This weekend at work I laughed at a lot of things. Laughing still makes me cough a lot, so also I coughed a lot. It’s not really the best thing combination.
So on Saturdays, I work at the answering service. The job is not the most fun, but my coworkers mostly are the best. We get giggly over stupid shit. I think this is because we’re getting yelled at by the callers so much that we need to laugh where we can.
Today’s best typos:
Someone meant to say that the caller wanted a black plaque on the coffin they were ordering. However, some of my coworkers aren’t the best at spelling. So, instead of “include the black plaque” we got “include the black plague.”
OMG THE BLACK PLAGUE YOU GUYS.
And the worst part was it was on this place we answer for where you can order coffins and grave liners and things, so we totally got giggling because we were all “the black plague! Man, if the black plague was included, what a great day that would be for all the funeral directors! BUSINESS WOULD BE BOOMING!”
Then, someone meant to write “the individuals” but didn’t double-check her message so when I got it, it said “teh individualos.”
Say that out loud. Doesn’t it sound so Spanish and debonair? TEH INDIVIDUALOS!
So we kept saying things like “teh individualos, Señor! Beware teh individualos!” in a thick faux-Spanish accent.
THEN, someone spelled Albuquerque as Albuquercue like it was barbecue, so we were saying that in all the different ways. Mine was Al-be-ker-koo. With a very long oooooo sound at the end. We were all going to take a road trip to Albuquercue to avoid the black plague and also to avoid teh individualos. Those nefarious individualos.
And THEN, right before I left, a caller called in and started complaining that his air conditioner didn’t work, and he was looking for a part. What part? His “compacitor.” Listen, he was REALLY serious about this. No, not his capacitor. No, not his compressor. His compacitor. Which I just Googled and it does not exist. DOES. NOT. EXIST. But a lot of people on the Googles THINK it exists, because they cannot spell. ANYWAY, so after the compacitor guy called, we were all “the FLUX COMPACITOR!” and “1.21 gigawatts!” and “we’re going BACK…to the FUTURE!” and if you think we’re not a., having a good time at the answering service, and b., laughing at the douchebag callers who think compacitors are a thing, you are doubly wrong, my little lemon tarts.
Then I went to the theater and was a very good house manager and made people laugh and tore their tickets with FLAIR. It’s like a little added show, only you don’t even have to pay for that part. Nice, right? Seriously, I was on fire, yo. Actually, no. I was on the OPPOSITE of fire, because my fever is totally gone and all I have is a cough now and sometimes my nose runs randomly the most and I have to run and find a Kleenex and not all Kleenex are the best and some are scratchy and my nose is all sore right now, you know. STUPID COLD.
Then I was watching television and a commercial for this product came on:
This is a beer product that is also a malt beverage like a wine cooler and tastes like a margarita. I can’t…is there anything in the whole entire world, including organ meat, that sounds less appealing than this? Are people buying this? Like, to actually drink it and not use it to mock, or strip paint?
According to this review, they don’t taste like beer (which is what was the most confusing to me, because the commercial kept saying they had beer in them WHY WOULD I WANT BEER IN MY MARGARITA) but they DO taste REPULSIVE which is not at all surprising to me. They are malt beverages. I have not yet met a malt beverage that doesn’t give me a headache with the scent alone.
Listen, back when I did such things, my steady boyfriend was José Cuervo. I pretty much lived on tequila and tequila-based beverages. It got to the point where all I’d do was splash the tiniest amount of margarita mix in the big old glass of tequila, but still. It was KIND of a margarita. In spirit, anyway. Ha! Spirit. Get it?
José and I had a breakup many years ago, and we only have flirtations every now and then, which leave me feeling guilty and kind of disgusting. Damn you, José. You and your seductive bedroom eyes.
But even though I’m no longer a margarita connoisseur, I am fairly sure these fake margaritas in a can that seem to have beer in them would not be good. Not at all good. Terrible. Vomitorious. There were totally a zillion commercials on for them the other night, though. That’s why I don’t watch a lot of live TV. You can’t avoid the commercials.
My verdict: don’t drink these things. And if you do, don’t you even come crying to me, because I totally told you so.
This is kind of short but I’m sleepy. Listen, I had a FOUR HOUR TRAINING SEMINAR today. Four hours. And it was one of those seminars where they MAKE YOU PARTICIPATE. Here’s my take on forced participation: I’ll participate if I want to, but the minute you tell me I HAVE to, I clam right up. It makes me nervous when it’s not on my own terms. There was a lot of shit in that four hours that wasn’t on my terms, yo. But I did get to make a poster. I do so like making posters. That’s my jam.
Here’s to things randomly cracking you up today. But not things making you THROW up, and I’m fairly sure that malt beverage thingy would do just that. Blergh.