It's discoveries like this that really make me miss archaeology. 

Ardipithecus ramidus

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Mistake #1: Yesterday the mailman put a piece of my mail containing those awful blank checks from the credit card company in someone else’s mailbox.

Mistake #2:  The person who received my mail opened it.

Mistake #3:  Same person then attempted to throw the checks in the trash container by the bank of mailboxes but they landed on the floor where anyone could pick them up.

Luckily a kind neighbor found them on the floor and decided to turn them in to the association office (which is what the person who received my mail should have done) and the manager left me a message telling me to come pick up my mail.  I had to sit through a small, well-meant lecture about the dangers of throwing away blank credit card checks in a public place before I could explain that I hadn’t picked up my mail since Saturday and that someone else must have received and opened my mail.  I then ran back upstairs and placed a call to the credit card company in order to warn them of possible fraud (since I don’t know if there was another page of checks included) and to change my account number. 

No wonder I had such a bad stomach ache last night.

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What was your very first job?

Ugh - detasseling.  I also consider it the absolute worst job I've ever had.  According to Wikipedia, detasseling is "the act of removing the pollen-producing tassel from a corn (maize) plant and placing it on the ground. Detasseling is done to cross-breed, or hybridize, two different varieties of corn. Fields of corn that will be detasseled are planted with two varieties of corn. By removing the tassels from all plants of one variety, all the grain growing on those plants will be fertilized by the other variety's tassels."  Wikipedia makes it sound sooooo easy.  What really happens is that farmers intice 14 and 15 year olds to work in their fields for about a month with the promise of making a couple of dollars above minimum wage.  Since this is the first job a lot of kids in Iowa are able to get, the idea of making (at that time) $4.50 an hour sounded like winning the lottery.  The reality sets in when they tell the kids they have to meet at 4:30 am each morning to wait for the bus that will take them to the designated corn field.  The kid will then work for 8-10 hours each day walking up and down cornrows frantically yanking at tassels which are sometimes much taller than what they can reach so they have to grab the cornstalks and bend them down so they can reach the tassels.  Because there is a narrow time frame to finish all the detasseling, kids are constantly pushed to work as hard as they can.  Kids also don't understand the value of staying properly hydrated so many don't bring enough water for the day or they finish their coolers of water by the break so they won't have anything left by the second half.  Talking is discouraged because it takes the kids' attention away from the corn.  At the end of the work day the kids are dropped back off at the designated parking lot where their parents pick them up and they spend the rest of the afternoons indoors lying in an exhausted heap by an air conditioning vent.

As an adult I understand the value of hard work.  I've worked on a few archaeological projects that really tested my mettle, like the two-day stint I did in Des Moines where I spent one day working in a lot that was frequented by creepy, restless homeless men and spent the second day tearing my way through an unsprayed corn field soaked in water in 98 degree heat with a badly sprained foot.  In all honesty, if I was detasseling today I think I would find it a lot easier than I did twenty (yikes!) years ago.  I would know to bring plenty of water, wear the appropriate clothing and find an efficient way to get the job done.  I'm also taller so I wouldn't struggle so much with reaching the top of the cornstalks.  I would probably even find some joy in working outdoors after having a desk job the past nine years.  What made detasseling the worst job ever was that I was a fourteen year old girl who had never worked hard a day in my life.  I was unused to being outdoors in 85-90 degree weather (with high humidity) for 8-10 hour stretches without the luxury of being at the community swimming pool.  I found the long hours of silence difficult and I hated being filthy.  One morning the corn was still wet from an overnight rainstorm and the water made the corn leaves so razor sharp that I had a million little cuts covering my hands by the time I went home.  The next morning my hands were so swollen I couldn't open my fingers.  The worst part was that I was unused to being really bad at something.  I somehow lacked the right kind of coordination needed to walked twisted at the waist while ripping out the tassels.  I tripped a lot and couldn't quite manage to grab the tassels on the first try.  It was humiliating to see that I was usually one of the last kids to finish my rows of corn and it didn't help to know that the other kids were impatiently waiting for me to finish before we could move on to the next block.  I had no idea how to improve myself and I had no guidance from the farmers observing us (beyond the occasional "Hurry up!  You're slowing us down!") so I wound up resenting everyone and everything while I was in those fields. 

By the end of our month stint I was so relieved we were finished that I didn't care I didn't get the pay bonus most of the other kids got and I was content with their decision not to ask me to join them for their next project - spraying soy beans.  I took the money I earned and bought myself a nice stereo with dual cassettes and a turntable - this was 1987, after all.  I spent the rest of that summer at the pool and riding my bike with my neighborhood friends promising myself I would never, ever enter another corn field.  I actually broke this promise when I started work at the Iowa Office of the State Archaeologist but at least I was in the corn doing something I enjoyed.  Well, except for that one time I was chased down by a tractor, but that's another story.

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For the first time in my life I think I want a pre-fab house.

Clayton i-house

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I don't know about you but this Goonies reunion photo makes me very nostalgic.

Goonies reunited

Goonies then

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If you had to be named after one of the 50 states, which would it be?

Duh, West Virginia!

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Thanks to an incredibly hectic morning and a suddenly slow lunch hour I've discovered a whole new batch of pet peeves that are driving me crazy.  Thankfully the theraputic act of typing them out has kept me calm and collected in the workplace.

Tax Season Pet Peeves Part 2:

• People who put things next to my In-box instead of inside the box.  Is it really that hard?  Do you think I’ll address it sooner because it stands out?
• Thanks to speaking with a client named Alvira I now can’t get the song “Elvira” out of my head.  Giddy up pa oompa pa pa oompa pa pa maow maow…
• Being asked to print up a new batch of mailing labels but not being provided the address.
• Dealing with the coworker who is on her sixth month of being angry we moved one of the community printers into her office due to lack of space.  She ignores the fact that she only works one day a week (and spends half that time either in the hallway on her cell phone or sitting in someone else’s office chatting) and she passive-aggressively keeps the door to her office shut whenever she knows someone needs to use that printer.  The irony is that she calls herself a “peace advocate”.
• Clients who walk in unannounced and expect their accountant to be available for an hour-long meeting.  Sorry, your brilliant strategy of waiting until the last week to see your accountant is the exact same strategy used by 25% of our clientele.
• Recently discovering that when certain people ask me to “overnight” something they really mean they would like me to send a package via FedEx, much like asking for a Kleenex when any facial tissue will do.  Here’s a conversation I had last night (after being handed a package at 5:00 pm with a note that said “Please overnight to _____ _____”).  Me (suspicious): “You say this needs to be sent overnight?”  Him:  “Well, I told him he’d have it by tomorrow morning.”  Me: “Tomorrow morning?  It’s already 5:00 so we’ll have to take it to a FedEx drop-off point.  I’ll do a search to see where the nearest one is.”  Him: “Well, you don’t have to do it tonight.  You can wait until tomorrow.”  My inner voice:  “WTF????  Please shoot me now.”  Me:  “If he needs it tomorrow morning I’ll have to ship it tonight.”  Him:  “Oh, I mean you can send it tomorrow.  He doesn’t need it right away.”  Me:  “Hm, then you don’t need it sent overnight?”  Him:  “Oh!  Are there other options?”  You can guess how the rest of this conversation went.  It boiled down to the decision that I would send it out today at a more reasonably priced ground rate and he would call his client to let him know the package was on its way.  Another time a woman handed me her fourth package in four days to be “overnighted”.  This made me very suspicious so I asked her if she wanted it sent Next Day Air or 2-Day Air.  She said, “Next Day, if it’s the cheapest.”  This is where I taught her the lesson that faster means more expensive.  She blanched when I told her the previous package I sent out for her cost $87 to overnight it when it could have cost $10.     
• The same woman paperclipping an envelope to a 1-page letter she wanted me to send out because she was afraid I would use one of the giant Priority Mail envelopes.  She wanted me to know that when possible I can use smaller, cheaper forms of postage.  I want her to know that she needs to stay the hell away from me.
• The skeevy elderly client who gets a little too touchy feely.  When he comes in I have to alert my boss so she can shut her door.  He once went into her office and laughingly refused to let her out until she gave him a hug.  I make sure there’s always a wall between Skeevy McSkeeverson and myself.
• The clients who get mad when they discover they have to send in their own tax forms to the government.  Some will go so far as to sign them and bring them back to the office to try to get us to send them out for them.  Was that $2 of gas you spent to drive here and back worth the 42 cents you saved? 
• Just realizing I left my iPhone at home so I won’t be able to listen to music when I assemble tax returns this afternoon.  This suuuuucks.
• No matter how hard I’ve been running the printers and the scanner nothing will break down, which means I have no excuse to call in Andrew, the cute repair guy with the alluring Scandinavian accent.  He’s so good looking even my boss’s husband refers to him as “the cute repair guy”.

And now, to counter all the negativity I’ve just spewed, here are a few nice things that help make the days better:

• My mom sent me some Easter candy to help get through this next week.  I love you!  Next time send Cadbury Eggs!
• The high number of good hair days I’ve been having.  This is unusual for me but I’ll take it. 
• Having the surprise free time at lunch to write this post.
• Remembering to bring Diet Pepsi to work today.  Since I don’t drink coffee this is my best source of caffeine at I time when I need a lot of it.  I even love the moment when I’m getting tired in the afternoon and I suddenly realize I have an ice cold Diet Pepsi waiting for me.  Ahhh…
• Being able to wear my headphones when assembling tax returns (on the days I don’t forget them).  This is a HUGE help.  When forced to peel apart a W2 covered in some funky gunk it helps to have Goldfrapp sing me through it.
• Best of all: knowing that one week from tomorrow I’ll be in a coma on my living room couch with a cat asleep on my legs and the phone unplugged.  Suckas!

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I like my job.  I like that I have a job.  It’s not the "world's best job" but it will do nicely for now.  My coworkers are nice people (mostly) and I feel I’m learning a thing or two.  For the first time in my life I had someone else do my taxes for me (for free!!!!) and yesterday’s 15-minute chair massage from the company-paid massage therapist made my workday that much better.  After hearing about how awful my predecessor was during previous tax seasons I have promised myself to be patient and courteous to my coworkers during this stressful time.  However, as our deadline draws closer and my work load increases I’ve found myself getting annoyed at some of the small things I’m normally able to ignore.  I’m hoping if I vent them here then I can remain calm at work until after our April 15th deadline.    

Tax Season Pet Peeves:

• People who put the full body of their emails in the Subject line and leave the email blank.
• People who remove staples from documents and leave them lying on the table, especially the tables with garbage cans directly underneath them.  Do you know what it feels like to have a loose staple get jammed under your fingernail?  I do.
• Clients who lean over my desk to stare at my computer monitor.
• Having to fake laugh every time I offer a client a beverage and having them reply, “How about a gin and tonic?  AHH HA HA HAAAAA!”  This happens way more often than it should.
• People who pile their dishes in the breakroom sink instead of washing them.
• People who loudly agree everyone should do their own dishes and then secretly pile their dirty dishes in the sink. 
• The guy who comes behind my desk, says “Mind if I steal ____?” and then grabs whatever it is he wants.  First, to “steal” something from me means you’re taking it against my will so yes, I do mind.  Second, why can’t you just keep a stash of things in your office like everyone else does?  Third, if you’re finished using a folder, don’t give it back to me all beat up and dirty.  Keep it for the next time you want to steal it from me.
• The smoker clients who reek while waiting for their appointments and then leave their stench behind as they walk down the hall.
• My coworker’s sickeningly sweet perfume that makes me gag.  It's like snorting cake.  I think she reapplies throughout the day (since the stink never goes away) so someday maybe I can take the bottle from her purse or desk while she’s away.
• Not being able to yell back at that one guy who yelled at me because I couldn’t tell him why his son was meeting with a different accountant than the one he sees. 
• Telling clients that the accountant they’re trying to reach is on the other line, only to have them ask, “Can you tell me when he/she will be finished?” 
• Dealing with that other guy who calls and asks for his accountant by some nickname I’ve never heard and then making fun of me because I’m new.
• The last and greatest pet peeve: stupid, inefficient tasks.  For example: Jane (not her real name) wants a letter from 2008 updated to 2009.  How would you normally go about this?  You would find the document on the server, change the date, hit Save and print it out.  How does she do this?  She finds the letter on the server, prints it out, crosses out the “8” in “2008”, writes in a “9”, walks down the hall and puts it in my in-box.  I then take the letter, find the original on the server, change the date, print it out and then take it back to Jane.  I hate this.  I loathe this.  It makes my eyes burn.  It is completely illogical.  I can’t even understand how this was originally thought out.  Does she have a Save button phobia?  Is she trying to teach me a lesson?  Perhaps it’s a character building exercise?  Yes, I understand that some of my coworkers are a bit old-fashioned and have trouble with some of the newer technology, but dude.  This is so bad.

I know this is a pretty gripe-y list but there are lots of things to counteract all the bad.  My girl Cleone is always there to cover for me when I need to move on to other tasks and she’s more than happy to share her own (very similar) pet peeves with me.  My boss is AWESOME and she has the best dogs ever.  I’m constantly told how much better things are with me here (yeah, my predecessor was that bad).  I even feel better now that I’ve vented.  Just don’t email me without putting your message in the proper text box the next couple of weeks.  I will cut you.

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Each day at work I like to look at my Forgotton English daily calendar to see if there’s anything new I can learn.  The nice thing about this calendar is that not only does it give a forgotten word and it’s definition (today’s word – “chicken-man”) but it also includes a historical tidbit that goes with the date.  Today’s entry was very funny so I thought I’d let you see it.

It’s Off to Work We Go

On this date in 1801, Britain’s first census was begun.  In an 1881 survey, residents were asked to furnish their “rank, profession, or occupation.”  Some of the more unusual verbatim responses, either entered by the subjects or by interviewers and preserved by the London Genealogical Society, included: “Teacher of Wax Flowers,” “Hand in Hartley’s Jam,” and “He play all day long.”  Here are others:

• Egg cracker
• Slob brickmaker
• Emasculator
• Dog performer
• Sampler of drugs
• Formerly fat
• Turnip shepherd
• Very feeble
• Proprietor of midgets (my favorite)
• Gymnast to house painter
• Knocker-up of workpeople
• Fifty-two years an imbecile
• Examiner of underclothing
• Colourist of artificial fish
• Supposed to be a lady
• Rust attendant at lavatory

Thanks to Shane and Tisha for this very entertaining gift!

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I don't have anything really important  to discuss right now so I'll throw out some random thoughts:

Since I’ve started working at an accounting firm I am continually surprised at how many people don’t pay their taxes.  I always thought if you missed the April 15^th deadline and didn’t file for an extension then The Law would come down hard and you’d wind up in jail for tax evasion, like Al Capone and Wesley Snipes.  Instead, I’m constantly seeing tax returns for multiple years as I’m assembling them and it just blows my mind.  Last month an elderly woman called, asking to speak with her accountant.  When I told her he was out of the office she said, “Just tell him I’ve decided I’m not going to pay my taxes anymore.  I’m 85 years old and by the time the government catches up with me I’ll be dead.  So just tell him I’m not going to pay my taxes.”  The next day she called again and said the same thing.  This time I countered with, “Well, if you do that won’t your next of kin have to pay all the fines?”  She said, “What?  They can do that?”  I decided at that point she really needed to speak with her accountant.

Now that tax season has kicked in and I’m working 6-day weeks I’ve realized two things.  First, I really don’t mind all the extra work.  It’s a challenge to try to keep up with the massive loads I’m handed every day and I’ve made it a point of pride to wait as long as possible to call in Cleone – the wife of a retired partner who comes in each year during tax season to help.  Last year my predecessor called her in the third week in January.  I’ve managed to hold out until this week.  Yay me!  The second thing I’ve noticed is that outside of work I have absolutely NO ambition anymore.  It’s a combination of physical and mental exhaustion and it has rendered me completely useless.  When I leave work I don’t want to do things like cook, clean, go to the gym, run errands or do laundry.  I can’t even get up the will to go to the movies on my one day off, and you know me well enough to know that’s really saying something.  Now please don’t let this stop you from inviting me to do things – plans with friends will always motivate me to get up off my couch, change out of my 10-year old sweatpants and have some fun and I really need something else to think about besides whether or not so-and-so’s tax return is an e-file.  Just don’t invite me to do anything between 8 and 7, Monday through Saturday.

Lately I’ve noticed I’ve been saying “What the froog?” whenever I’m talking to myself.  I can’t really explain how or why this has happened.

Last week I met an animal psychic.  She’s one of our clients and I TOTALLY want her to meet Atticus.  I can’t say I truly believe people are psychic but this sounds so absolutely crazy I have try it.  At best, I can finally find out why he’s so weird and if he feels bad for putting me in the hospital.  At worst, I will find out this woman is completely bonkers but I’ll still have a great story to tell.  I think it’s a win-win situation for me.

Today I noticed on Facebook a college friend of mine joined the group “Barak Obama is not eligible for Presidency”.  Seriously?  Seriously? 

You do not have to worry about how geeked out I’ll get when the new Star Trek movie comes out.  I’m going to visit Jen in Denver that weekend and we’re planning a massive geek-out double header that includes the movie X-Men Origins: Wolverine, which opens the week before.  However, if you would like to see Watchmen with me the weekend of March 7^th (it will either have to be Saturday night or Sunday) then you may have to put up with me acting like a 7-year old boy, bouncing in my seat in anticipation and wearing a giant grin.  Lucky for you I promise I will not dress up like any of the characters.  I’m not one of those geeks.

RuPaul’s Drag Race is my new favorite show.  I’m rooting for you, Ongina!

Wait, did I just miss Mardi Gras?  What the froog?

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