Writing on the Wall

RLDW

123 Somewhere

Hating Life, Arizona 90210

January 23, 2007

All Of RLDW’s Pants

Attn: Crotch Coverer

AKA: Mr. Zipper

690 South Button Street

Metal Haven, Arizona 66666

Dear Crotch Coverer:

Thank you for your attempt at covering all of RLDW’s bits and pieces while at work.  We appreciate the work you do to keep our reputation as a hard working employee with good standing in the boss’ eyes. However, it seems as if you have lost focus on your employment objectives and your behavior is not acceptable. 

Two days in a row your delinquency has been noted by a third party, via vocal representation in front of additional third-parties.  This lack of attention to detail has left your backup, Miss P. Anties, as the sole bearer of responsibility.  If this continues I will have to replace you with a more reliable system, including installing safety mechanisms with sub-contractor ‘UR SAFE! PINS’ or applying an additional internal layer of recovery through Mr. Duct Tape.

Please ensure that this message is received by your management.  RLDW will continue to manage your metrics on a daily basis and report to your CEO if the service continues.  We cannot allow for third-parties to note future breaches of crotch coverage.  I urge you to revise your policies and procedures to ensure adequate support for your work objectives.

Sincerely,

RLDW

“Hey, don’t die on my okay?”

“I think I can do that.  That was kind of out of the blue, where is this coming from?”

“No where.”

“What movie were you watching on TV that made you think to ask me that?”

“Oh nothing, I was just watching some soft porn.”

“Hm.  Okay.  And this is when I want to forget we ever had this conversation.”

People make fun of me at work because when I am in the bathroom I like to get down to business and get out.  Don’t follow me in and talk to me between stall walls.  I find it unbelievably creepy.  You already know what I am up to in here, and let’s not make it more apparent that you are trying to multitask while peeing.  

Yesterday I really had to go to the bathroom.  I had potato chips for lunch and they make everything go straight through me.  Which most everything does already, but potato chips and I are enemies, but they taste o-so-good.  On my way to the bathroom a manager stopped me to talk to me about something urgent and followed me to the bathroom because she had to go too.  We go straight in and she keeps talking and talking and I stop listening partially because I can tell that I have to fart and there is no way to make it a pretty fart.  There is no silent coming out of this one and it isn’t something you can hold back.  And then it came out.  Holy moley did it come out and make me feel like a total idiot.  And of course I died a little in my heart.  She could not have missed my fart, but totally talked through it from the other stall.  I tried to get my composure back and not fall completely in the toilet from my lack of concentration on anything I was doing at that point.  I knew she expected my participation in the conversation, but all I could muster was an “uhuh” and a cough.  Because you know, a cough sounds almost EXACTLY like a fart.  So cough a little and make it seem like you can’t hold back the frog in your throat so the fart can be explained away later.  

You know that this statement brings a little flutter in my Justin Timberlake loving heart. . . .

I can tell you that I will be screaming even more at his concert on Sunday than I would have been before.  Don’t worry, my husband will be next to me. . . .holding me back. . . ;)

Reason number 234 not to yell at telemarketers:

It is never appropriate to mistake your husband’s grandma for a telemarketer.  She just doesn’t know how to take the yelling about never calling again.