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Ah, this job,....
Sep. 8th, 2021 04:19 pmLast night was weird. We moved to another, fairly complex dish in the ongoing series of Ray's Cooking Class, aka NOW I Know Why Anthony Bourdain Killed Himself. We got a few too many plates spinning at once, started too late in the day, police suspect alcohol was involved (and not in the recipes), and we wound up bailing out of the remaining available episodes of Only Murders in the Building well before 8 p.m.
Despite all that, the chicken with Indian butter sauce, roasted cauliflower, and naan came off mostly okay. This morning turned into a slow rainy one, though, and before I knew it I was begging out of work, going straight to a pre-planned 9:30 workout, and staying home after that. We can all use a mental health day once in a blue moon....
Until the phone rang. My office landline follows me, you see, unless I make a conscious choice to turn it off. I recognized the contact name. He was a referral from someone who sends over one or two a year, and he first called about a month ago, then again last week. In that most recent call, he said he wanted to come in sometime next week because that's when his Social Security deposit hits. I get that; so does Eleanor's. So when he called about four hours ago, I figured he wanted to schedule that.
Nope. He needed to come in now.
He'd scraped some together, the usual amount I require to get people started. Will that be enough to get my case filed?
Answer: Um, no, and even if it was, my record for an emergency filing is four days from the initial meeting you haven't even had yet.
At this point, I knew what I was dealing with. He didn't want a lawyer. He wanted a....
...bronie.
Unfazed with my unsparkly response, he still asked to come in. I was (grrrr, WAS) free all afternoon, but I told him I'd have to go into my office to check conference room avails. Those proved to be 3:00, which I called (voicemail) to report.
I returned home, put on some slightly more respectable clothes, loaded up the laptop and left in time for our meet. I didn't hit Sheridan Drive before the phone rang: Mrs. Pony was still at the dentist and had their only car, so we can't make it.
Thrills.
Thought bubble:
Maybe I can meet you at Dr. Teeth's place? I'm used to painful experiences at mine:P Or come by tomorrow when I'm prepping for Friday morning's colonoscopy. Then you'll get me in a REAL good mood.
Actually, I told him to call when Mrs. P gets back and maybe I can fit them in before the end of the day.
So I'm writing this from the office. At 4 in the afternoon. No call.
We're doing a much simpler concoction tonight. Then, tomorrow begins with a "light breakfast" before the real fun begins around noon. I don't know; maybe chewing on a 60 watt bulb isn't the best thing for the colon.
PS for those keeping score: I did vanquish yesterday's opponent, preserving my faint shot at .500 even if I lose one of the remaining four matches. In all likelihood, though, I cashed in that mulligan at 7 this morning, achieving only one correct response out of today's six. I don't find out for sure until the wee smalls, when, of course, I will be up:P
On the other hand, I did discover, from the previous day's results, that a full 30 percent of the entire Learned League contestant cohort answered a Broadway question by saying that Stephen Sondheim wrote Cats. I'm guessing at least 20 percent of them had their tongue firmly in their cheek, or Jacobson's organ, or whatever singin' cats have on the sides of their mouths.
Despite all that, the chicken with Indian butter sauce, roasted cauliflower, and naan came off mostly okay. This morning turned into a slow rainy one, though, and before I knew it I was begging out of work, going straight to a pre-planned 9:30 workout, and staying home after that. We can all use a mental health day once in a blue moon....
Until the phone rang. My office landline follows me, you see, unless I make a conscious choice to turn it off. I recognized the contact name. He was a referral from someone who sends over one or two a year, and he first called about a month ago, then again last week. In that most recent call, he said he wanted to come in sometime next week because that's when his Social Security deposit hits. I get that; so does Eleanor's. So when he called about four hours ago, I figured he wanted to schedule that.
Nope. He needed to come in now.
He'd scraped some together, the usual amount I require to get people started. Will that be enough to get my case filed?
Answer: Um, no, and even if it was, my record for an emergency filing is four days from the initial meeting you haven't even had yet.
At this point, I knew what I was dealing with. He didn't want a lawyer. He wanted a....
...bronie.
Unfazed with my unsparkly response, he still asked to come in. I was (grrrr, WAS) free all afternoon, but I told him I'd have to go into my office to check conference room avails. Those proved to be 3:00, which I called (voicemail) to report.
I returned home, put on some slightly more respectable clothes, loaded up the laptop and left in time for our meet. I didn't hit Sheridan Drive before the phone rang: Mrs. Pony was still at the dentist and had their only car, so we can't make it.
Thrills.
Thought bubble:
Maybe I can meet you at Dr. Teeth's place? I'm used to painful experiences at mine:P Or come by tomorrow when I'm prepping for Friday morning's colonoscopy. Then you'll get me in a REAL good mood.
Actually, I told him to call when Mrs. P gets back and maybe I can fit them in before the end of the day.
So I'm writing this from the office. At 4 in the afternoon. No call.
We're doing a much simpler concoction tonight. Then, tomorrow begins with a "light breakfast" before the real fun begins around noon. I don't know; maybe chewing on a 60 watt bulb isn't the best thing for the colon.
PS for those keeping score: I did vanquish yesterday's opponent, preserving my faint shot at .500 even if I lose one of the remaining four matches. In all likelihood, though, I cashed in that mulligan at 7 this morning, achieving only one correct response out of today's six. I don't find out for sure until the wee smalls, when, of course, I will be up:P
On the other hand, I did discover, from the previous day's results, that a full 30 percent of the entire Learned League contestant cohort answered a Broadway question by saying that Stephen Sondheim wrote Cats. I'm guessing at least 20 percent of them had their tongue firmly in their cheek, or Jacobson's organ, or whatever singin' cats have on the sides of their mouths.