I've always been one of those people that thinks that you should be able to solve a math problem without the help of a calculator (or functions in an Excel spreadsheet). I don't really know what that has to do with what I'm about to say, but here I go...
When I first started a blog, More or Less, it was because Katie and Karly (the two other desk jockeys) got tired of getting my rantings and smart-a$$ remarks in the form of a dozen or more emails a day. So, taking Katie’s “You really need a blog” suggestion, More or Less was created. Though the work product suffered, I stopped emailing people quite so much. (Removing the pen from the paper, if you will.)
And then, as we’ve discussed, the Fun Nazis took away my ability to post to, or read, blogs at work. Little surprise here, but the number of posts to The Conch Shack decreased tremendously. To top it off, pen and paper doesn't work any more either because Katie and Karly no longer respond to email in rapid fashion, so I’m essentially incommunicado with that group of friends.
Well, today, the email server is down. They installed some new and improved SPAM blocker to our email server. It blocks everything except SPAM. Anyone interested in some really cheap Viagra and Cialis? $1.78 a pill. Let me know. Anyway, so I’m not able to communicate with ANYONE today. I guess that I could use this beige thing on my desk with all the numbered buttons to…I don’t know, CALL someone, but where’s the fun in that?
I know that Boo, Jrod, Ziggy, Capt’N Jim, and Skabs are sending emails today. I’ve already been told that I’m “missing some good ones”. I’m almost afraid of the number of emails that are going to flood my inbox once the server is restored.
So, here I am. Typing my post in to a Word document that I will then email to my home email address…oops, there’s a flaw in my logic already. I have no email from work. I’ll send it anyway and post this if and when I receive it. I feel like I’m talking to myself.
Hey, here’s something that you never, ever want to hear. I walked in the break room today at lunch to retrieve my sandwich from the refrigerator. Two female co-workers were already in there heating up their lunches in the microwave. Just as I walked in, one of them said to the other, “My stomach was a little messed up this morning.” They stopped talking when they saw me, but I wonder how much detail she would have provided had I not walked in..."I mean, it was all busted up and stanky"...I don't know.
Who talks about that at work? Who talks about that _______________ (fill in the blank)? Why? Why? I don’t need to know that kind of stuff. I don’t need to know. I don’t need to know.
You know what else you never, ever want to hear? Anything that begins with, “When we were in Vegas, Jammy……….”
NO, NO, NO!! WHERE IS THE FLAG!!! THAT’S A FLAGRANT PENALTY ON YOU SCARY SNACKS! THAT’S LOSS OF YARDAGE AND LOSS OF DOWN.
Even Leah said, “I know PromKing totally made that story up, but you need to tell him to keep that stuff down home, cuz.” (She almost went to Auburn.)
Speaking of loss of yardage and loss of down, we’re within two weeks of another college football season. Two weeks before the Junior League lady behind me that's wearing elephant earrings yells “LET’S GO, BIMA!” Two weeks before the first eight notes of the fight song gives be a small case of goose bumps. Two weeks before we see what a $4 million coach can do in 8 short months on the job. Two weeks to hope, and as Andy Dufresne said in The Shawshank Redemption, “hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.”
Katie, it was “Miami 2017 (Seen The Lights Go Out On Broadway)” by Billy Joel.
Until next time…