I work in an office building shared with other businesses. The company on the floor below us employs a lot of really young people and, at the risk of sounding like an old lady, they can get really loud. They blast music, and have ping pong battles so intense I find their ping pong balls in the stairwell. How could a table tennis game get so robust that balls fly into the stairwell without anyone noticing? It's like a raging frat party all the time down there.
These people think they own the building. It's entertaining to watch them get on the elevator without tearing their eyes from their phones. Because they assume everyone in existence wants to go to their company they don't even bother checking to see if the button to their floor is lit. Then when we get to my company's lobby they get off, look around, stutter in confusion and get back on the elevator to go down to their floor.
I think it'd be fun to start a turf war. Only I'm not interested in hurting anyone, I prefer methods of passive aggression. I'd like to do drive-bys that consist of riding the elevator down to their floor, and when the elevators open yell really nasty insults like, "Your business model is sub-par!" or, "Your IBITDA is so small you use old 2x4s as ping pong paddles!" and then make my slow get away back up to my floor.
I'd really like to drop a dirty bomb on their floor. Of course, it'd really just be a napkin full of yellow starbursts, 'cause who likes yellow starbursts? Nobody, that's who.
It would be necessary to get into their heads and fully understand what makes them tick. Once I understand the enemy I could more easily put fear into their hearts. To gain access to their office I would simply dress really hipster. Once inside I would switch out their coffee for hot chocolate and change their Wi-Fi settings to block social media sites.
That is how I break them.
As if that's not enough, I would hide their ping pong balls and change all of their Pandora sations to Hanna Montana. Yeah, not even Miley Cyrus but straight Hanna Montana. I'm not proud of this, but sometimes you have to sacrifice your morals in times of war.
My finale would be to strip their office of modern-style chairs in their lounge area. That takes their comfort and art. I would replace them with metal folding chairs spray painted with the name of the closest stake center. That sends a double message; you are only as good as these hard cheap chairs, and I play so dirty I took these chairs from a church, so don't mess with me.
Of course, in the end this might actually make them more productive, but that's a risk I'm willing to take.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Thursday, November 8, 2012
The lies our parents tell us
A lot of people have told me I'm gullible and, to be fair, they're not entirely wrong, but I prefer to use the term, "trusting".
The other night I was treating myself to an artichoke for dinner. They have been a special treat in my family that we hadon special occasions when they were on sale, or when the boys were off camping. This particular vegetable, though a favorite of mine, has always had a certain feel of risk for me.
Firstly, for those of you who aren't familiar with the delights of artichokes, I'll give you the run down. They are delicious, they bring joy and look like this:
You cook them, either boiled or steamed, and once fully cooked, you peel off a petal and scrape the meat off from the inside of the petal. The absolute best part is the heart. To get to the heart, eat all the leaves until you're left with the choke nestled in the center of the heart. The choke is completely inedible and needs to be scraped out before you can eat the heart.
Sounds weird, I know, but it's fantastic.
The importance of getting all the choke out of the heart before consumption was stressed to me by my parents. So much so, that my mom told me it is poisonous. I made sure to get every whit of choke out, to where it's essence wasn't even left behind because I knew, on pane of death, there could be no mistakes.
This I believed for a long time and it settled into my subconscious until a couple days ago. I was scraping out the choke, making sure to get every bit out. I stopped suddenly, and had a "wait a minute" moment. The choke is not poisonous.
I immediately called my mom to confront her on her lies. I relayed what she had taught me to which she laughed, hard. "I wouldn't lie to you like that." She proclaimed. Luckily, I called prepared with a backup memory to prove she was wrong, she would lie to me like that.
When I was young, perhaps 5 or 6, she was driving me up to Salt Lake to visit my grandma. As we drove north on I-15 there is a billboard to the right that has a boat straight through the center of it. If you live in Utah, I'm sure you know the one I'm referring to.
I was staring out the window, lost in my own little world when she captured my attention, "Look, Bre. See that boat up there?" Peering up I saw a boat stuck in the billboard, naturally I was amazed as it's not an everyday sight.
"How'd it get there?" I asked.
"I'll tell you." She replied. And she did.
My mother spoke at length of a flood that had filled the valley. She painted a picture of a devastating flood that suddenly swept in, causing a lot of damage and covering everything. The water was high, she told me, so high that it reached all the way up to the billboards. Then, a boat came floating along and crashed right into the center of billboard, getting stuck there. I asked why it was still up there, and she told me that when the water level went back down it was so difficult to remove it, that they just left it there. Seemed legit.
From then on out every time I passed that billboard I would look around and picture enrything around me underwater. Debris floating, survivors clinging to flotsam for dear life. I commiserated on what a tragedy it was, and rejoiced in the fortitude of Utahans to rebuild the community to what is was around me.
As I got older and learned to read, I discovered that the billboard happened to be for a boat dealership. I laughed at how coincidental it was that of all the billboards this boat should get stuck in, that is should be for a billboard selling boats. At least this disaster worked for the billboard; it was the perfect advertisement. Later on I wondered if this was really why the boat was left in.
Getting older I would tell friends all about the horrific flood in Utah, showing them how high the water was based off the height of that boat. Ya know, to keep the memory alive. Most people didn't talk about the flood, but I did.
Later on I began to take note of where the boat actually punctured the billboard; it was blasted outwards on both sides. That seemed fishy to me, shouldn't one side be pushed in, and the other side bend out? Please note that, while I don't know exactly how old I was, it was old enough to logistically put together the effect a boat might have on a billboard. Basically, I'm saying that when I figured this out, I was old enough to know better.
I told this to my mom and it just made her laugh harder. She had no memory of her deceit, and pronounced that she would never lie to her child like that.
But I know better. I. Know.
Were any of you fed creative, ahem, stories by your parents, only to realize later that they were just exploiting your childlike innocence for fun?
If you're so inclined, here are some additional stories on how awesome my mom is.
The other night I was treating myself to an artichoke for dinner. They have been a special treat in my family that we had
Firstly, for those of you who aren't familiar with the delights of artichokes, I'll give you the run down. They are delicious, they bring joy and look like this:
You cook them, either boiled or steamed, and once fully cooked, you peel off a petal and scrape the meat off from the inside of the petal. The absolute best part is the heart. To get to the heart, eat all the leaves until you're left with the choke nestled in the center of the heart. The choke is completely inedible and needs to be scraped out before you can eat the heart.
Sounds weird, I know, but it's fantastic.
The importance of getting all the choke out of the heart before consumption was stressed to me by my parents. So much so, that my mom told me it is poisonous. I made sure to get every whit of choke out, to where it's essence wasn't even left behind because I knew, on pane of death, there could be no mistakes.
This I believed for a long time and it settled into my subconscious until a couple days ago. I was scraping out the choke, making sure to get every bit out. I stopped suddenly, and had a "wait a minute" moment. The choke is not poisonous.
I immediately called my mom to confront her on her lies. I relayed what she had taught me to which she laughed, hard. "I wouldn't lie to you like that." She proclaimed. Luckily, I called prepared with a backup memory to prove she was wrong, she would lie to me like that.
When I was young, perhaps 5 or 6, she was driving me up to Salt Lake to visit my grandma. As we drove north on I-15 there is a billboard to the right that has a boat straight through the center of it. If you live in Utah, I'm sure you know the one I'm referring to.
I was staring out the window, lost in my own little world when she captured my attention, "Look, Bre. See that boat up there?" Peering up I saw a boat stuck in the billboard, naturally I was amazed as it's not an everyday sight.
"How'd it get there?" I asked.
"I'll tell you." She replied. And she did.
My mother spoke at length of a flood that had filled the valley. She painted a picture of a devastating flood that suddenly swept in, causing a lot of damage and covering everything. The water was high, she told me, so high that it reached all the way up to the billboards. Then, a boat came floating along and crashed right into the center of billboard, getting stuck there. I asked why it was still up there, and she told me that when the water level went back down it was so difficult to remove it, that they just left it there. Seemed legit.
From then on out every time I passed that billboard I would look around and picture enrything around me underwater. Debris floating, survivors clinging to flotsam for dear life. I commiserated on what a tragedy it was, and rejoiced in the fortitude of Utahans to rebuild the community to what is was around me.
As I got older and learned to read, I discovered that the billboard happened to be for a boat dealership. I laughed at how coincidental it was that of all the billboards this boat should get stuck in, that is should be for a billboard selling boats. At least this disaster worked for the billboard; it was the perfect advertisement. Later on I wondered if this was really why the boat was left in.
Getting older I would tell friends all about the horrific flood in Utah, showing them how high the water was based off the height of that boat. Ya know, to keep the memory alive. Most people didn't talk about the flood, but I did.
Later on I began to take note of where the boat actually punctured the billboard; it was blasted outwards on both sides. That seemed fishy to me, shouldn't one side be pushed in, and the other side bend out? Please note that, while I don't know exactly how old I was, it was old enough to logistically put together the effect a boat might have on a billboard. Basically, I'm saying that when I figured this out, I was old enough to know better.
I told this to my mom and it just made her laugh harder. She had no memory of her deceit, and pronounced that she would never lie to her child like that.
But I know better. I. Know.
Were any of you fed creative, ahem, stories by your parents, only to realize later that they were just exploiting your childlike innocence for fun?
If you're so inclined, here are some additional stories on how awesome my mom is.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Judgemental Facebook Friend Suggester
I think we're all familiar with Facebook's "People You May Know" feature, yes? If not, you must not have Facebook but, to explain, this feature will suggest friends for you to add. Every time I see these recommendations I get the feeling that Facebook is judging me. This is what I feel the friend suggester would be saying if it could talk.
"Hey there, Bre. I see that you and Jill McJillerson have 40 friends in common. 40! It seems to me that you obviously know her. So...why aren't you friends with Jill? What happened between you two that 40 friends in common can't fix, hmmm?"
"Bre. I suggested you add Jill McJillerson two weeks ago. TWO WEEKS AGO. I can't help but wonder why you haven't added her, and I'm forced to recommend her friendship again. Clearly, you're acquainted."
"You do know it's only Facebook friends, right? I'm not suggesting BFFs or anything!"
"Ok, I'm starting to get the idea that you don't want to add Jill. Though she's pretty cool, just sayin'. Last chance for you to add her. I'll leave it up a while and let you mull it over. Also, I'll suggest her in a couple weeks."
"While you're thinking about Jill, might I suggest Bob McBobster? Ok, hear me out. I know he's a coworker, I know this coworker loves to eavesdrop on your conversations, and his creep factor is a 9 out of 10, but look at his profile pic. It's a baby! A chubby little baby! Who doesn't love babies? Anyone with a baby as a profile picture couldn't be bad."
"I see you didn't add Bob. I didn't want to say this, but it's apparent you hate babies."
"Fine, Bob is a no go. How about these other coworkers? I know you don't actually work in the same department, and you've never actually met, but it's probably not weird to add someone just because you work at the same company. Friend away!"
"All right, I concede- no coworkers. You're really making this difficult for me. Here are a couple people you knew from high school. I'm pretty sure you had science with Jose McJosef and U.S. History with Gabe McGabin. There's nothing like reconnecting with the past!"
"Ok, you're being a real jerk, Bre. I recall you were lab partners with Jose, and I know for a fact you had a crush on Gabe, so why won't you just add them? What's the problem, you don't even have to talk to them, just add them!"
"I realize you haven't kept in contact with them in the last 9 years, and I will admit if you wanted to be friends you would have added them by now, but Mark McMarcus was the bleeping CLASS PRESIDENT! How can you not want the frickin' Class President on your friends list?!"
"Hey there Bre. You may have noticed I've been absent for a while; I've been replaced with ads encouraging young mothers to go to college. I think I needed this time to calm down, relax and regroup. I've been going about this the wrong way, and am trying something new. Bre, please meet Sanjeep McSanjay. You do not know him, have zero friends in common and live in a completely different country. Better yet, you don't even speak the same language, and I think he's looking for someone to buy him a plane ticket to America. Since you have no desire to reconnect with old friends, I think it's best that you make new ones."
"Well up yours too!"
"Hey there, Bre. I see that you and Jill McJillerson have 40 friends in common. 40! It seems to me that you obviously know her. So...why aren't you friends with Jill? What happened between you two that 40 friends in common can't fix, hmmm?"
"Bre. I suggested you add Jill McJillerson two weeks ago. TWO WEEKS AGO. I can't help but wonder why you haven't added her, and I'm forced to recommend her friendship again. Clearly, you're acquainted."
"You do know it's only Facebook friends, right? I'm not suggesting BFFs or anything!"
"Ok, I'm starting to get the idea that you don't want to add Jill. Though she's pretty cool, just sayin'. Last chance for you to add her. I'll leave it up a while and let you mull it over. Also, I'll suggest her in a couple weeks."
"While you're thinking about Jill, might I suggest Bob McBobster? Ok, hear me out. I know he's a coworker, I know this coworker loves to eavesdrop on your conversations, and his creep factor is a 9 out of 10, but look at his profile pic. It's a baby! A chubby little baby! Who doesn't love babies? Anyone with a baby as a profile picture couldn't be bad."
"I see you didn't add Bob. I didn't want to say this, but it's apparent you hate babies."
"Fine, Bob is a no go. How about these other coworkers? I know you don't actually work in the same department, and you've never actually met, but it's probably not weird to add someone just because you work at the same company. Friend away!"
"All right, I concede- no coworkers. You're really making this difficult for me. Here are a couple people you knew from high school. I'm pretty sure you had science with Jose McJosef and U.S. History with Gabe McGabin. There's nothing like reconnecting with the past!"
"Ok, you're being a real jerk, Bre. I recall you were lab partners with Jose, and I know for a fact you had a crush on Gabe, so why won't you just add them? What's the problem, you don't even have to talk to them, just add them!"
"I realize you haven't kept in contact with them in the last 9 years, and I will admit if you wanted to be friends you would have added them by now, but Mark McMarcus was the bleeping CLASS PRESIDENT! How can you not want the frickin' Class President on your friends list?!"
"Hey there Bre. You may have noticed I've been absent for a while; I've been replaced with ads encouraging young mothers to go to college. I think I needed this time to calm down, relax and regroup. I've been going about this the wrong way, and am trying something new. Bre, please meet Sanjeep McSanjay. You do not know him, have zero friends in common and live in a completely different country. Better yet, you don't even speak the same language, and I think he's looking for someone to buy him a plane ticket to America. Since you have no desire to reconnect with old friends, I think it's best that you make new ones."
"Well up yours too!"
Monday, July 23, 2012
The Trainer
Over the last couple years I have...let myself go, as they say.
With perfectly orchestrated laziness I have ignored physical activity and
embraced a diet shared only by pro-football players and amateur sumo wrestlers.
I can't tell you what urged me to change, 'cause I'm not so sure myself. It's not like I woke up one morning thinking, "Well shoot, I should probably lay off ice cream a lil bit." I just started to make wiser choices, and got my lazy bones off the couch and put some miles on my treadmill. I have lost 45 lbs. so far, and yes, I am bragging.
My employer decided to offer free Gold’s Gym passes to employees, and I began to go to the gym with my mom. We were pretty clueless, but at least we were making an effort. Then I got a trainer. He even offered to work my mom out for free. I'm not sure if it was kindness or pity, because the two of us were puttering around the gym trying to figure out how the machines worked. I imagine we looked like a cavemen might, when trying to figure out modern conveniences.
Said trainer is a pretty cool guy; all smiles and jokes, and to cheer me up when I'm frustrated likes to sing, "I am a child of God, pop-pop-popping on the apricot tree." However bad he is at remembering primary songs, he still manages to be incredibly intimidating all the same. Super tall, super lean and with a thick Ghana accent, he gets me to push myself simply because I don't want to experience his bad side.
Most people can pick up on physical cues, e.g., She looks as though vomiting is imminent, therefore perhaps she is not capable of this level of exercise. Not this guy, if he said I have to do 30 pushups then I will be doing 30 come hell or high water. He will give me a number of reps to accomplish, and will count as I go. Nevertheless, if I start to slow down or, heaven forbid, stop mid-rep he will start to count backward. It's incredibly disparaging to be so burned out that you can't push anymore, and to hear him counting backward, tacking on more reps the longer you wait. Listening to 16, 17, 18, 17, 16, is very disheartening.
The first time he worked out me and my mom together I was hoping he would take it easy on my mom. Partly because I didn't want him to kill her, but mostly I didn't want him to scare her off. Instead, he put punching bags in a circle, weights in our hands and told us to punch the bags with everything we've got. Then, when he would say "left" or "right" then we would run around the punching bag circle in that direction. He then told us that he was going to chase us. I have never been more legitimately terrified, while knowing nothing bad would actually happen. But I did know that I did not want to be caught; I had no idea what being caught entailed.
When we were running to the right I knew I was ok because my mom was behind me, and he couldn't get me. But when we were running to the left I was begging my mom to go faster 'cause I was emphatically uninterested in finding out what might happen should he catch us. And as we sprinted (read: lightly jogged) I would hear taunting from behind, "I see your ponytail. I'm going to get your ponytail!" Most people would imagine their ponytail being tugged, but mine went immediately straight to scalping, and forevermore seeing my ponytail hung on the gym wall as a trophy.
I used to think the only way I was ever going to run was if I was chased by a cheetah. Now, I can say the only way I'm going to run is if I'm chased by a cheetah, or my personal trainer. I'm not sure which scares me more.
I can't tell you what urged me to change, 'cause I'm not so sure myself. It's not like I woke up one morning thinking, "Well shoot, I should probably lay off ice cream a lil bit." I just started to make wiser choices, and got my lazy bones off the couch and put some miles on my treadmill. I have lost 45 lbs. so far, and yes, I am bragging.
My employer decided to offer free Gold’s Gym passes to employees, and I began to go to the gym with my mom. We were pretty clueless, but at least we were making an effort. Then I got a trainer. He even offered to work my mom out for free. I'm not sure if it was kindness or pity, because the two of us were puttering around the gym trying to figure out how the machines worked. I imagine we looked like a cavemen might, when trying to figure out modern conveniences.
Said trainer is a pretty cool guy; all smiles and jokes, and to cheer me up when I'm frustrated likes to sing, "I am a child of God, pop-pop-popping on the apricot tree." However bad he is at remembering primary songs, he still manages to be incredibly intimidating all the same. Super tall, super lean and with a thick Ghana accent, he gets me to push myself simply because I don't want to experience his bad side.
Most people can pick up on physical cues, e.g., She looks as though vomiting is imminent, therefore perhaps she is not capable of this level of exercise. Not this guy, if he said I have to do 30 pushups then I will be doing 30 come hell or high water. He will give me a number of reps to accomplish, and will count as I go. Nevertheless, if I start to slow down or, heaven forbid, stop mid-rep he will start to count backward. It's incredibly disparaging to be so burned out that you can't push anymore, and to hear him counting backward, tacking on more reps the longer you wait. Listening to 16, 17, 18, 17, 16, is very disheartening.
The first time he worked out me and my mom together I was hoping he would take it easy on my mom. Partly because I didn't want him to kill her, but mostly I didn't want him to scare her off. Instead, he put punching bags in a circle, weights in our hands and told us to punch the bags with everything we've got. Then, when he would say "left" or "right" then we would run around the punching bag circle in that direction. He then told us that he was going to chase us. I have never been more legitimately terrified, while knowing nothing bad would actually happen. But I did know that I did not want to be caught; I had no idea what being caught entailed.
When we were running to the right I knew I was ok because my mom was behind me, and he couldn't get me. But when we were running to the left I was begging my mom to go faster 'cause I was emphatically uninterested in finding out what might happen should he catch us. And as we sprinted (read: lightly jogged) I would hear taunting from behind, "I see your ponytail. I'm going to get your ponytail!" Most people would imagine their ponytail being tugged, but mine went immediately straight to scalping, and forevermore seeing my ponytail hung on the gym wall as a trophy.
I used to think the only way I was ever going to run was if I was chased by a cheetah. Now, I can say the only way I'm going to run is if I'm chased by a cheetah, or my personal trainer. I'm not sure which scares me more.
Friday, March 2, 2012
A story of two gals and 14 donuts
Admittedly, I have fallen off the blogger wagon. I feel like a slacker, and the thought of having to play catch up only fueled my procrastination. So, I'm not going to recap the last couple months. Let's be honest; No one likes/reads those massive long blog posts that rehash everything you did in the months since you last blogged.
That is my gift to you. Now it's time for a story.
Once upon a time...today, more specifically...My coworker and I decided it was important to support local businesses. Of course, the best way to do this is to make a purchase.
Basically, we wanted donuts.
We drove to Krispy Kreme all a-twitter with the excitement of the sugary delights to come. Once inside we were assaulted by the sickly sweet smell of fried dough and dripping fresh frosting. It was little overwhelming and my memory got a little hazy after that.
We ordered a dozen glazed donuts. To recap, there were only two of us, and we ordered a dozen. Why would we do that? Couldn't tell you; like I said my memory is fuzzy and filled with the cloud of a contact sugar high.
As we were about to leave, a KK employee asked if we would like a sample. This seemed pretty silly to me because we already bought a dozen, it's not like they needed to sell us on their product. We had already committed ourselves to a donut binge. The absolute last thing we needed was another donut.
Naturally, I said I would love a sample. Again, I have zero reasoning behind this, and am convinced Krispy Kreme slips mild narcotics into the air systems.
Said sample was so fresh it burned my lip as I bit into it. I have never been so OK with being burned as I was in that moment. After polishing the donut off in the car regret began to sink in as the high faded. I started to realize what had transpired; we purchased a dozen donuts, received 14 and there were still 12 left. I was already sick off the first one, and the thought of eating any more made my stomach churn.
After I finished the second donut my self-esteem took a plummet, and I began to question every decision I had made past 10:00 AM. Luckily, common sense began to make its way back into my sugar-addled brain.
And that's the story of why a dozen of my coworkers got a donut, courtesy of my sugar-instigated fugue state.
The End.
That is my gift to you. Now it's time for a story.
Once upon a time...today, more specifically...My coworker and I decided it was important to support local businesses. Of course, the best way to do this is to make a purchase.
Basically, we wanted donuts.
We drove to Krispy Kreme all a-twitter with the excitement of the sugary delights to come. Once inside we were assaulted by the sickly sweet smell of fried dough and dripping fresh frosting. It was little overwhelming and my memory got a little hazy after that.
We ordered a dozen glazed donuts. To recap, there were only two of us, and we ordered a dozen. Why would we do that? Couldn't tell you; like I said my memory is fuzzy and filled with the cloud of a contact sugar high.
As we were about to leave, a KK employee asked if we would like a sample. This seemed pretty silly to me because we already bought a dozen, it's not like they needed to sell us on their product. We had already committed ourselves to a donut binge. The absolute last thing we needed was another donut.
Naturally, I said I would love a sample. Again, I have zero reasoning behind this, and am convinced Krispy Kreme slips mild narcotics into the air systems.
Said sample was so fresh it burned my lip as I bit into it. I have never been so OK with being burned as I was in that moment. After polishing the donut off in the car regret began to sink in as the high faded. I started to realize what had transpired; we purchased a dozen donuts, received 14 and there were still 12 left. I was already sick off the first one, and the thought of eating any more made my stomach churn.
After I finished the second donut my self-esteem took a plummet, and I began to question every decision I had made past 10:00 AM. Luckily, common sense began to make its way back into my sugar-addled brain.
And that's the story of why a dozen of my coworkers got a donut, courtesy of my sugar-instigated fugue state.
The End.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
The World's Most Awkward Conversation
At the Subway Drive Thru window:
Employee: "Hi, how're you?"
Bre: "Uh, good. And you?"
Employee: "Your total is $8.00"
I hand him my card, he stops in the middle of taking it from me.
Employee: "Oh, I'm good. Having a good day."
Bre: "Well, good. That's good."
"Employee: "Here's your sandwich."
Bre: "Thank you."
Employee: "And this is your drink."
Bre: "Thank you."
Employee: "Have a good night!"
Bre: "Thanks, you too."
And I prepare to pull out. Suddenly, he leans out the window.
Employee: "Looks like it's going to rain."
Bre: "Oh...really?"
Employee: "Just look at those clouds, I think it's going to rain. It's dark."
Bre: "Uh huh....Ok, bye!"
Employee: "See ya!"
And then I high-tailed it out of there.
Employee: "Hi, how're you?"
Bre: "Uh, good. And you?"
Employee: "Your total is $8.00"
I hand him my card, he stops in the middle of taking it from me.
Employee: "Oh, I'm good. Having a good day."
Bre: "Well, good. That's good."
"Employee: "Here's your sandwich."
Bre: "Thank you."
Employee: "And this is your drink."
Bre: "Thank you."
Employee: "Have a good night!"
Bre: "Thanks, you too."
And I prepare to pull out. Suddenly, he leans out the window.
Employee: "Looks like it's going to rain."
Bre: "Oh...really?"
Employee: "Just look at those clouds, I think it's going to rain. It's dark."
Bre: "Uh huh....Ok, bye!"
Employee: "See ya!"
And then I high-tailed it out of there.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Redemption Is MINE!
Today me and a bunch of coworkers went back to the Habitat for Humanity house for more team-building and volunteer work. I was not looking forward to it after my last experience a mere three weeks ago. If you're confused and would like to not be, you can read about it by clicking...here.
Now that you're all caught up, and fully understand why I was dreading a return visit, I'll continue with my story.
I spent some time trying to think of a good reason not to go, but couldn't find anything reasonable or believable and found myself once more on the build site. I felt it was important to prove myself not completely incompetent and got right to work. I was mainly able to do so because all there was to do at first was haul wood from the living room to outside, and any idiot could do that.
Then I got my assignment, and I'm not even sure how it landed in my lap, not if I would be able to pull it off. I was told to build the windowsills and moldings. Sounds complicated? That's because it was. I almost laughed when the foreman was giving instructions 'cause I couldn't believe he really expected me to be able to accomplish such a task. It was a process with many many steps, involving four different kinds of saws and a nail gun. And they let me play with power tools, even after the last time.
I had to measure the window, adding a bit for the lip, then cut a board to fit, saw around the lip, and nail the sucker down. Then measure, cut and nail in the molding. Considering I couldn't even measure right last time this is extra impressive. I did six windows in total in the four hours that we were there.
I am freaking Bob Villa. I'm considering starting my own home improvement show, with the only topic of building window sills and molding, 'cause that's all that I can do. But I can make the crap out of them. I am now convinced I should go into construction because I fancy myself a full on carpenter.
I should have taken a picture so you could really get the full effect, but didn't want to look like a dork taking a picture of (the world's best-fashioned) window sills. Though, I suppose it's no less dorky to blog about making window sills...
It's safe to say I've redeemed myself, and can now show mysefl at Habitat for Humanity. Can, but probably won't. I think I've had my fill this year.
Now that you're all caught up, and fully understand why I was dreading a return visit, I'll continue with my story.
I spent some time trying to think of a good reason not to go, but couldn't find anything reasonable or believable and found myself once more on the build site. I felt it was important to prove myself not completely incompetent and got right to work. I was mainly able to do so because all there was to do at first was haul wood from the living room to outside, and any idiot could do that.
Then I got my assignment, and I'm not even sure how it landed in my lap, not if I would be able to pull it off. I was told to build the windowsills and moldings. Sounds complicated? That's because it was. I almost laughed when the foreman was giving instructions 'cause I couldn't believe he really expected me to be able to accomplish such a task. It was a process with many many steps, involving four different kinds of saws and a nail gun. And they let me play with power tools, even after the last time.
I had to measure the window, adding a bit for the lip, then cut a board to fit, saw around the lip, and nail the sucker down. Then measure, cut and nail in the molding. Considering I couldn't even measure right last time this is extra impressive. I did six windows in total in the four hours that we were there.
I am freaking Bob Villa. I'm considering starting my own home improvement show, with the only topic of building window sills and molding, 'cause that's all that I can do. But I can make the crap out of them. I am now convinced I should go into construction because I fancy myself a full on carpenter.
I should have taken a picture so you could really get the full effect, but didn't want to look like a dork taking a picture of (the world's best-fashioned) window sills. Though, I suppose it's no less dorky to blog about making window sills...
It's safe to say I've redeemed myself, and can now show mysefl at Habitat for Humanity. Can, but probably won't. I think I've had my fill this year.
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