My first free time off in about ten dayshttp://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3907547904230750294. Three whole days to do absolutely nada!
After having completely FUBAR'd yesterday, the good news is I'm not fired, the bad news is I have to work Monday. May Two-Four weekend was going to be a weekend off, but now, alas, 'tain't so.
My whole "Freedom 35" plan is way behind. I will probably be forty before retiring to some hacienda in Peru with a small army of servants who will serve their master's insane whims.
Now I'm at the public library - where else to sit out the rain that is coming? - and trying to think up of good excuses.
If I'm lucky, I will only get fired.
I hope my boss doesn't read my weblog... I doubt it - nobody else does.
When I ask for the person responsible for the utility bills, invariably the wife will tell me the husband takes care of that, and the wife will tell me that is the husband's domain. Statistically this is about as likely as flipping heads on a coin about fifty times in a row. People will not hesitate to tell you any sort of BS to avoid doing anything. Including spending five minutes explaining to you why they could not find the bill. I could walk into a complete stranger's house and probably find it.
One time I was canvassing for Crimestoppers, a good & worthy cause if there ever was one. One jamoche answered the door, beer in one hand cigarette in the other, ripped track pants & stained T-Shirt, in a building whose tenants were certainly all on some sort of government handout. I told him what we were doing there, and, of course, he wasn't interested.
After he closed the door I heard him say "I can't believe what some people do for a living."
Yeah, I make about $14 an hour talking to people, and you can't afford to do laundry. I laughed my ass off.
I was born in the wrong era. In the 50's door-to-door marketing was common and no big thing. There was no stigma attached. People did not wrinkle their nose when you told them you sold things door-to-door.
I've never lied to anyone, pressured anyone, or pissed anyone off (well - nobody that didn't deserve it) and am more honest than your average mechanic. Yet when people find out what you do they see you as some sort of leech.
Next time someone comes to your door, invite them in, give them what they want, say thank you and have a nice day. They've heard all the excuses, so if you have an excuse (Like my boss once said to me "Must be an early spring - I can hear the birdies going CHEAP! CHEAP! CHEAP!) at least make it an original one.
Once again Blogger is being pissy - not allowing me to post, not allowing me to view my own Blog. I can see everyone else's just fine - just not mine.
What new problems Blogger is cooking up to make my life miserable is beyond me, but I am certain their teams are hard at work at it.
That impassioned letter, penned in smitten moments half a century ago, finds its way into Kaifi Azmi’s comrade-cum-wife Shaukat’s memoirs, Yaad Ki Rahguzar (Down Memory Lane).