Hang in there

The other day as the EPJ and I were getting ready to close up shop, the phone rang. Not much of a phone fan to begin with, calling as I'm walking out the door is virtually guarantees no answer. I know it's very popular for automated answering services to repeat the mantra about "Your call being very important to us. Please stay on the line." Of course, "your call" is not important to them. Otherwise, you'd be greeted by a friendly human voice instead of Mr. Roboto. That's how you know the EPJ and I really do care, that personal touch.

However, I often dream of automation--even my dreams are geeky-- just for those instances when someone would call our office at 4:59 and hear the "please stay on the line" part. I can imagine some dude sitting on a couch, throwing various things at his wife/kids, repeating, "I'll give them 5 more minutes," for the next 15 hours. This particular thought has lighten many of my darkest moments.

Until we take that technological leap, folks who call so close to quitting time are taking their lives into their own hands. So to speak. I figure that in the extremely unlikely event the caller is someone I'd actually want to talk to, he/she has my cell and our recreational plans/discussion of the weather can be handled outside of company time. Should the call be regarding business, well, I suppose that's what one gets for daring to call at the end of the day. A surefire way to be trampled is to get between the EPJ, me and the door at 5 o'clock. Strangely, there's no mad dash to get here in the mornings.

For reasons best known to her, on this particular day the EPJ actually answered that last call. Just as well; it happened to be her husband on the other end, who although I've not given him a snazzy pseudonym, is a decent enough fellow. At precisely the same time, Maureen from across the hall burst in to tell us the building was on fire or the town had exploded or something. I didn't really care and wasn't paying much attention. It was dangerously close to 5:01 pm, and my car wasn't going to drive itself home.

But somewhere in all the confusion, Maureen overheard the EPJ say she "dropped them off." While this statement would have seemed to be of no interest to anyone other than Mr. EPJ, Maureen was rather intrigued.

Maureen: "Dropped what off, where?"

Me: "A bag of kittens at the bridge."

Please understand I did not think this a particularly witty quip nor one that would have even the slightest ring of truth. Quite simply, it just popped in there. Much like the Stay-Puft marshmallow man. Had I workshopped the line for hours on end and arrived at the most awesome comeback in the history of awesome comebacks, I couldn't have gotten a more perfect response.

Maureen: "Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?!?!? Oh, no!!! How could you do that?"

The EPJ was still on the phone and had not the slightest idea what she had done. She looked on clueless.

Apparently, I sold this line incredibly well. Likewise, Maureen obviously thinks the EPJ is pretty all-around awful person even though they've been friends for years. In fact, the EPJ is a pretty all-around decent person, but I always enjoy confirming one's worst fears. Plus, I try to encourage irrational conclusions at every opportunity.

So...yes.

The EPJ's day job as an upholder of law, justice and the American way is merely cover for her true passion: feline-icide. It's a well-known fact that in America's seedy cat underbelly, the EPJ is more feared than a Chinese restaurant. It's the grandmotherly types one really has to watch out for, I guess. My cats certainly don't like her.

But because I like to promote harmony and brotherhood, or sisterhood in this case, I quickly assured Maureen I was only joking. The EPJ, no friend of the most adorable of God's creatures, but not, you know, psycho, hadn't dropped any cats off any bridge. Certainly not within the last 50 years anyway. A moment of relief was had by all. Then we all went out and kicked a dog.