For the most part, I can navigate life tricking others into thinking I'm perfectly sane and mostly normal. Unless, of course, the phone somehow becomes involved. (Or we become close friends, or you read this, or any other number of things, but for the sake of this post, most casual acquaintances never catch on to how much is wrong with me.) I have serious anxiety when it comes to the phone. I went without one entirely (home or cell) until Pie was born and George forced one on me. It's been almost four years and I still haven't adjusted. I lost my phone a week before Thanksgiving and wasn't eligible for a new one until a week after Christmas. That would bother most people. It was the best month and a half of my life!
By "phone anxiety" I don't mean I get a little nervous or worked up, I mean it's not uncommon for the phone to stir up full on panic. I generally don't make outgoing calls, even if the person wants me to call them. I have a few friends I'll call on occasion, but it's a pretty sad sight. It takes me about an hour to go through with it, starting to dial, hanging up, talking to myself. I don't know why I'm like that--I mean, if they didn't want me to call, I wouldn't have the number, right? Even calling businesses, where someone is being paid specifically to take my call, is a hideously nerve wracking experience. George handles that when he can, as it's been known to reduce me to a trembling mess. The only people I can call without heaps of stress over it are my husband and my parents. Anyone else? Forget it.
I also ignore calls unless I know who it is. If an unknown number pops up, I google it before answering. If google doesn't point me in the right direction, I just hit ignore and hope they leave a message if it's important. Fielding all of George's calls this week has been a special brand of torture for me, but being the awesome wife I am, I've handled it like a champ. I seriously want some sort of prize or a parade or something.
Anyway, I'm getting to the asshole bit. I'm exhausted, and run down. I haven't had a minute that wasn't dedicated to someone else's condolences or questions or tears, and between that and a few other things, life has been taking its toll on me. I finally asked George if it would be completely insensitive for me to go out for a couple hours. He laughed at me for thinking that was insensitive. George is not an asshole!
I just went to the IHOP because it's close and they give you the whole pot of coffee and leave you alone. I'm pretty sure they hate me because I only get coffee and not food, but I'm an excellent tipper, and I don't require a lot of work, so I could be wrong.
In any case, I'm sitting there enjoying my coffee and working on a terrible piece of writing, when my phone rings. It's been doing that a lot this week, so I don't think much of it, and I answer without looking.
"Is Kendra there?"
This sets off alarm bells. Most of the calls we've been getting have been for George. Most of the callers don't even know my name, much less ask for me. Half of them didn't even know he had a wife. On top of that, it's a dude. The only men who ever call me are my husband, father, or brother. I know all of their voices, and their names come up on my phone. Whoever this is, it's not one of them. It doesn't look like a telemarketer number, besides, they usually ask for Mrs. --- or sometimes the more generic Homeowner. I've never had one ask for me by my first name. I panic.
"I'm sorry, you must have the wrong number! Can I take a message?" I'm not usually that dumb, I'm just panicking, and even before that, my mind was somewhere else entirely. I don't catch what I just said, but the caller does.
"Oookay," he slips in before I can hang up. "I have the wrong number, but you want to take a message?"
"Huh?" It's still not registering. Maybe I am that dumb.
"You said I have the wrong number, but you want to take a message..." The sarcasm drips from his voice as he repeats himself. "Can you explain how that works?"
Now it's making sense, and I'm a little pissed off. You called me. I didn't want to talk to you. If I did want to talk to you, you totally destroyed any of that by being a douche. "I don't know. Guess I can't." I'm starting to get my wits about me, but I'm still upset about this.
"Why would you offer?"
Who the fuck is this guy? Literally? "Look, chum. I'm having a bad week. If you have to know, I wasn't really paying attention when I answered. I don't know who you are. I don't know who you're looking for. Why don't you do us both a favor, hang up, double check your number, and leave me the hell alone." Disconnect!
Once I stopped shaking, I paid my bill and went home to google the number. (Since I'm still without a laptop, I couldn't do it there.) Unknown cell. Super! He didn't call back, nor did he call George's phone as I'd have expected from someone calling to offer him sympathy. I'm really curious now, but not enough to call back.
In retrospect, I was probably unnecessarily bitchy, but then, I'm already tightly wound, everyone I normally talk to knows about my phone issues, and this guy really was being an asshole. Something tells me to be glad I missed out on talking to him.
Showing posts with label assholes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label assholes. Show all posts
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Thursday, December 30, 2010
A Day Off!
I started typing this sometime around 7AM, with full intention of bragging about my day off, bought about by the ill health of my poor child. Turns out, it couldn't be farther from a day off, hence my deletion of the whole three sentences I'd typed over five hours ago. Serves me right, I suppose.
There's nothing like family illness to bring out the annoying in my husband. He's been on vacation all week. For him, this is a much deserved break. For me, it's more cooking, more cleaning, more laundry. Awesome. With the kid being sick, he's at full panic. I like to think that if you cross bred a monkey and a rhino and raised it to be a crack addict, you'd know what my husband is like when he's been home too long and our kid is sick. In his world, it can just be a cough or a fever or a runny nose. No, nothing common and every day at all. Clearly, she's suffering from the plague.
On one hand, this has been of great benefit to both the child and myself. Right now, he's will to make as many trips to Super Walmart Center as necessary to ensure her continued breathing and/or happiness. This is how I got an economy sized box of frozen waffles, plus it's gotten him out of the house for several hours. Those hours were broken up in to approximately 20 minute increments, but this is stupendous, none the less. I keep planting little "needs" in her mind. I'm a horrible person.
On the other hand, he's being really irritating. I just took her temperature. You want to know if it's changed a fraction of a degree? Take it again yourself! Yes, she's had her fluids, yes, she's had her medicine. Stop barking orders at me from the living room and come in here if you need something. And make your own fucking corndog.
Then there's the child, herself. I really do feel bad for her. It sucks seeing her sick, and she's already so tiny and frail, but she keeps forgetting she's sick. The wonders that are Tylenol and Motrin have knocked nearly all the symptoms out of her. And this is good, except for the fact that since she's feeling pretty okay, it's nearly impossible to get her to rest. Once the medication starts wearing off she turns into a nightmare. This morning, I'd totally envisioned a lovely day of lounging at the computer while she watched an endless stream of DVD's and quietly rested. My experience has been nothing like that. Instead, my whole day has been spent trying to keep her in one spot, cooking, and cleaning. Sort of like every other day only with an extra heap of annoyance.
On top of this, I'm pretty sure I'm coming down with whatever she has. I can hardly even taste my frozen waffles. I'm on very limited sleep, so my thoughts are angry and tired and mostly incoherent. I'm also aware of some rather unpleasant smell. I think it's me.
And my mom keeps calling. My mom is pissed off at me for blowing her off on Christmas. Apparently all holidays happen for her. Neat-o. We've tried ignoring the calls, but my mom is one of those people who completely disregards unanswered phones. Her mind remains convinced that I really am here and I really do want to talk to her. The end result is about 45 minutes worth of consecutive calls, each with its own unique and eventually hostile voice mail. I should really consider turning these into audio clips and posting them whenever someone pisses me off.
So that's where we're at today. No day off, just a big day full of fuck you. But I promised to write daily, and I'm not prepared to give that up yet. I know that random whining is no way to impress my audience (and again, thank you to everyone who continues reading!) so, here's a quick story:
I'm at the craptop googling things that very likely should never be googled. She, for a fleeting moment is completely engrossed in a movie, and I'm going to enjoy that moment in every way it can possibly be enjoyed. I'm not really paying her much attention, so it comes as a complete shock when she looks up and speaks.
"Those kids are assholes!"
I know I should reprimand her inappropriate language, but I'm simply too bewildered. "What kids?"
"Those ones," she points to the movie. "Buncha assholes!"
This time, I try to correct her, but there's so much passion behind her accusation that all I can do is laugh. When I can finally breathe again, I gasp, "Why do you think that?"
"Just because." The conversation is left there, as she returns to her movie and I return to the computer. So far, this has been the high point of my day.
Perhaps later, I'll compose a haiku about it.
There's nothing like family illness to bring out the annoying in my husband. He's been on vacation all week. For him, this is a much deserved break. For me, it's more cooking, more cleaning, more laundry. Awesome. With the kid being sick, he's at full panic. I like to think that if you cross bred a monkey and a rhino and raised it to be a crack addict, you'd know what my husband is like when he's been home too long and our kid is sick. In his world, it can just be a cough or a fever or a runny nose. No, nothing common and every day at all. Clearly, she's suffering from the plague.
On one hand, this has been of great benefit to both the child and myself. Right now, he's will to make as many trips to Super Walmart Center as necessary to ensure her continued breathing and/or happiness. This is how I got an economy sized box of frozen waffles, plus it's gotten him out of the house for several hours. Those hours were broken up in to approximately 20 minute increments, but this is stupendous, none the less. I keep planting little "needs" in her mind. I'm a horrible person.
On the other hand, he's being really irritating. I just took her temperature. You want to know if it's changed a fraction of a degree? Take it again yourself! Yes, she's had her fluids, yes, she's had her medicine. Stop barking orders at me from the living room and come in here if you need something. And make your own fucking corndog.
Then there's the child, herself. I really do feel bad for her. It sucks seeing her sick, and she's already so tiny and frail, but she keeps forgetting she's sick. The wonders that are Tylenol and Motrin have knocked nearly all the symptoms out of her. And this is good, except for the fact that since she's feeling pretty okay, it's nearly impossible to get her to rest. Once the medication starts wearing off she turns into a nightmare. This morning, I'd totally envisioned a lovely day of lounging at the computer while she watched an endless stream of DVD's and quietly rested. My experience has been nothing like that. Instead, my whole day has been spent trying to keep her in one spot, cooking, and cleaning. Sort of like every other day only with an extra heap of annoyance.
On top of this, I'm pretty sure I'm coming down with whatever she has. I can hardly even taste my frozen waffles. I'm on very limited sleep, so my thoughts are angry and tired and mostly incoherent. I'm also aware of some rather unpleasant smell. I think it's me.
And my mom keeps calling. My mom is pissed off at me for blowing her off on Christmas. Apparently all holidays happen for her. Neat-o. We've tried ignoring the calls, but my mom is one of those people who completely disregards unanswered phones. Her mind remains convinced that I really am here and I really do want to talk to her. The end result is about 45 minutes worth of consecutive calls, each with its own unique and eventually hostile voice mail. I should really consider turning these into audio clips and posting them whenever someone pisses me off.
So that's where we're at today. No day off, just a big day full of fuck you. But I promised to write daily, and I'm not prepared to give that up yet. I know that random whining is no way to impress my audience (and again, thank you to everyone who continues reading!) so, here's a quick story:
I'm at the craptop googling things that very likely should never be googled. She, for a fleeting moment is completely engrossed in a movie, and I'm going to enjoy that moment in every way it can possibly be enjoyed. I'm not really paying her much attention, so it comes as a complete shock when she looks up and speaks.
"Those kids are assholes!"
I know I should reprimand her inappropriate language, but I'm simply too bewildered. "What kids?"
"Those ones," she points to the movie. "Buncha assholes!"
This time, I try to correct her, but there's so much passion behind her accusation that all I can do is laugh. When I can finally breathe again, I gasp, "Why do you think that?"
"Just because." The conversation is left there, as she returns to her movie and I return to the computer. So far, this has been the high point of my day.
Perhaps later, I'll compose a haiku about it.
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