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!