Reporting LIVE from Work Village

It snowed last night! Know what that means?

I got to say in Work Village instead of going home!

I got to stay in a motel for FREE!

I got to eat a chicken-flavored salt-and-grease sandwich at the Huddle House for dinner last night! With some day-glo syrup Mountain Dew to wash it down!

And I got to walk a half-mile in the snow to get there!

OK, I'm trying really hard to be chipper. I think the chicken-flavored salt-and-grease sandwich may be taking its toll. So much of my condition today would be TMI to share, so you should be grateful, dear readers, that I am not sharing.

I had fun doing customer support yesterday. But I think one day was enough. Today has been rough. I haven't had many calls. I just really hate talking on the phone. Particularly to strangers. Particularly when I don't know my lines.

(Yes, I need lines. I have special lines for special situations. I practice my lines before calling Domino's: "I'll have ... I mean, I would like to order ... um ... can I get a pizzaroni pepper with um, less than, no, not a lot of, I mean, not-extra gooey white stuff? And some of those bready fingery things? My phone number? It's ... February 18, I think.")

Fortunately, we don't order pizza very often. Fortunately, my husband pities me. Fortunately, my husband has the gift of gab and loves to talk on the phone.

OK. Another caller just called in. And I promptly asked him if I could take his order.

(In case you were wondering ... no, I don't work at a food establishment. Though we have enough junk food lying around that we could probably start one.)

It's not supposed to snow tonight. I'm glad. I need to get away from Work Village for a few hours. And the cat-petting chair toilet at home is calling my name.

I'm never eating another chicken-flavored salt-and-grease sandwich at the Huddle House, ever again.


Sherry said…
Huddle House sucks. Stick with Waffle House.

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