Why does the music have to get turned down at precisely the moment that I say
“What a backstabbing hag.”
Why do I share a truly inappropriate video clip with my husband when his young, impressionable staff is around?
Ok, so maybe they aren’t that impressionable, but still, I’m the boss’s wife. Idiot!
Never fails, you try to be witty and it comes back to bite you in the ass.
I was sitting at the computer this afternoon working on an HTML email template. My two year old was beside me using her half of the monitor to watch Pluto’s Ball for what I think may have been the 79th time. We had been enjoying ourselves, each engrossed in the what was happening on the computer when the phone rang. I picked it up and waited a beat.
“You’re kidding!” I thought. The phone rang again.
“What the hell?” I said to myself.
Click. “Hello.” Silence. Static.
“Ah, hello. Anabada?”
“No way. Anabada?” I couldn’t believe they had found a new way to fuck my name up. I started laughing and said, “Oh no,” and promptly hung up. I immediately typed “anabada” so that I wouldn’t forget the clueless genius of the mispronunciation for future retelling.
Brring. The phone rang. I smiled thinking it was Sean and that I could share this with him. No such luck. It was MINACS again. Now, if I had been my usual, fact finding, internet sleuthing self I would have typed “MINACS” into Google before I ever posted anything. Have I learned nothing? But I didn’t, so when I answered I did so with cocky, I’m smarter than you attitude.
“Ah, hello,” a female voice with a southern accent said after the obligatory 3 second telemarketer phone call pause
“Hello” I said with incredible rancor. I could not wait for the opportunity to mock these fools again. “My name is Amanda, uh-man-duh, as any grade shooler with an attitude could tell you,” I plotted.
“Ah, Annabelle or Amelia is it?”
“No. No! It’s Amanda.” I said with a mixture of contempt and delight.
“Oh. Ok. Well we are calling on behalf of the Subaru dealership. We just wanted to let you know that you are probably due for your 3,500 mile check up and you can schedule for whenever is convenient for you.”
“Well, thank you.” I said in a mortified whisper. My face went 8 shades of crimson as I realized that the operators from yesterday and today had resorted to getting their supervisor with a southern accent to come and deal with the bitch in New York who kept hanging up on them.
For the second time today I am apologizing for being a total idiot. The first had to do with the aforementioned video, which, for the record was “hella funny” according to young Pete, or Treat as I call him, but it’s not like it sounds, Treat. It’s an easy mistake. He works with Trina. Pete and Trina…Treat. Pina…never mind. Ahem. Despite having secured a name for myself in the annals of the telemarketer house of shame, I reserve the right to suggest that MINACS begin coaching their operators to check names before calling.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go schedule a routine service for my car.