Don’t Get Angry. Get Published.

One of Dildo’s myriad complaints about me was that I was a bad keeper of information: I didn’t write shit down; I lost the paper onto which I wrote the shit; I forgot to cross off the shit once I finally did it; and on and on and on.  There is some merit to his claims.  I need only present my dubious achievements at my very first legal job as evidence. 

I was hired as a receptionist for a small law firm.  It is, by the by, a bonafide occupational qualification that a receptionist be able to write down telephone numbers in the exact sequence given.  Lawyers get frustrated when hearing about a wealthy, potential client’s legal woes including relevant names and dates and can’t call the person back because their receptionist fucked up the phone number.  It does not ameliorate their frustration to hear, “Well. I got the area code right. So we went from 10 billion possible numeric combinations to only 10 million.”  I lasted until noon my first day.  I was fired at lunch over enchiladas and margaritas.

Dyslexia not withstanding, they kept me on at the firm as a runner.  It is, by the by, a bonafide occupational qualification that a runner be able to drive one’s car in a manner that does not routinely involve an accident reconstructionist. I prospered in this position until the very moment I got distracted and crashed my car at 60 mph into the side of a bus causing the 1000 page client file I was taking to be copied to reorganize itself across a four lane highway, a median, two grassy embankments, and inside the bus I hit.  The only thing that couldn’t be blamed on me that day, was the wind conditions.  I recall they factored strongly in the rearrangement of Mr. Burgen’s file.  In FAA-speak, I left a debris field.

Legal litter notwithstanding, they kept me on at the firm as an assistant to a legal assistant.  It is, by the by, a bonafide occupational qualification that an assistant to a legal assistant be able to make friends with all the office equipment.  It wasn’t necessarily my five words per minute typing skills, nor my creative filing system (articles about Internal Revenue Code changes should be filed under “I”, for IRC Articles and not “E” for Educational Material.) but, the slight misunderstanding I had with the new copier, that put the nail in my career coffin.  Whatever I was doing to the poor machine caused it to overheat and stop working.  This set off a chain of events that started with the copier exhaling its last breath, a la Puff the Magic Dragon, and ended with the building being evacuated.  Some where in between the first puff of smoke and the curb,  innocent computers lost their lives, the fire department identified the source of the debacle, and I got fired.

I have, I must admit, always wanted to redeem myself for my shoddy performance at that firm.  I rarely touch copiers any more, and when I do, it is with the deepest respect.  I do my best to pay attention when driving, and except for a very few minor fender-benders and that one time I when I monster-trucked it on top of another car, I am fit for the road.  For years redemption for my work as a receptionist eluded me.  I never imagined divorcing Dildo would give me the opportunity to shuck the title of World’s Shittiest Receptionist.  

When couples split, one keeps the home phone number.  I am the keeper.  All keepers have the unpleasant task of acting as receptionist for their ex. I was no exception. I diligently took and passed on messages for months.  This is tedious and Heaven knows how I hate the mundane.  There are only so many messages from dentists, aunts, and credit cards a girl can take before she wants to break a pencil.  Pencils possessing both lead and an eraser are a rare find in my house so it didn’t make a whole lot of sense to go breaking them.  But, I needed an outlet.  Hummm. Surely there is a way I can entertain myself, annoy Dildo, and still credibly execute my duties as a message taker.   Where there is a will, there is a way. 

MESSAGE: Ira
HR called about the incident in the men’s room.  It won’t go in your file.  But, if you could just please do that at home.
LD

MESSAGE: Ira
Derrik called.  Last night was wild.  You give new meaning to “flying the friendly skies”.  He’ll buzz you the next time he’s in on a lay over.
LD

MESSAGE: Ira
Michael Bolton called.  He wants his hair back.
LD

MESSAGE: Ira
Sugar Daddy Jones called.  He said you jacked his pimp rims and he’s gonna fuck you up unless you give ‘em back, you bitch!
LD

MESSAGE: Ira
Abercrombie & Fitch called.  You’re really not what they are looking for in a male model.  But, they’ll pass your headshot on to The Men’s Warehouse.
LD

MESSAGE: Ira
Locks of Love called.  It’s time for your annual shoulder hair donation.
LD

MESSAGE: Ira
The book store called.  Love Addiction, There is Hope, Hip Hop for Dummies, and When I Look in the Mirror, Daily Affirmations for the Narcissist are in. 
LD

MESSAGE: Ira
Your therapist called.  The sexual identity support group meets Wednesdays at 6:00.  She hopes to see you there!
LD

MESSAGE: Ira
Your tailor called.  He apologizes.  There’s really not a way to make your suits any shinier.
LD

MESSAGE: Ira
The pharmacy called.  Your special order is in.  The youth, extra small condoms are at the front waiting for you.
LD

MESSAGE: Ira
Ashley called.  Prom does starts at 7:00.  But, sorry.  She can’t date until she’s 16.
LD

MESSAGE: Ira
Leather and Lace called.  No.  You can’t return the leather chaps after you have worn them.
LD

MESSAGE: Ira
Get Longer Today called.  The devices come in red and blue.  What color do you want your penis enlarger?
LD

MESSAGE: Ira
The Hair Club for Men called.  They are running a special this month.  Maybe this time it will take.
LD

MESSAGE: Ira
Adonis Plastic Surgery called to confirm your appointment.  Your buttock implant consultation is Thursday at noon.
LD

MESSAGE: Ira
The Mercedes dealership called.  They can do the gold trim, the silver subwoofers, and the black, pimp-inspired rims.  But, they can’t get you a red, patent nogahide interior.
LD

MESSAGE: Ira
1 Hour Photo called.  Sorry.  They can’t develop THOSE kinds of pictures there.  They suggested going digital.
LD

MESSAGE: Ira
The jewelry store called.  Your gold necklaces and matching bracelets are finally in.  Sorry it took so long.  Nugget chain is hard to find these days.
LD

MESSAGE: Ira
Saks called.  They do have low rise jeans for men and can assist you in an appropriate choice of underwear for them.
LD

MESSAGE: Ira
Your doctor called.  Why don’t you come on in so he can take a look at those sores? 
LD

MESSAGE: Ira
Isaac Hayes called.  He wants his shirts back.
LD

MESSAGE: Ira
The antique appraiser called.  No.  It’s not the real Constitution.  Even though it is on fancy paper, it’s still a photocopy.
LD

Despite all this effort, Dildo never got the message!

This entry was posted on Tuesday, December 9th, 2008 at 9:56 am. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can also trackback from your own site.