Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Day 4: Let Me Out Of This Crate

…inspired by the Onion’s supposed documentation of Sean Spicer’s Descent Into Madness, as illustrated by emails to his uncle, who turns out to have been dead for 20 years. Anyway, a crate was involved.

Speaking of crates and those who should be in them, I’m compiling a list of–

THINGS NICK WOULD PAY TO SEE ME DO

–Get on a horse.

–Sing.

There may be other things Nick would pay to see me do, but this is a good start. I would pay to see him drunk, so maybe we could work something out.

DEFINITION OF 2ND SHIFT

Courtesy of 911SK–“2nd shift is 8 hours of trying to get through the next 10 minutes.”

IDLE SPECULATION

I’m not sure what I’ll do with this blog once I retire. I’ll be losing a major source of material, and what’s left is in danger of sounding like Andy Rooney.

Day 5: Ready To Quit Already

Very first call: “Someone is at the bus terminal trying to sell a rotten fish for $20.” Attempts to confirm the address were met with, “Well, you don’t have to get smart with me! How many bus terminals are there, anyway?” Who got smart first here, anyway? know how many bus terminals there are, but the person I was training didn’t, as I seem to be the only city employee who rides the bus. Speaking of which, I got on the bus the other day, and the guy behind me said to me, “I couldn’t believe that driver wouldn’t let you on the bus with your drink the other day! And then when you threw the drink out the door, that was great!” Yeah, that was a proud moment. AND SPEAKING of bus-related adventures, remember I mentioned the warning sign with the stick figure guy leaning against the back door of the bus, and then the drawing of that guy falling out the door, but you could tell by his posture that he was a smartass, and you were glad it happened? Well, I saw that guy in Real Life the other day. There were plenty of empty seats available, but he insisted on standing there with his arms folded and leaning against the back door of the bus. I waited breathlessly, but he never fell out. There is no justice in this world.

Oh, and now the would-be seller of rotten fish is calling in cussing us out. So we’ve managed to displease both sides of the controversy.

WHY NOT?

Officer’s comments on a run: “Subject wanted to know how to research the names of people who may have given him steroids as a kid, because he has small balls and a small dick.” It’s always someone else’s fault.

WHAT I DID ON MY SPRING VACATION

–Observed the 1-year anniversary of Alien Finger on the 20th. Alien Finger has apparently decided that 87% functionality is good enough. Its motto is, “I’ll do it, but I don’t have to like it.” I think it sensed my resentment in the first weeks after the injury, when I told Rom, “I almost wish they’d just amputate it.” (Having one finger that won’t bend, especially if it’s the longest one, makes everything from flossing your teeth to applying your deodorant difficult.) “But it wants to help,” Rom said, watching it attempt to curl into a halfway-natural resting position. Noble finger! Valiant finger! Please be like all the other dislocated fingers I hear about that end up just as good as new. After all, I had 5 months of surprisingly unpleasant therapy. (“I wish I could have been your therapist,” Nick murmurs wistfully.)

–Observed the 30-year anniversary of marrying Rom on the 22nd. As Nick said to me after meeting him, “You sleep with Gandalf!” Yeah, and you’d best remember that before you call me a Muggle again.

INTERIOR MONOLOGUE UPON ROM’S ILL-ADVISED RETIREMENT GIFT TO ME OF A COLORING BOOK AND 64 CRAYOLAS

“‘All the iconic colors are here, from Macaroni & Cheese to Purple Mountain Majesties’? In my day, no crayon was called Macaroni & Cheese. Names like Green-Blue and Blue-Green were good enough for us. I’m just glad my favorite Periwinkle is still here. {Note: The 64 Crayolas of my youth were eaten by our basset hound. You can guess the outcome.}

Look how complicated these drawings are! I can’t fill them all in, I’ll never have time for anything else. OK, I’ll just fill in parts. But which parts?

OK, the first drawing is an octopus. I know! I can make it all the shades of blue there are. Start out with my favorite color. But I do have to use all 64 at some time or other. {“Do you have to use them all proportionately?” Rom asks, but he is just making trouble.}

Oh no, I colored over the line. I know! I’ll just color the spot next to it with a dark color, and no one will know the difference. But not too dark, or the stripes underneath won’t show through like they’re supposed to. 

Well, I intended to color each arm of the octopus a different color, but I can’t figure out which arm is which. I should have started at the other end of the octopus. Wait a minute–I think there are too many arms here for one octopus. {This possibility troubled me greatly, and I had to stop and think about it for several minutes.}

And this is only the first page. I will keep you updated as I progress, if “progress” is really the word we want here.

ALIEN FINGER THINKS I AM TYPING TOO MUCH, KTHNXBAI.

 

Day 6.1–It {was}’s My Birthday and I’ll Post If I Want To

Well, it was yesterday, and I didn’t want to. Plus, I was severely indisposed for the last hour of it. Let’s just say amine intolerance (which I decided to develop, because food intolerances are so fashionable these days, and lactose and gluten are so overdone) + stromboli sausage = a lot of bathroom time. The more distressing because the strombolis were an annual rite to celebrate meeting Rom in 1978. Of course, Rom can’t eat ice cream, and misery loves company.

Many thanks to D. (henceforth to be called Trex, for T. Rex, because Rom thinks she has really short arms), for the gift of a MARCASITE NECKLACE. I love marcasite, but my previous experience with it has been 2 Avon rings, one with black plastic rose center, and one with hematite center, which eventually turned my finger green, as cheap rings will. (I HOPE I’M NOT SUED BY AVON FOR THIS STATEMENT.)

OK, I HIT THE SPACE BAR TOO MANY TIMES, AND I’M DRUNK SO SUE ME

(OR NOT, BECAUSE I STILL HAVE 5 SUE-ABLE WORK DAYS LEFT)

 

MUSIC CRITICISM

“Every beat of my heart belongs to you.” Looks like that “Every Breath You Take” guy finally found his ideal woman.

“We’ll be together forever like Bonnie & Clyde.” You do remember how that ends?

SPEAKING OF DRUNKENNESS AND CRUELTY…

My RETIREMENT PARTY will be June 14 at Hacienda on 1st Ave. Here I am, blithely inviting my entire FanBase, even though I’m not the one organizing the affair. Just show up and pretend you just happened to be sitting at the bar.

SPEAKING OF WORK, END OF…

The latest plan for my Last Day Of Work is to show up drunk and naked. Although that will lead to difficulties walking there.

–Bumper sticker: “She Reads Truth.” Alright, then. Must be some hipster cultural thing I’m not aware of. Rom always says, “Ignorance of your culture is not considered cool,” but since when have I cared about being cool? Well? Which reminds me of the time I said to A Certain Person, “You know me, keeping a low profile,” and she said, “Since when?”

MY LIFE IN CVS

There was a children’s book, “Time To Sleep–A Touch and Feel Book.” It had something soft to feel on every page. I thought, Oh! I’d have loved this as a little kid! Did I pick it up and touch the furry spot on every page? Of course not, why would you think so? I promise I didn’t sweat on it. This is, by the way, the other side of having sensory issues.

It’s still hard for me to believe I soon won’t be working. I keep thinking it must be some mistake, and I’ll find myself with no job and no money.

AM I DEAD OR DREAMING?

When I got back home today, Rom was napping. I went in and said something so he’d know I was home, and he started violently, which startled the cats, so they both exploded off the bed. He said, “My first thought was, Did one of the cats just speak?”

 

 

Day 6: High Crimes and Misdemeanors

“I’m trying to get my stuff, but they’re holding my key hostage.”

HURRAY!

Someone just called in to test and see if we got her address or just the cell tower when she called 911. She also told me it was just a test first off. She wins the Good Citizen of the Day award.

Speaking of citizenship, saying “Evansville’s finest–ha!” is not the correct way to end a 911 call.

–“I want to report a darking brog, I mean a barking dog.”

Now for 2 weeks vacation. Dress rehearsal for retirement, one might say. Well, except that I don’t plan on drinking every night for the rest of my life.

 

Day 7:

911 OVERHEARD

–“Are there any nice dispatchers in there?” The reason? She was asked for her address. So if you mean, are there any dispatchers in here who won’t ask for your address, then no. And we’ll get even less nice if you say, “Don’t you already have my address when I call?”

–“Well, the police can’t go over there and tell him to come pick up his dog food.” What did people do before 911? Well?

–“Don’t you have caller I.D.? Why are you asking my name, don’t you get my name when I call?” COULD ALL THOSE TAX DOLLARS SPENT ON BILLBOARDS SAYING “SEE A RECKLESS DRIVER? CALL 911!” BE SPENT ON “NO, 911 DOES NOT GET YOUR NAME AND ADDRESS WHEN YOU CALL ON A CELL PHONE”?!!  At 1920.

–“My  son is threatening to break out my car windows with a ball bat because I broke his out.”

–“So you’re the instigator of this situation?”

”Well, if you wanna take it that way.”

“So you’re getting harassed by bikers on Bike Night?” I’m betting no one can harass you like bikers.

–“So there’s a sword on your porch?”

 

 

Day 8: Eight Days a Week

..so of course I have that song stuck in my head. Not the Beatles’ version, though, the Runaways’ version.

OFFICER’S NOTES ON A RUN

“Caller claims to have photographic evidence that Bill and Hillary Clinton eat people. Also said that Obama set his couch on fire, and that Trump is making bombs. I think it is safe to assume that these things are not occurring.”

STOP HURTING ME

I am so savagely confused about this 457 rollover process that maybe I just won’t do it and let them keep my money. I shouldn’t have to hire an accountant to explain the instructions.

[THIS SPACE MYSTERIOUSLY AVAILABLE]

“You may wish to consult with the Plan Administrator before taking a payment from the Plan.” Ya think?

Ooh, I missed the big glossy sheet saying, “Get a helping hand with rollovers!” There’s a couple in the picture, and they look happy. Perhaps all is not bleak and dismal after all.  But then there’s fine print saying, “You may wish to contact your tax or legal advisor,” as if I have either of those. I think what I need is a caretaker of some sort.

OK, I officially give up. And there’s probably a form I have to fill out stating that.

 

Day 9: Down To Single Digits!

Seems like Day 30 was–well, not that many days ago.

LIVING ON THE EDGE

A manager of a Dollar General store wanted the police to bar a woman because she refused to leave her bag up front. I am just glad my local $ General hasn’t asked me to do so, because I am not about to leave my bag next to the cash register by the door, where anyone could grab it and run. And I would tell them this, and they would call the police. And I am just glad they’re not open all night, because then the officer who’d bar me would be Nick, and that is a scene better imagined than described.

ME BEING WEIRD

Another thing I’m glad of is that there are scissors at my work station, so I can finally trim that loose thread on Security Blanket that’s been troubling me so. {Ooh, now I touched Security Blanket, and have to have it on my lap so I can touch it some more.} I remember one event at Nick’s house, where I became fixated on a loose thread on the hem of his shorts. But I knew if I asked him to remove it, he would then guard it with his life, and I would have to attack him with scissors.

…and…

Anyone can read an article on autism in their local paper. But it takes an autistic person to feel compelled to read it aloud…and then have to start over because I made a mistake. (The “high-functioning” part consists of not doing this in front of other people.) I’ve done this since I learned to read. I’d be hard put to explain which things need to be read aloud, but I know them when I see them.

Hey, maybe I’ll wear nothing but Security Blanket on my last day of work! {So soft…}

I am writing this post in lieu of filling out paperwork to roll over my 457 into an RSA, because it frightens me. You can see why.

Day 10: Becoming Increasingly Dangerous

After a change of browsers, here I am again!

Well, no one on the phone has been glad I’m here.

GETTING MYSELF IN TROUBLE

–A lady calling from Los Angeles assured me that she “had a right to be heard” because there is more crime in Evansville than there is in L.A. I was somehow supposed to deal with the fact that her daughter had decided to live here.

–A guy reported seeing someone with an assault rifle walking down the street. (Based on previous experience, I bet it was actually an umbrella.) He would not give the name of the side street the guy turned down or what direction he was walking because “That’s your job.”

–“Is your accident east or west of 41?”

–“I don’t know. I’m not from here.”

–“Well, east or west is the same no matter where you’re from.”

–“You’re so nice. So nice.”

–“Thanks.”

THIS SPACE FILLED UP WITH THIS LINE BECAUSE I SPACED DOWN TOO FAR AND DON’T KNOW HOW TO UNDO IT

Speaking of my proper responsibilities, yesterday two different officers told me, “Call the caller back and explain why we won’t be making this run.” Well, how about if you call them and explain that? I’m sure you could answer the “Why not’s?” and “What if’s?” better than I can.

I am impatiently waiting for someone to call in and say, “The police aren’t here yet, and it’s raining,” so I can tell them, “Well, I walked a mile and a half to work in the rain.” So far, no one has given me the chance.

–“Someone shot out my windshield, so I followed them to see where they were going.” What’s wrong with this picture?

OK, the media just called and asked if I was the supervisor. Rather than saying, “No, I am the force of chaos and anarchy,” I put them on hold.

–“The power just went out.”

–“You need to call Vectren for that. The weather has caused numerous outages.”

–“But the police need to come out, because the traffic lights are out!”

–“Then it should be treated as a 4-way stop. The police don’t come out to direct traffic whenever a stoplight is–…” Or you could hang up while I’m still talking because I wasn’t saying what you wanted to hear. I should have called her back and finished my sentence.

Day 11: Last Day On Info

Well, I wrote a real post, but the internet kept screwing up. Apparently only the title survived, and I don’t have the heart to do it all again. Better luck tomorrow.

Day 12: Unsupervised Forever

THINGS I MAY DO ON MY LAST DAYS OF WORK

I make no promises, but I’m keeping a list of tempting options, many derived from co-workers I’ve forgotten.

–After reckless driving BOL: “Authority tattletale.” I have already said, “Subject texting and driving, authority another subject talking on the phone while driving.”

–Officer given a run: “Clear, but I’m not close.” Me: “Neither am I.” Alternative: “Clear, from Oak Hill & Lynch.” Me: “Clear, from 1331 Harmony Way.”

–Irate caller: “I want to speak to your supervisor.” Me: “I am the supervisor.” Or possibly, “It won’t do you any good, I’m retiring next month.”

–Officer on info: “I need a driver’s status, and tell me what vehicles are registered to this person.” Me: “Must I do it all?” Or: “Don’t you show me on my meal?” Or: “What about my needs?”

–Officer: “What type of alarm is this?” Me: “A false one.”

–“Reason why you closed this run?” “Because I felt like it.”

IDLE SPECULATION

Concerning last night’s post, I thought, At least no one would think I’d made that weird story up just to stay home from work. Then I thought, They know you made up a world in which Nick has wings. I just wish Alien Finger had a more interesting story than, I tripped over a paving stone.

NOT THAT I’M IN DANGER OF BECOMING A HARRY POTTER NERD, BUT–

The story of my life is that I want to be a Slytherin, but am actually a Ravenclaw. The Sorting Hat would have hesitated for a moment, but only for a moment.

Did anyone else see nerdhood coming? Anyone? Rom may have to read them in self-defense.

I FOUGHT THE FASHION LAW

One wonders, What outfit should one wear for one’s final day of work? One then (“There is no off on the genius switch”–David Letterman) gets the brilliant idea to VIOLATE THE DRESS CODE IN EACH AND EVERY WAY.

{Intermission during which one looks for the S.O.P. book containing said code, can’t find it, asks supervisor where it is, and supervisor is now frantically searching everywhere, in spite of one’s repeated insistence that one needs it for No Good Reason, and he can therefore stop searching.}

THEREFORE, lacking the text of the dress code before me, I’ll have to design my outfit from memory. (It may be the only S.O.P. I’ve read carefully, and it was for No Good Reason.)

I will wear ripped clothing, a low-cut top, short shorts, and flip-flops. My shirt will feature an obscene slogan, and a button promoting a political candidate.

Hmm. I might have to buy many of these items. I don’t keep clothes with holes in them, and I own no flip-flops (not practical for walking, and I hate the feel of something between my toes). I own exactly one (1) pair of shorts. I don’t wear them  to work, because it’s always freezing in here, and they’re not very short anyway.

A further complication arises because the dress code S.O.P. includes a section on personal grooming. We are required (yes!) to bathe and use deodorant, and I don’t think I could bring myself to flout those rules, even for your sake, dear FanBase. However, I could certainly manage defiance of the edict “If your perfume can be smelled by others, it is not acceptable.” Perhaps I could write off a bottle of Frederic Malle’s Noir Epices as a business expense.

911 OVERHEARD–MORE WORK FOR THE FASHION POLICE

“Is she taking off her clothes while running?” I bet that’s harder than it sounds. She stripped down to nothing but a big t-shirt. Maybe that’s all I’ll wear.

 

 

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