Showing posts with label senior citizens. Show all posts
Showing posts with label senior citizens. Show all posts
28 January 2008
Last night-
I had a dream about my long-dead grandfather. It wasn't sappy or unsettling. We didn't even talk to eachother that much. He kept on trying to take over the world with the help of his half dinosaur/half human hench-men.
13 December 2007
Unsolicited Sex Advice from Neighborhood Senior Citizen Women: Part 2
“I know my kinks would scare any sane person. But if I continue with my boyfriend’s vanilla tendencies then I’ll have to cheat! How can I possibly scratch my itch and still stay committed?”
1. Esther, who owns six bibles: Don’t worry about being subtle. You already know he’s attracted to you, so make sure he knows what turns you on. And don’t forget the power of Christian music! If you play “I get on my knees” when you two go into the bedroom, then he’ll know what to do.
FYI: Don’t use “Washed by the Blood of the Lamb.” Let me tell you from experience, lamb’s blood is plain unsanitary. There’s a difference between dirty sexy and just dirty.
2. Lila, who owns six cats: If he isn’t fulfilling your needs, then why do you want to stay with him? If he doesn’t love you for whom you are, then move on to the next one. Or buy a cat!
3. Mona, who owns six men: Introduce your kink gradually into a sexy conversation, while making sure to ask your partner what he would like to do to spice up your sex life as well. If you turn the conversation into foreplay, then you have just associated your kink with sex in your partner’s mind. And after you’ve opened that door, make sure to incorporate your kink gradually. If he lets you do it with your bat mask, it won’t be long before you wear the matching outfits you just spent 200 dollars on. By the way, you shouldn’t leave your receipts on the counter when company comes over.
11 December 2007
Unsolicited Sex Advice from Neighborhood Senior Citizen Women: Part 1
It happens. You’re on your cell, talking over your current sexual woes privately to a more experienced confidant and the Bush administration. When you turn the corner though, you find the old woman knitting a sweater with a grin on her face larger than the time your parents sent the “Number 1 Grandma” shirt. To your horror, granny doesn’t take your hints when you ask if her hearing aid was off. Instead, she pictures herself as a regular Sue Johanson and begins to impart advice about how to deal with your current significant other…
“Every time I mention having a threesome, my girlfriend looks disgusted and won’t even discuss it. How can I get her to see my side?”
1. Esther, the deacon’s wife: Oh, honey, have you tried referencing Genesis in conversations? If it was good enough for Abraham then it’s good enough for my little sweetie. Also, ask your girlfriend if she really wants to live biblical lifestyle. That always worked for me.
2. Lila, the cat lady: If she isn’t fulfilling your needs, then why are you dating her? If she doesn’t love you for whom you are, then move on to the next one. Or buy a cat!
3. Mona, former professional divorcee: First, bring it into conversations as hypothetical. “If one would have a threesome, then there should not be any kissing on the mouth. Don’t you agree?” By bouncing ideas around, you will set up the ground rules for the two of you. If that doesn’t work (and even if it does work), stress that no one could replace the love you have for her. The other person that you both decide on is an accessory, not a partner. Plus, you get to bang the other chick without consequences.
29 November 2007
Two Weeks Notice: Part 2
Monday September 10:
I have fifteen minutes to kill, so off to the library I go. The library is the most useful building on campus. I have yet to check out a book. Last week, I went inside the library to use the reading rooms as napping rooms like normal. But when I left, to my horror, part of the huge field of dirt had been covered by grass. Many universities have scenic views. But we had a huge field of dirt. It made us unique. I miss it.
At 3:15, I leave the library to go to work. At 3:50, I’m clocked in and ready to take calls. For some reason, Karyn, the benign sixty-something woman who occupies the cubicle across from me, didn’t go to work. Is she sick? Or on vacation? Did she quit? I don’t think she would, even though she was as fed up with the campaign change as much as I was. I look around for familiar faces and I don’t see Thin Blonde Bitch as well. Thin Blonde Bitch is aptly named because one night she had an 18 minute (I watched the clock) diatribe concerning every detail of this job. Also, she once attacked a vending machine that wouldn’t take her dollar. I keep my distance.
Since Karyn’s gone, Laura and Tim are the only employees in my campaign that started working here before me. The twenty-two others were all hired within the last three months. Also, there are three new people in the monitoring room tonight, listening in to everyone in a sales campaign. Once this becomes common knowledge, Laura promptly says “Screw this!” and takes off. Tim ditches as well, leaving me as the sole veteran of the campaign.
While we are monitored, we can be written up every time we don’t rebut. Rebuttals usually go like this:
Lead: I’m not interested.
Me: Well, actually you are interested because this is a great deal!
Lead: No!
Me: Yes! Let me sign you up!
Lead: (Sigh) Okay.
If one can fake sincerity while being aggressive, people will immediately cave. One night I made 18 sales (back when the goal was 9) simply because I overdosed on Claritin-D and inadvertently sounded like I cared. Tonight, I’m too tired to exhibit faux-sincerity. The customers misinterpret my lackluster rebuttals as signs of a pushy salesman, when in fact I deliberately speak to them in the least convincing manner. However, since I say a rebuttal, I can’t be written up. This way I don’t have to list ‘terminated’ on any future applications.
In one of my last calls, a guy tells me that he wants to decrease his bill. I was supposed to say to him that the deal would save him five dollars but instead I explained what he was paying for HBO and Starz. Then I gave him the customer service number where he could get rid of them. So instead of making the company another ten dollars a month, I cost them twenty-five. So it goes. My shift ends at 10:40. On my way home, I maintain a steady 70mph and hit my driveway at 11:10. Counterproductively, it then takes my brain over an hour to fall asleep.
Wednesday, September 12:
At school today, I ran into Rachel, a girl I known since Kindergarten. She’s a commuter as well. We’ve gone to the same elementary, junior, and high schools. Now we’ve managed to end up at the same university. All our conversations tend to follow the same pattern. There’s an inevitable reference to our six-year-old selves and the awareness that we have occupied the opposite sides of the same building most of our lives. But it is always nice to catch up.
We ran out of leads tonight. So for about twenty minutes we have nothing to do. I end up talking to another Rachel (This one is in her forties), who is sitting next to me. We exchange office gossip about how we’re supposed to go home at ten, or at least that’s what they told us when we were hired. Apparently, a few employees have alerted corporate about the deception. Exactly two seconds after Rachel informed me of this, we got to go home half an hour early. Sometimes life hands me a present. Sometimes I get to have eight hours of sleep.
Friday September 14:
Next week I have an Ethics essay exam on Tuesday, a Humanities paper due on Wednesday, a Physics exam on Wednesday, and a Psychology exam on Thursday. It is also my last week at work, so Sunday, Monday, and Wednesday I’ll have no time to do the necessary studying. Additionally, I’m using this journal as a means of procrastination. I really should be writing that paper.
At work, Karyn and Thin Blonde Bitch returned, so I guess they didn’t quit. I made a big bad nine sales. I was supposed to make thirteen. At one point, I closed my eyes for an hour, only opening them to glance at the lead’s name and price information. I’m such a hard worker.
I only have four more days left at this job. I have no idea what I’m going to do with myself afterwards, but I also have no idea how I’m going to survive next week. I need to stop procrastinating.
I have fifteen minutes to kill, so off to the library I go. The library is the most useful building on campus. I have yet to check out a book. Last week, I went inside the library to use the reading rooms as napping rooms like normal. But when I left, to my horror, part of the huge field of dirt had been covered by grass. Many universities have scenic views. But we had a huge field of dirt. It made us unique. I miss it.
At 3:15, I leave the library to go to work. At 3:50, I’m clocked in and ready to take calls. For some reason, Karyn, the benign sixty-something woman who occupies the cubicle across from me, didn’t go to work. Is she sick? Or on vacation? Did she quit? I don’t think she would, even though she was as fed up with the campaign change as much as I was. I look around for familiar faces and I don’t see Thin Blonde Bitch as well. Thin Blonde Bitch is aptly named because one night she had an 18 minute (I watched the clock) diatribe concerning every detail of this job. Also, she once attacked a vending machine that wouldn’t take her dollar. I keep my distance.
Since Karyn’s gone, Laura and Tim are the only employees in my campaign that started working here before me. The twenty-two others were all hired within the last three months. Also, there are three new people in the monitoring room tonight, listening in to everyone in a sales campaign. Once this becomes common knowledge, Laura promptly says “Screw this!” and takes off. Tim ditches as well, leaving me as the sole veteran of the campaign.
While we are monitored, we can be written up every time we don’t rebut. Rebuttals usually go like this:
Lead: I’m not interested.
Me: Well, actually you are interested because this is a great deal!
Lead: No!
Me: Yes! Let me sign you up!
Lead: (Sigh) Okay.
If one can fake sincerity while being aggressive, people will immediately cave. One night I made 18 sales (back when the goal was 9) simply because I overdosed on Claritin-D and inadvertently sounded like I cared. Tonight, I’m too tired to exhibit faux-sincerity. The customers misinterpret my lackluster rebuttals as signs of a pushy salesman, when in fact I deliberately speak to them in the least convincing manner. However, since I say a rebuttal, I can’t be written up. This way I don’t have to list ‘terminated’ on any future applications.
In one of my last calls, a guy tells me that he wants to decrease his bill. I was supposed to say to him that the deal would save him five dollars but instead I explained what he was paying for HBO and Starz. Then I gave him the customer service number where he could get rid of them. So instead of making the company another ten dollars a month, I cost them twenty-five. So it goes. My shift ends at 10:40. On my way home, I maintain a steady 70mph and hit my driveway at 11:10. Counterproductively, it then takes my brain over an hour to fall asleep.
Wednesday, September 12:
At school today, I ran into Rachel, a girl I known since Kindergarten. She’s a commuter as well. We’ve gone to the same elementary, junior, and high schools. Now we’ve managed to end up at the same university. All our conversations tend to follow the same pattern. There’s an inevitable reference to our six-year-old selves and the awareness that we have occupied the opposite sides of the same building most of our lives. But it is always nice to catch up.
We ran out of leads tonight. So for about twenty minutes we have nothing to do. I end up talking to another Rachel (This one is in her forties), who is sitting next to me. We exchange office gossip about how we’re supposed to go home at ten, or at least that’s what they told us when we were hired. Apparently, a few employees have alerted corporate about the deception. Exactly two seconds after Rachel informed me of this, we got to go home half an hour early. Sometimes life hands me a present. Sometimes I get to have eight hours of sleep.
Friday September 14:
Next week I have an Ethics essay exam on Tuesday, a Humanities paper due on Wednesday, a Physics exam on Wednesday, and a Psychology exam on Thursday. It is also my last week at work, so Sunday, Monday, and Wednesday I’ll have no time to do the necessary studying. Additionally, I’m using this journal as a means of procrastination. I really should be writing that paper.
At work, Karyn and Thin Blonde Bitch returned, so I guess they didn’t quit. I made a big bad nine sales. I was supposed to make thirteen. At one point, I closed my eyes for an hour, only opening them to glance at the lead’s name and price information. I’m such a hard worker.
I only have four more days left at this job. I have no idea what I’m going to do with myself afterwards, but I also have no idea how I’m going to survive next week. I need to stop procrastinating.
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