Will this day ever end? My day begins with me being woken up repeatedly by the sound of
the icy fingers of deathfreezing rain on my window. Finally I go back to sleep until the alarm unpleasantly reminds me that it’s time to get up. I roll over and check whether I’ll have to report in to work today. Just to fuck with me a little more, the OPM hasn’t closed the Federal Government offices in the DC area, but has only delayed the start of the workday by two hours. I roll over and go back to sleep. I catch up with my compadre who fled in advance of the ice storm yesterday, and we divvy up the tasks that need doing today. I still can’t find my fucking garage door key fob thingie, and I’m steaming mad about having to stumble my way through the ice all the way around my building to the front entrance not once, but twice, because the fucking intercom to the concierge desk isn’t working. I love DC in the winter, I love DC in the winter.
Then those no-good
bastcharlatans who run my apartment complex tell me it’s going to be $150 to replace the fob. $150?! The complex manager’s excuse is “all the programming that has to be done”. So I head to the client site to see if I can find the fob in the conference room we call home.
No dice finding the fucking fob. I call Balducci’s, where I grabbed lunch yesterday, and after sitting on hold an interminably long time, I’m told that I’m SOL, but they take my name and number just in case something turns up. Of course, there’s a greater likelihood that the number of potential Anna Nicole baby daddies won’t increase as there is of me finding those keys. I’m waiting for the entire starting lineup of an NBA team to jump in and say they might ALL be Danniewhateverthechildsnameis’s father.
So I finally get around to the most important task of my day…watching last week’s episode of Grey’s Anatomy. This whole ridiculous business of me not owning a TV has got to change pronto. Can you believe the crackhead patient who pulled himself from the water knocks Meredith in? And what’s up with that creepy little girl? I was waiting for her to say “I see dead people” the entire bloody episode.
Now I remember where I stopped before I headed to the client site. So I give them a call, and of course someone who barely speaks English answers the phone. I get the distinct impression that she has no idea what in the hell I’m talking about, and she tells me to call back in 15-20 minutos. I call the main mall telephone number, and am treated to some overly cheery voice that surprisingly belongs to a human being and not some machine hell-bent on killing Sarah Connor. By the time he finished spewing, “Hello. My name is Robert, and welcome to the concierge desk at
Montgomery Mall(redacted)”, I’ve almost forgotten why I was calling. I ask him to look for my keys, and he advised me that I can come in and look for them myself, or he can take my name and number and call me back if he has a moment to look through the 50 or 60 sets of keys allegedly residing in the lost and found. To begin with, I’m a little put off by the overuse of the term “concierge desk”. When I think of the word concierge, I imagine fabulous hotel rooms filled with rose petals and candles, chocolates and other goodies flown in from exotic locales for the occasion…you get the picture. I don’t think of the front desk of my apartment complex or the customer relations desk at some mid-tier mall in a part of Rockville pretending to be Bethesda. I digress.
Good evening, Sports Racers! I sit down for a bite to eat and a chance to unwind with two of my favorite web casters. I’m amused by the seemingly utter randomness of laundry trucks, Googe, and “Satan” Manning. My blog-o-tainment is rudely interrupted by the realization that not only is Boca Lasagna the worst faux meat dish I’ve ever tasted, but it may also be the worst lasagna I’ve ever eaten. The “Mystery Meatless Ground Burger” can’t save this dish from its own “Taste Event Threshold”. This stuff is so dense that I can’t cut it with a fork, and I realize that it’s collapsing under its own gravity. I wonder if it will continue to collapse until it becomes a singularity somewhere in my digestive tract, and what this bodes for my continued colorectal health.
– The Unqualified One