that fire burns,
and when it rains, the earth gets wet...
And there is nothing you must do.
There is really nothing you must have.
There is nothing you must know.
There is really nothing you must become.
However. It helps to understand that fire burns,
and when it rains, the earth gets wet...
"Whatever, there are consequences. Nobody is exempt, " said the master.
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Man on the street
I walked onto the street for a smoke the other day, wearing my leather. At the corner, about fifty yards away approaches a large man. Tall, with a significant belly accented by a tight fitting T-shirt that ends just under his navel. It's a chilly, sunny day and this guy has on a tight 'T' that is three sizes too small, a pair of gym shorts, socks and sandals and a long, tan trenchcoat open and flapping behind him as if it were his favorite bathrobe. He's smoking and as he walks his arms wave not unlike a lady at a party. He's headed my way so I step near the curb so as to permit a wide berth so he can hopefully pass without incident.
I mentioned that I was wearing my leather...Now, my leather is not anything extra special, it does the job for me and I do love to wear it but it's just a cheap, mall bought coat. I've had the thing for years and it shows thus it has character I suppose. I wasn't the only one aware of this. Mr. Belly Shirt and Gym Shorts was compelled to stop.
"Excuse me ssSir?"
He said in a lisp that reminded me of several other heavy set, effeminate men I have known over the years. I turn around shaking my head as I instantly assumed he wanted a cigarette.
"Can I take a picture of your jacket?"
I this stunned me a moment, then I repeated the question as if I were trying to translate the question.
"You want to take a picture. Of my jacket." I said dumbly.
"Yesss, because I like the style of it, it's styling!" He waved his hand in front of his own lapel to apparently indicate what 'styling' is.
I pondered a moment, 'What possibly could be the harm in letting a strange person wearing a 3-sizes-too-small-T-shirt-and-gym-shorts on a cold day in March take a picture of me on the street?' I decided that there is no immeadiate threat and said, "Uh, ok?" He produced a small, digital camera from thin air and snapped a quick picture of me looking more than a little confused. He said, "Thanksss!" and sauntered on down the street.
Somewhere that fat man with small clothes is enjoying my 'styling.'
I mentioned that I was wearing my leather...Now, my leather is not anything extra special, it does the job for me and I do love to wear it but it's just a cheap, mall bought coat. I've had the thing for years and it shows thus it has character I suppose. I wasn't the only one aware of this. Mr. Belly Shirt and Gym Shorts was compelled to stop.
"Excuse me ssSir?"
He said in a lisp that reminded me of several other heavy set, effeminate men I have known over the years. I turn around shaking my head as I instantly assumed he wanted a cigarette.
"Can I take a picture of your jacket?"
I this stunned me a moment, then I repeated the question as if I were trying to translate the question.
"You want to take a picture. Of my jacket." I said dumbly.
"Yesss, because I like the style of it, it's styling!" He waved his hand in front of his own lapel to apparently indicate what 'styling' is.
I pondered a moment, 'What possibly could be the harm in letting a strange person wearing a 3-sizes-too-small-T-shirt-and-gym-shorts on a cold day in March take a picture of me on the street?' I decided that there is no immeadiate threat and said, "Uh, ok?" He produced a small, digital camera from thin air and snapped a quick picture of me looking more than a little confused. He said, "Thanksss!" and sauntered on down the street.
Somewhere that fat man with small clothes is enjoying my 'styling.'
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