How Many Pieces of Paper Does One Tree Yield?

Good afternoon, everyone. Today we're going to talk about what Jenna did all morning. What did she do?

She killed trees.

Yep, it's true. I don't know how many pieces of paper come from one tree, but I was photocopying a bunch of employee evals that I'd edited, added a new checkbox to (ooh!) and then printed off. I copied SCADS of them.

I kept track of how many reams of paper I went through. Anybody wanna stab a guess at how much I used?

Drumroll, please.....

3,000 pieces of paper!!!

Yes, Jenna Woestman is now a tree killer. I had to copy off 10 sets of all the evals, and I probably edited 25 of them...and there were about an average of 15 pages per eval. Oy vey.

On the plus side, I was kept busy for the entire morning and I didn't get any paper cuts. The entire project took 6 hours from start to finish. (Although an hour of that was probably just trying to find the dumb file on the computer...Whoever was here before me sure didn't save things very clearly.)

And that's what I did today. I killed trees and you paid for it. How does that make you feel, taxpayers? :)

Things That Are Extremely Cool About My New Job:

1.) I have a big desk. I had to sort 12 stacks of handouts and I had room on my desk to do all of them. It was great.
2.) I do not have a headset for my phone. Reason this is good--I won't be talking on the phone all day long!
3.) I can open my cell phone without fear of reprecussion.
4.) I can go to the bathroom whenever I want, as many times as I want. (And I don't have to worry about getting glared at.) This is truly freedom.
5.) I have a pet fish. His name is Comet and he's a red Betta. He comes with the job. I named him after the school mascot and I get to feed him every day.
6.) I can carry on conversations. It's great, the other secretary and I chatted for about 20 minutes about something that didn't really pertain to anything work-related, and nobody got mad at us! (We, of course, were still working while we talked.) There were no telemarketing beeps in our ears or anything.

Oh, the glory.

Jenna likes her new job!

I Love Days Off

Today I made blueberry scones. Precious said that she had a good recipe, so I called her and got it. I haven't tried them yet, we'll see how they turn out. I used a bunch of soy flour and whole grain oat flour...they sort of had a greenish tinge to them from the soy flour. I'm sure I'd use soy flour a whole lot more if it didn't turn my food colors.

But I digress.

Who slept in until 8:15 this morning? It's me, it's me!
Who didn't make her bed until 11:00am? It's me, it's me!
Who hasn't even bothered to shower yet today? It's me, it's me!
Who likes driving her new car? It's me, it's me!

Yeah, so I know the last one doesn't really fit. But I do, I like driving my new car! I'd like it a lot more if it didn't smell like new car, but what's a girl to do? I got a scented oil car thingy to try to diffuse some of its new car goodness, but it's taking awhile.

I keep trying to think up place to go so that I can drive around. Then I remind myself that every time I fill my gas tank up it costs me two hours of work and I decide to stay home.

Who decided it was OK for gas prices to be so high, anyway? Hmm, maybe somebody needs to telemarket the gas people and they'll get so annoyed they'll lower prices.

That's not a bad idea...I may run with it.

I gotta go!

Oh and by the way. THIS IS MY LAST DAY AS A TELEMARKETER!!!

Boo-yah!

Dear Kraft Foods,

Hi. My name is Jenna. I'm a pathetic little telemarketer (well, for another few hours) and I just wanted to thank you for the happiness you have brought into my miserable existence. Happiness? You ask yourselves, How in the world can a telemarketer have happiness?! They have the worst jobs in the world!

Well. Let me tell you.

I adore your mini marshmallows. I am, perhaps, their greatest fan. I eat them while I talk to people on the phone. (But only occasionally, since they don't any---er, much nutritional value.) The mini marshmallows are the greatest because, to quote my cool little brother, they are "full of marshmallowy goodness". It's like all the flavor of a big 'un but that is bite sized!!! Wow. Somebody's a genius.

But wait, there's more!

Yesterday while my dear husband and I were grocery shopping (at TARGET, not at Walmart. We rue the day we enter Walmart...sorry, Dad.) Joey spotted something amazing.

Bunny-mallows!!!

Seriously. These are little spring colored bunny shaped marshmallows. They're super, super cute. I like to squish them and bite their heads off. They were on sale, so we bought a bag. I munched a few on the way home, but I knew I had to take them telemarketing the next day. Since it's my last day (YAY!!) I figured my friends might enjoy a few bunny-mallows. Jamie and I made hot chocolate and put them on top. They look like a pastel swirl.

Whoever thought up bunny-mallows is a really smrt person. I salute them.

Very sincerely,

Jenna, loyal fan

Why I Am Nuts

I hear voices all day long. Seriously.

OK, fine, so I'm a telemarketer (until tomorrow) and so my job is talking to people on the phone. But I like to make things as dramatic as possible, of course.

Anyway, my current game is to try to figure out how fat (or not) people are just by talking to them. It's pretty amusing. You can't tell much from a person's voice except whether they smoke a lot.

So that's my game. It's pretty sad, isn't it? Statistics aren't in these people's favor, so I figure that most people are ginormously fat. At least I amuse myself by thinking that. If they're huffing and puffing, that's a definite giveaway (to my little mind, that is).

I really, really need to start my new job before I lose my mind completely.

Well, I am taking PTO today. I went in to get all the heavy junk out of my desk and that took, like, three hours by the time I got back home. I was only in the office for about 15 minutes, too. (Good thing I didn't get a ticket. I had 15 minutes on my meter and the time ran out!)

I don't have anything funny to say today, I haven't eaten anything yet and it's 1:00. I'm starved. I can't even think straight. So see, no chance of being even remotely funny.

So...that's all, folks!

Only 4 days to go...

The countdown just got blown out of the water. I am able to use PTO for this Friday, next Wednesday, Thursday and Friday! I was able to move up the last day to Tuesday. Cha-ching!!!

So, here's the new and improved countdown.

5 more days! (And only two of those are work days.)

And the countdown continues!! (I didn't forget today!)

8 days to go!

TRUE STORY

I wander into the bathroom this morning with a huge stack of towels that I'd just folded. (The stack was way too high, by the way, I almost dropped them in the trash can.) Joey was in there putting gel in his hair.

"Good morning," says me.

"I had a really weird dream last night," says he.

"Oh really? So did I, but you go first." I started stuffing the towels in the cupboard. It was a tight squeeze.

Joey washed the gel off his hands. "I dreamed that I was down getting the mail and started flipping through it. You had a subscription to Better Homes and Gardens in there and on the cover it said 'Is Your Husband Annoying? Trade Him in for a Million Dollars Worth of Used Action Figures!' and I thought, 'Wow, that's not a very good trade.'"

"Not only that," I said, "But it's not quite a Better Homes and Gardens specialty. Not only do they not generally trade in husbands, I bet they don't really have a million dollars worth of used action figures just lying around. What do you think they'd do with all the husbands that got traded in?" I smashed in the last towel.

"Who knows. Wanna trade me in?" Asked my slightly sleep-foggy husband.

"No way!" I said. "Not only are you a whole lot less annoying than I am, but I have no idea what I'd ever do with a million dollars of used action figures. I don't even know what I'd do with a million dollars worth of new action figures! I'll take you over action figures any day."

Three things:
1. I do not actually get a subscription to Better Homes and Gardens
2. No, I probably won't tell you what my dream was. (Unless you email me, and unless you're a girl.)
3. I have no mini marshmallows to eat while telemarketing today.

Stink! The woman's right! I DID forget my countdown. What would I do without Alyssa?! I was so caught up in eating my mini marshmallows that I forgot to be excited about quitting telemarketing!

I think I might have a real mini marshmallow problem.

9 more days!

Confession: I have an obsession with mini marshmallows. And it's bad.

I'm not really sure when it started, I think it was a month ago. But I brought some marshmallows to put in my hot chocolate at work. (It was a ginormous treat--I never bring that to work, just tea.) I decided to save the marshmallows and just munch on them.

Oh boy.

I was hooked. They were small, cute, squishy and super easy to eat while I was telemarketing.

I began to think about mini marshmallows constantly. I dreamed about them at night. I craved them the entire time I was telemarketing. I stopped and ogled them in the grocery store (they make really big bags of them, you know). I considered writing fan mail to Kraft.

I know they're next to horrible for me, but if I only eat a few once or twice a week, I figure I won't die. I probably won't even get very fat. Right now I have a little baggie with some mini marshmallows in it. I've been saving it until after 10:30. Joey surprised me by sticking it in my lunch. I was super excited.

Mmmmm. I just ate one. Yummy marshmallow.

What do telemarketers, cows and gummy worms have in common? Easy. I just cut the cows out (of paper, of course) and I'm eating gummy worms right now--all of this while I telemarket.

Jamie has a bunch of Sunday School stuff she needed cut out, so Tiffany and I were helping her. I got the cows, tombs and a verse. I really liked cutting out the cows because I cut out each individual leg. Jamie said not to bother, but I didn't listen to her.

Everyone knows that I love cows way too much. That is, of course, why I make up songs about them on the way to church. Joey always enjoys being serenaded. (It's not fair, though, becuase when he tries to make up a song, his actually rhyme. And they're not as long.)

Jamie rewarded my cow cutting labors with four gummy worms. I big them in half and ate them. All of them.

They were super great.

Oh, I forgot the countdown.

10 days to go!!!

This morning, on the way to go telemarket, I had three near death experiences.

I was driving down 1st Street to pick the girls up, and slowed down to make my turn. It's always a bad patch right there, and I hit some ice and, instead of turning, went straight for the curb. At, probably 15 miles an hour. I pumped the brakes, I tried turning my wheel (no luck, I went toward the curb regardless) then finally just LAID on the brakes. Amazingly, the car stopped a few inches from the curb.

No airbags were yet deployed.

I was very thankful that nobody was sitting at that stop sign, for I'd have surely hit them. Anyway, I almost died.

I got the girls and we poked down the road to telemarket. Some ginormous SUV decided to hit their brakes. I'd been following at what NORMALLY would be a safe distance, but when there's ice under the snow...I don't think there is such a thing as a safe distance. Anyhey, I started pumping my brakes.

Nothing. I didn't even slow down.

Stinkin, I thought, Now I'm going to crash my car into the back of an SUV.

Mr. SUV suddenly veered off the road to turn into White Birch. I've never been so happy to see somebody turn at "the last minute" before. I wish he'd have bothered to use a turn signal. Oh well.

At any rate, no air bags were deployed.

So now we're heading down 2nd Avenue at about 40 miles an hour. I was meticulously trying to stay in the tracks of those who had gone before me, when I slid off the road. Of course at that spot, there's a real steep drop off, so I fought and fought with my steering wheel to get the car BACK on the road, not wobbling between the cement edge and gravel.

After a few harrowing seconds, I got car got back on the road, swerved over into the left lane (overcompensating!) which was thankfully empty, and then back into the right lane where I belonged.

And yet, no airbags were deployed! Whew.

Maybe I can just spend the night here at work...I don't wanna go back out there! I might die, or wreck my poor Saturn!

Newsflash---JENNA HAS A NEW JOB!

Glory, glory, hallelujah.

This morning around 9:45, I was offered the position of assistant to the Boss of the Employer. I am so excited that I have been unable to concentrate all day long, and my hands keep shaking. Thankfully, the dialer is slow and I haven't had a lot of contacts.

Thus begins the countdown.

11 days to go!

Reflections on Being a Bird-Mom Who, Upon Discovering One of Her "Children" Wasn't Fitting In, Returned Said Bird To The Store. For a Full Refund.

Our birds-children had been asking for a sibling. Or so we thought. We said, "If you want a sibling, chirp once. If you don't want one, chirp twice." Chirp, the birdies would say. Just one chirp.

So two Fridays ago Joey and I headed to Petsmart with a singular purpose--to find the perfect sibling for our babies.

After 20 arduous minutes, we finally selected a green birdy with a blue tail and yellow head. He was perky and pesky in the cage, and he seemed to be a swinging bird. He was constantly on the swing in the store cage. New Bird was clipped, boxed and wrapped in Joey's coat. We headed home to introduce him to our other two children.

We named him Wickham, wanting to carry on the theme of Pride and Prejudice with our birdies. It was an ill-fated name. Perhaps if we'd have picked something like Mr. Bennet things would have turned out differently.

Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley/Whitebird positively detested Wickham from the moment he first entered the apartment. Wickham was so terrified of our other two children that he refused to leave my finger when I tried to put him in the cage.

Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley/Whitebird froze. Wickham froze. Finally, the other two ventured over to the newcomer and cheed at him. Then they pecked at him. I wailed. Joey said, "He'll be OK, let's give him time."

After a week of three silent, stock-still birds, we decided we couldn't take it any longer. We knew we had to do it.

"Well," Joey said, "I think we'd better take him back." He got me the receipt and the guarantee and we decided I'd do it in the morning.

And so that's how I became a "return the kid if it doesn't work out" bird-mom. I'm a terrible person. I can't hardly live with myself. Maybe I need counseling.

At any rate, the other birds are super happy now. They hated Wickham.

Well, we're now a two-bird family.

That's right, I just returned Wickham to Petsmart. Poor little birdy wasn't getting along with Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley/Whitebird AT ALL. He'd just sit in one place all day long (with the occasional food and water break) and stare at the cage wall.

Evil Mr. Darcy and Whitebird would chee at him and peck at him quite often. I assume this was mostly to let Wickham know that he was not welcome.

I suppose our birds are not much different from the actual charachters of Pride and Prejudice, but I sincerely doubt that Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley would have cheed and pecked at Wickham, however much they disliked him. They'd have done something more refined.

At any rate, as soon as I took Wickham out of the cage and stashed him in the travel cage, Mr. Darcy and Whitebird began singing my praises. Seriously. They were. Wickham sat and trembled in his new environment (but there really isn't anything new about that) and the other two skittered around their cage again in a way I haven't seen them since last Friday when we purchased Wickham.

Oh well, so much for having 3 birds.

I left the cage door open and when I came home from returning Wicky, the other two Evils were sitting atop their cage looking quite pleased with themselves.

Evil birdies.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

We telemarketers have had a pretty sugary holiday so far. When we got in to the "office" there were green balloons hanging from the ceiling, and we had a little pot o' candy at our desks. There was also a green balloon which I promptly blew up, drew a couple of creepy faces on, and hung from the ceiling above my desk.

We also have lots of yummy treats. I made Blarney Stone Kissed Cookies last night in preperation for the holiday, and Jamie made green Rice Krispy treats. (I didn't know what a Blarney Stone was until yesterday, aparrently you're supposed to kiss it for good luck.)

But the BEST thing, is that at noon there was a PARADE! We thought we were going to miss the whole thing since we didn't get off for lunch until 1:00, but it was still going. Whew. I've never seen a St. Patrick's Day parade before, so it was pretty exciting. We heard the parade for an entire hour, all the sirens and music.

By the time we finished up our lunches and got down there, the parade was starting to wind down. We were just in time, however, for the "Irish" belly dancers.

Holy stink. They were....extremely plump. Well, maybe they weren't as plump as they looked, but their belly-baring shirts really made them look a whole stinkin' lot jigglier than they really were. One lady even painted her stomach green. It looked like flubber, from the Absentminded Professor. You know, green and jiggly? Really disturbing.

I waved at the Irish Republicans, simply because they were Republicans, and the gentleman in the car threw a whole ton of Tootsie Rolls at me.

We really had a hard time getting candy because nobody threw it at the "adults". I had to nearly sacrifice my entire life getting this piece of Dubble Bubble from beneath the wheels of a big trailer pulled by an big truck. Jamie thought it was a shame that the gum might get squished, so I snatched it real quick like.

Good thing the driver didn't decide to drive off, he'd have taken my arm with him. (Well, maybe not quite that bad.)

The absolute highlight was the truck that threw...SALT WATER TAFFY!!!! And they threw it right at me! It's like they know it's my favorite or something. There was even a piece of cinnamon.

Yummy to my tummy.

On the way back in, Jamie tried to piggyback on Tiffany's part of the spinny door. Tiffany smashed her a good one. Spinny doors make me nervous. Jamie survived to telemarket another day, though.

And that's how telemarketers celebrate St. Patrick's Day.

Weird Stuff I've Heard Lately As A Telemarketer

1.) "Ilene left in the car and Martha is at work." I called asking for Ilene and the guy, very seriously, replied with that statement. I wasn't sure if he was insinuating that Ilene had died while she was in the car, or if she really did just leave in the car. (She hadn't died.)

2.) "I got a new Social Security Number. The one I verified with you is wrong, I was just trying to trick you." Yeah, right. You don't just get a new Social Security Number. The guy was lying and it was so, so hard to not be all sassy to him. If you're going to lie to a telemarketer, don't lie about getting a new Social. They'll be on to you like white on rice.

3.) I said to the loan officer, "This guy wants the $20,000 to substitute his payroll for his business." And the loan officer actually laughed. (Loan officers don't usually laugh, no matter how ridiculous the customer's request sounds.)

4.) "Yeah, it doesn't have many miles at all, just 120,000." Said a customer to me, regarding his 4 year old truck. He was serious. (How do you put 120,000 miles on a truck in four years?!)

5.) My loan officer said regarding credit scores, "Oh, a 550 isn't bad at all." We'd had a rash of really, really low credit scores and at the time, 550 must have been lookin' pretty good to him. (It's not. It's pretty horrible since 450 is the lowest.)

6.) "Oh, I don't want a loan. I want to refinance my vehicle/get a line of credit." Usually the ones who say this are girls who are probably blonde, but I had an older man say this to me this morning. What, do they think the money they're going to borrow is free and they don't have to pay it back? (I hastily inform them that yes, this IS a loan.)

7.) "I want $1,800 to pay my bills." Oh, if only it really were that easy.

For a telemarketer, I have an awful lot of trouble with the United States Postal Service.

First, they lost my Social Security card with my new last name on it. Arg. Riles me up just thinking about it. Some dingbat out there better not have it. I hope it just got stuck in the machine.

Second, they lost the title to my car! Hosers. We should have had it back in December, but half of that is the bank's fault. I called and asked them to expedite the payoff papers, but the lady proceeded to forget. A month and a half later, I called again and the lady felt real bad. It all worked out OK, though, because I got the payoff papers in the mail from the bank.

And yet all was not well.

Two more months later I still haven't received the title. Hmm, I think to myself, Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. So today I called down to the Polk County Administrator's Building. Sure 'nuff, they mailed that thing on February 15.

It's lost. Poor little thing. I hope it isn't scared.

So I ran (mostly just walked really fast) the 3/4 mile to the Polk County building, waited for 15 minutes while the lady printed me a new title, and then I ran back to work. Fortunately it was a pretty nice day out, sunny and brisk, or it would have been a pretty miserable hike.

I wonder if all telemarketers don't get their important mail, or if it's just me. Hmm. Who knows!

Here's my advice for the day. DON'T ANSWER YOUR PHONE.

When it rings, don't answer it. Get Caller ID or something so that you never, ever answer when a poor telemarketer calls you. This way the telemarketer can do other, more fun things like read books, sew finger puppets, color pictures, throw stuff, or jump around while still wearing their headset.

When people answer their phones, it prohibits us from doing things like that.

We got a new campaign today. We're trying to convince people to take cash out on the vehicles they just paid off, and doing consolidating or going on vacation or something. Nobody's wanting to take stuff from me. (Surprise, surprise. I wouldn't want to go back in debt on the car I just paid off, either!) We're also trying to get them to refi with us, but I haven't been getting very many of those.

So here's the advice for the day: Leave the phone on the hook. Either that or just get cell phones so that the evil telemarketers can't get to you.

On Saturday I brought Joey down to see how stinkin' far it is from my office to the parking lot. (It's 3/4 of a mile, for those of you who care to feel sorry for me.) I also wanted to show him the floor in one of the buildings down here. They've been redoing it for months and it's the oddest process. I thought he'd think it was cool. He probably did.

On Friday, though, I saw a mouse. (It was on the 3/4 mile walk from the car to the desk.) Tiffany and I were walking up the steps outside the telemarketing parking garage (we don't even get to park in the parking garage yet--just the overflow lot) and there, lying on one of the steps, was a very cute little mouse.

He was very, very dead.

I don't really know how he got there because he was about 9-10 feet off the ground and he was in the middle of the staircase; maybe he fell from one of the garage levels, maybe he just had a little heart attack, maybe a cat dropped him.

I almost touched him because he was SO cute. Then I thought, "OK, Jenna, that's nasty, not to mention that you're old enough to know better than to go touching dead animals in public. You can't do an autopsy on this one." (I did that once when I was a kid. I used a couple of sticks. It was really...gross.) Anyway, I decided to scoot poor mousey off the steps lest some unwitting soul crunched him on their way down the stairs.

Now THAT would be gross. (But it would be kind of funny if it was some prissy, stilletoed woman...)

So I slid him, with my foot, over to the edge of the stairs. Thunk. He was extremely hard, musta been dead for awhile. He was cute, though.

I'm telemarketing today.

I just have to tell you all about this really...dense lady I talked to a bit ago. She's a homemaker so she herself doesn't have any income. That's fine, no problem. BUT, she went to the bank and filled out a loan application for $5,000, stuck her name on it and put her husband's employer and income down as if it was hers.

And she wonders why they denied it.

People like her make telemarketing a lot, lot, lot more confusing. I had to rack my little brain just to figure out how to term that crazy thing! Should I term it "doesn't need money"? Was it a "crazy wife" one? Wait, we don't have a term code for that one. (We could really use one, though.) Or was it more of an "unidentified"? I finally settled on "doesn't need money".

On to brighter topics.

Joey says that if you smashed all the molecules in the entire universe down and took all the air out from in between them, they could smash down to about 2 square inches. That's pretty small. This leaves me with two important questions, perhaps some of you will know the answer and if you do I'd like to hear it.

1.) If there's air inbetween the molecules now, why can't we poke our fingers through things? It makes sense to me...
2.) If you really could smash all the molecules down into a square, what color would it be?

Joey says I missed the point. Did I miss the point? He also says that nobody would be able to know what color the square would be, because everybody would be IN the square.

Wednesday on the way home from church I was reminded just how much I hate gondolas. I don't really remember what brought them to my mind, but I totally hate them. Oh, I don't mean the boat gondolas like in Venice, I mean the stupid ski-lift type ones that go up the sides of steep mountains.

So we're in China. Let me preface this with saying that up to that point, we weren't too impressed with the quality of construction over there. (For instance, when we tried to buy a fan for our bedroom the sales lady had to test all the fans to make that the one we bought actually worked.)

Anyway, we're at Snow-Cap Mountain. We went there with a bunch of our students for the weekend and right before we were going to head home, we were scheduled to take gondolas up the mountain to the top.

Yay. I just love heights.

We had already spent 45 minutes in an 8-person gondola the day before to get halfway up the mountain. It really stunk because people kept moving and shaking the gondola. Then I'd get really scared. It wasn't pretty.

So there we are, getting ready to get in the gondola. It's cold and raining outside, I think the sky is just as sad about me having to get in the rickey gondola as I am. Joey and I stand there, in our bright red plastic ponchos, and I'm trying to be brave. I can't let our students know just how badly I do NOT want to do this. The gondola swings around on its axis and we hop in.

I watch the nice, safe muddy ground slip away as we're dragged up into the air on a bouncy cable. The enclosed gondola doesn't do much to keep out the rain. It's cold, wet and bouncy. Some idiot up the cable thinks it's funny to bounce the car. I'm sitting there, stiff as a board. Joey is trying to come up with ways to distract me. None of them are working.

An hour later, we finally see an enclosure up ahead. I know that this only means we have to switch gondolas, but at least it's terra firma! Five minutes later, we're in a colder, wetter, shakier gondola, going up a steeper part of the mountain.

It's so misty outside that we can't see any further than 100 feet or so. Joey's dreadfully disappointed, but I'm pleased as punch. I don't want to know how high up we are.

After 45 more minutes, we're at the top. We have to hoof it 1/2 a mile or so up some wooden stairs (extremely slippery because of the rain and fog) to get to the top. It was entirely anticlimactic, too, becuase of the fog. We couldn't see anything.

And then...we went back down.

That's why I hate gondolas. I told Joey I was never, ever in my entire life getting on another gondola, even if it meant missing out on something really cool. Never again. Oh, I forgot to say the word "telemarketer"; so now I've said it. (I gotta say it every time, you know.)

I don't understand it.

I called a guy this morning, we'll call him Bob Hearnot, and said, "Hi, may I speak with Bob?" I get silence on the other end. Someone's scuffling about.
"Who?" Says the man.
Ohhh, I think to myself, another one of these.
"I'm looking for Bob. Bob Hearnot," I say. More scuffling.
"Bob who--Who you say you lookin' for?" Growls the gruff-voiced man.
I sigh. "Bob Hearnot. Is this the wrong number?"
Reluctantly he says, "Uhhh, no....this is Bob."

Seriously. Either Bob is deaf or he thinks I'm a bill collector. This happens ALL DAY LONG. People play seriously dumb when you ask for someone, but if you persist then they eventually come out with "Oh, that's me."

Do they just not know their own names?

Last I checked, my English was pretty good so I'm pretty sure it's not because they just can't understand me. A lot more people must need hearing aids. Either that or they need to quit running up debts and then going delinquent on them. Either or.

Dear fans, loyal readers, and really bored people,

Today it's really busy around here. I've suckered 28 people into taking applications (three of them were real arm-twisters, too. I'm such a bad person) and it's not looking to slow down anytime soon. I really shouldn't even be blogging right now, I haven't got the time.

I just had to mention some really unusual last names I saw today. Telemarketers see all sorts of silly things, you know. My favorite one so far has been "Beaubeof" and that is, of course, French for "Pretty cow". I wonder if that lady knows that's what her name means.

I also talked to a Lesicko (that also sounds French for "The sicko") and then some guy whose last name was Nalchadzyan. He was from Armenia, though, so I guess that explains it. I can't even figure out how to pronounce it!

Well, like I said friends, I need to not be doing this anymore. Telemarketing awaits.

Love,
Jenna

I think today's isn't going to have much to do with telemarketing. (But I did just get some guy's answering machine...and he was singing on it! For shame.) This one's going to be about.... STAGE FRIGHT!

So I'm in Kohl's a couple weeks ago looking for something for Joey's birthday. They had a ton of stuff on sale, so I was browsing through the clearance on the hunt for a track jacket that was priced just right. Suddenly, I saw someone that I worked with for a couple of weeks when I worked for the bank.

I got stage fright.

What do I do? Do I hide or do I say hi? What do I say if I do go over and talk to her? She always scared me when we worked together because she was cranky and mean. Hmm...Did she see me? I couldn't tell. Well, I was a chicken. I opted for "hide behind a really tall clothing rack and pretend I never saw her in the first place".

It worked. Good thing I'm short.

This happens to me all the time. I see somebody I sort of know, think I should go over and say hi but then I get stage fright and go hide somewhere for 5 minutes until I figure they're gone.

I did this at work the other day. I saw some guy that used to work on my team (for a couple months) coming through the doors at the same time as me. I thought, "Hmm, should I say hi or should I just pretend I didn't see him. Maybe he didn't recognize me". Besides, I'd hate for him to think I was, like....flirting or something nasty like that. I hear behind me, "Well, hello, Jenna."

Stink. Foiled again.

I turned around and tried to dig myself out of my hole. It was hard, too, because the hole was super deep. Stage fright is a bad thing to have at this job. Sometimes when mean and nasty people get on the phone I just think, "Oh cool, they can't even see me. I can just pretend I'm not here."

Life's hard for telemarketer.

Good morning, class. Today we will be discussing a very important topic: answering machines. Now get out those pens and notebooks to take notes. If I ever hear of any of you violating any of the Seven Deadly Answering Machine Sins...what I do to you won't be pretty. (And I'm not responsible because you've all been warned.) Telemarketers hate, hate, hate corny answering machines. Trust me, this is for your own good!

So, without any further ado, the Seven Deadly Answering Machine Sins.

1.) Singing Like You Can
Holy cow. Why do people think it's cool to write songs and then sing them into their answering machines? It really kills me when people try to sound like rock stars and are doing the Beyonce thing when they really just can't. (I wonder if nobody's ever told them that it makes them sound really, really bad.) Even if you have a decent voice, never sing on your answering machine. It will ruin any talent you may have.
2.) Coaching Young Children To Say The Greeting
Oh my, my. If you have a two year old and they're really good at repeating what you say, don't start thinking it would be cute to have them do your answering machine. It's cute the first time, but it really loses it's luster quite fast. Consider the fact that no one but you can probably understand what your kid is saying anyway, and if you want people to leave messages they should probably know who they're calling. And besides, it's not that cute to hear an adult whispering in the background "Hi, this is" and then the kid saying "Ga, ga ga" into the microphone. Oy.
3.) Playing Music In the Background
OK, Muzak has its place and it's definitely not on your answering machine. Every time I get some big tough guy's answering machine and he's got cheesy jazz in the background, I cringe. Can you say "Ladies' Man" any more clearly? Besides, the ladies he's trying to snag are smart enough to know that it's a red flag for "player". Foiled again.
4.) Having An Automated Greeting
Nothing says "I'm running from the cops" more than an automated answering machine, especially one that just says the phone number and not your name. Maybe it's just me, but seriously, if you have your greeting set up to say "We are not home right now. Please leave a message" in a computer voice, you're probably hiding. (Either from cops or creditors, it doesn't matter much.) Or if you just can't figure out how to record a greeting, I suggest you get out the manual. Otherwise telemarketers are going to think you're running from the cops.
5.) Sounding Like You're a Bad, Tough Guy
This one goes along with playing cheesy music in the background, but not always. I got an answering machine once that was something like, "Yo, yo, representin'. If you be coo, show some love and leave a message at the tone." And so on. Can you say "Wannabe" with me? That's what he sounded like to me...
6.) Leaving Your Cell Number
Alright, kids, this one's pretty basic. Don't put your cell number on your answering machine unless you want to get prank calls frmo telemarketers. Seriously, I'm so tempted to write those numbers down and then start calling them and saying, "Your refrigerator is running" or something dumb like that.
7.) Thinking You're Original and Playing the "Hello" Game
Newsflash--You're not. About 3 million people in America also have answering machines that say "Hello........OH HI! How ARE you?.... I'm sorry, speak up, I can't hear you.....GOTCHA, this is an answering machine. You fell for it." Yeah, it's really not funny. Not after you get them 10 or 20 times a day. There should be a Constitutional Amendment about it or something.

OK, right now I'm talking to a guy in Wisconsin who sounds exactly like Red from the Red Green Show. It's weird.

Saturdays are great for one major reason--NO TELEMARKETING!! (Well, every other Saturday that is.)

Today I've been really productive. I cleaned the whole house within an inch of its life, did 45 minutes of Pilates (I'm so, so sore) and been twice to Walmart. I hate Walmart. Sorry, Dad, but it's true.

I'm on my way to grocery shop now becuase I'm going to pre-make some dishes for this next week. It'll be really nice to have a few things in the freezer, especially if I wind up having any interviews. Wow, wouldn't it be great to not be a telemarketer anymore? But I must be thankful for the job I've got, right? I try...

I can't think of anything funny to say, so I'm going to quit now.

Yay! It's Friday! (Good thing, too, because around here by Friday, all telemarketers are fried.)

We're working on finger puppets right now. We're making one for each of the members on our team. This way when it gets really slow and boring around here we can do little plays. I've got one dress finished and I'm working on another one. It's almost done. I forgot how slow hand stitching is, good thing some guy invented a sewing machine. On the upside, my stitches are really improving. They're much smaller and straighter.

~*~*~

Some guy named Pedro called me yesterday. He's from the East Coast, like Maryland or something, and he was "following up on my application". I'm confused. I didn't apply in Maryland, or the East Coast, for any position. Particularly not with a mortgage company. I want nothing more to do with money places. I keep trying to get ahold of our pal Pedro...but he's not in.

All I can figure out is that somehow when I took that online class to get certified to do mortgages in Maryland (yes, they seriously had us do it "just in case") my phone number got given to Pedro.

Poor guy. With the name Pedro, all I can think of is the guy from Napoleon Dynamite. He even sort of talks like him, too, so it's really hard to take him seriously! I wonder if he looks like the guy from the movie, too. I guess I'll never know because I'm NOT moving to Maryland to do mortgages for Pedro.

"You should build her a cake or something"

I don't have much to blog about today. No time, either. Sorry! (I'm sure you're all heartbroken.)

Telemarketerland is having technological difficulties. But since I'm not having any problems, I have to call and bother a lot of people today.

Sorry to everyone I call!

My poor husband. I really did him over this time.

On his birthday last Saturday we decided to take a break from watching LOTR movies (our eyes were going buggy) and run by Kohl's before dinner. They were having a ginormous sale, so we got him a couple of sweaters for $5 and suchlike. (I also got a really cozy hoodie to replace my brown one that's got holes. If I can bear to part with it, that is.) Anyway, Joey saw a rack of khakis for $10 and, since he only has one "official" pair I thought I'd find him his size and we'd get them. Who can beat a nice pair of khakis for only $10?

I have a real hard time with guys' sizes. I can never remember if poor Joey is 30x32, 32x30 or 32x32. Fortunately, Joey was there to tell me that he is, in fact, a 32x30. They had one in his size, so I grabbed it and we were off.

Later, when Joey was trying on his khakis, I noticed that they looked really....tight. Uncomfortably tight. I thought, "Man, how did he gain so much weight so fast? We've really got to put him on some sort of diet. Like now!" Poor Joey, I'm not very good at keeping my thoughts in my head, so I told him that he was probably getting fat. Since his pants were so tight, he thought I was probably right.

Well this morning Joey decided to wear those khakis to work. For some reason, he glanced at the tag and, to his great surprise, noticed that they weren't 32x30s, like I thought I grabbed, but a 30x32!

POOR JOEY!!!

And here I thought he was getting pudgy when it was really just a case of me not being able to read. I should be extremely ashamed of myself. (And I am.) Poor thing, now I feel really bad and I want to go try to find him a pair of pants that fits.

So, do you think it's ethical to return something after it's already been washed and worn, if the wife made a mistake and still can't read men's sizes? I think it's because my eyes are ruined from being a telemarketer.