Marcy freaks out when the water's empty. We get Culligan here at the office. The dispenser is on the main floor in front of the reception desk, but curiously, the jugs are kept in a nook on the second floor. It is then either my or my colleague Ben's duty to bring a new jug down to replenish an empty one.
When Marcy sees that the jug is empty, she goes into minor crisis mode. I can't quite figure out why. Whatever the reason, she gets on the phone and repeatedly calls Ben and I until she gets a hold of one of us, regardless of her primary job position, which is to answer the phone.
This week's been an exceptionally busy week in terms of the volume of phone calls. Students come back from their break on Monday, so naturally this is the case. Earlier this afternoon, I went downstairs to get some more coffee. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the jug on top of the dispenser, empty. Marcy was on the phone. I saw my moment, reached out and grabbed it.
I skittered around the front of her desk, out of the room, and quietly up the stairs to my office. There, I waited for the phone call. Her name flashes on the phone's info screen. I ignore it. Fifteen seconds pass. It flashed again, I pick up the phone, punch another line, and call Ben. He's not in, so I leave him a message about Marcy's current mission to get me to bring a jug of water down the stairs in the next fifteen seconds lest the whole office die of severe dehydration.
I could hear the phone downstairs start to ring in short, regular intervals. I could see her getting more and more flustered, listening to the shrill shriek of the phone, eyeballing that empty water jug that was eyeballing her, sitting there in its plastic-y arrogance ready to disappoint the next potential person who might walk up to it and find it empty.
Ben, after all, was in his office, just busy and decided to ignore my call. He pokes his head inside my office's door frame.
"Did you need something?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say with a smile, "but it's not important."
Two minutes pass and I hear heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. It's a rather flustered-looking Ben. He asks me something when reaching the top of the stairs but the only word I can discern is "fucking."
"What?"
"Did she ask you to get the fucking water?"
I laugh.
"No, but she was trying to! That's what I was calling you about."
He gives me a serious, agitated look.
"Why didn't you get the fucking water?"
Who Are You Talking To?
I was headed to his office. He'd just entered mine and stole a miniature screwdriver set I'd received as a gift a few months ago for participating in a college fair.
He picks it up off the floor next to the shelf, where it'd been resting for quite a long while. Eying it closely,
"You use this?"
"Yeah I use it," I reply, as he starts to walk towards the door, "I was just--taking apart---that----power strip over there."
"Sure."
"Dude," I say, "if you're going to take that I want compensation! Something in return."
He smiles over his shoulder and begins to walk away down the hall.
"I want adequate compensation, so you start thinking," I say.
A few moments pass, and with manufactured enthusiasm he says,
"Thanks man!"
"Hey, I told you!"
I head to his office. I enter to find him seated and huddled over a small filing cabinet, playing with his eyeglasses and the tool set. Just as I enter I hear,
"-it'll be a good night for you guys."
He wasn't on the phone, never uses speaker.
"Who you talking to?" I ask.
"Whomever," he says, and I stare at his tool set.
"Is there something you should be telling me?"
"Nope."
He picks it up off the floor next to the shelf, where it'd been resting for quite a long while. Eying it closely,
"You use this?"
"Yeah I use it," I reply, as he starts to walk towards the door, "I was just--taking apart---that----power strip over there."
"Sure."
"Dude," I say, "if you're going to take that I want compensation! Something in return."
He smiles over his shoulder and begins to walk away down the hall.
"I want adequate compensation, so you start thinking," I say.
A few moments pass, and with manufactured enthusiasm he says,
"Thanks man!"
"Hey, I told you!"
I head to his office. I enter to find him seated and huddled over a small filing cabinet, playing with his eyeglasses and the tool set. Just as I enter I hear,
"-it'll be a good night for you guys."
He wasn't on the phone, never uses speaker.
"Who you talking to?" I ask.
"Whomever," he says, and I stare at his tool set.
"Is there something you should be telling me?"
"Nope."
No Back Seat, No Problem
Smoke break conversation with a colleague after I'd recently purchased a new car.
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"My dad can fit in the driver's seat, has head room and everything," I say.
"That's nice," he replies.
"Yeah," I continue, "though the back seat is a little tight."
Just then, a female student exits the behind, as my colleague says,
"You're not going to have people in the back seat all that often."
Intrinsically, we both think the same thing, and sense that we're thinking the same thing: how that little phrase, being the only part of the conversation the student heard, may have sounded awkward.
We look at each other.
"I do have my own place."
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"My dad can fit in the driver's seat, has head room and everything," I say.
"That's nice," he replies.
"Yeah," I continue, "though the back seat is a little tight."
Just then, a female student exits the behind, as my colleague says,
"You're not going to have people in the back seat all that often."
Intrinsically, we both think the same thing, and sense that we're thinking the same thing: how that little phrase, being the only part of the conversation the student heard, may have sounded awkward.
We look at each other.
"I do have my own place."
International Application
Me: Do you remember that student whose mother you were emailing back and forth with?
Her: Yes.
Me: Do you remember his mother's name? He filled out an international application so I don't have any of that information.
Her: He's an international student?
Me: No, he's stupid.
Her: Yes.
Me: Do you remember his mother's name? He filled out an international application so I don't have any of that information.
Her: He's an international student?
Me: No, he's stupid.
Bad Practice
{continuing a conversation that revolved around one of our distant colleagues and his "cast a wide net" approach to getting a date with a woman}
"That's totally not my style," my colleague says. "I'm laid back, I prefer being the mysterious type."
"I don't talk to women there either," I say, "unless they're right next to me."
"I'm not talking just there," my colleague says, "but overall."
"Ah, you mean women in general."
"Yeah, instead of casting a wide net-"
"Fishing with a worm," I say.
"Not even," my colleague says. "Fishing like the Indians, with your bare hands....although they used spears."
"That's totally not my style," my colleague says. "I'm laid back, I prefer being the mysterious type."
"I don't talk to women there either," I say, "unless they're right next to me."
"I'm not talking just there," my colleague says, "but overall."
"Ah, you mean women in general."
"Yeah, instead of casting a wide net-"
"Fishing with a worm," I say.
"Not even," my colleague says. "Fishing like the Indians, with your bare hands....although they used spears."
Show Me the Data
"Do you have Jenn's number?" I ask my colleague.
He makes a face. Why would he have her number? I think she used to have a thing for him a year ago, though he didn't return the sentiment.
"I haven't called that number," he says, a little too defensive.
"I called what was her old extension," I say, "but I got Josh K."
"I've never called that one or the new one," he says. "Why do you need to talk to her?"
"She's registering my student today."
"That's a bad idea," he says. "Why didn't you have me do it?"
"I'm not going to have you register my student."
"I've registered more students than any faculty member on this campus."
"Are you sure about that?" I ask.
"More students each semester, more students than any faculty member on campus," he states.
"Can you back that up?"
"I've registered more students than any of the faculty members on campus."
"Even the ones who've been here for over twenty years."
"I don't know. Probably."
"I'd like to see the data behind that."
"I'm not going to show you the data, he says."
"Well, I still want to see that data."
"You're not going to see the data," he says, looks at his computer screen, "motherfucker."
He makes a face. Why would he have her number? I think she used to have a thing for him a year ago, though he didn't return the sentiment.
"I haven't called that number," he says, a little too defensive.
"I called what was her old extension," I say, "but I got Josh K."
"I've never called that one or the new one," he says. "Why do you need to talk to her?"
"She's registering my student today."
"That's a bad idea," he says. "Why didn't you have me do it?"
"I'm not going to have you register my student."
"I've registered more students than any faculty member on this campus."
"Are you sure about that?" I ask.
"More students each semester, more students than any faculty member on campus," he states.
"Can you back that up?"
"I've registered more students than any of the faculty members on campus."
"Even the ones who've been here for over twenty years."
"I don't know. Probably."
"I'd like to see the data behind that."
"I'm not going to show you the data, he says."
"Well, I still want to see that data."
"You're not going to see the data," he says, looks at his computer screen, "motherfucker."
Coffee is a Natural, a Natural, Uh...
I dial my smoking buddy/colleague.
"(Jumbled language) outside to have a fag?" I try to say.
"Are you drunk over there?" he asks.
"No, no, just talking quietly," I say, but the language exits my mouth tangled yet again.
"Sounds like you had some problems with that one too."
"You want to go outside soon?" I ask, more clearly this time.
"Yeah, I'll go out there in about five minutes."
"All right. I'll wait for your cue."
Five minutes pass, I see my colleague heading for the door. With haste I rise from my desk chair and in seeing this he veers towards my office.
"Whoa. Just hold on a minute," he says. Then he leans in close. "I've gotta drop a deuce."
I laugh. "Jesus Christ. So I'll be down in five to seven minutes?"
"It's the coffee man," he says. "You know, it a natural, a natural, uh..." and he trails off, waving his hands around in front of him in search for the elusive descriptor.
"Diuretic?" I say.
"Yeah, whatever."
"Whatever."
"(Jumbled language) outside to have a fag?" I try to say.
"Are you drunk over there?" he asks.
"No, no, just talking quietly," I say, but the language exits my mouth tangled yet again.
"Sounds like you had some problems with that one too."
"You want to go outside soon?" I ask, more clearly this time.
"Yeah, I'll go out there in about five minutes."
"All right. I'll wait for your cue."
Five minutes pass, I see my colleague heading for the door. With haste I rise from my desk chair and in seeing this he veers towards my office.
"Whoa. Just hold on a minute," he says. Then he leans in close. "I've gotta drop a deuce."
I laugh. "Jesus Christ. So I'll be down in five to seven minutes?"
"It's the coffee man," he says. "You know, it a natural, a natural, uh..." and he trails off, waving his hands around in front of him in search for the elusive descriptor.
"Diuretic?" I say.
"Yeah, whatever."
"Whatever."
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