Professionalism is my middle name
I love the Fall. I drive around the neighborhood taking pictures of trees. This one’s my favorite.
It’s right by my house and I remember them planting it and I’ve watched it grow up. I called it “her” the other day. My kids think I’m nuts.
I have a coworker Jay who’s been with this girl for five-ish years. A few months ago she lost her cat which she’s had for like 12 years. And not like lost like our poor Buford who just never came home.
I like to think a deaf family found Buford and not that he’s in a coyote’s belly. They’d have to be a deaf family because they’d never be able to keep him in the house with all his howling. Awww, I miss Buford.
Anyway, Jay’s girlfriend’s cat of 12 years died of cancer. I told Jay first that I was sorry for her and two that he’d better “put a baby in there” before she got another kitten. He’s not a cat person. Well, two months later, Wham, bam, there’s a bun in the oven.
I’m psychic. I have like a fifth sense. Am I too old to be making Mean Girls references?
When I worked for Target, after being an awesome cashier I was the operator when the operator was in the back of the store in an office. I was secluded so when people called to threaten me when I said there were no more Cabbage Patch Kids, they couldn’t always find me.
I was never really good at telling people who wanted to chat to get back to work. I can’t help it, I’m a chatter. So one day I was chatting with this guy and his boss walked back and said to him, Can I talk to you for a minute? And I said in all my 16 YO glory, Ooooooo, you’re fired!
Well, imagine my surprise when he really was. Awkward, party of one, your table’s ready. Then he didn’t leave for like ever and his boss came and told me to be a bit more professional. And you can totally tell by my first story that I’m nothing if not professional.