Conversations I Won't Be Having With My Mother

So I’m sitting here at work and turn from the desk to look in the direction of the TV, at which point I say, “Holy Christ, they’re watching a fucking dog show.”
As if the fishing show they had previously been watching wasn’t bad enough.
It never ceases to amaze me just how nerdy the people I work with can get.
Yesterday I stopped to use the restroom and there was this guy at the sink vigorously scrubbing at his shirt. He was still going at it by the time I’d finished washing my hands and was ready to walk out the door, so I wanted to say to him, “Look pal, you’re a fat, bald nerd working at a company that’s filled to overflowing with fat, bald nerds. Not only is a little schmutz on your shirt the least of your worries, it’s not even something that anyone is going to notice.”
(Jesus, it just gets worse; now they’re actually debating the relative merits of the different dogs on-screen and discussing just how the “best in show” is selected)
Because it was on a Thursday my birthday ended early as I went to bed to prepare for my early morning on Friday.
My sleep was disrupted by Kathleen calling to wish me a happy birthday and letting me know that I may not get a present until I can recall what she thinks I told her to get me, though the only conversation I remember having about what I want for my birthday involved me saying that I wanted world peace.
I’m pretty sure she won’t be getting me that.
Of course, given that her birthday is rapidly approaching, I turned things around and asked her what she wanted, though the faulty memory that comes with old age extended beyond not remembering what she was going to get me to include what she was going to tell me to get her.
Ah well, I’ll think of something, I guess.
When talking to my mother the other day the conversation turned, as it often does, to the Sahara desert of a dry spell that is my love life, and my mother asked, jokingly, “Have you ever thought about going to a whorehouse?”
My response was, “This is a discussion that I’m not going to have with my mother.”
It’s also a discussion that I’m not going to have with the readers of my blog.
Brian came in a bit late yesterday, as he’d had rather a rough night on duty on Thursday night, as can be seen here.
Long story short, it involved someone dying, despite a lot of effort to revive him.
Overall it sounds like a lousy way to spend your time, and yet Brian still wonders why I demonstrate a total lack of interest every time he suggests that I get involved with emergency services in the area…
When he called in during the night to ask the overnight shift to let us know that he was going to be late, he told the new guy who doesn’t speak English very well, that he was going to be late because he’d had a “bad call.” In the morning when I came in it was reported to me that Brian would be late because he had a “bad cold.”
This left me to wonder how, exactly, he had been able to catch a cold in the short span between seeing him at lunch on Thursday and whenever he called in, though it was generally thought that if anyone could do that it would be Brian.
I further wondered why he was going to be late instead of just not coming in at all.
In any case, there’s still a long day ahead of me, so I suppose I should find something to do to while away the hours.