When Gas Companies Are Full Of Hot Air

Another fabulous day at work...

We are in the process of applying for a building permit for one of our projects. Part of this process includes applying for natural gas. So today I pulled out some blank applications, proceeded to spend an hour looking up the information to fill them out as several people are asking me "When will it be done when will it be done when will it be done" because of course the decision to apply for the permit was made at precisely 10:03 a.m. and the powers that be didn't understand why we couldn't have the permit in hand by 10:11 a.m. I then faxed them to the appropriate utility company and went about my day.

Imagine my frustration when I happened by the fax machine later in the day to see all of my applications faxed back to me with a note that said that I had used an old form, and as such, these applications could not be processed. Would I please fill out the new form that the utility company had so thoughtfully included in the fax and send it back?

I took a deep breath, because, really, what else was I going to do, and sat back down to redo them. But that is when I was met with a very confusing sight. You see, I could not tell the difference between the "new" form and the "old" form. The disclaimer appeared to be the same. All of the requested information was the same. The actual format of the form was the same. I literally had to go through the form line by line to try and find the sections that had been changed.

And you know what I found? They removed one question. They switched the order of the questions in one section. And they added a "print name" line to the signature section.

Seriously? I have to redo four applications because you've made what basically amount to some aesthetic changes? And these changes are so significant that you can't possibly be prevailed upon to process an "old" form?

Where is the vending machine with the Hostess goodies when you need it?

My Love Affair With The Vending Machine

Because my mortgage doesn't seem to want to pay itself, I have to work. And, as regular readers of this blog will know, for the past four years, I have worked at an insane asylum. And, as regular readers will also know, it isn't so much my job duties that generate the stress as it is the office dynamics. After years of having to reprint copies of reports for my boss, who can never seem to keep track of the originals, being interrupted so that I could go fetch him some manila folders, because, God forbid, he should actually have to walk back to the supply room and get his own supplies, and repeatedly reassuring him that our copier, is, in fact, working properly after having to find a tactful way of explaining that his headaches with the machine are really caused by operator error, I finally found one beacon of light, something that I could consistently turn to time and time again for comfort and a pleasant reminder that there are other things in life besides bosses and jobs that bring new meaning to the comic strip Dilbert.

And thus began my love affair with a vending machine.

It was about a year ago now when the blessed machine first appeared in the building across the parking lot. I discovered it quite by accident. I had made a trip next door to get a drink from the existing, traditional vending machine, and, upon arrival in the break room, discovered that building management had made a most welcome addition to their collection of break supplies.

It was a fantabulous vending machine that housed milk, sandwiches, salads, lunchables, soup, and other microwaveable meals. Nothing was more than $2.75, which, when one is consistently spending $7 downstairs at the deli even though she resolves every week to start bringing her lunch like a fiscally responsible person, made it seem much more acceptable to waste 10 minutes every morning hitting the snooze button one last time instead of getting up in a prompt manner that allowed for time to make one' s lunch.

But the best thing about this machine was that it had a whole row dedicated to Hostess products.

I love Hostess. My husband hardly ever lets me buy hostess products because Little Debbie's is so much cheaper, but there is no comparing the two as far as I am concerned. Hostess has completely cornered the market on tasty, preservative-laden chocolate and cream-filled deserts.

It was love at first sight. I began making jaunts next door on a regular basis, as much as the change in my wallet would allow, to see what new and exciting treats the vending machine was so kindly offering. Sometimes it had chocolate covered donuts. Sometimes it had Hostess cupcakes. Other times it had pies or Zingers or cinnamon cakes. It didn't matter what the selections for the day were--the machine always had something that could ease the sting of having to endure another day at the office.

Today I journeyed next door for my regular rendez-vous after deciding that the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I had for lunch just wasn't going to cut it, but alas, my brief moment of respite from work/hell was not to be realized. Someone had taken my machine.

I am not sure if building management decided not to renew its lease or if they decided it wasn't profitable, or if the vending machine company went out of business. Whatever the reason, it made for a dark day.

I think this is Fate's way of getting back at me for the return of Deal or No Deal.

I'm Not THAT Stupid...

This morning my boss came in to dictate a document (I should probably mention that my boss is of grandfather age and cannot use a computer and is not interested in learning how to use a computer so everything he wants typed he dictates to me and I type--I know, I know, great use of a college degree, huh?). He created (and by created I mean plagiarized) this document by using a document that we were given by another company as a model, so every time the original document capitalized something, he wanted it capitalized in our version as well, and every time there was a comma, he wanted a comma in our version as well. This is what the initial dictation session sounded like:

Boss: "For value received--and all of that should be capitalized, and then make a line so we can fill in the company name later--comma a Minnesota limited liability company--and then borrower in parenthesis and put quotes around borrower and capitalize the b" and then he continued to dictate for about a paragraph until he got to this part:

Boss: "in lawful money of the United States of America--and capitalize the u and s and a in United States of America."

Me: Snort (and then tried to hide the fact that I was openly laughing at him for telling me that the name of our country needs to be capitalized with more snorting).

I mean, really? Are you kidding me? Don't you learn about the relationship between capitalization and proper nouns in, like, first grade? Did he think I didn't know this?

I'm not sure if he really thought I am so stupid that I needed clarification in this area, or if he was just mindlessly reading what he was dictating and didn't realize that he was stating the obvious. Either way, I've decided I've earned something chocolate for lunch.