Handy Knowledge

They teach you the handiest information in college:

The indoor flush toilet was invented by Sir Thomas Crapper.

No nice Victorian would ever say "leg."

Alfred Nobel left $9 million for prizes for peace promoting people; therefore, the Nobel Peace Prize. I'd be happy to promote peace.

I have just finished organizing and typing up my history notes. What a chore!! My teacher bounced around like a rubber ball at times, just throwing facts at us. I think I organized them chronologically but if I didn't, who am I to know?

I will admit that I have learned more about history in the four months that I've been in this class than I did in all eight years of grade school. It's really a shame that I wasn't taught more of this stuff but being a normal child, I really didn't care if my teachers taught me history or not. Well, actually, yes I did. I didn't want them to because it was so much easier that way.

I'm struggling with uncharitable feelings right now. For the last test, I had helped out two of my classmates by sending them my notes after I had typed them up. Now this time, they both basically demanded that I send them my notes again. Why is it so hard for me to help them out again? Because they both skipped some class (maybe thinking they could depend on me for the information)? Because they just take for granted that they can reap the benefits of my hard work? Probably. I keep reminding myself that someday it might be me asking for help.

Precious

O & S has a deal with a company that develops mobile home parks. They order all their storage buildings from us and we give them a discount. Well, one of the owners has a wife named Judy.

Now, Judy is one of those women that either has way too much money or too much credit. She does as she pleases; she buys outrageously priced, expensive items. She is not satisfied with ordering something normal—she has to have everything custom made.

One of the first times I had the occasion to meet her in person, she had come to the office to order a storage building with lots of extras that was to go in the woods next a pond and be a cabin of sorts. At that time, I wasn’t the best person to talk to about those kinds of things and my boss was out of the office on delivery. By default, the shop foreman, my boss’s brother, was the one that had to deal with her.

After getting all of the specifics from her, the foreman asked her for her name so he could write the order up. “My name is Precious,” she said. “Naw,” he said, “You’re not serious, are you?” “Yes,” she insisted, “You can even ask my mother.” Her mother happened to be in the office with her but was sitting across the office and not paying a whole lot of attention. Not wanting to involve the mother, he asked again, “What is your real name?” “Precious. Come on, you can say it. Say P-r-e-c-i-o-u-s,” she said deliberately and slowly as if she was talking to a two-year-old.

He abandoned the name for a bit and wrote the order out. A short time later, her mother spotted a picture in the office that she wanted Judy to see, so she said, “Judy, look at that.” That was all he needed. He pounced like a starving lion. “What’d she call you!? See I knew your name wasn’t Precious! I think she called you Judy.” Judy still maintained that her name was Precious but by this time he would have nothing of it.

What made me remember this incident was that she called me yesterday morning and greeted me with a “Hello, Beautiful, what are you doing?” Now, I’m not exactly accustomed to being called beautiful, so it had the potential for leaving me speechless, but I recovered nicely and told her exactly what I had been doing, which was picking dead skin from my shin that had been sunburned several weeks ago. She laughed and told me that she needs to speak with “Handsome”, her flattery name for my boss.

My boss will usually humor her by referring to the “Precious” incident each time she calls and she lavishes him with flattering names, hoping that he won’t charge her an arm and a leg for the special order she wants to price. I find it funny in that she has managed to get him to do things for her that he would not normally do for (almost) anyone else, but then he also charges her according to the effort that he must put forth.

It’s a strange relationship that usually ends up with her being happy and him being somewhat disgruntled and declaring that he’ll never do anything like that again…at least not without charging way more for it.

Oh, her request today…She wants a price for a gazebo that is entirely glassed in so she can house birds in it. It’ll probably end up being a $6,000-8,000 job if she goes thru with it. And all for birds!!

Last Weekend

Last weekend, one of my cousins from South Carolina got married. Kris, Jolene, & I left on Friday evening and went as far as Chattanooga to spend the night with Sara. We arrived in Chattanooga around 11:00, about 30 minutes before Sara got off work, so rather than try to find her place of work to get the key, we decided to just kill a bit of time and wait for her to come on home.

We stopped at a convenience store just up the road from Sara’s apartment to get some drinks. We ambled into the store and were hanging out at the back, perusing the drinks, when a man approached from the left. We all courteously stepped back, just in case he wanted a drink from the cooler, and as he came up even with us, he did a kind of double take and asked, “Are you all related?”

“Nope,” Kris said, just as I said, “Um, kinda,” just as Jolene said, “Yup. We’re sisters!” Talk about mixed messages…I think the real message came through.

So we debated about our drinks. Since Sara is a lone dweller and we know the habits of lone dwellers, we knew better than to count on Sara having adequate supplies for three extra people. So did we want sodas or should we get water? We finally settled on some of each.

As we were pulling drinks from the cooler, another man came bustling through. “Where’s the beer?” he asked. “Down there in those doors,” I said, as if I buy the stuff regularly.

Hoping to get free songs from iTunes, Kris and I each got a Sierra Mist from the cooler. Several days earlier, Kris had been with me as I purchased a Sierra Mist and I bemoaned the fact that I couldn’t just look at the cap from the bottom of the bottle and see if it was a winner. I had demonstrated by peering closely at the bottom of the bottle.

Well, Kris recalled my attempts to see what was printed on the inside of the cap and was peering in the side of the bottle to see if she couldn’t dupe Pepsi and see if it was a winner. About that time, here came the “beer” man. Kris and I obligingly stepped into the nearest aisle (Kris was still peering at the bottle) to let him through but could he continue back to the front of the store the way he came? Oh, no…he followed us into the aisle, which was quite narrow, and just stood there waiting because Kris was trying to get a better angle at the bottle.

I pulled Kris to the side and “beer” man went on around us, looking at us as if we were slightly crazy. We suspect he may have been slightly inebriated, but it made for a great giggle session.

I've Been Waiting

Glooory! Hallelujah!!

I attended my last night of torturous literature (besides the final) tonight. I have waited for this night ever since January 13th. I have only to write a drama paper and then an in-class essay during the final.

For the last two classes, we have been listening to Shakespeare’s Othello. What misery! In all of Shakespeare’s, I managed to find one little blurb that I found amusing. This (obviously) was spoken by a woman to another woman:

“’Tis not a year or two shows us a man. They are all but stomachs, and we all but food; They eat us hungerly, and when they are full, They belch us.”

Oh, the tragedy of it all! But the mental image was just too much; I spluttered irreverently in the midst of the ongoing tragedy.

I shall henceforth forever avoid Shakespeare, poetry, and Faulkner to the best of my ability.

Don't Stress Me Out!

Last week was not a good work week for me. To make a long story short, we only had a total of two days of delivering and a lot more than two days worth of deliveries to make with customers calling right and left to see why THEY weren't getting their building.

The clincher came on Friday afternoon around 4:30 when a customer called to say they wanted their money back because we weren't going to deliver their building that day. I didn't even bother to make excuses but apologized and told the lady that things were beyond my control and I'd be happy to refund her money to her. Her intentions were to call someone that could deliver a building that day. She was more confident in getting a delivery over the weekend than I would have been. I told her to call back on Monday when my boss would be back in town and we would make arrangements for a refund.

I got into the office this morning and things picked up right where they left off on Friday. My boss told me that he had already fielded about four calls and I started out getting the same kind of calls. I was stressed out not even thirty minutes into my day. My boss headed out on delivery and, as I went to check on the status of my third or fourth caller's building, I started in on my habit of taking a song and making it fit my purpose.

Don’t Stress Me Out!
(to be sung to the tune of "I’m Pressing on the Upward Way" with much gusto and emotion)

Verse 1.
I’m stressing out thus far today,
New stress I’m gaining every day,
Still stressing out, I’m school-ward bound,
"Lord, heal my stress from higher ground."

Chorus 1.
Don’t stress me out, Don’t call me now
"I want my barn, I want it NOW"
I’m graying as I’m praying, "Lord,
To quit my job, I can’t afford."

Verse 2
I’m taking calls to hear complaints,
"It’s not my fault; it really ain’t,"
I’m chewing gum to help my stress,
"Lord, help me fix this awful mess!"

Chorus 2
Don’t stress me out, Don’t call and ask,
"You want your barn? That’s not my task!"
I’m graying as I’m praying, "Lord,
To quit my job, I can’t afford."

Things finally settled down around 10:00 and it was fairly quiet for the rest of the day. By the way, the customer was not successful in getting another building so my boss delivered it today. What a relief!

Another Chapter in the Car Drama

On Thursday afternoon, I left work for the ever-dreaded literature class in Russellville. As I pulled out of the lane, my car did two little hiccups of a nature that I had not experienced before. I groaned inwardly, thinking that I might have to have Jolene come and take me to class instead of filling in for me at work.

I chugged on down the road and began to surreptitiously search for my phone, just in case. I stuck my finger into the cell phone pocket in my purse to see if it was there. It was not. I fished around on my passenger seat to see if I could latch on to it. I could not. I was steadily cruising in toward town but was still concerned about the phone. What if I had it in my lap one of the last times I exited my car? It could be laying in some parking lot somewhere, drenched from the previous nights rain.

I was not impressed that I would lose my cell phone on the very day that I might need it. Then I felt a strange vibration from the car that I had not felt in the previous Chapters of Car Drama. "God, just get me to town," I prayed. I was trying to think of who would be the closest to me and Russellville that I might not inconvenience *too* badly if I needed a ride. And that would be providing I could find a phone to call them with. I figured I could probably count on my pastor or someone in his family if they were not scattered in far-off distant lands in my moment of distress, or maybe another friend that lived in the vicinity.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I reached the city limits. I stopped at a convenience store to get a drink to take to class with me and, as I came back to my car and opened the door, I had a flashback. The previous night, I had my phone in hand as I exited the car. Rather than take the phone inside and forget it the next day, I had just pitched the phone in on my seat. I looked and, yes, there was my phone in the crevice of my seat. What a relief!

Oh, the strange vibration...a missed call from Jolene. No wonder I had not felt it previously. But those to hiccups/chugs were real enough.

This Too Shall Pass

I have been subconsciously anxious for the past week. The reason for this anxiety would, of course, be my literature class. We took the dreaded poetry test last week, which included a poetry paper. I chose to expound on three poems by Walt Whitman.

Now, this paper was to be an in-class essay but Mr. K said that anything that we do before hand is to our benefit. So, obviously, I chose to write my entire essay before getting to class since I do a deer in the headlights kind of thing when I have to write under pressure.

Along with the test essay, I submitted three of the five small poetry papers. It was really rather dumb of me to not submit any poetry papers before the test so I could tell if I was even on the right track. But no, I submit them all at one time…sink or swim.

So all week, I’ve been wondering if I could manage to slip by Mr. K with the nonsense that I managed to regurgitate onto paper without getting a “I’m not sure what you were thinking” back from Mr. K. I prayed that God would blind him to my ignorance on poetry. And He did!! I got As on two of the papers and Bs on the other two.

The thing that was frustrating is that I have no clue as to why two of the papers got As and two got Bs. They were completely void any markings except on the test paper where I missed correcting one contraction and that paper got a B. One “doesn’t” makes so a paper gets a B? No explanation for the other B. So, I feel that I’m still clueless.

At least I don’t have to rewrite any of those papers. Maybe I can get another extra credit opportunity to help make up for the Bs. Now I only have to write a small essay on Robert Frost’s poetry and a seven-paragraph paper (rough draft of five paragraphs already written), which I’ve chosen to write on Robert Frost’s poetry as well, and then I’ll be done with poetry papers. PTL!!

After those two papers, I have to write a paper on the Faulkner novel and a paper on the drama that we are currently listening to. I feel like I’m on the home stretch.

One of the women in my class said that she found out a few weeks into the semester that she didn’t even have to have the class for her program of study but she was already too far into the semester to drop it without having to pay a $20 fee in order to not get an F, so she just kept on with the class because she didn’t have the $20. I would have paid $20 in a heartbeat to get out of that class if I didn’t have to have it for my major. I would have begged, borrowed, and (not quite) stolen if necessary. I just don’t understand some people.

Something neat happened after class this evening. I was walking out to my car and a young guy from my class was about thirty feet in front of me. As I exited the building, he turned and told me that he’d see me next week. I wished him a good week. He reached his car first and I had to pass him as I went to my car. Another girl from class was parked next to him and he stepped around her car and gave her a white piece of paper. He then turned toward me and pulled another white piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me. I groaned inwardly thinking that he was trying to sell something to me. I looked at the paper and it said:

2 Corinthians 1:5 God bless you
For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows.

John 16:33
Jesus said, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

I did take heart, for this too shall pass.