And It Begins....

The other secretary is out today and she forwarded her phone to mine. So I've got to take all her idiotic and often unintelligible calls in addition to my own. Not 10 mins into my day this happens:

*phone rings*

Me: Good morning *company name*.
Woman: Hello, is *name* there?
Me: No, I'm sorry, she's out today.
Woman: Oh.... so she's not there?
Me: ....No
Woman: Are you sure?
Me: Yes. Would you like me to transfer you to her voicemail?
Woman: She's not there ALL DAY?
Me: Exactly.
Woman: At all?
Me: .....
Woman: Is she on vacation?
Me: I honestly don't know.
Woman: Will she be back later?
Me: She is out all day today.
Woman: Will she be back tomorrow?
Me: I think so?
Woman: Oh.... *click*

I hate people. I hate them so hard.

In A Nutshell

I'm a writer. And when I say I'm a writer, what I mean is I occasionally go through fits of inspiration and tear through paper (either real or digital) in a mad frenzy to essentially vomit up part of my brain as words, hopefully coherent ones. When inspiration strikes, all of my higher cognitive functions shut down and I become, for all intents and purposes, a drooling primate albeit with a higher words-per-minute count than the average Great Ape.

Me, while writing.

These moments are so rare and so precious, they take precedence over all other things. Occasionally this results in me sitting at my desk all day wearing headphones.... for no reason. 

Or worse, holding the phone for hours on end until someone asks me who I'm talking to and I'm forced to say "...nobody."

"Yes, it appears to be.... no one."

Sadly, as quickly as these moments come, they are gone ever quicker, often leaving me with a half-finished paragraph and a tingling urge to throw my monitor through a plate glass window. 

William Shatner Would Be Proud

I went to the local Star Trek convention a few weeks ago and was accosted by a woman with a video camera. When asked if I wanted to participate in what sounded like "the world's longest con," I momentarily pictured myself pointing and laughing at Bernie Madoff and his amateurish scheme. I then summarily agreed. As did my companions. They however understood that we were to be contributing to the world's longest Khan and were not as disappointed as I was to be led to the side of the hotel to stand beside a tree and a pile of dirt.

I recovered quickly though and channeled all my rage towards Ricardo Montalbán and his glorious mop of 80s metal-esque hair. 

I think I got it down, no?

Our voices petered out pathetically towards the end...

If you'd like to see the actual footage, and the rest of the hilarious contributions to the longest Khan, go here: http://thelongkhan.com/

If you don't know what Khan is in reference to: shame on you. Go stand in the corner.