The landline phones we use at work were put in place around the time that Marty McFly was a teenager with some cool skateboarding tricks.
But come Monday, upgrade! We're getting new phones installed Sunday morning. And on Friday, I attended the greatest phone seminar of all-time.
OK, that's an exaggeration. It was lousy, but there were some memorable moments, like when Al the Amazing explained the system.
He said there was one continuous wire for the network and something about wires going from the phone to the computer. I was putting my name on the sign-in sheet and caught the end of that.
Me (interrupting): What's happening?
Al the Amazing: There's a wire that goes from the computer to the phone and a wire that goes from the phone to the computer.
Me (amazed): You don't say?
Liam: He did say. Twice.
I still don't understand the deal with the wires. But whatever. The rest of the seminar included voicemail and parking. Apparently we can park calls. Not sure if we can parallel calls, though.
Al the Amazing kept saying that the phone he was using to show us everything had five buttons but our phones would have four buttons.
Me (in a text): I feel like he's rubbing in the fact that he has more buttons.
Rachel: Like he's bragging about the size of his Penis.
Al the Amazing's penis aside, the new phone is a major disappointment in two ways.
1. There's a directory in the phone for everyone in the company with one of these phones. Great. But it doesn't have company cell phones in it. Nor can you add outside lines to the directory. Well fuck.
2. Our old phones don't allow for the other end to use caller ID. Not these. Now, if I'm stalking somebody, they can just call me back. Before if they tried to call back, they'd get nothing.
Besides stalking chicks, I also used the work phone to call back numbers I didn't recognize on my cell phone. It was a useful tool. Now gone. Thanks, technology.
Al the Amazing concluded the enlightenment by telling us not to be afraid if we didn't understand something because pushing the buttons won't break the phones. Only smashing the phone or stomping on it could break it.
I think we were all a little tempted to take Al up on that one.
THE TINA CURSING CORNER
I returned a phone call to my mother Tuesday afternoon.
Mom: What's up?
Me: Just got out of Winn-Dixie.
Mom: You live at the fucking Winn-Dixie.
Mom worked in her yard Friday. "Fucking sun killed me."
Mom explains the financial crisis to me. "Some people owe more than their house is worth. But they let them keep borrowing. Now those people are in a fucking bind."
Mom doesn't like the new G-mail system. "It's fucked."
Mom doesn't think you can trick somebody into sex by looking Ike their normal partner. "You would think if you were fucking someone different, you would know."
My lawnmower didn't start again. "Well do something so it'll fucking start."
THAT'S NOT THE TRASH
Twice this week I've thrown the wrong thing in my hand into the garbage.
The second time was Thursday when I held a dirty plastic spoon and Tupperware and tossed the Tupperware. That was at my desk and an easy swap, though I felt stupid.
Monday, however, wasn't so easy when I threw away my work ID instead of the trash in my hand. This was right outside the building, where the trash cans are heavy and have bars.
I had to tip the can on its side and then stick my hand in and grab hold of the lining. After yanking on it, I eventually got to the bottom of the trash bag.
Then I sifted through the garbage with one hand while holding the can steady with the other until I found my ID covered in some sort of gunk. This took five minutes.
Luckily, no one wandered by to witness this embarrassment.
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