Did I Mention I'm Double Parked?

We all know Beau works for an evil, evil accounting firm, but I don’t think I’ve ever spoken of my own gainful employment, except to relate tales of the scary bathroom and stairwell incidents. Maybe you noticed that my blogs are usually posted during work hours. Maybe you noticed the title to my link list at stage right. Maybe you even know me in real life. If any of these conditions are true, then you’ve probably figured out that I am a receptionist.

Further trivia running in generally the same vein:

• I work for a magazine published by a college. We’ll call it Nerd Herd magazine.
• I took the position as a temp when I first moved to Boston to stay in the publishing realm and to hopefully weasel my way into the editorial department. Not much weaseling has occurred.
• I’m not a temp anymore. I’m a bona fide employee who can pay her bills and such.
• Yes, that means nothing better has come up.
• Yes, that’s a lie. Better things have come up, but I keep getting rejected because employers see right through my deceitful cover letters that extol my team player attitude/attention to detail/ability to spell without using a spell checker/desire to help my fellow man.

Today, I picked up the phone and was greeted with, “We’re out of Nerd Herd magazines.” I wanted to say “That’s nice” and hang up the phone but that’s how little receptionists like me get fired. So, instead, I connected her over to someone who might care.

An hour later I was awaiting the arrival of the phone lady (Luanne, as we shall call her) who apparently works for another of Nerd University’s departments and needs the magazine for distribution at an event tomorrow. Why, you might ask, did she wait until 1:00 pm the day before a large event to procure said items? We don’t know but she made it fairly clear that it was our fault.

When she showed up, I was still in Friendly Dangerous K mode, so I said something along the lines of “Hi Luanne! I have the magazines all ready for you” and motioned to come around the front desk with her stupid little wheely cart.

Luanne: That’s not 100 issues. The woman I talked to on the phone, Lisa, said that there would be 100.

Dangerous K: [Mind you, there’s no Lisa in my office] That’s odd, she told me to arrange for 30. Let me give my manager a ring. [ring ring ring] Hi? Bell? Luanne is here. She was expecting 100 issues.

Bell: 100? Ugh, do we even have 100?

Dangerous K: No

Bell: I’ll be right there

Dangerous K: [smiling with squinty eyes which means I really hate whoever I’m smiling at] She’ll be right up here to talk about it.

Luanne: I wouldn’t have come all the way over here and double parked for 30 copies. I’m double parked right now.

Dangerous K: [smile gets squintier] She's on her way from the back of the office right now to talk about it with you.

Luanne: Because I am double parked. Right now.

Then I lifted the extremely heavy box onto her little pull cart thing since it became apparent that she was not going to. At the exact moment that the box hit the cart, she released the handle so that the metal pole flew forward and slapped me in the forehead. I quickly stood up (because it really fucking hurt to get clocked in the head with a metal pole) and put my hand to my head as if to say "OW! It really fucking hurt to get clocked in the head with a metal pole".

Luanne: And I don’t want to get towed. Out front. Where my car is double parked.

Dangerous K: [so squinty can barely see, massaging forehead, teeth gritted] She's on her way up AT THIS VERY MOMENT.

I walked into the mail room to continue the drudgery with which I subsidize my daily existence but also to escape the bitching that continued.

Luanne: I can’t believe this. I came all this way and parked illegally to pick up 30 copies. I wouldn’t have come all this way for 30 copies [brief pause]. Oh, did that just hit you in the head? Because I’m double parked and I’m supposed to have 100 copies.

But Friendly Dangerous K was no longer listening. Friendly Dangerous K was quietly crying to herself in the mail room and rubbing the lump on her head. She sent Scary Dangerous K out in her place.

Dangerous K: [no more smiling] No matter how many times you say that I can't make her get up here any quicker.

Luckily, before my sass registered on Luanne’s face, Bell came around the corner and did what adults do best: be polite when they really just want to punch someone in the face. I have trouble doing that and it’s just one reason why I may never fully mature.

Luanne: Double parked… 100 copies… car illegally blocking traffic… more free shit now… etc, etc.

Bell: I’m sorry there seems to have been some miscommunication but we don’t have keep that many issues on hand. I've arranged to have the remainder delivered from our printer tomorrow morning to your office location.

I related my experience to Bell after Luanne left. We wondered aloud whether someone had hit Luanne in the head with a metal pole and were rewarded with giggles from the surrounding offices of editors, the creepiest peanut gallery in existence.

Two hours later, Luanne emailed Bell to let her know she’d only need 25 more copies (wait, 30 + 25 does not equal 100… does not compute) and she’ll be by in the morning to pick them up. I have informed my manager in writing of my intent to wear a bike helmet to avoid further incident.