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August 23, 2002-8:21 p.m. I very narrowly escaped incarceration this week. I came within inches of killing my assistant today. It�s actually pretty amazing that she wasn�t killed considering this is a menstrual week. Mind over hormones and morons. Yesterday, Counting Lady spent the day at the desk of my assistant. Poor thing. My assistant told her way more than I�m sure she needed in order to do her job. �I like to do this. They don�t require us to do it and it�s time consuming but I like to do it.� Okay, so that was a paraphrase rather than a direct quote. The effect is the same, I guarantee you. Anyway, the point of this ~yes, there is a point~ is that I spent the day listening to her nonstop chatter about inanities. As sure as I put my headphones on she had a question. Lord knows what impression Counting Lady came away with but this morning when I came in, she was sitting with the letch. For perhaps two weeks, my assistant has been getting calls at work from an attorney who is trying to collect a credit card debt from her. She is unable to pay on this debt yet her children are wearing Tommys. Just this week, she signed her two-year-old up for soccer yet she is unable to pay anything on this debt. I have no opinion on this issue as you can plainly see. Yesterday evening after I left work she finally talked to the guy. He scared her and she was evidently crying and wailing on the phone because one of our neighbors asked her this morning if she was okay. *Sa silently but quite sincerely thanks the gods for letting her be gone for the day when this occurred.* Today she and a friend of hers were calling the man back and doing a conference call to see what could be done about the situation. *Smacks assistant upside head for not thinking of trying to work with her creditor sooner.* To make a long story shorter, her friend offered to wire the money to pay off this debt ~followed by more crying and other attention getting devices~ and only wants repayment if she ends up in dire straits herself. That was one topic of conversation (or soliloquy, rather): What a great friend she has. Followed by: What a jerk her husband is. Interspersed with: Look at this. Why would they do that? What were they thinking? and Why isn�t this working? It�s really not necessary to our jobs to know what the baser instincts of the original claims processors were. We can make the claims right without psychoanalyzing their motivations. Or at least I can. My most frequent thought: Shut the f*ck up already! **Disclaimer: All characters in this diary are fictional. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, real or imagined, is purely coincidental and unintentional.** |
