Life in the Slow Lane

You know those days where you spend most of the day waiting for permission to go home and then on the way home you decide that you really do deserve an endulgement and so you go out of your way to hunt down that special treat only to be told that they no longer make it (Hello? You don't make chilly cheese fries any more?!?)? So yeah, it was one of those days. But don't feel too sorry for me... I'm done with reception desk duty!

There are some mornings when you wake up and you know the answer to some previously unsolved riddle. Braille on drive-thru ATMs? It is so people who are blind can bank from the passenger seat. Park on driveways and drive on parkways? Parkways are roads with parks... it doesn't have anything to do with parking and driveways were the long way that someone had to drive between the main street and the estate. Both of these riddles solved, and it wasn't even eight in the morning! But, try as I might, I wasn't able to solve the biggest conundrum facing our modern nation... Why isn't every day Receptionist Appreciation Day?

As some of you may be aware, Receptionist = Coffee Girl. And Monday Morning = LOTS of coffee. I made more coffee in two hours this morning than I have in my entire life, last week's reception desk duty included. As the president said while peering over my shoulder at the progress of the coffee making "I have learned to be content in plenty and in want, but in plenty I am contenter." As for me, I'm still singing the song I was taught in fifth grade music class: C O F F E E Coffee is not for me It's a drink some people wake up with That it makes you nervous is no myth Slaves to a coffee cup, They can't give coffee up. Which, of course, is not a good song to be singing when the president is peering over your shoulder.

Many times in life I have been exceedingly glad that I am not famous. For as much as I have considered this truth throughout my life, I have had even more time to be glad of this fact since starting my current job. And filling in at the reception desk has cemented this even further. In letters you may get a boy from Ghana announcing that he has taken the Founder as his mother, and as such, he would like to exchange cards, bank numbers, and greetings. In that order. At the reception desk you get a caller that insists on speaking to her NOW. And thus begins a treacherous dance of words. How to keep the caller from feeling slighted without fudging the truth? I suddenly understand the disciples trying to keep the children away from Jesus' feet. And a boat to cross the Sea sounds really nice right now.

I decided that for my time at the Reception Desk I needed something to brighten the landscape. That, of course, means flowers. So I took myself off to the grocery store and wavered for about 30 seconds whether I was going to get my first favorite flower or my second favorite flower and then agonized for another five minutes about which color I was going to get. Only on my way out did I notice the two stickers on the plastic sleeve. The first marked the flowers as product of Colombia. The second named the color: Sunny Rebeca Peach

Today I went clothing shopping to beef up my wardrobe. My great question of the day is this: What died and was left to rot in the world of fashion? The styles stink!

Today someone told me that I was poor. Quite frankly, I was shocked. Me? Poor? Why in the world did this woman assume I was poor? Was it in how I dressed? How I acted? Should I have hidden my shock better when someone offered their daughter's discounted salon price to me so that it would only cost $50 to get my hair cut? Am I being stingy... is that why she assumes I'm poor? But no, no. It is just that she doesn't know that out of all my sibs, I'm making the most money. So to all of my beloved siblings out there.... thank you for making me rich!

Yesterday the me from the first department wrote a lovely letter to the boss of the me in the second department. He called the first me back and said it was a wonderful idea and would the second me write a letter for him to address this issue? The second me is going to get upset at the first me for making her more work. That is bad enough, but today a third me showed up! She was sitting at the reception desk and a man called from Ecuador. He wasn't interested in using his Spanish, he wanted to talk in English and he wanted to speak to the Founder. So she put him through to the Founder's assistant. And then she could hear through the wall "...let me put you through to someone who can speak Spanish..." Now, all of you gentle readers are very intelligent, and of course you know what this means. I left the reception desk in the capable control of the woman training me and raced around the corner to my desk, just in time to answer "Hello, thank you for calling, how ma

Everyone in my department has a cubicle. That means that even the manager lacks an office with a door. As anyone can tell you, there are some things in a company that not everyone needs to know. Thus the hunt for a room to borrow begins. The main portion of my office building is shaped like an "L". On either end there is a room that can sometimes be borrowed. But as you walk down the hallway to see if the room is available, 3/4 of the company knows that you are searching for some room for "a talk". Of course it doesn't help that the room has filing cabinets that need to be accessed. And the employee refrigerator and microwave. And the thermastat that goes crazy as soon as you shut the door. Yep. Nothing like some public privacy. The good news is that I passed my 90 days of probationary employment and they still want me to work here.

Several months ago I was in a group of women who were all 7 to 60 years older than me. They were discussing how the last thing to mature in a child's brain is the part that helps them to reason. It doesn't mature until 25, so that is why children do such stupid things. I wasn't sure whether I should be offended that they were having this discussion in front of me or flattered that they momentarily forgot that I was not yet 25. The other day my roommate was telling me about something dumb she did and ended the story by saying "You know how we did stupid things when we were young." No matter that she was probably 7 years older than I am now when this particular story took place. It's hard to live up to such astounding expectations, but at least I now know how to explain away anything less than brilliance.

Dear Ms. *****, We were sorry to hear of the difficult circumstances you find yourself in. However, our real cause for sympathy is your name. We can't believe that an entire family has been subjected to that name for generations without any effort to lose it. As a matter of fact, I can't believe that the village it takes to raise a child hasn't strongly pressured your family to change it's name so that children would not face mouth washings when they spoke of you. Please take this in the nicest way possible. Sincerely, [the me with only one name] P.S. Even though I only use one name for entirely different reasons, you might consider the benefits of that practice.

Serious Music Originally uploaded by biukalee . This is one of my favorite pictures that I took at the reunion. If you are interested, there are more on my flikr space, but I ran out of room to post all of them so you will have to wait until next month for the others.

This morning I got another email from the man who sent me the way snazzy super cool bedspread. He hopes that I will come visit soon. And that I will send him a picture of me. My boss let me know that I can just ignore that... and that he has experience in arranging marriages... and that he thinks I would look good in a burkha.

My, what big teeth you have! Originally uploaded by biukalee . The last week of life as a full-time babysitter (do you remember those ancient days?), I took a disposable camera with me to take photos of my kids. I made sure to take a disposable one so that my kids could take pictures of me, too. After looking at these photos, is it any wonder that kids get scared of adults?

The Babysitter Giant and the Dinosaur Eggs Originally uploaded by biukalee .

Fee Fi Fo Fum Originally uploaded by biukalee .

There is a period of time that seems to last forever and yet never lasts long enough. It is that period of time between realizing that the door you just opened had an alarm and the alarm going off. And sad, but true, none of the me's that I work with knows how to turn off the alarm. But I do have one positive thing to report. Alarms like that are designed to confuse the trespasser. And I can confidently assert that it works. I'm still confused as to why the alarm was set before people left for the day.

So this week my roommates are gone. That means I finally get to do something that I've been wanting to do almost since the very first week that I moved in. I get to buy a watermelon. Now perhaps you think that there was no need to wait until my roommates left for me to do this, but I tell you it's true. When your refrigerator space consists of a short shelf, a narrow drawer, and some door space, buying a watermelon just isn't practical. Especially when you are the only one that will be eating it. Now granted, I could have bought myself a "personal sized watermelon" but I think it violates all moral principles to pay $3.99 a pound for a watermelon. Or, I could go with the other option of eating an entire watermelon by myself without the aid of refrigeration. I tried that once. Without plastic wrap. In the heat and flies of China. I wouldn't recommend it to those who only have a passing fondness for watermelon. Because truth be told, by the time you get to the e

Today "Life in the Slow Lane" celebrates two years of life. If you happen to see it, wish it a happy birthday and many returns of the day.

Today I got a way snazzy cool bedspread and matching pillow cases in the mail. And this wasn't one of those instances where I'm opening someone else's mail. This package was addressed directly to me. (In case you were wondering, it was the me that doesn't have a last name.) I'm not exactly sure what I am going to do with it, though. Since I never corrected the giver's assumption that I was married, it is larger than my entire cubicle and bed combined (Not that the combination ever happens.). But I don't regret not correcting the giver's assumption, because a queen size bedspread and matching pillow cases from Pakistan is a thousand times better than a proposal from Pakistan.