I am an office manager for an small biomedical company in Oak Ridge, Tennessee.  We are not a million dollar baby.  We are not listed as one of the top companies in the Fortune 500.  We are of no consequence to anyone, really.   That is, anyone but those damn telemarketers, who seem to call more than our customers do.  Until the past two days, the last statement was strictly a sarcastic theory.

I have made it my goal in life to give every telemarketer that calls our office so much shit, that they will beg the powers that be to take our multiple phone numbers off of the automated speedy dialer set up they utilize.

I have found out that the low level asshat that initiates this variety of phone call is generally a mega wuss.  Scary Diva puts fear in them and they automatically put me through to a supervisor.  Which is fine by me, that’s who I’d prefer to bitch at anyway.

The typical call is as follows:

Asshat:  Hello, ma’am.  I am calling today on behalf of BellSouth.

Me: You’re calling on behalf of BellSouth?  Are you BellSouth or some poor schmuck hired by BellSouth to take this ass whipping?

Asshat:  We are contracted by BellSouth to contact existing customers with this exciting..

Me:  Let me guess, an exciting new plan?

Asshat:  Yes, ma’am.   We are…

Me:   Stop right there.  What is the name of your company?

Asshat:  (will name off whatever company of the day is)

Me:  And what is your name, please?

Asshat:  I can not disclose my name.

Me:  You can’t disclose your name?  Where is your supervisor?

Asshat:  I don’t understand, ma’am.

Me:  Your supervisor,  your boss.  Please put them on the phone.

Asshat:  One moment.

Asshat supervisor: I understand there is a problem here?

Me:  You could call it that.   When I get more calls a day from people like you bogging down my phone lines than I do from my customers, that is a major problem for me.

Assshat supervisor:  Let me explain why…

Me:  No!  Let me explain to you.  What is YOUR name.  I have your company name.

Asshat supervisor:  (rambles off a name)

Me:  Okay.  Now, I would like this to be recorded.  Am I being recorded for quality and training purposes, pal?

Asshat supervisor:  Yes, ma’am.

Me:  Then understand this.  I am keeping your name, the name of your company, the time and date that I spoke with you.  I would like you to remove our phone numbers from your database.  I would like to cease communication from your company.  Do you understand?

Asshat supervisor:  Yes.  We will remove you immediately.

Me:  Great.  Because we report companies that do not remove us from their call lists/databases after we request it.  I now have everything I need to report your company to the FCC for furthering communications after being asked to stop.

So, the story goes.  Of course, the FCC doesn’t do shit for a body.  You call, register a complaint, and nothing happens. But, it sure is alot of fun to harass the shit out of someone who’s job it is to harass the shit out of me.

The top of my “I HATE THESE GUYS” list is Bell South, followed ever so closely by Birch Telecom.

I also despise all of these shipping companies who try to out screw each other for the tidbit of business they might be able to get.  Of which, my response is always,  “If I’m gonna get screwed by a freight company, I’m sticking with UPS because our driver is freakin hot.  But thank you for calling and trying to win my business!  If you’d like to send some hot drivers over here for inspection, I might consider giving you my business, but I warn you.  Our UPS guy will be hard to beat.”

Have a great dessert day, pal.

     Ya know, I have a lotta friend.  If we’re gonna co-ordinate a ride-a-long, I expect a lotta things.  Some people are gonna be there.  Last night, I co-ordinated a ride home, which, of course, didn’t happen.

     Can you say “FLAKES,” boys and girls?  (Yes, MULTIPLE.)

     I knew you could.

     Most of my friends are pretty responsible.  But I have others who are, for lack of a better word, flakes.  Sure, they can write a blog about how apologetic they are about whatever they’ve done most recently, but damned if they’ll ever just come out and tell me…. It counts just a little more.
     I hate it, when I’m out with friends, and I have to put up with the constantly vibrating text alerts asking for advice about ridiculous things.  “What should I do?  What should I say?  Where should I go?”

     Now, notice it’s only 11PM.

     *shrug*

     I would so love to be an irresponsible prick now and again, and not have to take any responsibility for my own actions.  Instead, I usually end up doing all the hand-holding.
     Now, the addendum to that is … I made the decision to trust the flakes,  anyway.  And, I sincerely hope the idiots got home okay.  *shakes head*

     Me, I made sure I did and got another ride.

     Apparently, this nutjob, California Tae Kwon Do-mom would like the Cops to enforce “Your Way, Right Away” at Burger King…

     “Ma’am, we’re not going to go down there and enforce your Western Bacon Cheeseburger … that’s not a criminal issue.”
     Fortunately, her calling 911 and tying up resources is a criminal issue.  Unfortunately, they apparently didn’t bother to arrest her.  That might have taught her kids not to be such spoiled little brats.

     What do you bet she was driving a mini-van?

     In a weird way, it reminded me of an EMS training call from Houston several years ago.  (Language Alert! — but it’s soooooo worth it)

     The original was sped up before considerably before being broadcast on the Art Bell Show (remember him?), so the voices ended up sounding as far from their original southern drawl as possible…
     Several operators who received the training call were unsure whether or not the event was real, which makes it even better.  This is what a good EMS Intructor should do — it weeds out those operators who can’t handle the stress. 

     “I need a bambi-lance!” 

     Preferably long enough to kill a deer…

Tip: Fracas

     What if …

     You move into a house with the intention of buying the place.  The landlord still has stuff there, and promises to come back and get it all out.  Eight months pass, it’s all still there, and the landlord has never bothered to do anything as far as your purchase of the house, either.
     All of a sudden, the landlord gives you ten days to vacate.  Nine days later, the landlord, who lives two states away, shows up and tells you the house will be sold.  You ask, “How much?  I wanna buy it.”
     The landlord replies, “No, you can’t have it.  No, I don’t want your money.  You’ve never paid me a dime!”
     The landlord is clearly insane.

     While you’re gone, the landlord moves into a bedroom.  The landlord throws away a bunch of your things while you’re gone, moves a bunch of things, breaks some things.
     Dumbfounded, you wonder what’s going on.  The landlord gloats, “I broke things?  Well, I’d hate to have to move your television, your computers.  They’re very expensive!”

     You’ve paid your rent.  You’ve kept the place up.  You’ve mowed the yard.  You’ve paid the utility bills, and kept everything up to date.  You’ve made friends with the neighbors, even helped them with some home repairs in a crunch.

     So what do ya do?

     And does it change things if said landlord is the person who gave birth to you?
     Some people you trust, and don’t think you need to get receipts from.  This just goes to show you that trust like that is extremely stupid.

     It was smart-ass-ness that made me do it.

     New Blogroll section at right…

     Some days I think: Estrogen makes people crazy.  Some go insane for having it, and others go insane for putting up with the ones who have it.   

     There’s some proof to it, too.  Just look at space shuttle astronaut Lisa “Robochick” Nowak.  She was charged with attempted murder and accused of plotting to kidnap Colleen Shipman, who she believed was messing with “her boyfriend,” space shuttle pilot William “Billy-O” Oefelein.

     Estrogen, all the way.

     The last few months, I’ve had a lot of great experiences with women.  Paramount of these has been talking to ex-wives and ex-girlfriends, and just kind of making sure the air’s totally clear.  One hundred percent closure, making sure we’ve said all that we ever needed to say to one another, and generally cutting through the years of crap and getting back to the business of being friends again.
     I’ve hung out with the usual suspects, as well, and generally had a great time.  Pirate Chicks rule, because we get together, laugh at everything, and pretty no subject is sacred.  No drama, so for the most part, they don’t really fit inside the Estrogen-Crazy bubble.  Yay!

     So here’s the weird stuff from the last week:

• A young girl decided to create overly dramatic situations involving violence towards other people, just to see how I’d react.  Me, being old, realized it for what it was.  I died laughing as I walked away.
• A bartender/server decided to sit down uninvited, start flipping her drink on me, calling me names, and when I decided I’d had enough (I was mean back — heh), she decided to say I’d poured a drink on her (never happened!) and send out a couple of guys to attempt to cause me physical harm.  Laughed all the way to the car.
• A pretty hot one my age decided to get all weird, complaining that she’s boring, not very smart and too old.  “Oh, and I’m fat.  I need to lose weight.”  At that point, I couldn’t help but laughing at her 115 pound, skinny butt, and of course, she got more than a little pissed off.  She told me to copulate myself, or words to that effect.

     Ones like that are pretty easy to just walk away from.  Drama, drama, and more drama.  Life’s too short.

     Sometimes, tho, it’s people you care about.  Friends you’ve known for years, people you talk to on a regular basis.  You let your guard down with them.
     Last Saturday was a case in point why I shouldn’t.

     I liked hanging out with “Elle” for a couple of weeks, getting to know her.  She was good fun, enjoyed movies and we could pretty much talk about anything.
     Eventually, though, the conversation became nothing but self deprecation on her part, having an extremely poor opinion of herself.
     Me being a guy, and wanting to fix things rather than listening to constant complaining, I reminded her about what she’s accomplished in her life, the fact that she’s a beautiful woman, and that she needs to just relax and take things as they come.
     Of course, she felt that this proved her point that I’m ”smarter” than her, and that she’s “an idiot,” and I’m “a jerk” for making her feel so stupid.
     Finally, I just told her:

If you wanna get along, we’ll get along. If something isn’t working, I’ll try and fix it. But don’t you dare come over here and kick me in the balls for caring enough to try and make you feel good about yourself.

     Sad, really.  I liked her, and she didn’t.  You can’t do anything with that.
     Haven’t heard from her since.

     Later that day, I was talking to a friend about it, and I’ve known her for about twelve years.  I was decidedly a little down about the whole Elle situation, which, according to the people I’m around most, just isn’t like me.
     “You don’t know how to date.  You never have.  You’re too sexual,” she says.
     When I consider that she’s been a friend for twelve years, and I’ve never been sexual with her, and she’s seen me go in and out of some pretty intense relationships, I couldn’t help but wonder what man pissed her off that day.
     “Hmm, okay,” I said.  “I guess ya never knew me.”
     I had to walk away and ponder that one.

     Next, I hit a few more of the same.  Grave “observations” about myself and my personality which were clearly aimed at someone else entirely.

     And then, finally, I was talking to “Kay” online.  We talk occasionally, haven’t ever dated or even talked about it.  But she came out with a winner.
     “You hate sex.”
     A minor argument ensued, and I said, “Ok, well, on that note, I’m gonna call it an early night.  I’ve had enough of that kinda thing today.”
     A little dishonest of me, perhaps, but I just wanted away from that silliness: I hung out with a couple of friends for rest of the night.  We discussed.  We laughed.  We always do. 

     The aftermath of the Kay-thing got funnier tonight, tho.  It has changed and twisted so many times over the last few hours that it’s hard to figure out, from moment to moment, what, specifically, she was angry about.
     It all started earlier tonight when she asked if I was “still in a grumpy mood” (which I wasn’t actually in one to begin with), and I responded laughing:

I was in a fine mood [Saturday night]. Just had four of “you people” (you ones with Estrogen) giving me shit that day, and I had more than I wanted or needed of those judgemental statements with no basis in reality.

     Well, apparently that was enough to set her off, even with the smiley, the subsequent laughter, and outright assuring her there was no mean-spirited intent to any of it.
     Estrogen Logic (the oxymoron) dictated that I was the one who was being grumpy the other night, since I didn’t feel like putting up with insults.
     It apparently also dictated a few other twisted things that made no sense, but I’ll digress them to her since I don’t understand them.
     I mean, I am male and all… *rolls eyes* 

     But all grumpiness aside, when she finally realized that I wasn’t really bothered (I didn’t care), it was the “judgemental statements with no basis in reality” wisecrack that really got to her.
     But, hey, she let me know that I live in a screwed up reality, where I’m an unhappy whiner who never has any fun.
     I’ll bet I would be, since I also “hate sex.” 

     WHO KNEW?!?!

     So I have to ask … I’m dying laughing the entire time I’m writing this, because, to me, it’s funny.
     Should I go over to these peoples’ houses and search their basements for Pods…?

     Nah … they’re tough girls.  They’ll probably get over it.

     Then I’ll laugh at them some more. 

     A few months ago, when Monty started to return, I thought, “Ya know, we need some women writing on this blog.”  

     I was reading through a lot of blogs on LiveJournal, and trying to find someone who’d “be able to inject a bit of estrogen into our otherwise male-dominated blog.”  When I found a suitable subject and asked her about writing here at Blogitude.com, she was initially interested, but serious ever came the conversation.

     Last night, I got an e-mail from her about a new post she’d written, and expressed interest in writing here.  And now … we’ve got a new writer!
     Welcome aboard, Kim!