I won't lie to myself, I am a glorified receptionist. (I have an embossed golden eagle on my business card, hence the glorification.) Not that I'm complaining, because I do have a wonderful job. Maybe in some inflated, bohemian fasion I should consider my job important. I man the front lines; I lie in the foremost trench, exchanging verbal fire with senior citizens, zealots, and crazies. I am an infantrywoman. Here is an example of the daily battles I fight on the telephone. The fight is to stay calm and rational and sweet, regardless of who's calling and why...
Me: "Good afternoon, Senator Enzi's office."
Caller: "Yea, I am watching your boss Ensign on the Chris Matthew's show right now. I think he, along with the entire Bush Adminstration, needs to go to jail for advocating torture."
Me: "Sir, this isn't Senator Ensign's office."
Caller: "Oh....Who's office is this?"
Me: "This is Senator Enzi's office."
Caller: "Is he a Republican?"
Me: "Yes, sir, he is a Republican."
Caller: "Then he should go to jail too."
Me: "Alright, thanks for calling."
These are the times when I want to abadon standard office procedure and tell gentlemen like this that they are pinheads if that is their political philosophy and encourage them to move to Zimbabwe. Then I would remind them that one-party goverments are simple dictatorships. But instead, I put on my smiley voice, thank them for calling, then brace myself for the next caller.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Obama Mama
I've put off the telling of this story for far too long. It is now time.....
Return with me to November 2008, when economic doom was not yet imminent and New Hampshire wasn't threatening to secede from the Union. The good old days.
Shortly after Barack Obama's historic November 4 election, I was on a train leaving DC for the wild terrain of suburban Maryland. And who should join me in my train cubby but three Kenyans en route to charming Baltimore. I enjoy talking to strangers, especially foreign ones, so we introduced ourselves and started chatting. They were justifiably excited about Obama's victory. And I was excited that they were excited. But after only five minutes of conversation, it was apparent that Boniface was determined that I would become his blonde bride if I but accepted his advances (which included offers of African safaris and pilgrimages to Obama's deadbeat dad's grave.) I smiled and tried to let him down easy. He was not deterred. He decided to pull out the big guns. And this is what he said.
"Everyone I know who comes here, they marry Americans! I love American women! American woman, Kenyan man,they make Obama!"
I laughed. This relative stranger was offering me the chance of a lifetime. I could give birth to the future leader of the free world, with his help of course. I could be an Obama Mama! Tempting. This is not where I piped up and informed him that I didn't vote for Obama. I just smiled, waved farewell, and got off at my stop. Haha. I love public transportation!
Return with me to November 2008, when economic doom was not yet imminent and New Hampshire wasn't threatening to secede from the Union. The good old days.
Shortly after Barack Obama's historic November 4 election, I was on a train leaving DC for the wild terrain of suburban Maryland. And who should join me in my train cubby but three Kenyans en route to charming Baltimore. I enjoy talking to strangers, especially foreign ones, so we introduced ourselves and started chatting. They were justifiably excited about Obama's victory. And I was excited that they were excited. But after only five minutes of conversation, it was apparent that Boniface was determined that I would become his blonde bride if I but accepted his advances (which included offers of African safaris and pilgrimages to Obama's deadbeat dad's grave.) I smiled and tried to let him down easy. He was not deterred. He decided to pull out the big guns. And this is what he said.
"Everyone I know who comes here, they marry Americans! I love American women! American woman, Kenyan man,they make Obama!"
I laughed. This relative stranger was offering me the chance of a lifetime. I could give birth to the future leader of the free world, with his help of course. I could be an Obama Mama! Tempting. This is not where I piped up and informed him that I didn't vote for Obama. I just smiled, waved farewell, and got off at my stop. Haha. I love public transportation!
Friday, January 23, 2009
Inauguration Day 2009--To Hell and Back
I bore witness to history and here are my thoughts.
The Swearing-In Ceremony--sucked like hell. Packed like sardines, with the only thing visible being the backsides of other suckers, I moved 100 feet in 3 hours. When we finally did arrive at the Capitol Grounds, we could see relatively nothing except the backsides of other suckers again. I was cold and my back hurt.
The Parade--sucked like hell. The parade was almost two hours late. My feet were so cold, my toes almost fell off.
The Ball--sucked like hell. Bad food. Expensive drinks. Long lines. Got seperated from my friends for two hours, before finally pushing my way through hundreds of people again packed liked sardines, much to their chargin.
My conclusion: Cattle at feedlots get treated better than we treated ourselves on Inauguration Day. But we were there. Yea.
As a side note: I'm tired and pissy today. There were bright moments during that very long day, however, I'm too tired to remember them at the moment.
The Swearing-In Ceremony--sucked like hell. Packed like sardines, with the only thing visible being the backsides of other suckers, I moved 100 feet in 3 hours. When we finally did arrive at the Capitol Grounds, we could see relatively nothing except the backsides of other suckers again. I was cold and my back hurt.
The Parade--sucked like hell. The parade was almost two hours late. My feet were so cold, my toes almost fell off.
The Ball--sucked like hell. Bad food. Expensive drinks. Long lines. Got seperated from my friends for two hours, before finally pushing my way through hundreds of people again packed liked sardines, much to their chargin.
My conclusion: Cattle at feedlots get treated better than we treated ourselves on Inauguration Day. But we were there. Yea.
As a side note: I'm tired and pissy today. There were bright moments during that very long day, however, I'm too tired to remember them at the moment.
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