Say Hello, Wave Goodbye
November 13th, 2006
At the end of last week, I distinctly recall being all…boasty about how my work was done, and I was going to relax! And sleep! And, I don’t know, knit a sweater or something. Well, except that I can’t knit, and actually don’t even like it, as it’s a colossal waste of time, since I’ve only really ever made scarves, and how many people need 300 extra-long scarves? Exactly zero. And I already have fifteen bajillion from my last knitting bender that, coincidentally, exactly no one wears, including me, even when we lived in a freezing cold climate.
Anyway, around 7 p.m. tonight, I was still finishing up and my eyes started turning into little glazed ceramic balls of dryness, instead of actual eyes that can do nice things like see, which is what happens when those little eyes have been staring at a computer screen for a sickening amount of time. I thought it would be really convenient if I could just remove my eyes, rinse them off, and put them back in. Refreshing! Except that didn’t happen, and now I’m having trouble seeing when my eyes are not glued to the computer screen, and dammit, here I am again.
I was the last one to leave my office tonight, and I happened to be there when the cleaning people arrived. The cleaning folks are a young couple in their early 20s, and are always very smiley and happy, cheerfully calling “Hiiiii!” in a singsong voice when they walk in, whether they know someone is in the office or not. Usually I sing “hiii!” back as I walk out the door, for I don’t work late that often, and so I had absolutely no idea that they do not speak any English whatsoever, so communicating beyond “Hiiii!” was pretty much out.
After playing an elaborate game of charades to work with them to figure out how to work the electrical outlets in the back room, which were switched to some crazy obscure circuit (the game of charades, P.S., involved me jumping towards the sky and throwing my arms out over my head in manner of what I thought could be a star? As in, a star that gives out light? Power? Circuit? It was met with blank stares and a few arm waves of their own, that probably meant, “Up yours, you crazy fool! You think we want to see you dance around like a demented ass? Just TURN ON THE LIGHTS AND THROW US A BONE.”), I went back to my desk to finish up some work when I felt like someone or something was licking my leg, and after I screamed one of those horrible strangled screams that happen when you think – no, you KNOW – that you are going to die, I looked underneath my desk to find a small boy – who I later figured out is their son – sitting on top of a pile of papers. He screamed “HOLA! HELLO! HOLA!” over and over again in a sweet little voice (he’s no more than two) when I discovered him, but basically, I’m never working late again, ever, because I’m now afraid of things under my desk, even if they turn out to be small children.
In other news, our dining room table arrived today after we found someplace that rents actual ones made out of wood for a reasonable price, instead of freakish early ’80s enamel for a kidney, and for the next week or so, we will have a furnished dining room, courtesy of our friends at RentWay. Unfortunately, when it was delivered, it came with an extra helping of personal humiliation for my husband, who now knows what it’s like to be me, and be missing that essential process of thinking something through before speaking. The conversation between my husband and the delivery man went something like this (names have been changed, clearly):
DeliveryMan: I have a table… Wochack?
Husband: Yes, yes, it’s ours, but it’s ROCHACK, not Wochack.
DM: Yes, WOCHACK.
Husband: ROCHACK
[this played itself out at least one more time, for to everyone's horror, he DID NOT LET IT DIE]
DM: Wight Wight, WOCHACK. That’s what I said! Look, I’m Joe fwom WentWay, and I have that table you wented, so can I come in, or not? Didn’t you WENT THE TABLE?
And that, my friends, was the moment my husband actually died from the horrifiying realization that he had just been a big dumbass who can’t pick up on subtle cues and insulted a man with a speech impediment by correcting him – repeatedly – on something that not only should have been obvious from the get-go, but has no doubt been the source of a lifetime’s worth of agony.
We are a classy family.
*David Gray
Entry Filed under: Nuttin'
16 Comments Add your own
1. Tartine | November 14th, 2006 at 6:38 am
That sounds exactly like something my husband would do. He never picks up on those kind of things. He also tends to imitate the accent of foreign people when he is speaking ENGLISH to them. Like they can understand better if he fakes an accent? I die a thousand deaths when he does this.
I think we need a picture of the table!
2. Claire | November 14th, 2006 at 6:39 am
Oooh. My face turned a little red, there, for Husband. THAT is something that would cause me to be unable to look another person in the eye for a few days. Horror.
Was the little boy actually licking you? Do children do that? Cause that’s a little weird.
3. Heather B. | November 14th, 2006 at 7:33 am
At least you can now say that someone out there finds you (ok, your leg) tasty.
4. -R- | November 14th, 2006 at 7:47 am
You tried to imitate a STAR? That is awesome. Maybe you can tell me what the woman I wrote about in my post last night was trying to tell me with her wacko hand gestures.
5. -R- | November 14th, 2006 at 7:48 am
Not that you are wacko! I’m sure you’re not.
6. Lawyerish | November 14th, 2006 at 8:00 am
Ohhhhhhh. NOOOOOO! I am dying on his behalf. DYING. My face turned bright red as I read that. Awww. Poor husband. I might have burst into tears if that had been me.
7. jonniker | November 14th, 2006 at 8:07 am
For the record, I don’t actually think he was licking my leg, but rather, touching it or doing something, which meant, in my wild panicked frenzy, that my mind TURNED it into licking, for I was fairly positive that whatever was under there was about to eat me.
8. Nancy | November 14th, 2006 at 8:48 am
I had a cockroach run across my open-sandled toes one day this summer at work while I was innocently typing at my desk and my horrified screech brought half the floor to my office. I cannot imagine finding a little boy under there! Less horrifying than a cockroach, certainly, but even more unexpected.
[though, dude, how does a cockroach get to the 49th floor? Actually, I don't want to think about it; it implies an established colony that existed for decades. I very well may have had the Jamestown of cockroaches living in my radiator . . . before the EXTERMINATOR came, hahahah little roaches].
9. Suebob | November 14th, 2006 at 9:14 am
People shouldn’t hide under your desk. No matter how old they are.
I have an annoying fellow employee who does things like sneak up on us, throw things over our cubicle walls, jump OVER us when we kneeling down while filing…I fully expect to find him under my desk one day.
Poor husband. I can see myself doing that. Just to make sure the paperwork was in order and that my name wouldn’t be filed under W by mistake. Sigh.
10. jes | November 14th, 2006 at 10:08 am
Awww…poor Husband. We all make asses of ourselves sometimes. Yesterday was his day.
Good job!
11. Gentry | November 14th, 2006 at 10:15 am
ohmygod. I just died from humiliation overflow alllllll the way over here in Paris. But the question remains: why am I still laughing really hard?
12. Jen W. | November 14th, 2006 at 10:15 am
Jesus, GOD, I would have kicked the shit out of that poor child. That is unbelievably creepy, whether he was innocent or not. You know what it reminded me of? That hilarious scene in the second Bridget Jones book where she finds some random kid in her boyfriend’s bed. SO FUNNY.
13. Lulu | November 14th, 2006 at 10:47 am
Oh my, I cringed. That is just sucky.
But you have a table now! Yay!
14. Christine | November 14th, 2006 at 10:56 am
Ouch poor husband. That is the worst. And I speak from experience.
15. guinness girl | November 14th, 2006 at 2:17 pm
Poor husband!! This story made me think of the scene in A Christmas Story when they go to the Chinese restaurant after the Bumpuses’ dogs eat the turkey and all the little waiters try to sing Deck the Harrs With Bourhs of Horry.
16. Jurgen Nation | November 14th, 2006 at 3:06 pm
Jonniker, I saw the beginning of your post in my subscriptions on Google Reader and once I saw the title of this post I immediately thought, “DAVID GRAY! SHE REFERENCED DAVID GRAY! THAT’S MY FAVORITE SONG!” and then I thought maybe it was a coincidence and we could laugh at me when I said that, but I got here and…sigh. David Gray. I heart you.
Leave a Comment
Some HTML allowed:
<a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>
Trackback this post | Subscribe to the comments via RSS Feed