Letter 7

Well, I'm on letter number 15 today, and still I haven't heard anything. I'm sure this is mostly because I still have yet to give Adult Swim any kind of easy contact information. They have my full name and my home address, but nothing else; no phone number or e-mail.

Yesterday I was bitching about losing my pens. I'm still mad about that, but today I realized I've lost my coat. Georgia has had very nice weather the past couple of days, so I haven't needed it, but I will need it eventually. I don't know what I might have done with it. Ten bucks says my pens are in my coat pocket.

Note: I accidently put Letter 7 down for Letter 6. I would have fixed it yesterday, but this blog does not have any kind of cut and paste mechanism, so I would have had to have typed the whole thing out again. I'm a bit too lazy for that. So Letter 7 will actually be Letter 6. Enjoy:

LETTER 7:

I have this friend who likes to call me up and pretend ot be a customer with a complaint. I can usually root him out pretty quicly because he is ass-bad at doing voices, but occasionally he does get me. Today he got me and he didn't even try. He didn't even call. Some poor idiot called me with the dumbest "real" voice I have ever heard. Unfortunately for him he had a voice that sounded exactly like my friend acting like a dim wit.

"Michael X, Field Services," I said.
"Yeah," he twanged, "I wanted to kerm-lain about one uh yer offices."
"Ok," I said suspiciously, "Shoot."
"Yeah. See, all I want's a job, right?"
"Yeah?" I said.
"Well, they wouldn't give one to me."
Here I paused. At this point I was still not certain if it was my friend. "Was the job with our company, or was it a job we were trying to fill for another company?"
"Huh?" he said.
"Ok," I said, "Were you qualified for the job?"
"What job?" he asked. I did an audible double-take.
"Was there a specific job you were looking for?" I asked.
"What's that?"
"Sir," I said. "You said the office didn't give you a job. What job did you want?"
"There was one in the paper."
"Was it even listed with our Department?"
"I don't know."
I paused again. At this point I was certain it was my friend. He got me. What a jerk. So I decided to play it off like I'd known the whole time.
"Sir," I said, "What office were you at?"
"I don't remember."
"So you don't remember what office you were at when they wouldn't give you the job you can't remember?"
"S'right."
"Well, sir, it sounds to me like you weren't qualified. You have to have a brain to work for our Department."
"Scuse me? That's damn rude. I know the #$*^ing Commissioner, and @#$ **%&$ #*%^!?<+..."

Turns out he wasn't my friend after all. Oh, and he does know the Commissioner. I could really use a new job.

signed