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I'll Tell You What I'd Do Peter Man...Two Chicks At The Same Time

2004-02-19_xx_3:39 p.m.


Exotic accents and aromas make me tingle.

The accents come to mind as I just inadvertently put myself in a pickle that even the best base runner in Baseball would be hard pressed to get out of. A trio of agents that are not under my direct supervision, but in my department where outside swapping stories as we sucked down cancer sticks. The more boisterous of the two is an African-American woman in her late 30�s from Misery (Missouri). If she were more attractive, I would say LL Cool J had her in mind when he crooned that, �She walks with a switch and talks in street slang�; in a word, ghetto. I, of course, get along smashingly with her and this day we were discussing the merits in accented voices. We both mocked them their southern drawls and expressed preference to the direct and slightly more glottal tones of eastern seaboard linguistics. But the one that gets me going are European accents and with a far away twinkle of lust and longing gleaming from my eye, I dreamily droned on about various countries and the accented beauties that they produce. I stopped short after laughter permeated my waking dream and found the other two female agents, with whom I have never conversed with, laughing at me. Slightly red faced, I inquired as to their preference, if any and what on earth was so amusing.

The first busted out a southern drawl thicker than molasses in the wintertime and stated, �don�t worry darlin�us all down in the south don�t much like you�re surfer dude accent neither�, before retreating back inside.

The second quietly introduced herself in a thick accent stating that she hailed from not to be named European country and advised me she thought the �surfer dude� accent also was slightly ridiculous.

Tucking my tale between my legs, I retreated in defeat.

The scent part is pretty standard; most folks will have some sort of favorite type of odorific emanations that will make their biological functions�well�function. Catching a whiff of the right perfume, applied in the perfect amount as a slight breeze ruffles papers on your desk while you are deeply concentrating on some form of work or another is a welcome distraction. There are of course draw backs to having a cube that sits in the cross hairs of a major intersection of pedestrian traffic in this wonderful salute to corporate America at it�s worst.

That being the women that don the wrong perfume, in copious amounts and spray the shit in the air and then �walk through it� to achieve an all over smell. The burning sensation in the eyes, throat and nose are NOT a welcome distraction when I am attempting to defuse an angry customer, who is threatening to pull his account and dropping hints that he does a hardy business with us, which of course equals loss of major capital. We will call this gem the �Jersey Guy.� Jersey guy continuously insulted me, harassed my answers at every turn and made it virtually impossible for me to resolve any of the issues that he had, nor would he listen to any of my suggestions or explanations as to what had occurred for us to fail him so. He nitpicked my choice of words (QUIT APOLOGIZING AND DON�T CALL ME SIR), challenged my manhood (YOU MUST BE SOME KIND OF FAGGIT TO TALK ON THE PHONE ALL DAY), belittled my managerial skills (HOW IN THE FUCK DID YOU GET PUT IN CHARGE) and the means by which I obtained my position (YOU CERTAINLY MUST HAVE SUCKED A LOT OF COCK). The final straw occurred when he insulted my intelligence as follows: (LISTEN JERK OFF, YOU ARE A REAL PERSON RIGHT�RIGHT�*pausing dramatically and forcing me to respond*�GOOD, THEN START ACTING LIKE ONE, QUIT READING FROM A FREAKIN SCRIPT AND TELL ME SOMETHING THAT I HAVEN�T HEARD FROM YOU YET, FAG BOY).

It is my job to keep cool under pressure. I was hired into this position many years back because of my acute and detailed knowledge of the functions of this company and my steadfast resolve and unwavering control over my emotional responses in the face of even the most withering of verbal attacks. 99 times out of 100 I merely smirk and drone on until the customer calms down, hangs-up or flies off the handle enough for me to pass them up the chain of command. I have been called many things by my customers, for many years, multiple positions, with multiple companies. My past is littered with examples of extreme verbal abuse and I have mostly deadened myself to such innate banter.

However.

As I admitted to Jersey guy, I am a real person. And even the most mechanical and emotionally unresponsive of human beings will occasionally be subjected to raw, unbridled emotional outburst.

Pausing for effect, I carefully chose my words and responded in turn: �FUCK OFF YOU HOMOPHOBE & NO SIR, YOU WON�T FIND THAT ON ANY SCRIPT�

*CLICK*

***

Whom ever stole my Swingline stapler best return it�cuz if they don�t�I�ll�I�ll�I�ll� put cyanide in the guacamole�and�.and�and�I�ll�I�ll� set the building on fire.

***

The next person who asks me if I got the memo about the new TPS cover sheet I will bludgeon with my tape dispenser, poke their eyes out with a high lighter and attach my staple remover to their jugular. A much worse fate lies in store for the first employee that asks me if I �have a case of the Mondays�.

Yes, dearest of diaries, it would be safe to say that I might need a new job.

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