07 January 2001 ~ Hold the line...

Went to the Java Joe's just-after-Christmas employee party today. I was tired and had a little bit too much to drink on an empty stomach, but it was a good time. I like my co-workers. It's good to hang out with them outside of work, too; I guess that way we don't end up hating each other. *grin*

Besides, I desperately, desperately needed to mellow out and relax... Not just fake mellowness, but really just sit down and let the world pass without thinking about having to be someplace else, having to make phone calls, having to go to the bank and write checks and get groceries... I was very tempted to get very drunk and go to sleep, but I was in [relatively] polite company [*grin*] and didn't think that was quite appropriate.

I've been very on-edge for the past 36 hours or so. I'm shaky and distant and anxious and snippy. You'd think I was on a Greyhound or something. The best remedy for such edginess is alcohol and sleep. So I drank enough to get me healthily buzzed and watched "Air Force One" with my co-workers. Funny: I've seen that movie three or four times now, and STILL have no idea what happens, except that there's a lot of gratuitous violence, some bad melodramatic music, and Glenn Close says some witty stuff.

I'm feeling a little better now.

In other news, I hate my phone company, which apparently does not appreciate it when I attempt to dial any numbers other than Norman's, particularly weird numbers like, oh... zero for the operator, or 555.1212 for information. And pardon me, but when did "double-oh-info" get the idea that "info" consists of telling you to hang up and call "four-one-one"? That's not info! That's the operator telling me, "I dunno, ask somebody else," which is, pardon my bluntness, QUITE UNINFORMATIVE!

I have no fewer than six calling cards in my jacket pocket, and a seventh someplace in my room. How many of them work? One. How many of them have the password I ASKED for typed on them? Zero. Ironically, I called the phone company to complain about bad service, and they sent me a prepaid thirty-minute phone card to make amends. Does the prepaid one work? Of course not. Did they even send one with their own NAME on it? Of COURSE not. They sent an expired one from another company, which I suspect may now be defunct. Were they nice when I called them a second time to complain? Shit no. Did they do anything about it? Nice try.

What is so damned difficult about picking up the phone, dialing a number, having it ring, and saying "hello," when someone picks up on the other end?

In a world where "double-oh-info" does not give info, and you're not allowed to pick your own passcode for your phone card, how are we, as human beings, expected to function? Moreover, WHY are we expected to function?

The alcohol has worn off entirely, and I'm a semi-neurotic mess again. I believe I'm going to go make myself a mix-tape and run a bath.

~Helena*

"Please hold the line..." --the kindly-sounding British operator for overseas calls