The Missing Link and Climbing Rhymes

Hello, All! I first want to present to you the link to my old Live journal, Reception Perception, where I used to document all the awful things that would happen to me at work. Feel free to thumb through my posts, though I will directly link anything that is significant to blogs that I write here. For instance, here is the drama that was going down at this time last year! At this time this year, nothing too dramatic has gone down. I asked for some bereavement time to go with my husband to his grandfather’s funeral and a half of a sick day before to order my glasses. As always, my manager lists EVERYBODY ELSE’S problems, trying to show me why my asking is so inconvenient. I don’t expect my manager, who I code name as Dr. Jekyll in my LJ for what I call her “Jekyll and Hyde Managerial Approach,” to ever like me or give half a crap about my well being, but I do grow tired of the simple fact that every other girl in customer service is exponentially more important than me. Here is an example of the kind of dialog I deal with:

Me: Dr Jekyll, I need today off because a shark bit-off my arm.

Jekyll: Well, that’s going to be a problem. You see, Gal Pal already called-in. Lazy Worker is getting her nails done. Drama Queen and Best Buddy have lunch in an hour, and Some Other Chick Who is More Important than you already had to leave because she has cramps. Could you leave at 3:30?

Me: I mean, I guess so. I don’t want to cause any trouble, but I’m losing a lot of blood.

Jekyll: I only have two people on the phone, and we’re short staffed already. Actually…let me see how busy the phones have been. I suppose we’ll just have to do the best we can without you. I hate to deny you, but The Second Lady Who Covers For You is on bed rest for a week, and So and So can’t be on the phones alone during everybody’s lunches. (annoyed sigh) I guess I could hop on the phones, if they get too busy. If only Baby Boo didn’t have to take bereavement time this week.

Me: Does that mean I can leave? If not, I need to put my dismembered arm on ice.

Anyways, onto something better than me whining, since I didn’t start writing fridge poems until November (And I don’t want to show my Thanksgiving posts until closer to the holiday), I’ve decided to go out-of-order and showcase this poem that celebrates  Friday the 13th from last August.

Terza Rima  (Climbing Rhyme) – A poem with three lines per stanza. The first and third lines rhyme, and the second line of the stanza rhymes with the first and third of the next.

 

The Freaky Friday Fridge

 

 

 

 

Friday the thirteenth can be sly,
sneak upon you, trick and fool you,
until Saturday draws nigh,

And when the week begins anew,
don’t blame your lost lunch on bad luck,
when from the fridge you stayed eschew.

Though black cats hiss and run amuck,
and salt is spilled, though just a smidge,
and mirrors shatter to bits when struck,

Despite ladders lined-up like a bridge,
and cracks on the ground stepped-on, unseen,
I’ll clean that funky, freaky fridge!

I’ll toss green beans and Lean Cuisine,
and soup this Friday the thirteenth.
I strike tonight at five fifteen!

 

Posted in blogging, Halloween, managers, office, receptionist, sharks, shenanigans, writing | 6 Comments

Episode Two of Icebox Murder Mystery

So, I had to write this episode of Icebox Murder Mystery early because I’m not at work today and wasn’t for half of yesterday. My husband, brother-in-law and I are taking a road trip to Tallahassee for a funeral. I’m looking forward to the trip, but I’m sad it is under such sad circumstances. I also feel bad because I was supposed to send Joie my story in advance, so she could illustrate. I’m sure the gal understands that I just had a smidge too much on my plate. Nick and I also got drunk the other night, and we decided to edit episode two together, like a nerdy, writers’ date. Without further ado, here is episode two!

Back at the scene of the crime, Detective Danny Danish looked over Beatrix Banana and the murder weapon, a plastic spork. The storm outside continued to rumble with a violent vengeance as the sugary sleuth mulled over the clues he had acquired. Feeling stale and fatigued, he recollected the earlier interrogations with his suspects.

Sammy Sandwich and Tuna Casserole Pete tottered-into the crisper drawer. The two laughed and stumbled as the detective tried to stifle an amused expression with an eye roll. “Are you two drunk?” They guffawed, and Pete said, “Naw, Danny. We ain’t drunk, just a little toasted, right, Sammie Sammich?” They giggled like two school girls sharing a secret.

“Enough with the puns, boys,” the detective interrupted. “What were you two up to tonight? Shenanigans I assume?”

Sammie busted a gut. “Shenanigans! I guess you could say that. We drank some of that funny colored ice in the freezer.”

“And had a wrestling match on the bottom shelf,” Tuna Casserole Pete chimed-in.

“That was you?” The detective was starting to sound annoyed. “You two probably woke-up the whole neighborhood with all that tomfoolery!”

“Sorry, Danny,” Sammie and Pete replied.

“You two boys get out of my sight,” Danny scolded. “And I better not hear another peep out of ya, understand?”

Tuna Casserole Pete and Sammie Sandwich left the crisper, as loud and rambunctious as ever. “Those boys may be troublemakers,” Detective Danny said to himself. “But they’re not killers, just drunken idiots.” He heard the boys whistle and holler, as Yolanda Yogurt entered the room. A delectable, dairy queen, she was the heartthrob of the fridge, quite a cultured specimen. “Hi, Detective,” she greeted in a sultry tone. “You wanted to see me?” Danny wiped sugar-glazed sweat from his brow. “Is it hot in here?” He asked, feeling flushed in the face. She smiled for a moment but quickly put on a flirty pout.

“You don’t really suspect me, do you?”

Danny choked, “Of course not, Yolanda, but I must question everybody.”

“Well,” she sniffed with disdain. “I was sleeping in the crisper drawer next door. A gal needs her beauty rest, ya know?”

“Okay, Yolanda.” That’s all I need to know. “Sorry to of upset you so.”

She sighed, “Besides, I don’t like getting my hands dirty. Goodnight, Detective.”

Detective Danny Danish felt lightheaded as she left the room. Frustrated at letting a woman affect him that way, he decided to get some fresh air and find Soda Pop Perez. He was leaning against the wall of one of the refrigerator door shelves and propping a foot on the railing, lost in thought with a dreamy look in his eyes.  Danny stood beside him in silence for a moment before asking him where he had been.

“Oh, Detective,” he flinched with a start. “I didn’t see you there. I’m sorry. I got a lot on my mind.”

Danny patted him on the back. “I know, Perez. Sorry about Beatrix. I know you were her beaux.”

“I just feel guilty. I wasn’t with her, but if I had been, she may not have…”

“Don’t bubble over on me, Man. Now, I hate to do this to you, but like milk, when love expires things can get nasty. I need to know where you were.”

Soda Pop Perez gasped in horror, obviously offended by the very idea of killing his beloved banana. “I was watching Pete and Sammie wrestle,” he fizzled. “It’s quite a scene to watch those two.” The soda stormed off without saying so much as a goodbye. The detective didn’t hear anything about Perez being with Sammie and Pete beforehand, but those clowns were so drunk that they may not remember.

Finally, the detective took Tiki Take-out into the crisper drawer for questioning.

“Where were you tonight, Miss Take-out.”

“I…I first practiced my karate.”

“You’re a black belt in Moo Goo Gai Pan, am I correct?”

“Yes,” Tiki blushed. “Then I went to bed on the middle shelf, until I heard Beatrix scream.”

Detective Danish raised his eyebrows, for he had been sleeping on that very shelf, or at least trying to. Those boys’ rowdy ruckus had been going on below, and just before he went down to make a disturbance call, the murder took place. He didn’t recall seeing Tiki, and she didn’t seem to remember all the racket. “Thank you for your time, Miss Take-out.” She smiled and shot a glance towards Soda pop Perez. “No problem at all, Detective.”

Back by Beatrix Banana, Detective Danny Danish had put the memories together like puzzle pieces, but a couple didn’t quite fit to his liking. “One thing is certain,” the detective exclaimed to the empty shelf. “We have some liars amongst us, and it’s time to get some real answers.”

 

Posted in Halloween, murder mystery, office, receptionist, shenanigans, writing | Leave a comment

The Origins of the Fridge Poem

Have you ever felt like there is something inside of you, something amazing that needs to come out?  I have some wonderful inspiration or idea or tangible creation that, when finally found and unleashed, will blow everybody’s minds. The sad part about this is I can’t induce inspiration. Artists can use nature or moods or drugs or brainstorming processes to decide what to create, but true vision, a legitimate exorcism of the creative depths of our minds and souls, our best work, seems to be organic. It’s like trying to find a man. The right one always seems to pop out of nowhere the one day you throw-up your hands and say “Screw it. I’m not going to do my hair or makeup today.”

The silly fridge memos I write for the office are more like a school project than a true expression. I still like them though, and some of them actually inspire me. It’s a healthy exercise nonetheless. The original fridge poem was a result of boredom. For my first five months or so at this job, I did normal e-mails and tried to dilute my personality a little, because I had already received some odd feedback from coworkers. Apparently, I’m not your typical office gal. I started letting myself seep through the fridge memos, making little jokes and adding a little personality to them. Finally, on November 6th, 2009, I wrote this Haiku:

Monday’s leftovers
Uneaten, long forgotten
Tossed at five fifteen

I don’t remember what inspired me to do this, but our CFO liked it a lot. I probably did a haiku because they are easy to write, at least I think so. So, there you go, the birth of the fridge poem.

I recently applied to be a pet blogger. I hope I get a call back. I’m already a crazy cat lady, so I think this could be a great chance to live the dream, writing about kitties! I could do that forever and never get bored.

Also, look what I had to clean-up this lovely Monday morning, along with a load of office dishes:

♪♫ It's Just Another Moldy Monday ♫♪

Posted in blogging, Halloween, inspiration, office, receptionist, shenanigans, writing | 6 Comments

Icebox Murder Mystery: Orange you glad I didn’t slay banana?

Hi, All. It’s Friday, and this week I did not write my fridge memo ahead of time (shame on me for procrastinating). I can’t help it. I just wasn’t inspired. I was going to do a poem called Laments of a Dirty Fridge, or something like that. For most of the week, I’ve been feeling a little emo, as far as Prentice and emo goes, and I was originally going to do something dark and whiney to fit my sullen mood, induced by nearsightedness and a sudden feeling of career despair.

I dunno if it was the two Diet Cokes I drank or the fact that I got to converse with people for more than five minutes today, but I have been in a fabulous mood, totally killing the drab poem idea. I still wanted to do something dark for Halloween though, so I decided I would do a three-part murder mystery, refrigerator themed of course. Here is chapter one:

Icebox Murder Mystery: Orange you glad I didn’t slay banana?

It was a stormy, October evening in the Astral Brands break room, after hours. It was a Thursday, and a quiet one at that, not a single employee working late. The silence of the empty office was broken by a blood curdling shriek inside the refrigerator, as thunder crashed in tandem. A cream cheese Danish kicked the icebox door open to shed light on the situation. All the leftovers at the icy crime scene; Tiki Take-out, Sammy Sandwich, Soda Pop Perez, Yolanda Yogurt, Tuna Casserole Pete, and Detective Danny Danish, gathered around to find one of their own murdered. Poor Beatrix Banana, stabbed with a spork on the top shelf, had just moved into the neighborhood that morning. The smell of bruised banana began to fill the room.

“What happened?” Tiki gasped in horror. Detective Danish looked over the victim with worry behind his stern gaze. “I dunno, Miss Take-out,” he replied, “But it looks like this banana just got split.” The crowd began to murmur amongst themselves until Yolanda Yogurt stuttered, ”P-p-perhaps it was the receptionist? I hear she has a way of making our kind ‘disappear!’” Detective Danish propped his chin on his fist as he pondered. “Let’s ask Madame Baking Soda,” he decided. She knows more about this fridge than all of us combined.” Sammy Sandwich nodded, “Great idea, Danny. If anybody knows whodunit, she will.” The petrified provisions all agreed and made their way to the shelf below.

Madame Baking Soda was still asleep when the detective called to her, white, odor-easing dust fluttering into the air with every unladylike snore. The old broad awoke with a start as the detective apologized and caught her up on all the details of Beatrix Banana’s death.  Soda Pop Perez butted in. “Do you think the receptionist had anything to do with this?” Madame Baking Soda shook her head. “No. That was definitely not her doing.” She then insisted Tuna Casserole Pete light her baking soda cigarette and took a long drag before continuing. “She never leaves her dirty work in the icebox.” She blew a cloud of smoke into Pete and Detective Danny’s faces. “Besides,” she added. “The gal only strikes at 5:15 on Fridays.” Everybody was hoping this was an open and shut case, the receptionist, and the unwanted and unexpected answer sparked a chorus of ramblings, until Detective Danny Danish slammed his fist on the railing encasing Madame Baking Soda.

“Well then,” he stated matter-of-factly, as he snatched the cigarette from the woman’s lips and extinguished it on the ground. “It looks like some food has gone bad around here, and I have a mystery to solve before 5:15 on Friday!”

Then I told the e-mail readers that they had to tune-in next week for the second epic episode of Icebox Murder Mystery. At least I now don’t have to come-up with a new idea for two weeks. I just have to finish this short story, and I’m looking forward to it. Hopefully, I can get Joie Brown to illustrate for me.

Posted in Halloween, murder mystery, office, receptionist, shenanigans, Uncategorized, writing | 3 Comments

When I Rickrolled the Office

So far I don’t have a very refined writing career, but as my mother says to the youngsters at her substitute teacher job, “You get what you get, and you don’t pitch a fit.”  Makeup blogs and interoffice memos aren’t glamorous, but I have to start somewhere, right? Anyways, what I’m most famous for is my weekly reminder about the fridge (rolls eyes). I have to clean-out the break room refrigerator every Friday, and about a half hour before I do, I have to send an e-mail to the whole office, warning my coworkers that their forgotten food will be thrown away. About a year ago, I started to give these boring memos a little zing, and my musings have become a highlight of many people’s workweek. Sad, but like I said, gotta start somewhere.

I plan to backlog each of my poems and songs over the following weeks, and I’ll start today by posting last week’s song. I decided to Rickroll my coworkers, pretending like I was finally too overwhelmed to prepare a funny e-mail (Stating in the subject line “Sorry, guys. Just a regular message today.”) and surprising them with all the splendor of Rick Astley’s Never Gonna Give You Up. I forgot what sparked this ingenious fridge song, but it happened earlier in the week, and I actually had the song complete a day in advance, giving me time to play in MS Paint and create a ghetto-tastic illustration. Enjoy.

Today at 5:15 I will be cleaning the fridge…

JK!

 You just got…

Fridge Rolled!!!Like a Rickroll…

but with a fridge!

To “Never Gonna Give you up” by Rick Astley

 We’re no strangers to glut,
You know the rules and so do I,
A full commitment’s what I’m thinking of,
You shouldn’t forget your lemon meringue pie!
I just wanna tell you what I’m doing,
Gotta make you understand,

Never gonna  leave your stuff,
Never gonna clown around,
‘Cause I’m gonna trash your lunch and dessert, too!
Never should have left your Thai,
With that vegetable stir fry,
Never gonna let the fridge mess accrue!

You’ve known what happens for so long,
Your mind keeps slipping, but there’s still time to save it!
On Fridays we both know what’s going on,
We know the game and we’re gonna play it,
You’ll soon go home without your pudding
I’ll discard it at five fifteen!

Never gonna  leave your stuff,
Never gonna clown around,
‘Cause I’m gonna trash your lunch and dessert, too!
Never should have left your Thai,
With that vegetable stir fry,
Never gonna let the fridge mess accrue!

If you are not aware of what a Rickroll is, click here for further clarification.

Posted in office, receptionist, rickroll, shenanigans, Uncategorized, writing | 3 Comments

A Real Eye Opener

I have been a receptionist at this health and beauty company for (gasp) almost a year and a half, and last May, I started to have eye trouble. I first tried to blow it off as allergies. Then I decided I must have chronic dry eyes from staring at this computer screen over eight hours a day on average. I started to use drops, but my eyes didn’t get better. Actually, my peepers started to look and feel crappy. People here at the office already think I’m nuts, so with my eyes red all the time, they probably think I’m just high. Headaches graced my work day and followed me home, and my left pupil started this strange thing where it would stitch or be a different size than my right. I finally decided to go to the doctor. At least I could use a sick day, right?

I have always had 20/20 vision, so I haven’t been to an optomitrist in a long time, like over ten years. I assumed that my eyes were strained too much at work, and I would maybe need glasses to help me during the workday. Yes, my eyes are horribly strained, so strained over time that my beautiful, perfect ojos are now near-sighted, slightly near-sighted but still not 20/20! This first sparked an “OMG! I’m getting old!” moment. Then I started to get upset at the idea of having to wear glasses outside of a reading and computer work context. Now I just resent my job. I think this job is actually killing me. Like Stanley said in the episode “Stress Relief” of The Office, I feel like I’m working in my own casket. Okay, I don’t feel quite that bad, but this has been yet another eye-opening experience (Pun was intended. I love puns.). I need to get out of here, stat. The job hunt is on (not that it ever stopped), and I will work even harder on my writing projects, hoping they will magically bail me out of this clerical prison cell.

I am creating this blog because my best friend told me I should log the crazy things I think, do, say and write. So, here I am, WordPress. I apologize in advance for my shenanigans. This blog is going to be about me, a burned-out receptionist with dreams of grandeur, trying to expand my writing career and escape the perils of the office.

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