I’ve regretted doing a lot of things: kissing certain somebodies, believing everything my 6th grade language arts teacher has ever said, and not committing first degree murder when I knew I could get away with it.
The thing I regret most was giving Susan Ellen my cell phone number. The evening after she had knowledge of my digits, she called as I was pulling out of her driveway to confirm I was coming in tomorrow.
She asked a minute ago when I walked out the door and she forgot already.
She called late at night to ask where I saved files on her computer. She called early in the morning to see if I was coming in… and to ask where I saved those same files on her computer again. It was manic.
On a Sunday evening, I went with my roommate to see There Will Be Blood at the Vista. During some quiet scene in the movie, my phone rings. I turn the ringer off. My phone rings again! My roommate glares at me.
“This never happens,” I whisper. I shut my phone off.
Walking out of the theater, I see that Susan Ellen has called me seven times and has left me seven voicemails. These are actual quotes.
First Voicemail: “Hey- it’s Susan Ellen. Are you coming in tomorrow? I forget. I want to work on the book some more. I want to make on how to make a change and less about changing your diet but more like, 'how-to'. Like steps. I just don’t know if you’re coming in. (retarded pause) Bye.
Second Voicemail: “Becky. Susan Ellen. You didn’t call me back yet. I still need to know if you’re coming in tomorrow. I really want to work on the proposal. I need help with like writing it and stuff. Like, I have my ideas but I need to put it in sentences. Is sentences the right word? (retarded pause) Okay. Bye.”
Third Voicemail: “It’s me. Susan Ellen again. I’m not sure if I called you but I was wondering if you’re coming in tomorrow? I lost my short-term memory so I can’t remember if you called me back yet. Can you call me back?”
Fourth Voicemail: “Becky. Susan Ellen. I don’t really sleep so you can call me at whatever time you want to let me know that you’re coming in tomorrow.”
Fifth Voicemail: “You’re not calling me back and I really don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I’m going to do tomorrow if you’re not going to be in. My mind is like nuts and I really need someone to help me get organized. I have this infomercial coming up and (retarded pause) just call me back.”
Sixth Voicemail: “Can you call me back because I need to see if I need to call Ted to find a replacement for you if you’re not coming in.”
Seventh Voicemail: “Becky. It’s Susan Ellen. Don’t know if I called you yet, but I’m checking in to see if you’re coming in tomorrow. Anyway, (retarded pause)have a good night!”
Monday, April 6, 2009
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Chapter 37
Daisy Ellen was at it again. She and Susan Ellen were still applying for a loan for their saran wrap product and they were still working on that fucking business proposal.
On the phone, I overheard Daisy Ellen say, “We’re going to get this, Susan Ellen. We’re women starting a business. And that’s not an everyday thing. You’re a minority doing all of this and we need to use that to get people on our side.”
Susan Ellen hung up. She looked to me, “What’s a minority?”
I did a breath out/laugh sort of thing and asked, “What?”
“What’s a minority?”
“You don’t… you don’t know what a minority is?”
“No,” she said matter-of-factly.
How do you describe to someone what a minority is? It’s like describing to someone what a fruit or a Jew is or something. It’s just something you know.
I told her, “It’s just someone who’s not in the majority.”
She shrugged.
I looked over to her desk and saw three tiny bottles of rosemary oil and one tiny bottle of lavender oil.
“Okay, so here you have four bottles of oil. Three of them are rosemary and one of them is lavender. The lavender bottle would be a minority because there’s less of it.”
“Oh, well I have more lavender right here,” Susan Ellen said as she opened her desk drawer. She pulled out three more bottles of lavender oil and gave them to me. “What do you need lavender for? If it’s for those pimples on your chin I would definitely recommend sulfur-soap opposed to lavender oil.”
“Never mind,” I said as I did a google search to find where I could buy some sulfur-soap.
On the phone, I overheard Daisy Ellen say, “We’re going to get this, Susan Ellen. We’re women starting a business. And that’s not an everyday thing. You’re a minority doing all of this and we need to use that to get people on our side.”
Susan Ellen hung up. She looked to me, “What’s a minority?”
I did a breath out/laugh sort of thing and asked, “What?”
“What’s a minority?”
“You don’t… you don’t know what a minority is?”
“No,” she said matter-of-factly.
How do you describe to someone what a minority is? It’s like describing to someone what a fruit or a Jew is or something. It’s just something you know.
I told her, “It’s just someone who’s not in the majority.”
She shrugged.
I looked over to her desk and saw three tiny bottles of rosemary oil and one tiny bottle of lavender oil.
“Okay, so here you have four bottles of oil. Three of them are rosemary and one of them is lavender. The lavender bottle would be a minority because there’s less of it.”
“Oh, well I have more lavender right here,” Susan Ellen said as she opened her desk drawer. She pulled out three more bottles of lavender oil and gave them to me. “What do you need lavender for? If it’s for those pimples on your chin I would definitely recommend sulfur-soap opposed to lavender oil.”
“Never mind,” I said as I did a google search to find where I could buy some sulfur-soap.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
