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Meh. It really is receptionist work.



I got to listen to people bitch and complain all day long Thursday and again on Friday. The people who could actually DO anything about their issues are not due back until mid-week next.



So. They need to vent. I can understand them being tired of leaving unanswered voice-mails because their respective agents are at a conference in - of all places, the lucky fucks - the Carribean.



Venting is fine.



I am, most of the time, a bit caustic. It was an interesting two days.



Ya know how Khayman mentions stupid people who call her office?



Yah.



It is pandemic. I.E. It is everywhere.



I lost count of how many people called and asked to speak to Mr. Soandso. "He is not in; he will be back on Wednesday. Would you like to leave a voice mail?" The many many many replies I got to that had two chief themes:



"So, he's not there?"



and:



"So he's out for a few days, eh?"



No shit. *mutter*



Ok. Three examples of phone calls that made the office manager ask if I could stay the whole 4 1/2 weeks their normal receptionist will be out for knee surgery are below.



#1



While I understand a frustrated person's need to vent and my relative convenience as a target, I see absolutely no reason I should put up with vile verbal abuse. (Funny verbal abuse, as you will see in a later example, is apparently fine.)



I had to cut in and interrupt this man, after being called words my departed BIKER MOTHER would blush hearing. I told him something along the lines of, "Sir. There is no need for this kind of language. You have two options at this point. Those options are as follows: Number one: You can calm down and explaing to me, in a rational manner, just how I may assist you, or, Number two: I can put you on hold until you decide to hang up on yourself. Which shall it be?"



He calmed down.



#2



The funny verbal abuse.



This man (why is it always men?) called, was incensed that his agent had the temerity to be at a conference and not available 24/7, was spouting some truly creative insults. Not foul, mind you, but wonderfully colourful. I had two other lines ringing at the moment he said, "You're all just a bunch of slobbering monkeys down there!"



I asked him if I could put him on hold while I dealt with the two other incoming calls.



He said, yes, but I would need to remind him where he was in his tirade.



I said OK.



I dealt with the two other calls, then went back to the line where I had him holding.



"Thank you for holding sir. You were at, 'You're all just a bunch of slobbering monkeys down there!' Do continue."



He laughed. He then let me put him in his agent's voice mail. I wonder if he called his agent a slobbering monkey too.



#3



I wonder, sometimes. This man, 87 mind you, needed to get an insurance claim form as quickly as possible. I told him I could mail him one, which would take a few days to reach him, or, if he had computer access, he could go to our website to print one directly from there.



This 87 year old man said, "Honey, the only thing I know about computers is that they have porn."



A moment of silence.



"So, I'll mail it then?"



"Please."



*sigh*



After those three phone calls, on Thursday, the office manager asked if I could cover the entire period, about 4 1/2 weeks, of the regular's absence.



It's going to be an interesting four weeks.

Well. I am off, today, to step into the breach for an acquaintance. Basically doing temp work sans temp agency, a week and a half's worth at a branch of an insurance company. Supposedly this is something like receptonist work. Easy enough, although I'll have to deal with "people." Meh. Khayman knows how much I *love* dealing with the public.



All in all, it should, at the very least, be interesting.



I have my resume out to 5 places, so hopefully there will be an interview at one or more of them in the first week of May.



I swear, though, people should keep their eyes opened to San Antonio news this evening, just in case it turns out this is telemarketing stuff. This person wasn't altogether clear on her boss' needed fill in person. And it *is* an insurance company.



If it is telemarketing, I hope both she and her boss have purchased the product. One of them may need it, in addition to a different patsy.

I don't want to write in my journal.



There is so much I need to write in my journal.



But, if I write it, it will become real and choke me.



I am so exhilarated and terrified.



When someone smells right, when being with them feels like coming home, and comfortable, and exhilarating, and like flying, and like a feather comforter in winter, and feels like hot cocoa ... what does your inner commitmentphobe do?



Squeaks and hangs up the phone.



It's already gathering towards real. I am such an emotional fuck-up.



I am squeaking now.



*click*

My rant on tattoos:



Ok. I may make myself incredibly unpopular in just a few moments, but that's ok. It's one of my best things.



I don't understand why people get a tattoo simply because "It looks sooooo cool!"



Tattoos are permanent (well, at the very least extremely expensive and painful to remove, and the scars will always be there).



If you are going to make a permanent modification to your body, you should godsbedamned well *know* all the reasons behind why you are getting EXACTLY what you are getting. Not this, "Ima get a daisy 'cause they're cute" crap.



Yes, daisies are lovely flowers, they happen to be my favourite flower.



However (comma - thank you Khay lol), I see so many many people with tribal designs on their lower back, or celtic knotwork bands in various places. "Why did you choose that?" I asked time and again. "Because I think it's pretty" or "Because I thought it looked cool" were the most frequent answers. They are valid answers, but, Gah!



WHAT DO THE FREAKING DESIGNS MEAN TO YOU?! WHAT DO THEY HAVE TO SAY TO YOU? ABOUT YOU?! other than the flash art on the wall was well done?



Tattoos can be a rich way of embroidering your inner self on your outer self.



I do view skin as a canvas.



I simply wish more people would think more deeply and with more clarity before slapping Mickey Mouse on their asses and a peace sign with a blunt on their biceps. Are Mickey Mouse, peace signs and pot *THE DEEPER YOU?* (big announcer voice)



If so, then right on. Get 'em while they're hot.



If the images are just something you think are neat ... make sure you can explain why you want this image on you, why this bit of art added to the artwork of your natural skin is meaningful for you.



I get tired of trite pieces. I see enough flash on tattoo parlour walls. I want to see real peoples' thoughts on their bodies in ink.

I've been rather remiss in getting my journal entries in of late. *sigh*



The tattoo portion of getting a tattoo went rather smoothly this past Monday. My right shoulder area was the skin under assault this session.



In the week's aftermath, I realized I never knew just how damn much I actually USE that part of my body.



It's in everything! I roll over in bed, I twinge. I brush my hair, I twinge. I wipe my ass, I twinge BIG time - I have to wipe lefty if I don't want to feel my skin is going to crease and spill my bones out the back of me from my shoulder area. I really hate the peely part of the tattoo process. *sigh* My shirts seem to snag on every tiny little peely part and send owch owch owch signals to my brain far out of proportion to the pin-head size of the peely part in question.



Oh. And rubbing lotion on the area?



Fucking ow.



Then blissful relief.



Then the whole peely-owie feeling like my skin is going to crease and spill me out of it begins again. It's a viscious cycle, I tell you.



It's worth every friggin minute. *grin*



Today I am going to get some more colour work put into the butterfly. I am not posting pictures of this. Naner naner naner.



I still need to get a picture of the latest back session up. Meh. I finally got pictures of the previous two sessions up.



Life keeps jumping in. 'Nother journal entry to come of the quixotic properties of electronics.