Transplanted Life
Friday, January 16, 2004
Silly people and things
I don't want a satellite dish. And, more to the point, BioSoft doesn't want a satellite dish. But no matter how many times I press "9" for the company to be removed from DirectTV's call list when their nuisancebot calls, they won't do it. And, of course, their machine only reaches my machine when they call the apartment during business hours, so I never get a chance. There are days when I get called five times between both locations. What must be happening is that there's some huge database of names and numbers, with multiple names per number, and saying "delete me!" only deletes one. Many are probably out of date and they've probably got every employee at BioSoft listed as a different one.

I made the mistake of complaining about it out loud today, and Maureen told me that making purchasing decisions like not buying a satellite dish was not in my job description, but was in fact something for the office manager - her - to consider. After all, it might be a good idea for her to drop cable and subscribe to a digital satellite service to provide more options for blah, blah, and blah. Next time they call, I'm to get information so that she may better review the company's options and not try to unsubscribe... Guaranteeing I'll be answering these calls for months as she "evaluates" (that is, forgets). I swear, it's some sort of deliberate attempt to irritate me.

Then there was the whole flower thing, which I guess was sort of cute. Apparently, Kate had a fight with her boyfriend George, and he's trying to apologize. So he sends flowers. She, however, is still much pissed, and wants no part of them. So they sit on my desk, waiting for Kate to change her mind and giving rise to a whole bunch of misconceptions.

Around two o'clock, I go to the bathroom, come back, and they're gone. I don't see them in the wastebasket, so I figure Kate's relented. Nope. Quarter of three, Carter walks out of his cube with them badly hidden behind his back, and gives them to me, saying that Kate told him that as long as people think they're for me, they might as well be. He's even written a new card in crayon (who keeps crayons at their desk?) apologizing that it might not have been two weeks since he's hit on me, but, hey, free flowers. It's awfully cute, I guess, and he's cool enough to tell people there's nothing to see here, that there's no way we're kissing in front of the whole office.

Of course, that means I have a bunch of flowers to get home on the Green Line in single-degree weather. If I wind up dating again, I'm going to make it well-known that I prefer chocolates to flowers. Easier to transport and when they're gone, it's because you've eaten them, not killed them.

When I got home, there's a sign on the building's door saying not to turn one's thermostat down below 65 because of the extreme cold. I'm looking at that and mumbling, gee, no shit, but it's apparently not for the tenants' safety; evidently they've had heating pipes break. I imagine there have been a bunch of people grumbling about paying to heat an empty apartment because the building's not well-constructed. Can't say I blame them.

But, hey, can't say I'm not doing my part. I think the neighbors are away for the weekend, and I've got plants which are just dying from exposure to what it's like outside, so I cranked the thermostat to 85. Now that it's warmed up, I think I'll get rid of my work clothes and just lie around in my underwear reading comics until its time to head for the late movie. After all, it's fun to be nearly naked when it's really friggin cold outside, and besides, it feels more exciting and dangerous to do that in this body than it did in my old one, where it basically felt, well, lazy.

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