Our department has quite the accumulated dating history and insight. Between the roller coaster romances of our student employees and the dozens of people we caution, cite, and arrest for stalking, we are connoisseurs of crazy love. Here’s some wisdom gleaned in the last two weeks.
(Discussing when to make a move to hold a girl’s hand)
Bebe: You just have to feel her vibe. If she wants you to hold her hand or kiss you, she’ll let you know.
Stuckford: Her vibe, huh?
Bebe: Yeah. Feel her vibe.
C.: Just, ah, don’t feel anything else!
(Know the correct name for foreign foods you intend to order. For example, when desiring polenta do not say…)
Random girl one of our officers went out with: I like Italian food. I’ll have the placenta.
And finally, if you’re married, don’t ask out one of your co-workers! Trust me, that news will travel
Michael: Yeah…the bishop’s going to have something to say about that.
C.: …And God. Daisy: Well, I hit him on the head with a book and said “Begone!” It worked.
“But I feel…I don’t know…” “Daisy. Allow me to disabuse you of this social-moral qualm. It is perfectly all right to not want to go out with a guy who seems to be universally disliked, who’s married and has a kid.” “Ok!” – Daisy and C.
Our department is a pit of intrigue and private vice. Or, rather, it would be a pit of intrigue and private vice if we weren’t so poisonously good and had such marvelous senses of humor.
“One measure of friendship consists not in the number of things friends can discuss, but in the number of things they need no longer mention.” – Clifton Fadiman
Yesterday was one of those days where everything went wrong.
On Tuesday I started a project to audit our records of everyone who is permanently forbidden from campus. I worked on it and nothing else for two days, 16 straight working hours and paid meticulous attention to detail. The product I turned in was exactly what had been requested.
NEED. CAKE. NOW.
Yesterday I went to talk with the officer who assigned me the project and he told me it wasn’t what he wanted at all (even though when I gave it to him Wednesday and he looked over it, he pronounced it good). Instead of just running an audit to see whether our paper files and electronic files meet up, apparently I’m supposed to create an easy reference guide so that a committee of people can decide whether any of these people should be permitted on campus in the future. Which is not what I was originally assigned and which requires entirely different information than an audit which, not to harp on, I’d spent 16 hours compiling data for.
Then! A volunteer organization we (and when I say “we” I mean “I”) run background checks for started a minor panic with it’s volunteers by declaring that they had never received the results of checks we (meaning “I”) had run.
“Bollocks!” cried I viciously, pulling up multiple emails spanning a month demonstrating that I had, in fact, sent the results off properly.
I have pride issues. I have no problem admitting when I’ve done something incorrectly or correcting mistakes. But when I’ve done my job properly, supplied exactly what was asked, and done so in a fabulously quick manner, only to be told I’m completely in the wrong and/or failed in a basic duty when I haven’t…poor J. gets a long rant over lunch.
However, thanks to a long and rather hilarious talk with Sav, Vodka, and Hennessy about (among other things) law, obstetrics, and drugs (legal ones!), I’m feeling in much better form.
“It occurred to me that my speech or my silence, indeed any action of mine, would be a mere futility.” – Joseph Conrad
I was given a project today. One that I’m still trying to make sense of. It can best be summarized by my puzzled response to Lt. Figaro when he gave it to me. At the time of assignment, Susie’s and my eyebrows were having a contest to see whose could climb higher.
“So you want me to run reports.”
“Yes.”
“From a database I don’t have access to, using a program that hasn’t worked form months, to organize information that no one can find, with query requests that don’t exist.”
“Yes.”
“Hi, this is [ahem] from the History department. We’ve just received a package that appears to contain a human skull. Could you send someone over, please?”
– [ahem] from History department
See above.
Truly, your timing with over commercialized holidays is uncanny!
We sent over an officer half expecting to uncover a Halloween decoration with “Made in China” stamped merrily across it. Imagine our surprise then when he carted back a box containing two and half genuine human noggins! Look to be Native American remains, they’re trying to trace them now. Naturally the desecration of human bodies and disturbing of Indian remains is both illegal and (especially at this time of year) liable to open portals into the nether world, but sue me, I’m thrilled. I dashed back to the patrol room, slapped on a pair of plastic gloves, and got to handle them under the officer’s watchful eye. It’s the most interesting thing that’s happened in a couple of weeks! And if I drop dead in the near future, you can snuff it up to an ancient curse.
In less bizarre but equally exciting news, poodles, come back tomorrow for an exciting new giveaway!
Curious?
Note: the prize will not include federally protected remains, items, artwork, etc. Apologies in advance for any disappointment.
“It’s like saying ‘Macbeth’ in the theatre!” – Grey’s Anatomy
Surviving in the corporate world, even on the rather planktonian level of a University police office, requires certain precautions of the supernatural variety. Whether by occult design or unnatural happenstance, bad things often happen in threes. Whenever one needs a large print job, an obligatory sacrifice of small animals/Freshmen is usually necessary to get its resident poltergeist to permit the entire project to come out unscathed. When discussing hypothetical future events, it is absolutely necessary to pound, not simply knock, on wood to ensure that nothing will hex your efforts.
And you must never, under any circumstances, ever make the fatal mistake of saying that the office is “quiet.” It matters not if it’s dull as tombs, to draw attention to any dearth of activity is to invoke the wrath of the Office Gods who delight in punishing mortals. The moment you mention that you haven’t enough to do, that no one has come to the front desk in some weeks, or that the phone hasn’t even rung in approximately 400 years…le deluge.
Cars start colliding, thieves pour from the shadows and swipe everything in sight, power lines go down and tornadoes spin up.
Friday I made the classic error. Hennessy and I were comparing late afternoon notes on our days when I confessed that the office was dead.
C. you IDIOT!
Immediately bellows erupted from Lt. Figaro’s office and echoed down the hall as he and a patron got into it a bit over the phone. And mere moments after that a young lady appeared, asking one of the officers to do something to a report (I didn’t hear precisely what, but it seemed she wished to come off sounding better than she felt the report currently did). She was instantly and brusquely informed that no such change would be made and was bid a stern good day and exited snarling. Every phone in the office started ringing. Lt. Figaro finally hung up on his frothing foe and stormed out to raise havoc in the patrol room.
Seeing that she was next in line for a lashing, I quietly suggested to Hennessy that she and I extricate ourselves from the situation my tongue had foolishly caused. We escaped to do the laundry run.
“The cat likes overhearing children stories.” – Amelie (2001)
Let's listen in, shall we?
Working at University Police Department, one overhears things. And if one is like me, with the unnatural ability to tune into conversations at the oddest, most embarrassing, or just when it’s heading for the HR office reportable. one overhears too much.
Can you guess the context of what was overheard this week?
“I need to go put a shirt on.”
A) Lt. Colossus gets in from his shift at Chippendales
B) A load of pasta had spilled down Lt. Figaro’s best uniform
C) A student officer, forced to strip when he got soaked in a downpour, relates his frustration
“She was the least flexible woman I’ve ever done!”
A) Wise relates a tale from her pregnancy yoga class
B) Lt. Citrus accidentally lets slip an insight to his scandal ridden past
C) Officer Lampost fingerprints an octogenarian
“Wow, I’ve never seen you in clothes!”
A) Bebe reveals her scandalous affair, HR is called
B) Bebe reveals her propensity to visit Chippendales (see Number 1)
C) Bebe embarrasses an officer when we get a rare glimpse of him in street clothes
“Have you ever been jogging with fireflies. Magical!”
A) A student officer is on drugs
B) A student officer is severely concussed
C) Hell if we know…
“Yum…strawberry!”
A) A student officer is on drugs, again
B) A student officer ate a whole bag of Jolly Ranchers and is vibrating from a sugar high
C) …???
Code
The answers are all “C”
1-2 correct: you’ve a filthy mind
3-4 correct: you’ve a boring mind
5 correct: cheater!
“Sometimes I wonder if men and women really suit each other. Perhaps they should live next door and just visit now and then.” ~ Katharine Hepburn
Yesterday, under orders from the University, the entire department attended an anti-harassment seminar. It didn’t go as well as could have been desired.
The officers, muttering something about cooties, grudgingly trotted off and about an hour later office personnel followed. When the secretaries entered, a collective groan went up as the men were forced to put away their Vargas posters and NSFW magazines.
The presenter stood up, closing her ears when an unnamed person muttered something about “having to listen to this broad for an hour,” and put on a cheerful face.
“I’m here to talk to you all today about unacceptable behaviors at work. Luckily there are no [censored slur] here, so this should be easy.”
Things rapidly devolved from there.
“The protected categories of personal traits are sex, gender, religious affinity, color, genetic information, age, and -”
“What’s the difference between sex and gender?” yelled out someone. “I mean, besides who you’re allowed to hit on?”
Musical Theatre, as seen by some seminar attendees.
“One is your actual sex, male or female. The other refers to expectations or traits of your sex. For example, ridiculing a woman for trying to tackle something obviously beyond her scope, like chemistry. Or a man for studying something that we can use to determine his sexual orientation, like musical theatre.”
“I’m a musical theatre major,” injected one student from the back of the conference room.
“Oooh, look at him,” cooed some of his compatriots flapping their wrists at him and beginning to make obscene personal remarks.
“Then why don’t you put on a skirt and wash something,” yelled a sergeant, diminutive in size anxious to fit in the Boys Club.
You're a girl!
C., enraged at the slur on A) skirts and B) laundry duties, leaped to her feet, climbed up over the seats and delivered a long and inventoried tirade abusing the sergeant’s personal hygiene and evolutionary history. Hennessy, attempting to restrain her friend, tried to mitigate matters until a student officer told her to “shut up, quit working, and stay at home like she was supposed to.” Whereupon both Hennessy and C. launched themselves at the student and his companions and frightful blows were exchanged.
“Women can work,” Chief hurried to scream into the fray, trying to calm everyone down, “unless they become pregnant!”
“Excuse me?” bellowed Wise planting her hands on her growing stomach to brace for impact before she barreled him over. Rounding on the company she roared, “Who’s next, you bunch of communists?!”
Susie demanded, “Who’s the commie pig?” whipped off her heels and began stabbing anyone in her way with stilettos
While this was going on, both a male and female officer had taken refuge under the stage. “Good thing we’re staying out of it,” said the male officer to a female, nudging her arm conspiratorially.
“Molester!” she screamed and dragged her surprised, hapless victim out where he was quickly devoured by a herd of bloodthirsty traffic clerks.
From the podium, the presenter tried to beat off a student officer with a propensity to stalking with a chair, yelling “Fire!” to make someone pay attention to her plight.
“I thought,” shouted Chief from where he was wrestling with a young female worker who was trying to get him in a compromising position in order to sue the university, “you had to tell someone who – ow! – was annoying or offending you – let go of my leg! – to stop before you could take legal action.”
“Oh no!” responding the presenter, getting her assailant into a headlock, “A behavior doesn’t have to be acknowledged to be unwelcome.”
“Yeah!” shouted Lt. Colossus, emerging from the brawl bloody but unbowed. “Watch!”
He reached out to where Lauper was punching an officer and ridiculing him for impotence, slapped her on the bum and collapsed on the ground when she promptly kneed him in the groin. She was then set upon by a small horde of police officers who beat her senseless, calling her (alternatively) Hindu, Sheik, Protestant, and a variation of African spiritualism that the editors are not sure how to correctly spell.
Pictured: the seminar room, post seminar.
The brawl was not broken up until both dogs and firehoses were turned on the rampaging attendees. At which time it was ascertained that four were dead, seven concussed, one was bleeding out, three had lost the ability to walk, and two the ability to reproduce. Other casualties include a missing eye, several knocked out teeth and, to date, one marriage. After mopping up the entrails, the mob was deposited at the university’s Equal Opportunity office where the presenter, ashamed that she let the meeting get so out of hand, apologized but was fired anyway because in the future, “keeping track of these [censored slur] would clearly be a man’s job.”
After a strict talking to, the rest of us were sent home with copies of “Men are from Neptune, Women are from Saturn’s Sixth Moon, Titan.”
“There aren’t enough days in the weekend.” – Rod Schmidt
Today I realized that, what with the insane week I’ve had at work/home/any other plane of existence that temporarily escapes me, I could not – for the life of me – remember whether or not I’d paid our October rent! On my lunch break I scampered over to our flat’s managers. She answered the door in her pajamas with scary hair and a sick-to-her-stomach looking face. Turns out, she’s pregnant and was having a miserably week to – and apparently so were a lot of other people living in our building because she waived the $15 late fee, citing life.
Excellent.
Also! Today was the first day I’ve worn a coat to work. It’s Fall! It’s my sister-in-law’s birthday so we’re going to her house this evening for cake. Tomorrow I get to play with Fairy and GS (whom I haven’t seen in weeks) for a lovely Ladies Only Afternoon. Last night I wore my chenille house slippers and made my first real cup of tea in a long time (with a teapot, as it was intended to be). J. is playing with the guys tonight so I think I will make a steaming pot of corn chowder and watch a movie.
“If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans.” – Woody Allen
Oh, C., you and your plans! So droll!
Ever feel like God/the Universe/Fate/Whatever is doing that thing when you make plans and They laugh at you? Well, recently it’s felt like God/the Universe/Fate/Whatever has been having a benevolent but enthusiastic chuckle at our expense. Plans that we make, good plans, solid plans, with all necessary effort behind them to accomplish them, have just…not been happening.
Not to sound vain, but this is really the first time in my life that I’ve come up against so many game-changers (not counting my university’s Football team). I don’t know if that means I’ve been extremely clever, extremely lucky, or more than extremely pig-headed about getting what I plan on…but likely some combination of the latter two.
But I digress. Yesterday, the God/the Universe/Fate/Whatever decided that It had had enough of yanking our chains and allowed our hard work and single minded effort to pay off. Wiping the last of laughter tears from Its eyes, It gave a last little sigh of amusement and waved Its finger benevolently at us.
J. has an internship!
Granted it’s not the one we’d thought he’d have, but that’s not a bad thing. If he’d gotten the one we originally wanted, he’d have been shipped off somewhere for 6-8 weeks and I’d have stayed behind holding down the home front. Perfectly doable, but not at all fun (and the amount of Netflix I’d have consumed would have been perfectly shocking by any standards). But now he’s got an internship with a Fortune 500 company, local, that pays very well, and adds additional sparkle to his resume.