Tag: random

Tax Night

After I left the gym tonight, I went by the downtown post office as I do every year on tax night. It was a madhouse, as usual, but I didn’t shoot any photos this time. The traffic lines were not conducive toward being able to pull over anywhere and park. Wouldn’t you think with three extra days people might have been a bit more timely with their returns?

Doodling

Are you a doodler? I doodle when talking on the phone. I don’t talk on the phone a lot, because I mostly don’t enjoy it. Especially when I worked for That Major Corporation and often had to be on conference calls. To keep myself from becoming agitated, I usually played games of solitaire on my computer while enduring those bouts of torment. But then management had IT run a program to see what all the employees were doing on their computers, and I got in trouble for playing solitaire. That was, oh, a LITTLE annoying, since at the time, I was working sixty-hour weeks and filling in WITHOUT COMPENSATION for my manager, who was on maternity leave. So I asked IT to take solitaire off my computer, and also take away my access to the Internet. No temptations for me! I went back to the old-fashioned pen or pencil means of doing something with my hands while being forced to listen to phone conversations in which I had no interest and that had nothing to do with my job.

Even though my phone use these days is limited to being on hold while calling businesses and waiting for a real person to talk to me, or having conversations with people I actually enjoy talking with, I still like to doodle while I’m on the phone. I figure I may as well make my doodling worthwhile, so I keep my angel books and a container of colored pencils nearby.

Done!

I did it. I was up until 6 a.m., but I managed to get my paperwork in order. Then, after a few hours of sleep, I took it all to the accountant. It’s out of my hands! It feels almost as good as getting a manuscript in the mail after a wee-hours run to the post-office-that’s-no-longer-open-24/7. Hey, maybe it’s that post office’s fault that I can only write in fits and starts these days. Bring back my 2 a.m. sure thing, Universe!

After the accountant, I cheated on Starbucks with a quick stop at Jack in the Box for an iced coffee. I know! I feel so guilty. However, their drive-through has its advantages, like this sign I shot:

This reminds me that I recently met, through a mutual friend, a young woman who works at Jack in the Box. When I heard this about her, I said, “Oh, REALLY? Well, I don’t know about YOUR Jack in the Box…”

At this point, I could see her bracing herself for some bitchy customer rant.

I continued, “…but I swear they give good drugs to their employees at the two Jacks closest to me, because I LOVE the women who work there.” And it’s true. They’re always happy, always nice. And even though I really, really try to limit fast food runs, sometimes I go there just because I know someone will make me smile. Today was no exception.

This is not an invitation to hear sucky Jack in the Box stories. Let me have my illusion that Jack in the Box is the hamburgery version of Candy Mountain. Only without kidney thieves.

Sorry, wrong number

This morning I had a message from a business in Illinois. They were trying to reach someone who’d called them after hours and must have misspoken her phone number, giving them mine. It’s probably dorky, but I always return those calls to tell them they reached my number by mistake. At least it gives them a shot at trying again to connect with the right caller.

This morning I’m glad I did, because the person I talked to had the best Midwestern accent–she sounded a lot like Rose Nylund from “Golden Girls,” but she sounded even more like my late friend Steve R’s mother–super pleasant voice with a lilt, great phone etiquette. It made me happy just to talk to her.