I'm sticking with boogie

Holding true to my declaration that I was going to take a calmer approach to my job, I remained placid when I was in the weeds for a stretch of time today. Karen had just gone home for the day and right on cue, I was inundated with phone calls and customers. At one point, I had six people waiting to be helped, I had three people on hold, and the phone was ringing. I made it through the onslaught with my nerves intact. I'm glad it happened to me, because I wanted to see if I was capable of emerging unscathed, if I had the right stuff, to borrow a line from the New Kids on the Block. Maybe my success at not sweating the small stuff had something to do with the fact that I meditated last night after a prolonged absence.

James, the mysterious warehouse manage who was fired this past Saturday for throwing some tent poles on the ground in front of Karen, was rehired on Monday. Before I go any further, I want to explain why I refer to James as mysterious. He's a very mellow guy, but you get the sense, like with a panther, that he can go from relaxed to attack mode in the blink of an eye. He doesn't talk much and is hardly expressive, but sometimes he'll break into a thick, mirthful laugh and you wonder what took him so long. The fact that he's always on his cell phone, despite being directed to stay off it, and moves at a languid clip, suggest that he can't keep up with quick pace the business dictates, but strangely, he's always on top of things. So, for these reasons, he's a mystery to Karen and me. We can't tell if he's a lunatic, a prophet, a hard worker, or the impetus that will bring the business crashing down. O' James, release thy self from the shackles that bind and make thy self known.

Anyway, James was rehired by Karen, in spite of the fact that she told me several times, even before the tent pole throwing incident, that he wasn't a good fit. And I agreed with her. But yet.... Ah, I don't know. All I do know is James is still around and he's a tough nut to crack. Let's leave James stewing in the juices of mystery a bit longer and move on to other things.

Last night I pulled out of the freezer a bag of Biryana, an Indian rice dish, that I had purchased at Trader Joes a few weeks ago, and fried it up with some sun dried tomato chicken sausage. Let me tell you that this stuff was incredible. It filled me with glee, even. Some of you are aware that one of the few foods I can't stand are raisins. I've given them numerous chances over the years, to no avail. But this stuff, this Biryani, had raisins in it, and you know what? They were
re-goddamn-diculously good in this dish. O' Biryani, I kneel before your eminence. I am yours in mind, body, and spirit. Do with me as thou wilt.

I spent a good chunk of my morning at the Somerville police station trying to get a stolen vehicle report processed. One of our Penske trucks we had rented a few weeks ago was never returned, so as of today it was considered stolen. My first trip to the station lasted about an hour as one of the cops tried in vain to track down the registration number of the truck. Alas, he wasn't able to pull it up, so I had to go back to work and print one up and then go back to the station. My second trip lasted about another hour. I couldn't figure out why, because it didn't seem like there was much going on, but they had guns so I never put voice to my puzzlement. Every time a cop walked by, I felt a small sense of awe. And this was simply because they were carrying guns and could kill me if they wanted to . Hell, they could do anything they wanted to me, and there's the awe. I feel the same way when I encounter martial arts master, which is way more often then you would think, or a boxer. I always think, "wow, this guy could snap my neck before I knew what hit me". Of course, anyone, if they put their mind to it, could kill me. I'm quite killable. So, I don't know it's different with cops and ninjas and the like.

That morning-shitter Rich fucked me again this morning (I probably could have phrased that a little less sexually, but what are you gonna do). I was about to go brush my teeth and wash my face, when the little weasel snuck into the bathroom RIGHT AS I WAS COMING DOWN THE STAIRS! He knows my schedule, and now I'm wondering if he's really doing this---because this is about the fourth time it's happened---to get me worked up. I can't see why he would, but I have to wonder. I must plan a counter strike. This may take time. I'll keep you posted. Know this, though: that chronic morning shitter is going to get his.

When the Sopranos ends, there will be an absence of quality programming for a while. I don't know what I'll do. The Office is over for the season and Deadwood---who knows when that'll be back. And Extras was over almost as soon as it began. Maybe I should throw in the towel and follow the adventures of Dr. Boogie on that haircutting show Doug is hooked on. I'll watch it if only to confirm my suspicion that Dr. Boogie is a doctor of, well, boogie. He could be a doctor of medicine, but I'm sticking with boogie.