I lost a bum today.

I don't think that was politically correct.

I misplaced a homeless person today. I guess I didn't misplace him, per se. I just lost track of him. I really can't be blamed, though. He was at least three, maybe four sheets to the wind when he went to sleep on the table in the little room next to my office. I was supposed to wake him up at 10am, but I think he woke up earlier and started wandering. I'm hoping that his impaired motor skills limited him to the bottom floor, eventually forcing him to just leave the building, but I fear that he somehow tackled the stairs. I fear that he somehow managed to make it up into some other department. I fear that some unfortunate person in advertising is going to come in on Monday only to find a dirty, disoriented man knocking over desk chairs and bumping into fax machines.

Also, my co-worker brought her 11-year-old daughter in to work with her today. The building is closed on Saturdays. We still take calls, but no one can get into the building, so it's very casual. We can be loud, wear jeans, and, apparently, bring in our children. I'm typically very good with kids. Though I'd rather club them all like little baby harp seals, I'm typically very good with them. This one made me want to club myself like a little baby harp seal. She spent the majority of the morning reading the not-so-witty tag lines off of the South Park t-shirts she so desperately wanted. There's something really unsettling about hearing an 11-year-old girl say "I just went and fudged your momma", let me tell you.

This is my job, people. This is my job.

Posted by Taylor on March 12, 2005 @ 7:13 pm

Yep!

I'm joing The Polyphonic Spree, just as I'd anticipated!

Posted by Taylor on March 11, 2005 @ 12:03 pm

Today that weird-ish co-worker of mine who makes the big stinkies in the bathroom was wearing a shirt.

It was red and it was black and it was plaid. I told The Boss Lady that it was the type of shirt that you can only wear if you're a) chopping wood, b) listening to The Indigo Girls, or c) chopping wood while listening to The Indigo Girls. This was right after I made The Boss Lady some really hot earrings out of the perforated edges with the little holes that you remove from either side of that really old printer paper, two paper clips, and some jewel-toned Crayola glitter glue.

I think tomorrow I'll make her some heels out of two tape dispensers, a pair of scissors, and a couple of manila folders. Office supply couture will be the wave of the future, I tell you.

Posted by Taylor on March 08, 2005 @ 9:28 pm

Kevin over at the admissions department at that one school called my cell phone while I was at work.

That very flirty boy called me at work today. He was just calling to let me know that he'd found my application and that I should be hearing back from the school in a couple weeks re: yea or nae.

I've already come to terms with the fact that I'm not getting into an art school any time soon. Worry not, though, for I have just made an alternate plan. I'm going to run off and join The Polyphonic Spree. You know The Polyphonc Spree, don't you? I remember when J came back from the David Bowie concert here in town and told me about the really bizarre group that had opened. He told me that there were about 30 of them (24 in actuality), they all wore white robes, and they sang freakishly cheerful songs (I later learned that I knew them from an iPod/VW Bug commercial from a few years back).

So, yeah. I'm totally going to join up with them. I just watched a 30-minute concert of theirs on TV. I'm not going to lie to you. This is something I can do. Not just do, but do well. I say this because they're awful. Everything about them is awful. None of them can sing (not even the lead singer who looks a lot like Jesus with a perm) and none of the musicians can really play. I haven't touched an oboe in 4 years, but believe you me, that shouldn't be a problem for The Polyphonic Spree.

Or I could just become a member of their little back-up choir. I watched their choreography. The head bob. The to and fro sway. The high-step march. The 'round and 'round spin. Check, check, check, and check.

If they don't take me in as a performer (although, there are so many of them I bet I could just hide somewhere in between the girl with the frizzy red hair and the french horn player and they'd never even know I was there) I suppose I could write for them. Here's a little something I just came up with that would be perfect for The Polyphonic Spree:

The sun is shining/
It makes me smile/
The rain is falling/
It makes me happy/
La dee doo dee daaaaa

The sun is shining/
It makes me smile/
I'm happy 'cuz I'm smiling/
I'm smiling 'cuz I'm happy/
Dee doo bee boo deeeeee

I'm just relieved to have a back-up plan, people, because heaven knows I need one.

Posted by Taylor on March 04, 2005 @ 9:49 pm

I work with a woman.

She is 60. I know this because the scary man with the Chester the Molester mustache who shovels the snow and empties my trash can said that he was born in 51 and she said that she was born 6 years earlier. I used my super-duper mathematical skills of wonder to come up with 60 years of age. Anyway, she's 60 and she makes really big stinkies in the ladies' room.

I didn't know anything about the stinkies in the ladies' room until this last week. Apparently, every morning, when she stands up and announces "Bathrooooooom!" and disappears for 15-20 minutes she's either dealing with some serious Gastroenterological problems or mixing noxious chemicals. The Boss Lady said she walked by once and thought that maybe someone had brought the dumpster inside the building.

I feel most deeply, though, for the 3 lovely girls from the classified department. The ladies' room is actually in their office area. Let's face it: It's one thing to smell the stinkies of one of your beloved co-workers, but another thing entirely to be forced to endure the stinkies of the weird-ish old lady from the department next door.

In one personal account one of the girls told me that her eyes literally tear every morning. The smell actually makes her eyes water. Another girl told me that she has, on several occasions, gagged herself into fits of dry-heaving. They have to open up every door and window just to air the joint out.

So, because I feel bad that my co-worker is dropping bombs on their side of the floor, I fashioned little gas masks for each girl out of a coffee filter and an elastic. A peace offering of sorts. Maybe not the most successful peace offering but I had only the best intentions.

To make a stinky story short, I noticed today that she hasn't gotten up and stated "Bathrooooom!" in three days. I fear for the lives of the classified girls. One of these days she's going to have to go real bad and blow a hole right through the wall, killing each of those three lovely girls. Either that or the stink is going to be so bad that it will burn their pretty eyebrows right off.

Posted by Taylor on March 02, 2005 @ 8:05 pm