Tag Archives: jobs

FYI: I am an Adult

24 Jun

So this is a thing I realized today:  I find port-o-potties hilariously funny.  Like, all the time.  I don’t know what it is about them.  They just make me giggle.  And this is not a new thing.  I think I have always found them funny.  So I remember this one time when I was little I was in the car with my mom and I all of a sudden wondered to myself,

Self, how do they get port-o-potties from one place to another?

And wouldn’t you know it, about 5 minutes later a pick-up truck with not one, not two, but three port-o-potties on the back drove right on by!  It made total sense!  Up to that point I was trying to think of all the different possibilities: dropped by helicopter? Towed in? Placed on some sort of motorized platform with wheels and directed there via a remote computing device?  (I didn’t say I was a logical child.)  This turn of events had three distinct effects: (1) I was very excited; (2) I laughed really hard; (3) I was impressed by the speed with which the universe answered my extremely burning silent inquiry.  Maybe there was a god?

Anyway, fast-forward a few years.  I developed this nasty, unintentional habit of timing my summer runs for exactly when some sort of service came to clean the port-o-potty right by the Ocean Parkway entrance to Prospect Park.  I don’t know if any of you have ever walked by when a port-o-potty is being cleaned but it is one of the worst smells ever.  And it travels.  I would be like 1/2 mile away and I would all of a sudden get a waft of this disgusting aroma and realized that, damnit, I had done it again!  And then I would spend the next 1/2 mile trying to breath only through my mouth while simultaneously feeling a great deal of sadness for whatever poor bastard was tasked with that particular job.  I mean, can you imagine?  Being like, right there while all the nasty stuff from the port-o-potty hole comes up through a tube into the back of the truck?  And then having to walk around with that odor stuck to your clothes?! (I have a theory that stinky particles are stickier than nice-smelling ones and that is why garbage mens’ clothes smell like garbage whereas florists clothes do not smell like flowers.)  Between the feelings of pity and the slight odor-induced nausea I would also be sort of giggly because of course I went running at exactly the time when the port-o-potty was being cleaned again.  I mean, what are the odds?!

And then today, I was walking around and there was this port-o-potty and on it was painted the name of the company and do you know what it was?  Rent-A-Unit.  Okay, so if you were to come up to me one day and be all,

Rebekah, if you were to guess what the company Rent-A-Unit has on offer what would it be?

I really don’t think I would guess a port-o-potty.  No, sir. Off the top of my head I can think of one or two things I would be likely to guess and they both are closely related to the possible usages of the male anatomy outside of urination.  There are just so many possible funny names for port-o-potty companies that I felt really let down by this one.  It saddened me.

Okay, and now for the last thing which is the funniest thing that has ever happened to me in relation to port-o-potties. So the other day I was walking down my street past this construction site and I saw what looked like a port-o-potty with the door ajar.  On the side was painted “Call-A-Head,” which I think is a superb name for a port-o-potty company.  As I approached the structure I kept repeating in my head,

Do not look in the potty….do not look in the potty…do not look in the potty…

I mean, really, you never know what could be hiding within the confines of a random moveable toilet.  There could be someone in there with his or her pants down.  Or a possum.  Or, I don’t know, some birds that would come flying out right when you walk by, scaring the shit out of you.  But of course I ignored my own logic and peaked into the potty.  What I saw was hilarious.  There, inside the potty, was a man in some sort of outfit — security guard? — sitting at a tiny little desk doing paper work.  His office was a potty.  And I thought to myself,

Man, if I find myself sometime down the line waking up, getting myself Dressed and then heading to the office except that my office is not really an office but is instead a head, I would be very sad.

How does one put on an outfit that looks Serious and Professional and then commute to work and then go into a potty and sit at a teeny tiny desk and take themselves, or their jobs, seriously?  I would just laugh all day long.

The end.

If You Need Me I’ll Be in My New Cave

19 Jun

I don’t know whether to file this post into the category “I did this so you don’t have to” or “when you think people are laughing at you they probably are and you should look in the mirror” or “Rebekah needs to buy a cave and stay there until 2015.”  Anyway, you can cast your votes after reading the next incredibly embarrassing thing that happened to me.  I promise I will laugh at this a few years from now.  Maybe.

So, I don’t know if you guys know this but for me, this year totally sucks.  It is the actual worst year of my life.  I thought that nothing could be worse than 2010, and I had really clung to that with every bit of strength that I possess in my entire body because at least then when something totally sucked I could be like “well, it could be worse.  It could be 2010 again!”  But now I don’t even have that because 2014 is totally worse.

I need to add here that I know that, relatively speaking, my 2014 has not been as bad as some other people’s 2014.  I know that probably I am sounding like a whiny little bitch right about now and people are gonna be all “well, those aren’t real problems” but whatever.  Those people can suck it.  So, let us continue.

So earlier this year, after I got back from Peru (which was really fun except for when my earrings were stolen out of my ears), I had an interview at this place that does community gardening.  I was really excited and totally qualified and the position was essentially made for me.  Anyway, I got all excited about it and then I got to the interview and in an effort to not sound like a raving lunatic because of all the excitement that I was feeling I dialed it back too far and I think came across as uninterested.  I knew it didn’t go well the second I left the office.  Anyway, I got home like an hour later (it was so far!) and looked in the mirror and discovered that my scalp burn from Peru had started peeling and there were like pieces of skin all through the top of my head.  I had looked in the mirror when I left, no skin.  But by the time I got there, skin everywhere.  So probably they thought I was this totally underwhelmed, totally boring, totally unmotivated person with serious hygiene problems.

That was a great day to be me.

So then fast-forward to this afternoon.  I had to go to this interview and it was sort of rainy outside when I left so I brought my umbrella.  By the time I got to where I was going it was not rainy but instead it was wildly humid. You know what does not do well in humidity?  Eye liner.  You know what would have been a good thing to do before interviewing?  Looking in the mirror.  Did I do that?  No, of course not.  So I talked to the lady for a few minutes, she seemed nice, and then I left and walked over to the Verizon store to deal with the fact that they had said they would send me a new phone in the mail but had neglected to do so.  Anyway, because of the earlier rain I had not brought my my sunglasses which, as it turns out, was a huge mistake because had I brought them I could have at least not looked like an ass while walking the streets of Brooklyn.  So I am walking down Flatbush and this woman in a car looks at me and starts laughing.  Like, seriously laughing so hard.  She was having the time of her life.  I thought to myself two things: (a) don’t be so insecure that you think some random person is laughing at you; and (b) did you sit on something?  You must have sat on something.  I looked at my butt, there was nothing there.  Why I assumed it had to do with my ass doesn’t actually make sense because I was facing her, so really logic should have told me that I looked like a total weirdo but no, I thought it was my ass.  Or that I had been shat on by a bird and didn’t notice because I get shat on more than the average person so it’s just like, normal these days.

So I logicked myself out of the worry and continued on to the Verizon store where I dealt with 4 different people, none of whom told me my makeup was fucked.  Also, I may or may not have had an almost mini-breakdown in the Verizon store because that is something I do these days at random places.  (As a side note, why don’t the people at the stores and at banks have direct access to someone who can help you at the help center?  Why do they also have to wait on hold listening to advertisements for mortgages and extra cloud storage and shit?)  Anyway, the lady on the phone was really nice and I don’t blame her for not telling me about my makeup because she couldn’t see me but I believe if she had seen me she would have told me about it.  Then I walked all the way home to my apartment.  I got home, walked through the door, went into the bathroom, looked in the mirror and BAM.  Disaster face.  I actually wish I had taken a photo of it because it was really something to behold.  So I immediately did the thing that I shouldn’t have done but it’s me so obviously I did it.  I sent the following text to the person I had just interviewed with:

“Thanks for meeting with me.  I just got home and realized my eye makeup had gotten all screwed up from the humidity and I am hoping that happened after I talked to you.  But if not, I am usually not that much of a mess and will not be leaving the house without a mirror in my purse for the rest of the summer.”

To which she replied:

“:) It’s all good. Very nice meeting you too.”

And then she said something else about shifts that’s not actually relevant to the story.  Her text led me to believe that my makeup was, in fact, at least moderately screwed up when I talked to her.  So, that’s good.  Go me!

The thing that is so sad about the whole situation is that I looked in the mirror when I got home and all I could think was “of course.”  That was it.  It’s like, obviously since I put effort into actually looking like a presentable human being today my eyeliner was like “sucker! You think you look GOOD?! Palease!”  So, that happened.  It has now been made clear to me that the only reasonable thing for me to do is put a bid in on a cave somewhere and move into it for the remainder of the year.  My friend Sarah tells me that probably I can just go into a cave and hang out there and eventually through squatter’s rights it will become mine but with my luck a bear will be living there already and would try to maul me but would only succeed in gauging out one of my eyes and eating my right arm.  I would defend myself with bear spray but, as we have learned from my experience with mace, I cannot be trusted with anything that comes in an aerosol can.

So, if you need me I will be in my cave.  I will be accepting visitors and snacks.