Our Dumb Blog

Do I have a great job or what?

I get to play with scissors, stickers, and glue. I get to practice my alphabetical skills. I get to wear jeans to work (yes!). I have a great office chair. I get to listen to… The Goon Show.

Every so often as I’m typing up library of congress labels and pasting them onto book spines, my employer walks in and says, “I think it’s time for a Goon Show. What do you think? Is it that time of day?” Then he’ll select a reel of tape from off a shelf and ask something like, “How about ‘Climbing Mt. Everest from the Inside’?” before walking into the studio and cuing it up on one of the reel to reel players. Then the room is filled with an announcer with a crisp British accent announcing, “This is the BBC.”

That’s as sane as it gets. From there, Peter Sellers and his cohorts delve into madness as Neddy Seagoon, Eckles, Bluebottle, Major Denis Bloodlock, Count Mariotti, and others in this radio comedy from the 50’s.

Today, the spirit of adventure spoke to Neddy. He decided to climb Mt. Everest, but seeing as that had already been done, went on to attempt it from the inside. The “story” is punctuated by musical interludes from a cheesy combo.

“Is it any wonder,” Ken mused the other day, “that John Cleese and the rest of the guys in Monty Python ended up as warped as they did after growing up listening to this sort of thing?”

“When you’re done listening to all the Goon Shows,” Ken told me, “You can hear ‘My Word’.” Ken used to work for NPR and taped all these shows on old tape they were throwing out.

My first day on the job, Ken took me into a room full of books. “This is the Great Task,” he said, “All these books need to be labeled.”

Well, today I completed the Great Task. I went into Ken’s area and told him. “Congratulations!” he said, “But I didn’t tell you. There’s a secret cache. See this bookcase right here? All these need not only to be labeled but inserted into the catalog as well. But for now, you need a break. Why don’t you go watch MST3K?”
So I spent the rest of my time watching _War Against the Colossal Man_ on Mystery Science Theater 3000 in the studio. I’m afraid I camehome, sat down in front of an ESPN special on past Olympics, and started shooting off snide comments. I apologized to my hosts as soon as I realized what I was doing.

In other news, I was relaxing on my way home from work tonight, listening to White Zombie at full blast, when I saw a faint green light approach my car. It was a lightning bug. Then it went SPLAT against my windshield. And suddenly there as another smear on my window, just like all the other bugs that were as unfortunate to get in my car’s way. Except this smudge was glowing. It’s one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen. I mean, I’m the type that will go out and try to catch fireflies, but I just stuck them in jars, never smushed them to see what was inside. And here there was a squashed bug, lighting up my windshield, glowing softly into the glass. It was just… cool.

I answered the phone today.

Normally I don’t. At the Myers’, Ken or his wife Kate are there to pick it
up. Out in the studio, Ken always gets it or I let the answering machine
take a message. It’s more efficient than me jotting something down. At the
office in Charlottesville, Jenna, Jeff, Bart, Florence, or Ken will shout, “I
got it.” At the Wallaces, Doug, Joanne, or Alice answer the phone or else I
let it ring and allow voice mail take care of the messaging.

But today Ken went to C’ville by himself, leaving me with a room full of
books to label. He had to leave really early and run around to several
appointments, so it made more sense for me to stay behind. Turned out it was
a good thing I did.

I was sitting at the electric typewriter, pecking out a Library of Congress
number when the phone rang. I stopped to listen if someone would leave an
audible message on the machine. But the phone kept ringing. I decided it
was the home line, since it wasn’t letting up. Ken had promised to call when
he got a chance, and Kate and the kids were gone, so I went into the studio
and picked up the phone with the flashing red light. “Hello?”

“Hello?” It was Ken. “I guess Kate is gone since you answered?” he
surmised.

“Yeah, they went to the library.”

“Ah, well, how are you?”

“Fine.” One thing about Ken is if he’s ever talked to you before, he’ll ask
you how you are the next time he talks to you. Every morning when I walk
into the office, he asks me how I am. I’ve given up on answering with
anything other than the usual.

“How is everything?” he went on, “Any fires, earthquakes, catastophes of that
nature?”

“No, nothing major,” I answered.

“How are you?” he asked again.

“Doing well,” I tried another answer. He went on to give some details about
his schedule for the rest of the day, which I promised to pass on to Kate.
I’d hung up and walked back into my area when the phone rang again before I
could sit down. He’s forgotten something, I thought as I returned into the
studio and picked the phone back up. “Hello?”

It was Kate. “Do you know where Flat Rock is?” she asked.

“No idea.” She gave me detailed directions even though it was just down the
road right past the first traffic light. The family car had picked that
resting spot to die. I was there within five minutes. All the junk that has
accumulated in my car in the past couple weeks found its way to the trunk as
Kate and the two kids piled in.

“It’s a good thing you answered my call,” Kate smiled. “I was going to let
it ring and ring till -somebody- figured out which phone it was and picked it
up.”

In other news, working backward, I got to “C” in the room full of books
organized by author last names. Jonathan was sick with a fever, so I’m glad
they didn’t have to walk back in the hot sun after the car died.

Stalin died in agony. I feel pretty bad about that, but there really wasn’t
anything I could have done, so at least I don’t have “Oh, man, if only I
had…” on my mind.

Ken is going to C’ville by himself tomorrow, so I’ll get the office to
myself. Woohoo.

It was weird because as I was driving to work this morning, something ran out
in front of the semi ahead of me. It was bigger than a mouse but smaller
than a squirrel. A ground squirrel maybe? At first I though, maybe it’s
just a leaf, but then the tires spit out a flattened bit of bloody flesh.
“CRAP!” I exclaimed. Seeing roadkill on the side of the road is one thing.
Watching it happen in front of you is something else.

So I got to watch two rodents die today. Stalin was in so much pain. I
thought about wanging his head on the pavement to put him out of his misery.
But I couldn’t while he still had a chance. “Freak,” I kept repeating to
myself quietly. He actually died a lot sooner than I thought he would. I
guess that’s good.

Stalin, my mouse, died today.

I won’t go into detail. It wasn’t pleasant for me, and I doubt much of
anyone would enjoy reading about it. My last ditch efforts to save him were
in vain. When I’d done all I knew to do, I laid him back in his cage. He
didn’t move all day.

Selecting a spade from the Myer’s shed, I dug a hole beneath their apple
tree. It may sound like a romantic place, but it turned out to be a rather
stupid choice, too many roots in the way. “Well, Bud,” I said through a
tightening throat for the last time as I picked up his tiny, stiff body and
laid it in the shallow hole, “you better be dead.” Then I looked the other
way as I dumped a shovelful of dirt in. Stomping everything down, I walked
back to the shed to put the shovel back, hoping the cat wouldn’t dig him up.

I hosed out the cage and left it to dry. Then I went back to work.

I guess this means I’ll have to redo my webpage.