Okay, we are all grown-ups here, right? Right? And we can all agree that profanity is pretty much the norm nowadays. Amiright? Right. (note to self – stop using “right” so much) Anywho.. (and “anywho”) That I could go around all day, dropping the “F” bomb at every transgression I perceive is a given. Gone […]
I really don’t have anything against primary grade teachers.
I really don’t, but c’mon who is that chipper and cheerful and upbeat ?
I mean, if there were chemicals involved I could understand, but as far as I can tell they are just born this way.
It’s exhausting for those of us who are not.
Where was I going with this?
Oh, yes…a charming anecdote from my childhood.
I’ve told you before I view the world through a cracked lens. Apparently, I’ve always been this way.
When I was in third grade, I guess I’d of been about eight years old, our teacher – let’s call her Miss Perky McPerkyson – asked us all to write a one-paragraph essay on “What I Want to Be When I Grow Up”.
We got extra points for writing in cursive, and spelling and punctuation were scored. Hey, this was back in the day when those things mattered. Not like today when everything is written in text speak or worse LOLspeak.
So, since I’d been constantly fascinated by all things Egyptian – especially mummies – for as long as I could remember I wrote my paragraph on how I wanted to be an archaeologist.
Only I couldn’t pronounce “archaeologist” and every time I tried it came out sounding like “wackywalrusgist”, so that’s how I titled my paper.
I don’t know why Ms. McPerkyson decided to single me out, but apparently she didn’t understand what a “wackywalrusgist” was..even though I thought I’d made it clear with such concise prose as “..wander around desert, look for old stuff, find dead bodies…” but she did and after the beautiful blonde-ringlet bestowed girl in front of me garnered special brownie points for saying she wanted to be a “teacher, just like you Miss McPerkyson..” it was my turn.
“And what would you like to be when you grow up?”
“A wackywalrusgist”, well, DUH, that’s what I’d written. I thought it was rather self-explanatory.
Miss McPerkyson’s mouth twitched at the corners as she said, “A what?”
Why was this so complicated?
“ A wackywalrusgist!”
By now, all eyes in the room were turned to me and I could feel my cheeks getting hot.
“You know! A wackywalrusgist! They dig up mummies!”
Finally, the lightbulb went off and McPerkyson smiled, “Oooooh! You mean an ARKY-OWL-O-JIST, right?”
I was angry now, of course that’s what I meant!
“YES” I shouted, “a wackywalrusgist, just like I said!”
Shortly after that incident I changed what I wanted to be. I decided on an “afropologist”. Funny how no one ever asked me to explain that one. I could have, you know, as they study the origins, culture and history of humans.
You know, an afropologist.
Part of my job involves telephone communications with our remote IT department.
I speak Texan, they speak Yankee. Don’t even think the two are remotely similar. I may as well say I speak Pongo-Pongo and they speak Thai.
Case in point – I placed a request for an employee to have access to a shared resource on the network.
The folder they needed to access was called “Texas”.
A simple enough request, and yet days went by and it still hadn’t been completed.
I was confused.
Until I got this e-mail:
“Cannot complete request. Folder “Taxes” does not exist on the requested resource.”