Friday, January 22, 2010

When Friday Attacks!

Something told me to stay in bed this morning. Okay, it was Sam, and he was lying across me as if warning me that I would be harmed in some way if I got out of bed. Sam weighs seventy pounds. I would be harmed if I let a dog that size lay on my chest for very long. Sam, Sam, the Happy Hound. I shooed Sam away and began my journey into the great unknown that is each and every day.
Someone called the office about some debris on a road and because so many of the men ( and women) who go out and remove debris from roads were up all night during the flooding, I more or less volunteered to go out and remove the debris. How long could it possibly take? I took one other person with me, and a pitchfork, just in case, and off we went. Meanwhile, my W-2 form has taken flight. I am assigned to one office, I’m working out of another, and no one seems to know where the hell I am unless there is some debris in the road. I try to pin someone down who has actually seen the W-2, knows where it is, and will leave it where I can find it if I come get it.
There isn’t debris in the road. The flooding came rushing out of a field’s entrance and the better part of the Sahara desert washed out into the road. I look at the pitchfork and realize only as an instrument of suicide will it be useful, and not really very efficient at that. We call in for some sort of earth moving equipment, and wait. An hour later, when someone with a backhoe does arrive, I flag traffic for the guy. I can direct traffic with the very best of them. It isn’t rocket science here, kids. When you see signs indicating there is work ahead, and there is a big piece of machinery in the road, and there is some guy waving a sign that reads “STOP!” in the air, you might think that slowing down just a little might be the thing to do. Some chick in a Toyota Camry doesn’t. She heads towards me at sixty miles an hour. One hundred feet away I realize she isn’t going to stop and I bail, yelling. I hope everyone else hears me, sees her, and can get the hell out of the way. At the last moment she starts braking, but she’s already twenty feet past where I was standing before I had to exit, stage left. The guy on the backhoe sees all this and he’s looking for another area code to be in. The guy flagging the other end is on the phone to the cops, just in case this is a drunk. The woman, seeing how I’ve gotten off the road, assumes it’s okay and continues on her merry.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch.

I do not have to watch the office very often but no sooner do I step in and explain what a terrible day I’m having than everyone else leaves and I’m stuck answering the phone. One of my co-workers disguises his voice so he sounds like he was rejected from Green Acres for being too big a hick, and calls me. He tells me his goats are in the road and he wants someone to come and help get them off the road, and of course I bite into this and tell him I’ll call someone who can tell him if we can help or not, being there are his goats, I suspect not. The hick giggles and I realize I’ve been had, I hang up, and laughter breaks out in the other side of the office. Ten minutes later a man with a terrible stutter calls and tells me there’s a dead deer in the road. Yeah, right. I recognize this for what it is so I tell him whoever finds the deer has to keep him, and it ought to make great eating, too. Furthermore, if it isn’t in too bad of a shape, he ought to skin it out and make some clothes of it. As I hang up I listen for the laughter on the other side of the office and there is none. I creep back to discover the people who are left are engrossed in looking at some plans and are seriously not playing on the phone. Hoe. Lee. Shit.

Remember the W-2 forms?

Someone picked up my W-2s and took them to the wrong office, the wrong office called me and asked me where I was, and I told them cleaning up the Sahara with a pitchfork, sent someone to District to leave the W-2s there, didn’t tell me they were doing this, so later in the day someone in District was going down to the wrong office anyway, saw the W-2s and in a friendly gesture decided to deliver them, and called me to tell me the forms were on the way, and I assume they were headed for the right office, so when he got to the wrong office and told them he had already spoken with me about it, they just assumed I knew where he was headed but I didn’t have a clue and then someone tried to kill me with a Camry so I didn’t think about again until after the Dead Deer Dilemma and by the time I tracked down where the W-2s were it was too late to go get them until Monday, ruining my chances for filing today, or getting the info to the person who does my taxes until I can go get the forms and drive them around myself for a change.

Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, what did you think of the play?

Take Care,
Mike

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