I vaciliate between marveling at how odd my working situation is and banging my head against the desk out of sheer boredom of the everyday humdrum. The cast of characters seems wonderfully eccentric yet painfully ordinary at the same time.
My boss is 29, newly married and extremely laidback. He asks for my opinion on everything from his doc martens to cowboy outfits to the plan for the latest mission. We will call him "The Don" The Don likes to talk and talk; during lunch time, at the end of the day an hour after everyone else has left. I once feigned passing out on his office floor so that I may escape and go home. He's constantly employing new strategies to 'organize' himself. He buys palm pilots, planners, desk calendars, schdules appointments on his outlook calendar. He's constantly revising his plan on a giant white board, making list after list, chart after chart, excel document after excel document. He even invests in quirky office supplies in an effort to provide some organization; everything from dry erase markers with erasers on the tip to multitudes of colored tabs. None of this works. Everything sits in haphazard piles on his large desktop. He dictates a plan and I write it out on the board in a manner that makes sense to me; because, afterall,I'm usually the one who has to implement it.
My former right hand guy and primary mentor is now my boss' right hand guy. We will call him "T." He's 37, married to an adorable 27 year old German woman and is always insisting he's my age-23. Everytime I complain of aches and pains or tiredness he laments "It's tought being 37, isn't it? That body needs to rest." (he's into this role reversal thing) The other day he was explaining how he sure looks old for 23. The Don assured him it was just the 1SG job that was making him look old. Once he retired, the 23 year old face would return. He eats 20 piece chicken nuggets from McDonald's for breakfast so often that when he walks in he doesn't even have to say anything; they bring his order right out. If he's not eating McDonald's, he's drinking cokes and eating snickers bars and king dongs....for breakfast. At first I was apalled, but I soon adopted the "coke habit" if you will. A hard worker and immune to bad moods and bouts of anger, he always finds the time to fit in a few games of solitaire during work. He always answers calls from his wife by saying "I want a large meat lover's" or "No habla espanol."
My right hand guy is approaching 30 or is early 30s and still acts like he's 25. He's all about clubbin, drinkin, and partyin; he appears to be in denial that he is in fact, engaged to a tiny sweet Romanian woman. He's got a great sense of humor and we are often laughing in the office together. A gym devotee, his upper body is hugely swoll. We will call him Sprad. Sprad is my hammer; I just casually mention that the soldiers are taking a half hour smoke break or perusing the duty roster for more than 20 mins and he regulates on their asses.
The cast sounds like people you know right? "T" likes to wait until I'm fully engaged in a conversation with some one and creep up, execute a two foot jump and land directly behind me in hopes to startle the living shit out of me. 30% of the time it works. He lives for that 30%. The Don, Sprad and T all monitor my coke habit. Sometimes I warn them that it's going to be a "2-coke day" which is usually the same kind of day when I am uttering "two fuck" sentences, i.e. "fuck that mother fucker" and "that fucker needs to unfuck his shit".
Another topic of interest is my alleged alcoholism and wild partying. During Friday's saftey brief The Don says "Now no drinkin like LT Ellsworth this weekend!" A few of my loyal soldiers pulled out dimes and threw them on the ground 'cause The Don had 'dropped a dime on me.'
Another wonderful caveat to this alcoholism is my need "to use the 5 ton to turn in my bottles for deposit." (In Germany, everything you drink out of a bottle you pay a deposit on in hopes you will return the bottle to collect. A 5 ton truck is a giant military vehicle that could tow your house) I don’t help things either by saying (in an attempt to defend myself) “I drank WAY more than this in college!”
The other day T was making fun of his wife for wanting to pitch a tent and sleep in the backyard on nice nights. I said “Well that isn’t that weird ,I’ve slept on my balcony on nice nights.” He looks at me with a smile and says “But that wasn’t intentional, was it ma’am?” Walked right into that one.
The Don and I were talking and Sprad was standing there as well. In between his explanations of how to differentiate between long and short range radios, The Don spit a glob of dip-spit into the Mechanic's Pit. Time seemed to stop as I stared at this glob as it traveled from his lip to the pit, mere feet from my boot. My thoughts, as they regularly do, must have registered on my face 'cause Sprad soon broke into hysterical nonstop laughter. He says "You just look like he spit in your house on your brand new floor", correctly reading my look of utter disgust. The Don, oblivious to the degree of heinousness of dipspit hitting an indoor walking surface, seemed confused. Sooon I joined in the laughter bc there was nothing else to do. And it stopped The Don from talking.
Two of Sprad and I's most hardworking, loyal soldiers were taking a trip to Oslo,Norway. As per usch, him and I must peruse and sign any weekend trip itineraries outside of a 300k radius. As I am signing I get stab of curiousity and glance at the flight confirmation. The confirmation is sent to email address: BIGOLEASSBAG@YAHOO.com I read it slowly and carefully just to make sure I am not hallucinating. I break into loud, unstoppable laughter alone at my desk. Sprad walks in wondering what the hell is so funny. I point at the address and he stares at it for several minutes, sounding it out. He didn't get it. I finally shouted, between gasps for breath "Big Ol' Assbag?!!!!" He finally joins in and the two of us are laughing hysterically for a good ten mintues.
My boss is 29, newly married and extremely laidback. He asks for my opinion on everything from his doc martens to cowboy outfits to the plan for the latest mission. We will call him "The Don" The Don likes to talk and talk; during lunch time, at the end of the day an hour after everyone else has left. I once feigned passing out on his office floor so that I may escape and go home. He's constantly employing new strategies to 'organize' himself. He buys palm pilots, planners, desk calendars, schdules appointments on his outlook calendar. He's constantly revising his plan on a giant white board, making list after list, chart after chart, excel document after excel document. He even invests in quirky office supplies in an effort to provide some organization; everything from dry erase markers with erasers on the tip to multitudes of colored tabs. None of this works. Everything sits in haphazard piles on his large desktop. He dictates a plan and I write it out on the board in a manner that makes sense to me; because, afterall,I'm usually the one who has to implement it.
My former right hand guy and primary mentor is now my boss' right hand guy. We will call him "T." He's 37, married to an adorable 27 year old German woman and is always insisting he's my age-23. Everytime I complain of aches and pains or tiredness he laments "It's tought being 37, isn't it? That body needs to rest." (he's into this role reversal thing) The other day he was explaining how he sure looks old for 23. The Don assured him it was just the 1SG job that was making him look old. Once he retired, the 23 year old face would return. He eats 20 piece chicken nuggets from McDonald's for breakfast so often that when he walks in he doesn't even have to say anything; they bring his order right out. If he's not eating McDonald's, he's drinking cokes and eating snickers bars and king dongs....for breakfast. At first I was apalled, but I soon adopted the "coke habit" if you will. A hard worker and immune to bad moods and bouts of anger, he always finds the time to fit in a few games of solitaire during work. He always answers calls from his wife by saying "I want a large meat lover's" or "No habla espanol."
My right hand guy is approaching 30 or is early 30s and still acts like he's 25. He's all about clubbin, drinkin, and partyin; he appears to be in denial that he is in fact, engaged to a tiny sweet Romanian woman. He's got a great sense of humor and we are often laughing in the office together. A gym devotee, his upper body is hugely swoll. We will call him Sprad. Sprad is my hammer; I just casually mention that the soldiers are taking a half hour smoke break or perusing the duty roster for more than 20 mins and he regulates on their asses.
The cast sounds like people you know right? "T" likes to wait until I'm fully engaged in a conversation with some one and creep up, execute a two foot jump and land directly behind me in hopes to startle the living shit out of me. 30% of the time it works. He lives for that 30%. The Don, Sprad and T all monitor my coke habit. Sometimes I warn them that it's going to be a "2-coke day" which is usually the same kind of day when I am uttering "two fuck" sentences, i.e. "fuck that mother fucker" and "that fucker needs to unfuck his shit".
Another topic of interest is my alleged alcoholism and wild partying. During Friday's saftey brief The Don says "Now no drinkin like LT Ellsworth this weekend!" A few of my loyal soldiers pulled out dimes and threw them on the ground 'cause The Don had 'dropped a dime on me.'
Another wonderful caveat to this alcoholism is my need "to use the 5 ton to turn in my bottles for deposit." (In Germany, everything you drink out of a bottle you pay a deposit on in hopes you will return the bottle to collect. A 5 ton truck is a giant military vehicle that could tow your house) I don’t help things either by saying (in an attempt to defend myself) “I drank WAY more than this in college!”
The other day T was making fun of his wife for wanting to pitch a tent and sleep in the backyard on nice nights. I said “Well that isn’t that weird ,I’ve slept on my balcony on nice nights.” He looks at me with a smile and says “But that wasn’t intentional, was it ma’am?” Walked right into that one.
The Don and I were talking and Sprad was standing there as well. In between his explanations of how to differentiate between long and short range radios, The Don spit a glob of dip-spit into the Mechanic's Pit. Time seemed to stop as I stared at this glob as it traveled from his lip to the pit, mere feet from my boot. My thoughts, as they regularly do, must have registered on my face 'cause Sprad soon broke into hysterical nonstop laughter. He says "You just look like he spit in your house on your brand new floor", correctly reading my look of utter disgust. The Don, oblivious to the degree of heinousness of dipspit hitting an indoor walking surface, seemed confused. Sooon I joined in the laughter bc there was nothing else to do. And it stopped The Don from talking.
Two of Sprad and I's most hardworking, loyal soldiers were taking a trip to Oslo,Norway. As per usch, him and I must peruse and sign any weekend trip itineraries outside of a 300k radius. As I am signing I get stab of curiousity and glance at the flight confirmation. The confirmation is sent to email address: BIGOLEASSBAG@YAHOO.com I read it slowly and carefully just to make sure I am not hallucinating. I break into loud, unstoppable laughter alone at my desk. Sprad walks in wondering what the hell is so funny. I point at the address and he stares at it for several minutes, sounding it out. He didn't get it. I finally shouted, between gasps for breath "Big Ol' Assbag?!!!!" He finally joins in and the two of us are laughing hysterically for a good ten mintues.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home