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06.28.02 -


So tomorrow morning we'll pile all of our camping gear in JB's 4Runner and then drive and drive and drive and drive and jesus drive some more, all the way from Seattle down to Grants Pass, OR. Sunday morning is the beginning of our rafting trip, so cross your fingers for us that the weather is nice and nobody bonks their head on a rock and loses the ability to pronounce vowels or something.

At the time I scheduled this vacation, I thought I would have everything tradeshow-related wrapped up at the office by this time. And is it? Pardon me while I issue forth a loud nasal donkey BRAY of derisive laughter. That would be a no.

See, if it were just *me* doing stuff, we'd be all good. It's that depending-on-others-to-get-their-shit-done-before-deadline stuff that will screw you each and every time.

I had to call the New York department of sales tax today. Because of this tradeshow, and the selling of the boxes, and the money being exchanged for goods and services, and all that. I talked to The Rudest Man on Earth. Literally. If he was any more rude he would have reached through the phone and bada-binged me one right in the kisser. Then he told me to call a different number, where I spoke with The Rudest Woman on Earth. Basically I got nothing accomplished.

Me: "So apparently I need this permit form, and we mailed in the application, but we haven't got anything back so-"
Rudest People on Earth: <paraphrased> "Eat shit and die."
Me: "Um...ok, bye."

I also had to call our printing company about 290538271 times today, because we're getting these boxes and manuals printed and so there were all these little details to iron out. The person I've been speaking to is named Roger. At one point, my Funky Boss was nearby when I got off the phone with Roger by saying "All right, thanks Roger!", and scolded me for 'missing a great opportunity'. Wha? Turns out I should have said "Roger, Roger!"


When I do call good old Roger, I always have to route through the receptionist, who has the most perky voice in the world UNTIL I ask for Roger.

"Hi! This is Fluffy at PrintingCompany and how can I help yooooo?"
"Hi, may I speak with Roger, please?"
(dripping with venom) "Just.a.minute."

I have this whole scenario plotted out where Fluffy and Roger had this mad, passionate affair, and then he gradually tired of her perky, doe-eyed self, and he became hollow and withdrawn, and she became controlling and desperate, and one day she asked him if her dress made her look fat, and he said without thinking that no, it was the FAT that made her look fat, and there were tears and accusations and an eventual icy truce of sorts because they do have to work together, and all.

Although maybe she's just sick of answering the fucking phone all the time.

Ok, I hope y'all have a great week. I'll talk to you when I get back.

PS - hey, awesome news! For those of you who care, and goshdarn it you all should, Pamie's back.

go back ::: forward

06.27.02 - Despite the fact that he is the chalk for a million hopscotch games, JB can be REALLY annoying.
06.25.02 - "One size fits all" my ASS.
06.21.02 - Marketing traditionally knows fuck-all about how stuff actually works, we just come up with all the blather to sell it.

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I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

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