Practical Jokesters

I have developed a theory over the past month and a half of my debut in the adultish-professional world.

The Illusionistic Theory of Selective Adulthoodism: there is no such thing as a transition from child to grown-up. Rather, with age and experience, one simply becomes more and more capable of discerning when situations demand a stiff, boring bloke. The rest of the time, they are free to continue being the REAL them.

I will now describe my visual observations in a highly scientific and intelligent manner.

At work the other day, after assisting a customer like the diligent little worker bee that I am, I turned around to find that my cell phone had been completely saran-wrapped and placed on the counter behind me, and my adultish-aged coworker leaning against the counter with an ear-to-ear grin on his face. Naturally, after freeing my 4S from its plastic captivity, I threw the remains, along with a note that formally declared war, at his noggin.

That same day, another coworker decided to mess with MY computer. Apparently, with the proper strokes of a keyboard, you are able to flip the display on the screen completely upside-down. And apparently, putting tape on the bottom of one’s mouse interferes with its functionality.

This is what I get for being the sole female in a workplace full of non-females.

Naturally, I must seek revenge from these quipsters. This is war. I am the alpha.

I now extend to you, dear reader, an invitation to provide me with pranks of equal value to inflict upon the enemies.

Please leave your suggestions in the comments box below. Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.

Over and out.

M.

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Rose Amongst The Thorns

Y’know how in High school the pretty people always had the easier life? The hot chicks in Human Bio always got a better grade on their group project because Mr. Smith was a single, sixty-something with a thing for blondes? And how the handsome boys just happened to be excessively, athletically inclined and how all the pretty people seemed to gravitate toward each other in an un-penetrable mass of popularity? 

High school never ends. 

You see, in the real world, the pretty people still come out on top. The cruel reality is, beauty is bliss. And your life will be significantly easier if the big guys like what they see when they look your way. 

Exhibit A: My big girl job (see previous post) 

At my new place of employment, I work with a team completely composed of men. I have no problem with this-in fact, I quite like it. When we’re not busy, we talk about dude stuff like food and modern warcraft (is that even what it’s called?) and wrist watches. And we can all make fun of each other without calling each other “bitches” behind our backs. Boys get along nice.

Anyway, our customers get randomly selected and surveyed on the customer service we provide. It’s nearing the end of the quarter, so at our little pep-talk meeting, I was told not to worry about getting bad surveys because I’m “cute and bubbly” and that people will just give me a perfect score because I’m cute. 

Are you seeing the perks yet? 

That’s all fine and dandy, but there are definitely hardships that come with being the chick that invades the wolf pack. 

Some of our customers are full-on sketch. 

My coworker was helping this man with a transaction, and I was standing nearby, shadowing him as part of my training. The customer asked my coworker if he’d been “staying out of trouble,” to which my coworker replied, “i’m trying to!” The customer was an older gent. He looked at me and said, “Well, how can you, when you’ve got a beautiful blonde right next to you?” Instantly, my cheeks flushed the color of ripe tomatoes. Did I mention my coworker is married? Neither of us could vocalize a decent response. 

That same day, I was helping another older man with a transaction. He tipped his hat to me and winked, and before he left, he handed me one of those individually-wrapped lifesaver candies. I know what you’re thinking, “what a sweet, old man!” But if you were a bird on my shoulder, getting a whiff of his stale-cigarette scent and noting his messy and unkempt appearance, you would understand. 

I’ve even been formally warned by my coworkers not to help certain customers because they’re “too creepy” and will “hit on me.” 

For the most part, customers are pleasantly surprised with the my being the new addition to the team. They call me the “rose amongst the thorns.” And who am I to argue? A rose I shall be. 

Sigh. The patriarchy at work. 

 

 

Buzzz

Hey kids! Please excuse my lack-of-posting. One day, I was a ridiculously under-occupied little lady who had her entire summer wide open with no official engagements and ample time for shenanigins. The world was my oyster. And the next, BAM! Adult life decided to hit me like a ton of bricks. And now I’m all sorts of busy. The kind of busy that required me to stop at Walgreens on the way home from work and purchase myself a planner to keep track of all my appointments and all that jazz. 

I know what you’re all thinking: “Maddie, what could possibly be robbing you of your precious free time?!” Well i’ll tell you. A big-girl job. That’s right. The kind where you have to wear slacks or a skirt, and jeans are strictly prohibited. I am now Maddisen Tingey: blogger, student, competitive eater, feminist, and grown-up employee. 

As part of initiation into professional grown-upism, I have been enrolled into an intensive, virtual class in order to develop my professional people skills and such. It’s an 8-5 kind of gig, which I’m not used to at all. And I have a rather hard time sitting still for prolonged periods of time in an stuffy office that reaches somewhere between 2 and 7 zillion degrees in the afternoon. 

Sounds pretty brutal, eh? 

Eh. 

But I am an optimist. And as an optimist, I have discovered several gratifying features of my new workplace. For starters, my chair spins. And the spinning motion is superbly effective in keeping me alert during the late after-lunch hours when my eyelids are ready to give out and the clock gradually ticks slower and the conclusion of my shift seems to drift further and further away. 

Also, the window of my office faces a self-serve car wash, and I find pleasure in watching its patrons accidentally drench themselves with the hoses when my focus refuses to remain on my computer monitor. The building in which I work has a popcorn machine, so there is always a fresh aroma of movie-theater butter deliciousness in the air. 

And also, I get an hour break for lunch, and there’s a Starbucks a block up the street. 

See, it’s not so bad after all.

I’ve only been at this new job for two weeks, but i’ve already learned many vital, and occasionally painful, lessons about the real world. 

Lesson #1: Nobody cares if it’s your birthday. 

That’s right. This past Tuesday, I turned 19. The big 1-9. I can legally buy cigarettes now. (I won’t, because lung cancer and premature wrinkles wouldn’t look good on me, but I could if I wanted to and that’s what matters.) But in adult-world, your birthday is just Tuesday. And daily requirements persist as if it were nobody’s anniversary of birth at all, and there is no cause for celebration. The cool coworkers wish you a happy birthday, but despite their wishes, your birthday doesn’t get particularly happy until after you’ve commuted back home to the people who appreciate you for existing for the past 19 years and demonstrate said appreciation by showering you in generous gifts, sushi dinners, and cold stone. Image 

That’s me and the sis on the glorious anniversary of my being on planet Earth. 

I have one year left to be able to rationally call myself a teenager. I’m practically ancient. 

Anyway, that’s what I’ve been up to lately. 

And now i’m off to go be a 19-year-old for 51 more weeks. Here’s to immaturity and recklessness! 

M. 

Reasons Why I want To Be Tina Fey

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Recently, I stumbled upon Bossypants, a gem of a book written by the delightfully comical Tina Fey. It was one of those books that you read cover-to-cover in one night, regardless of the fact that you have two finals to take in the morning and haven’t done a lick of studying. If you haven’t read it yet, you really need to figure out what time-waster needs to be eliminated from your life and get reading. 

It’s quite possibly the best piece of feminist literature since The Declaration of Sentiments.  

Now, without further ado, here are the reasons why I want to be Tina Fey. 

1. Her flawless Sense of Humor: A trait we both have in common. Seriously, though, I’m pretty sure the general public can come to a consensus that Tina Fey is a master of comedy. From playing Sarah Palin on SNL to Kate from Baby Mama, she  can get a sincere laugh out of just about anybody. Not only in a professional, scripted setting, but in her everyday life as well. Her entire book is her narration of real events from both her normal and professional life. 

2. She Acknowledges Her Shortcomings: Throughout her book, Tina Fey distinctly illustrates her flaws. She is fully conscious of her limitations. Fey narrates significant events from her life starting from childhood, and throughout the pages, she anecdotes times that she admittedly screwed up. 

3. She Embraces Her Flaws: Fey mentions multiple times how weird her feet are. Personally, i’ve never seen them, but apparently she was given some deformed feet. But you know what? Not once does she wish she had normal feet. She even says she wouldn’t trade hers for the most beautiful feet there ever were. She talks about her “gut” and how she’s a pasty-dough ball. What she doesn’t do is wish for a perfect, model body. She knows that she is human. 

4. She’s Part-German: This implies that she’s also part-fiery and harsh. If you read back to my bio, you’ll find that I, too, am part-German. Deutschland ist das beste! 

5. She Can Laugh At Herself: One chapter is entirely dedicated to her responding to her own hatemail. Rather than retaliate by getting offensive and defensive, Fey goes along with her anti-fans’ insulting words and even (sarcastically) admits to their claims. And THAT is how class and wit is done. 

6. She Has A Daughter And Her Dream Job: At one point in her book, she talks about how there was a time when she was trying to get Oprah onto her show 30 Rock, plan a Peter Pan birthday party for her daughter, and write for SNL all at the same time. All three events were equally important to her, and she even finished planning details of her daughter’s party in between shoots at 30 Rock and SNL. 

7. She Has Fantastic Legs: Need I say more? 

8. She Knows How To Identify Sexism In The Workplace: Rather than play the victim, Fey brings to her readers’ attention the gender stereotypes in the world of comedic actors and writers. She knows that there are ignorant people out there who claim that women can’t be funny the way men can, and should stick to playing the role of the ditzy cheerleader or supportive housewife. But she doesn’t let that stop her from continuing her work the way she wants to do it. She doesn’t care if you like it. 

In short, Tina Fey is my idol. 

Now go forth and read Bossypantsmy dear readers. 

M.