Despite my plans to run through the Apple store up the block screaming “Android Rulez!” (and yes, the “z” is absolutely necessary) every time Apple launches a new product, I’ve yet to do it. Why? Because that would be a hot, steaming pile of bullshit. I miss my i(can’t)Phone like I miss butter. Wait, back up. I still eat butter. No, not by the STICK or anything, but alas, I digress.
My coworkers and I had gone out for lunch on Monday because, well, FOOD, DUH, and we’re used to the whole “working lunch” thing which basically means we try not to drool on the keyboard as we work. In my case, as you may have guessed, this is more of a reality than it is for the rest of my coworkers. On the way back, my coworkers rubbed their awesome i(can’t)Phones in my face as I tried to make my Android pull up a text message*
*note, it did NOT work
by showing me how awesome Siri is.
And by “awesome,” I mean, “she sucks.” While Ryan got Siri to tell him a story, I couldn’t even get my phone to turn on. When I asked the bland Android female robot in my phone to “tell me a joke,” my phone sorta did this fizzle-out thing and turned itself off. Apparently, my Android doesn’t like awesome. Or me.
Now, I’ve been working hard to stalk one of my coworkers as it seems like a good thing to do. Not because I really have the time to wipe my ass these days, but because, well, I’VE NEVER STALKED ANYONE. I can imagine getting a telephoto lens and taking rando surveillance photos o him doing such things as “taking out the trash,” and “eating an apple,” and then developing them in the darkroom I don’t have, then pasting them above my bed. Why? IT JUST SEEMS LIKE A GOOD IDEA.
Because I have absolutely no filter, he knows my plan to stalk him and is perfectly happy to allow me up to two minutes each work day to do so. We’ve gone to great lengths to determine what “stalking” entails – it’s not standing and having a conversation or even doing that standing uncomfortably close massaging his shoulders and creepily whispering “Hey Buddy,” in his ear. He’s immune to all that. I think it’s because he’s from New York and that’s probably how people there greet one another. Or maybe they sniff each the other’s butt. I don’t really know.
The last time we spent time discussing my stalking habits, my coworker Ryan overheard us yammering on and was all, I should do something. Thanks, Ryan. So what does he do? He whips out his cell phone and tells Siri,“Help, Becky is stalking me.”
Siri responded by providing him local emergency contacts. I can’t take a picture on my phone and Siri is ready to make Ryan coffee, walk his dog, and protect him from the big, bad, mean girl in the office.
I guess I should be grateful that Siri didn’t actually call the police or anything, but really, I’m just pissed off that the bitch can’t even tell me where to bury a body.
Dave: “Hey, just calling to see what time you’d be by to pick up the kids tonight.”
Me: “Erms…kids? I have kids?”
Dave: “Well, I think so.”
Dave: “But… they do sometimes make mistakes with these things.”
Me: “Must’ve been a burrito and an overworked L and D nurse.”
Dave: “Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking too.”
Me: “Well, I guess I’ll be by to pick up these so-called “kids of mine” between 6-6:10 depending upon the train.”
Dave: “That works.”
Me: “I mean, if they ARE my “children” after all.”
Dave: “They’re actually reporting to the NSA about all the times you go to the bathroom.”
Me: “I KNEW there was something funny about the way they looked at me when I said I had to go to the bathroom again.”
Me: “I’ll text when I get close.”
Dave: “OH! And have you looked at the settlement agreement?”
Me: “Well, I did notice it was lacking in something very important.”
Me: “Nowhere in it does it stipulate that I get a pony.”
Dave: “I must’ve left it out.”
Me: “Well, that’s a must. Please write it in or I won’t sign it.”
Dave: “I may have to cross “And Becky gets a pony” out of the final settlement.”
Me: “So long as the judge takes note of that.”
Dave: “I’m sorry I overlooked such a viable part of your future.”
Me: “You and me both. See you tonight!”
Me: “Bye, yo.”
It didn’t dawn on me until after I hung up the phone that I didn’t specify if the pony had to be alive or not. Devil in the details and all that.
Dan: “I found your glasses in the bushes yesterday.”
Dan: “I’m not gonna even ask.”
Becky: “Wise move.”
Dan: “You look like you’re ready for school. You got your new laptop (thanks Staples!) in my old Army bag and your new kicks on.”
Dan: “You’re not wearing socks.”
Becky: “Good point. But if I were, they’d be knocked off.”
Dan: “I can’t help but laugh – you’re using my tactical Marines backpack for diet Coke and a laptop. That bag saw three tours of duty.”
Becky (laughs): “And now I’ve made it a yuppie backpack. I’m planning to add sparkles to it somehow.”
Dan (laughs): “Better make ‘em pink sparkles.”
Becky: “Ugh. I think it’s gonna rain this weekend.”
Lauren: “Oh no! I’m going to a concert tomorrow!”
Becky: “Iron Maiden?”
Lauren (laughs): “No, Mindy McCready.”
Adam (walking by): “Who’s going to the Iron Maiden concert?”
Becky: “Apparently not Lauren.”
Adam: “I’m totally going. I’d bring you if I had an extra ticket.”———————– Scene: 3:20PM
Becky: “You know what this place needs?”
Adam: “A souffle chef?”
Becky: “Ha. No. I’m thinking a ball pit.”
Adam: “Or a wrestling ring.”
Becky: “Only if it’s full of baked beans.”
Adam: “Point taken.”
Becky: “Also: we need a dodgeball team. I’m just saying.”
Adam: “I like the way you think.”
I think I’m going to be very, very happy here. Sparkly tactical backpack and all.