Pass the Percocet, Please

I try really hard not to blog about work.  Really, I do, because I like my job and would prefer to keep it, and I usually don't blog about people who don't know about it and therefore don't have the option of yelling at me.  But when you work in a place where your job is focused on hooking (rug), and the other part of the plant is full of red-blooded American men who manufacture trucking alignment equipment and still have pinup calendars and say things like "Fuckin' RIGHT, I'm going to the drag races this weekend!" and can't help but look at your chest if you wear a v-neck shirt, there is just SO. MUCH. MATERIAL.  I'm going to indulge a little bit here.

First, I have a pair of Keen shoes that I love, and occasionally wear to work:

I love these shoes.  They are comfortable and sort of fun.  But I noticed that every time I wear these shoes, one guy out in the shop looks at them.  A lot.  I'm thinking, "Oh, he thinks these are ugly and weird and why do I wear such stupid shoes."   I wore them this week, and I caught him looking at the shoes again.  I busted him. 

ME:  "Are you hating on my shoes?"
HIM:  (caught, slightly blushing) "What?  Um, no."
ME:  "Admit it, you always look at these shoes.  What's up, you think they're ugly?"
HIM:  (smiles) "No, I've been thinking about it and I think they look Japanese or something, and they look like you should be wearing them with a kimono or something, and every time I see them I just think 'she's a Tiger Lady'" and then he made this "ROWR!" sound while batting a paw in the air.
**awkward silence**
ME:  "Oh.  Yes.  Tiger Lady. Terrific."
And so now I can no longer wear the Tiger Lady/Geisha shoes to work because I will not go ROWR and I don't want anyone imagining me going ROWR at work or powdering my face white with red tiny lips or serving them sushi while naked in the lotus position.

Part of my job is talking to the hookers on the phone.  They are mostly pretty nice people, and very interesting.  You wouldn't BELIEVE the things people tell a stranger on the phone.  Last week a woman called and wanted to order some of our product.  Her voice sounded like she was maybe an Asian war bride, because she had that Americanized Asian accent, but her name was very Nordic sounding.  She was hilarious.  She placed her order, and then started talking to her friend in the room, so I get the one-sided conversation:

 "You want tote table?  Yes, you do.  You DO.  You HAVE money.  You love it!  You NEED it.  It only $149, that cheap!  You can AFFORD it.  Yes.  You want?  I put it on my order, then you save shipping.  Now you CAN'T say no.  Okay?  Yes?  Okay, Julie you still there?  My friend want tote table, shipping the same, yes?"

Then I had to get her credit card number, and she said, "Oh, damn, I don't have right credit card.  I call you back." and hung up on me.  So I set the order aside, and figured she'd call back.  She does, one week later, and says, "Julie, you send my order yet?"  Well, no, I haven't.  She gives me her credit card number, and says, "You ship today, alright?"  I say yes, we will ship her order today.

When I run her credit card, it declines because it has an invalid number, which means we probably just got a number mixed up.  I call her today and say I need to confirm her credit card number. 

"What, you think I'm a thief?  Like a criminal, I take your stuff?"  No, ma'am, I'm sure the card number is just off by a number.  She reads her number, and sure enough, a 5 should have been a 3.  I tell her it is fixed, and she says, "Well, Julie, do you know what Percocet is?  I take LOTS of Percocet, sometimes too much, I get confused.  When anything go wrong, I know it's the Percocet."

And that is how I came up for my new excuse for everything.  If anything go wrong, I will now know it's the Percocet.  Or my Tiger Lady screw me in a kimono rowr shoes.

Sometimes work can be fun and informative.  Thank you, Tiger Lady.