The Intelligence Estimate

I got a call from a cancer society yesterday asking me to donate money to help families meet their medical expenses.

Actually, let me back up. I didn't receive the call. The people who lived here before me did. People are constantly calling here looking for the Lewis family. This is not a new phenomenon. When Jen and I moved into our apartment in Des Moines we used to get calls for the Baker family. A lot of calls. They lasted for 3 years. Honestly, if you haven't got the Baker's new number after 3 years just take the hint! In a weird way we felt like a part of the Baker family. We were so proud when we heard that little Sarah graduated from Texas A&M. We wanted to call the Bakers and congratulate them but we knew who we'd get if we tried. But I digress....

The cancer society apologized for calling me Mr. Lewis and said they were calling everyone in the state anyway so they'd talk to me too. How considerate. "Our first choice isn't here, but you'll do."

I didn't know if I would donate or not. I'm usually a sucker for this crap. Dangle a dying kid or a displaced veteran in front of my checkbook and money starts disappearing faster than dignity at an open bar.

I have a lot of sympathy for the people working those phones. I work the phones in the box office and I know how hard it is just to deal with the public. For example, I got a call the other day that was particularly challenging. The guy wanted to ask a bunch of questions. No problem, I'm getting paid to answer them. But he wouldn't let me finish an answer before interrupting me to ask another (and often completely unrelated) question. This became more and more frustrating as the call droned on and he started asking me questions he had asked before...and never let me answer fully.

Then came this gem: "How do I get there?" Now, on the surface there is nothing peculiar about this question, but there is a vital piece of information missing.

Where are you coming from?

"Kenosha."

And how are going to be getting here?

"I don't know."

Are you driving?

"We can drive, how do we get there if we drive?"

Well, how will you be getting to the city?

"I don't know, is it easier if we take the train?"

There is an El stop about three blocks from the theater.

"What's that?"

The elevated train system in the city.

"How do we get to that?"

(Isn't this where we came in?) How are you coming into the city?

"The commuter train drops off downtown."

If you're taking the train downtown you'd want to....

"How do you get there from (Interstate Highways) 90/94?"

You'll get off at Addison. Follow the signs for Wrigley Field. You'll go past Wrigley Field...

"How do you spell that?"

Spell what?

"Addison."

A-D-D-I-S-O-N. You take that past Wrigley Field to the corner of Addison and Belmont.

"How do you spell...."

B-E-L-M-O-N-T

Apparently at this point the attempts to choke back my rage were beginning to fail because our wayward Wisconsinite counters with this: "Ok. I'm sorry to make you repeat things and spell stuff but I've had brain surgery and have terminal cancer."

You son of a bitch! That's right, a guy tells me his days on earth are numbered and my first reaction is "quit wasting my time." Did you see what he did there that was pure genius? That cancer thing is gold baby! Now he gets to be a jackass and I can't be mad at him. I'm adding that to the repertoire. "Sorry I'm being an ass, it's a disease."

By the same token, who decides discussing their medical history with a total stranger is a good idea? "Yes, I know I haven't paid my phone bill for three months, but I have here a biopsy report I want to read you about a mole I had removed."

So I decided not to donate to the cancer society. Not strictly because of this jerk from Kenosha...but not NOT because of him either. I can only hope that the Baker's are more generous when they get the call.

Labels: Addison, Anger, Belmont, Cancer, Charity Work, Kenosha, Phone, Theater, Wrigley Field

If there's one thing I've learned about myself it's that I can hold a grudge. I come by it naturally. I come from a long line of angry people. Angry German people. I'm not sure all of them have forgiven Martin Luther for what he did to the Catholic Church. (I, myself, have not forgiven Garrison Keillor for what he's done to Lutheranism.)

My impotent rage was showcased tonight when I was driving home and saw a Wickes Furniture truck and had the knee jerk reaction to swerve into oncoming traffic to hit it.

Labels: Anger, Martin Luther, Multi-Story Post, Wickes Furniture

Celebrities doing (usually court-mandated) charity work is nothing new. For years that was the only work that Robert Downey Jr. could get. So when I heard that Ricky Martin (yes THAT Ricky Martin) had established a charitable foundation I was hardly shocked. No, the shock didn't set in until I found out what kind of revolutionary things his foundation is fighting against. He's given musical instruments to Puerto Rican school children (take THAT peace and quiet!) and built houses for the homeless in Thailand (take THAT highway underpasses!) but the foundation's latest stance is sure to make waves. Ricky has decided to speak out against human trafficking. A bold move that is sure to anger pimps and smugglers everywhere.

And I gotta believe that he's really behind this move because it is kind of counter intuitive for him to oppose human trafficking. Why would he want to keep people from leaving small struggling countries that are devoid of food, hope and spicy Latin rhythms? Why would he want to keep them from arriving in the land of milk, honey and Tower Records? The short answer is, he wouldn't. But apparently his conscience is larger than his wallet will ever be so he has taken the bold stance of opposing slavery. And I am so moved by his humanitarianism and compassion that I am seriously considering not making a joke about him being smuggled into this country in someone's colon. No, no, no. I think I will take the high road and say nothing about him coming in someone's ass.

Labels: Charity Work, Gay, Music, News, Ricky Martin, Robert Downey Jr., Theater, Weird News

One year for Christmas my Dad's girlfriend (later wife...and then later ex-wife #2) got my uncle a Billy Bass for Christmas. For the uninitiated and/or people with taste I will explain. *AHEM* Billy Bass is a mounted fish that sings "Take Me To The River" at the press of a button.









Everyone was disappointed by this gift. I was disappointed because the damned thing existed, let alone in such proximity to me. My family was disappointed because it didn't come with batteries. This "problem" was "remedied" by a quick cannibalization of the TV remote and soon everyone was "enjoying" the Al Green classic being torturously brought to life by a piece of vinyl siding with a rhythm section.

Well look out Billy Bass because there is a new sheriff in town. Make way for The Farting Teddy Bear.














The concept here, as I see it, is that Teddy Ruxpin has REALLY let himself go. This bear...well...I'll just let the ad copy do the talking: "He's cute, he's cuddly, and he's flatulent. There's nothing he likes more than to be in the arms of some poor, unsuspecting victim so he can let out a big, juicy one when you press the remote control. And he's so embarrassed; his little cheeks glow blushing red whenever he passes gas. Adorable as he is, he's always forgiven. You, maybe not."

He's cuddly? Ok. He's cute? That's negotiable. He's flatulent? That totally undoes points one and two. I had an uncle who was the same way and let me tell you any passing resemblance he might have shared with a Jack Russell pup was completely outweighed by the fact that he smelled like 3 month old cole slaw.

I'm getting to Grandma's early this year to hide all the batteries.

Labels: Christmas, Dad, Gifts, Iowa, Lost Post, Naughty, Teddy Bear, Weird News

Willie Nelson was arrested earlier this week for possession of a pound and a half of marijuana. In other news "B" follows "A" and we breath oxygen.

Why does this continue to be news? You know what would make this story better (you know how I like to fix stories)? Some kind of novelty. "Willie Nelson Donates His Marijuana to Underprivileged Stoners." See, that has a twist to it. "Willie Nelson Dating Jessica Simpson." Ok, I didn't see that coming. Now I'm interested...creeped out and in need of a shower, but interested. "Willie Nelson Brokers Iranian Nuclear Pact." I saw Wag The Dog, I know how he rolls!

Labels: Celebrity, Embarassment, Hollywood, Lost Post, Marijuana, News, Wag The Dog, Weird News, Willie Nelson

Ok, did everyone else know this and just forget to tell me? How come I had to read about it in the Christian Science Monitor? The Army has its own video game?!

This is why satire is so hard: you have to stay ahead of the curve. Back in June I wrote a post about the video game Silent Scope where I suggested that the Army was using it as a new recruitment method like the alien army did in the movie The Last Starfighter (1984). Now I know a lot of you are thinking, "Hey, the army is reading your blog and putting your great , albeit alarmingly short-sighted ideas into action!" Well, think again. The video game came out in 1992. I was merely 14 years behind the diabolical masterminds at the Pentagon who were, in turn, 8 years behind Hollywood. I'm not sure who should be more embarrassed about that.

I would have never pegged Bush for a video game player, but it kind of makes its own warped sort of sense. When you start a new game (Iraqi Freedom, Democracy's Deathgrip!) it takes you awhile to get a hang of the strategy. In massive multi-player games there is a pretty steep learning curve, especially if you don't know where all the power ups (They aided Al-Queda, they had nuclear capabilities and SUPPORT THE TROOPS!) and hidden weapons caches are. And no matter how many first person shooters you play (like Afghanistani Apocalypse or Tora-Bora and the Terror Below!) they all have their own peculiar quirks (What do you mean they don't think of us as liberators? Well we'll show them! Now we'll never leave!) I'm sure the Bush administration is just looking for the reset button on Iraq so they can call a do-over. And you know, now that they know what the "evil-doers" will actually do it should go a lot more smoothly this time around.

Just a word of warning: the cheat codes you get from the Polish only allow you to use the word "coalition" in speeches. They don't give you any actual ammo. And you're gonna need a lot of ammo because I hear it takes 15 clips (and years of rhetoric) to finish off that last guy.

Labels: America's Army, Comedy, Embarassment, Hollywood, Lost Post, Military, News, Silent Scope, The Last Starfighter, Video Games

According to a story in the Guardian Unlimited Chinese surgeons have attached a donor penis to a man who lost his in an accident. (As opposed to someone who honestly misplaced it. Try between the couch cushions because it's always in the last place you look!)

The accident left the man with a one centimeter (less than a 1/4 0f an inch for Americans, Burmese and Liberians who are the only people in the world who can't wrap their heads around the metric system) penis. When the surgery was complete he was endowed with a 10 centimeter, or roughly 4 inch (Come on! Metric is so logical, what's the problem?!) penis. Now, that doesn't sound like the surgeons did him any favors, but presumably that 4 inches is a penis at leisure. When roused to action who knows what kind of heavy lifting he'll be capable of accomplishing.

The surgeons announced the the body had fully accepted the new member and that it had a robust blood supply and the man was able to urinate normally.

Then, half way through the article they unleash my favorite paragraph in the history of the written word: "Although the operation was a surgical success, surgeons said they had to remove the penis two weeks later. 'Because of a severe psychological problem of the recipient and his wife, the transplanted penis regretfully had to be cut off,' Dr (Weilie) Hu said."

Wow, who could have seen that coming? The surgery was a success, but we're taking the penis back. No, really, we're keeping it. Just drop it on the table when you leave, ok? And don't you can fool us, we're patting you down when you walk outta here!

And how about that tactful bedside manner, huh? His penis "had to be cut off." Presumably that was the third or fourth draft of that press statement. I'm sure the early drafts were much worse. "His penis was hacked from his body. No, not descriptive enough. His engorged man meat was savagely sawed from his battered body. Good, good, good. Nice alliteration. Let's shoot it round to the boys in PR and see what they think."

And for as emasculating as it is to lose your penis once, how much more embarrassing is it to lose it twice? That's just careless. Forget the couch cushions, you got bigger problems.

They never go into the specifics of what that "psychological problem" he and his wife had with it, but I imagine it was the sex with the stranger in his pants that queered the deal. I also like to think that maybe he starting having affairs all over town and tried to cover it with, "but honey I can hardly be responsible for this it's not even MY penis!" How sad to have your life reduced to a third rate Benny Hill sketch.

Labels: Embarassment, Lost Post, Marriage, Medical Oddities, Penis, Weird News

The House of Yaweh is a doomsday cult started in Abilene, Texas that has a very large following in Kenya for some reason. I haven't quite figured out that part of the story yet. I thought they would have branched out into maybe Oklahoma or Louisiana or, if they're really ambitious, even Mexico. I don't know why they figured Kenya was the next logical domino to fall to their end times rhetoric. I suspect the Kenyan Chamber of Commerce lured them with tax breaks and a large spec building on the outskirts of town in the newly developed Cult Park Improvement Corridor.

Well, the Kenyan sect seems to have come unhinged...well, maybe not by doomsday cult standards, but certainly to the eyes of the Kenyan government. According to an article on Reuters the Kenyan sect was preaching a nuclear holocaust that was to have begun on September 12th between the U.S. and North Korea. To prepare themselves for this seemingly inevitable catastrophe they built an underground bunker, which, to the local authorities, seemed more like a shoddily built hole in the ground. (Where's our spec building?) So the government, who apparently have very strict zoning regulations for underground bunkers and other miscellaneous crack pot structures, made them reinforce the walls with wooden pillars. In the cult's defense I guess if they thought the lord was going to defend them from a nuclear holocaust it was just a given that he would protect them from shitty carpentry.

"'Those who have been doubting us will in hours be ashamed and if the effect of the war is not felt here, then let the police arrest us,' Mosheh Sang, leader of the sect in Kenya, told journalists while packing sacks of flour into a bunker," Reuters reported. "We shall stay in the bunkers for a period of one year."

Well imagine the cult's dismay when, despite the best efforts of the Bush administration, there was no nuclear holocaust. Well they decided to hole up in their bunker for a year anyway. They'd already had a year's supply of dried fermented corn flour and if didn't start eating it right away it would just go bad...or go worse I suppose.

Sang told reporters that the nuclear war only failed to get going due to "difference in international time zones."

I'm starting to lose faith in today's cult leaders. At least when Orel Roberts was not "called back to heaven" for failing to raise enough money it was all a miraculous part of God's grand design. (And by "grand design" apparently God meant "fundraising campaign.") But all Sang gives you is, "Sorry. Technical error. We've got our boys in IT working on it right now. In the meantime, could everyone just reboot their CPUs? We apologize for any inconvenience and assure you that the infidels will be cleansed by...uh...a week from Thursday at the latest."

People want their cult leaders to rule them with an iron fist. To give them absolute, hard and fast, black and white rules to live by. They want their cult leaders to clear up any messy ambiguity in their lives and replace it with mechanized routine and robotic efficiency. They want to have their marching orders. They want to be told what to think and how to feel. They want to be freed from the surly bonds of rational thought. And that, my friends , is why there is a Republican Party!

Labels: Cult, House of Yaweh, Kenya, Lost Post, North Korea, Nuclear War, Orel Roberts, Religion, Republican Party

And now the thrilling (and by thrilling I mean somewhat less aggravating) conclusion to the Area Rug 51 Saga, Episode 5: We Won't Get Fooled Again!

Thursday, August 7th
As you may remember I was told by Suzanna at Wickes Furniture that I would receive a phone call on Tuesday when our rug came in from the warehouse. That way we could go out to the store and tell them that they finally got it right...you know, basically do their quality control for them. This is really like a self-service furniture store.

All day Tuesday, no call. All day Wednesday, no call. Thursday I finally call out to Wickes (doing their job yet again) and speak to Emily. I guarantee you that Emily is not allowed to do anything more than answer the phone. Why? Because she is friendly, helpful and knows what she's talking about. There is a very thick glass ceiling for those people.

"Yes, your rug is in," she said.

Thank you. We'll be in today to pick it up.

The whole drive up there I just got angrier and angrier thinking of all the ways we'd been put upon up to now. I was also trying to troubleshoot any of the new devilry they might be planning on unleashing on us. Apparently this rug is very important to them (clearly more important than repeat business) and they don't want it to leave the store under any circumstances. I began to think that even if, through some miraculous set of coincidences, we did come into possession of this rug they would still not stop tormenting us until we took the rug back to Mount Doom and dropped it into the fires that forged it.

When we got there I could feel my pulse rate start to climb. This place was making me physically uncomfortable.

You're gonna have to do all the talking, I told Jen. Knowing how routinely I'd dropped the term "clusterfuck" into conversations about this situation she agreed that that was probably our best course of action.

"We're here to pick up our rug," Jen said to the first sales vulture we met.

"Ok, just go to the sales counter in the back and talk to her."

Ok, this seems like it might be working. Fingers crossed.

"Hi, we're here to pick up a rug."

"Your name?"

"Jennifer Hughes."

The lady types Jen's name into the computer. At this point I think it would be useful to note that these computer are archaic. Have you ever had computer problems and had to restart your computer in safe mode? Safe mode, with the blue screen and the white numbered menus? That's what their sales tracking software looks like. And the computers? If Windows XP comes within 1000 yards of them their hard drives crash out of pure fright. OLD! It's no wonder they don't know where anything is from one moment to the next. They're all still living in 1987. Do you know what it's gonna take to get this rug to us? 1.21 jigawatts!

"Ok, the rug is in the back. You'll just need to pull your car around to the loading dock. If you pull out of the parking lot onto Kedzie, make a left and it's the first left down the street."

I'm guessing this is Emily.

We get to the loading dock and sign some papers. Then the dock worker gets the rug half way to our car before I can even ask him if we can see the rug. After everything that's gone before I am understandably skeptical.

"That's not our rug."

"It's not your rug?" The guy seemed genuinely surprised. Clearly the stories of the schmucks with the area rug hadn't made it to the docks yet.

We all went back inside and the dock worker went and checked some paper work in the office while I busied myself with creating new swear words. He comes back and looks at the other stock they have lying around, then goes back inside. He's gone for a long time. He comes back with different paperwork for us to sign and checks the stock one more time. And, God bless him, he finds our rug.

We throw it in the car and escape like bandits.










My precious










At home with his brethren

Epilogue
In the future, if I need furniture, I will not go back to Wickes. I will rely on the Amish. Or sit on the floor. Or craft crude shapes out of plywood, duct tape and happy thoughts. Hell, even sitting on a barbed wire love seat is going to be less painful than dealing with the incompetent empire that is Wickes Furniture.

Labels: Anger, Lost Post, Rug, Saga, Wickes Furniture

On my Google homepage today I found this quote, "Never explain--your friends do not need it and your enemies will not believe you anyway. " It's from Elbert Hubbard and I find it invaluably enlightening. Follow me. Elbert Hubbard is the uncle of L. Ron Hubbard who founded Scientology which is the religion of Tom Cruise who doesn't explain anything...especially his sexuality, insane behavior and irrationally exuberant love on his automaton "wife."

Now, I'm sure I'm not the first person to publicly make fun of Scientology, but by God they make it so easy! L. Ron Hubbard is a well known writer. He wrote Dianetics which is basically a self help book and Battlefield Earth a science fiction novel. He also founded the church of Scientology because, you know, he was well qualified having already written self help and science fiction.

Now, most religions have at the heart of them some sort of fantastical story that stretches credulity almost to the breaking point. That's why they are called faiths. If you could prove it they would be facts and we all know how religions hate those. But Scientology has the extra burden of having their sacred tracts shackled to a science fiction writer. FICTION is right there in his title.

Anyway, I've veered a little off topic here. My point is this: Elbert Hubbard is the uncle of L. Ron Hubbard who founded Scientology which is the religion of Tom Cruise who was in A Few Good Men with Kevin Bacon.

Labels: Celebrity, Hollywood, Kevin Bacon, Lost Post, Religion, Tom Cruise

Blah, blah, blah, we tried to buy a rug, yadda, yadda, yadda, these people are idiots. Let's move on shall we?

Episode 4, Return to Witch Mountain

Tuesday, August 29

Against my will and better judgement I agreed to go with Jen back to Wickes Furniture and ask the sales staff the seemingly ridiculous question, "Why did we have to order a rug when you have one in the store?" I agreed to go back because Jen had posed a question to me that I hadn't even considered: "If the rug is in the clearance room why are we paying the normal price for it? Couldn't we be getting it cheaper and have it NOW?" Now, loyal readers with a long attention span (I don't know who you are!) will remember that they agreed to knock $50 off the original price because the rug and the furniture set were not going to be made anymore so they wanted to get rid of them. Well any goodwill that might have gained them was more than used up in the ensuing aggravation of phone calls and misunderstandings. I now wanted, nay demanded, a clearance priced rug!

When we got to the store we made a game plan. We get in, we get to the clearance room and check the price and then reorganize from there. It all went off like the precision military drill that it was until we noticed that the rug was exactly the same price as the one we were getting.

How is that a clearance price? I asked. Jen didn't know.

"Do you still want the rug?"

Hell yes! I want THAT rug. The one on the floor right now and I'm not leaving here until I have it!

"Ok, let's get someone."

We wrangled Davis, a seemingly energetic salesman, and explained to him the myriad ways we'd been screwed by them and how we wanted to have the rug we saw before us.

"Well...let me see. They don't make this rug anymore. We ordered yours from our warehouse in Carol Stream. The original order was placed incorrectly by Suzanna. And now we've ordered yours and it will be here on Wednesday of next week."

Have you noticed that whenever I tell someone that I have a problem all they do is tell me the facts of the situation without ever really making even the most meager attempt at solving it? Like I don't KNOW that's what's gone on? I've been here every step of the way. YOU'RE the one who doesn't know what's going on or else I would have a rug to take home right now!

"Suzanna placed the order. Is this the rug you wanted? (points to the CORRECT rug on the floor) Yeah. That wasn't the one that came in today, but that is the one I ordered. It will be in next week."

Can we have a moment alone please?

He left. I was beyond livid. I felt like I was lost in bizarro world and everyone was coated in a thick veneer of stupidity. When I was talking to them I could actually see my logic bouncing off of them. As I was ranting to Jen our old friend Suzanna came in to say a few words. Amongst them was the old chestnut I'd been dying to hear all along, "I'm sorry." But basically all she did was apologize for ordering the wrong rug and make not attempt to set it right, and she did all of that in the context of telling me what had happened at every step of the way. I got the impression that: A) they are used to dealing with very rich, very inbred people, very stupid people who will turn on them unless soothed with familiar stories and a shiny ring of keys and B) they were really so stupid that they couldn't remember the story themselves and needed to keep repeating it for their own peace of mind and not my own.

These opinions were further confirmed when Davis returned a few minutes later and we asked him why we couldn't take the rug before us home tonight.

"Oh...you don't want that rug....it's...it's dirty."

I don't care. That's the rug I want.

"Really? Look at all the stuff in it."

Are you telling me that the only thing keeping me from taking this rug home today is vanity and pride? I don't care. We have a vacuum cleaner at home. We'll take care of it.

"Well, this is only sold as a set. If we sold you this rug then we would have to order another one to sell with this couch."

You already have another one that is on its way from Carol Stream right now. The one you ordered for us.

"Yes, that is your rug."

Not yet. We haven't paid for anything. What's to stop us from cancelling our order and walking out of here with THIS rug tonight? Then you have a replacement rug and we have what we want.

"You can't cancel the order. We can't break this set."

Did you hear that? The actual reason I can't get what I want is because they cannot break the set. But the first reason I got for it was that the rug was dirty and I certainly didn't want a dirty rug. This offended me for so many reasons I didn't even know where to begin, but the one I settled for was that he thought I was so stupid that it would work on me.

After a lot more impotent bitching we left the store rugless yet again.

"It will be in next week. We will call you when it comes in."

Right. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice and apparently you become a regular customer at Wickes Furniture. However, I do consider this day a victory in the sense that no one got hurt and their store is still standing. But there is always next time. Remember, I have a week now to plot my revenge. So be sure to tune in next week for the thrilling conclusion to our saga: Area Rug 51, Episode 5: We Won't Get Fooled Again!

Labels: Anger, Lost Post, Rug, Saga, Wickes Furniture

Vanity Fair has released the first pictures of Suri Cruise, daughter of Zany McZoloft and his wife Jailbait.













And while I readily admit I couldn't give a shit less about why it's taken so long to get these photos out (my guess is that they couldn't find a child of a believable size that had an Equity card) , or why the child is wearing a wig (ever seen him in the same room with Verne Troyer?) or why they chose to have their photo taken in the poses from the poster for Brokeback Mountain ( do I have to spell this one out for you?) I will say this: the Vanity Fair photos are WAY better than the "exclusive" photos posted by Google Earth.











By the way, why do they have directions TO HERE for a listing for Planet Earth?

Labels: Celebrity, Hollywood, Lost Post, Tom Cruise

Crocodile hunter, reptile park owner and all around crazy bastard Steve Irwin has died of a stingray barb to the chest.

This is just barely news. Did anyone actually think he was going to succumb to the ravages of old age? He hunted crocodiles for a living! On a list of the top 100 dangerous jobs his ranks number two ahead of bulletproof vest tester and mob informant and just barely behind the number one job: Iraqi cabinet official. I assume that his wife and two kids will now abandon the reptile park and big game hunting to live somewhere safer...like Lebanon perhaps.

Labels: Celebrity, Hollywood, Lost Post

Area Rug 51: Episode 3, Revenge of the Shit

It is a dark time for the rebellion. The galactic empire has repeatedly screwed up the rebellion's order for a nice area rug to match their couch and chair set.

Tuesday, August 29- I go down to Wickes Furniture and talk to a woman (whose name I didn't get) who tells me that we've ordered two rugs. Then she proceeds to ask the obvious: "Hmmmmm, why did you do that?"

I explained the confusion as best I could, but I was fuzzy on the details myself.

"So which one is here today?"

I wish I knew. That's why I'm here today. See, you people don't seem to know which way is up so I am here to check on our rug to make sure that is, in fact, our rug. Although I have been all but assured by your co-worker Davis, that it is not. It really doesn't matter, I'll be mad either way. Either I made a trip down here for nothing, or you guys don't know what you're talking about. There are no winners here.

She goes back and talks to Lucy who is apparently the only chimp trained to process and read order forms on the computer. They are locked in the most intense intense head scratching ever seen this side of a lice check. Their confusion is palpable, so I ask if I can just see the rug.

"No, it's still on the truck. The truck doesn't get unloaded until after we close at 9 tonight."

If you remember, I was told by them to come down on Tuesday, today. Specifically Tuesday after one o'clock. It is currently after 3 p.m. on Tuesday and at the risk of being condescending 3 p.m. is, by definition, after 1 p.m. And now I'm being told that the truck won't even be unloaded until after business hours today. So I was told to come down here BECAUSE...?

Which rug is it?

"I don't know. We're trying to match the order numbers."

How come no one could just check the set that's in the store and see if that is what's been ordered?

(*HUSH* IN THE DISTANCE CRICKETS CHIRP* A TUMBLEWEED BLOWS THROUGH*)

"This isn't the right number. This isn't his set. Hmmmmmm...Let me go check in back."

Did you catch that? Let me go check in back? The not-so-subtle subtext of that statement is that there was a rug in the back room THIS WHOLE TIME. I follow her to the CLEARANCE ROOM where our couch and the exact rug we were looking for is sitting there waiting to be sold, but apparently not to me. She looks at the rug and proclaims that the rug currently on the truck in the parking lot is the wrong rug but that mine will be here next Wednesday.

I was furious. For those of you scoring at home that is three phone calls and one trip to the store just to make sure that they had screwed up. They are so committed to mediocrity and sloth that they couldn't even check their mistakes themselves to make sure that they were actually mistakes. As you can imagine, actually getting them to do something about the mistakes was going to be a Sisyphean task of the highest order.

Jen comes home and I explain to her what's happened. She's furious.

"Why didn't they give you the rug that they had?"

I wanted to ask them, but I wasn't sure I could do it without including the phrase "cluster fuck."

It was decided that we need to make yet another trip into the belly of the beast.

"Back to the store," Jen cries. "And make sure that they know that they may take your carpet, but they cannot take your freedom!"

Will Chris and Jen find satisfaction? (Doubtful.) Will they finally get the rug they desire? (Remains to be seen.) Will Chris be able to write about anything else if they do? (Hasn't written about much up to now, don't see any reason why a rug should change that!) All the (much more thought out) answers lie ahead. Be sure to tune in to Episode 4, The Return to Witch Mountain.

Labels: Anger, Lost Post, Rug, Saga, Wickes Furniture

Overheard walking down Belmont towards the train while wearing my messenger bag:

"I need to get a messenger bag so I can fit in with the rest of the homos in the city."

"You mean like THAT one?" (points at me)

It is certainly better to fit in with the homos than to stand out among the assholes.

Labels: Boystown, Chicago, Gay, Lost Post

Non-ironic heading on Craigslist Chicago Talent Gigs section:

CASTING- Older Male and Dwarf Male Leads- Short Film Audition Saturday

Labels: Craigslist, Internet, Lost Post