Small World

OoRah was chatting with one of his neighbors. I have no idea how it came into the conversation, but they discovered that OoRah's neighbor is actually an old high school friend of my wife.

Great. Now my wife has a way to send secret messages to OoRah. Now I'm doomed.

The Golfer chimed in. His wife knows a guy at work who has the same ex-wife as a guy the Golfer knows from the gym. That must be one heck of a "special" lady.

M16 walked in late in the conversation. He heard the phrase, "They both have the same ex-wife" without any context and got very confused.

OoRah had mercy and gave him a quick recap. "Oh wow," said M16. Big Dawg nodded. "Yup," he agreed. "It's a small world, after all."

There was a pause. Big Dawg's face contorted. "GAH! I did it to myself! It's stuck in my head!"

"Need another to drive it out?", M16 suggested. "Put a ring on it?"

I joined in. "Mahna-Mahnam."

SpanFan: "Friday! Friday!"

Big Dawg gave up. "I'm gonna go find 'Yellow Submarine'."

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Eat Fresh

Big Dawg came back from Subway with a story to tell. "They don't say 'Eat Fresh' anymore!"

For those who haven't been verbally assaulted at a Subway recently, the employees (at least around here) are / were required to shout "Welcome to Subway! Eat fresh!" as you walk in. They hate it. The customers hate it. But "corporate" requires it.

Apparently enough customers complained about it that a new memo came down the line. They are now forbidden to say "Eat Fresh!" after the initial greeting.

"I still hate the 'Welcome to Subway' part," Big Dawg complained.

"You could echo back to them," I suggested. "They say 'Welcome to Subway', you shout 'Eat fresh!'".

Big Dawg shook his head. "When restaurants make their people yell at you like that it just makes me want to scream or hurt somebody."

I shook a fist in mock anger. "Let's see you shout 'Welcome to Subway!' after I cut out your tongue!"

Big Dawg disagreed. "No, because then they'd just shout 'BLAAUAUU!! ROROOOOAUUU!! AAAAAHHH!!', and that would be horrible."

"Horrible? I'd tip them a quarter every time they shouted that!"

I have an idea now for a themed restaurant. I'm looking for investors. :)

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Behind My Desk

So, there's a freight elevator behind my desk. I'm sure I've mentioned it before. Last week it came under heavy use again, and a lot of junk was offloaded in the loading area behind my cubical.

I wandered back there and ... well ...



Yes, my desk is right on the other side of that cube wall. They bumped me a couple of times while offloading all that... uh... is that a typewriter?



OK, that's actually kinda cool. I do work for a newspaper, after all. I figure there's more than one of these old things lurking around, and ... is that a bench seat from an old car?!?



It's halfway tempting to take that baby around to my cubical. I could set it up behind my chair. When folks come over to "HeyJeff" at me, I can point and say, "Have a seat."

"Are we there yet?"
"Don't make me turn this desk around!"

The last thing I noticed was this old set of galoshes.



These boots are made for walkin'!

And they're emerald, too. I could slip them on and start chanting... "There's no place like home... there's no place like home..."

Scarecrow, I'll miss you most of all.

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Paintball

My oldest nephew turned 12 recently. He said he wanted to have a Paintball party.

He's a big University of Oklahoma fan. I usually don't make a big deal out of it, but I do generally try to wear something orange when I know he's going to be around. For his paintball party, I wore a bright orange Oklahoma State University shirt.

When we showed up, my brother-in-law pointed over at a table by the front door. "You need to sign a waiver," he said. "What? I'm not playing." "You are now!"

Before I knew it, I was being fitted for a mask. Puny little me, on a paintball field... in a bright orange shirt.

I'll pause here to give those who know me personally some time to complete their hysterical laughter.

[pause]

So. It went badly. (surprise!) Three seconds into the first game I got nailed in the shoulder, hard.



Yes, there is a small bruise under that spot. No, I won't show you.

Turns out that when a paintball explodes on you, it quickly dries into this substance that's kind of a cross between cake frosting and candle wax. Before long, I looked like I'd had an accident while glazing donuts.



My left leg in particular was coated. If a couple of those shots had been about 6 inches higher I'd be singing soprano, if you know what I'm sayin'.

I've already told my sister that I won't be able to make Nephew's next paintball party. I'll be doing my hair that day.

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Out To Get Me

My office phone hates me. I've known this for a while, actually. I'm pretty sure I can hear it giggling before it rings. It's knocked over my coffee mug more than once. It even posts hurtful things about me on Twitter.

But this... wow. This is a new low.



See that CallerID screen? Here's a close-up.



"Not Possible".

I'm hurt. I was only trying to achieve my dreams.

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Back In The Day

The was a rambling office conversation going on. And somehow the comment was made, "I don't want to go back to what I was doing before the internet."

Big Dawg agreed. "I worked at a Taco Bell."

LadyPatsFan was equally adamant. "I was a customer service rep for a medical insurance company."

We all shuddered. Then, I joined in. "I moved 50-pound bags of fertilizer from a warehouse into 18-wheelers."

LadyPatsFan thought about that a second. "I bet I moved more BS than you."

"I think you're probably right," I agreed. "Oh! And one of the guys at the warehouse nearly ran me over once with his forklift."

"I am not even a little surprised," said Big Dawg.

OoRah chuckled and shrugged. "I used to fly around in helicopters and shoot machine guns. I'd go back to that."

Wow. I tell ya, that incident with Dippy and his forklift would have ended differently if I'd had a machine gun. That's a missed opportunity and no mistake.

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Brain Break

One afternoon at work, things hit a lull in our office. Most of us had wandered away from our desks, bleary-eyed, just kind of staring at each other.

Big Dawg verbalized it for all of us. "I just needed to get away from that computer screen for a minute," he said. "I know it's taboo to take naps at work, but I really need to give my brain a break."

There was a chorus of agreement. "Too bad we can't have naptime at work."

"Maybe we could, if we just call it something other than 'naptime'," SpanFan suggested. "The boss says, 'What are you doing on the couch?', and we say, 'It's not a nap, it's a Brain Break.'"

"What is that noise?" Big Dawg was doing his generic "Boss" impersonation. "Is that snoring?"

"No," I replied. "That's the sound my brain makes without input."

Maybe I'll take a Brain Break today. Where's that pillow and blanket?...

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