I’ll try being nicer if you try being smarter!

OMFG.

Oooookay. So, as we all know, I relieve our receptionist for one hour a day while she eats her lunch and does whatever else she so desires. I actually love doing this, I find it very good for a type A personality such as myself. Phone rings, pick phone up, send call through, phone call over. Check. Done. No messy loose ends. Courier shows up, take package, sign for package, package accepted. Check. Done. Nooooo mess.

Now, here’s where it gets fun. Obviously, some of our clients will have clients of their own coming in. To begin with, this is a trickier interaction than you might think, for many reasons. The first being that most people are complete and utter fucktards. The second is that in our reception area, there is no company name, no logos, no sayings, no signs. This is because we house dozens of companies, all of whom want their clients to believe that they own this wonderful reception area of ours. So people get all confused, wander in and ask, ‘Uh….is this the such and such office?’, which is in itself a little bothersome, since there are generally two or more of everything here. Lawyers, mortgage brokers, ESL schools, IT companies….there are multiples of all of these. It gets tricky, but generally, we can figure it out.

So all in all, hanging out at reception is a good time that allows me to do what I do best…..waste time in a lazy way.

But once in a while, you get special individuals sent your way at reception. Currently, I have two sitting in front of me. I actually had to start writing this blog, so that I could claim my typing was me trying to do work. Allow me to explain.

This stellar couple first of all smashes into our glass doors. No word of a lie. Upon rebalancing themselves, the male specimen attempts to push the door open. It doesn’t. So, he pushes harder. Huh, still not opening. At this point, he decides that jiggling the door violently will be the smartest way to get around this obstacle. Cuz as we all know, if it doesn’t work the first time, or the second time, just do it the third time but in a slightly more spastic fashion and things will surely go your way. In a roundabout way, this worked, since his jiggling required him to pull the door and then he realizes it seems to be opening. Allllright. So, we are through the door.

Now, the male of this duo is wearing an orange shirt claiming ‘I look scarier when I’m not in costume’. Oh, hahahaha, I’m rolling on the floor. The female counterpart is like, 65, thinks she’s 23, and is wearing entirely inappropriate clothing. She’s also wearing huge black plastic sunglasses in our already very dim waiting area. They kind of shuffle up to me, and then tell me they have an appointment. Okay, and who is your appointment with?

The woman says, ‘it starts with R’. The man says, ‘It starts with E’. Great, we can’t even decide if it’s a consonant or a vowel. Super. But I’m smart, I figure out who they’re here for. I won’t bore you with the details, but it took me like, forever and a fucking day to explain to them that the persons first name was with an E, the last was with an R, that’s why they remembered it differently. This was of course, the funniest thing they have ever heard.

Inappropriately dressed old lady goes to sit down on the couch, while her chatty loser of a son stands around. He starts asking me what this person he’s seeing does. I tell him I really don’t know, because this is a business centre. He asks all sorts of questions I cannot answer about this guys business. He doesn’t seem to understand ‘I don’t know’.

Then, a small basket of mints we have sitting here behind the counter, intended for our clients catches his beady little eye. ‘Ohhhh! What’re those? Erasers?’ No, mints. ‘Huh?’. Mints. ‘What?’ MINTS!! You deaf monkey, they are mints!!!!!!! Sit your ass down and make sure your geriatric mother doesn’t die on my couch!!

‘Oh. Miiiiiiinnnnnts. Can I have one?’ I stare at him for a second, then gingerly pick up the basket and move it in his direction but only far enough so that he can barely reach them. He takes two packages. He walks over to old lady and then before sitting down, he comes back. ‘Can I have another?’ This time the basket is thrust violently into his face, and then slammed back down onto my counter with great rage.

He goes and sits down, and then for no reason, gets back up and comes to see me. I stared at the computer screen the whole time, while he goes, ‘You know what my uncle always said? He always said, if you smile, the world smiles with you. You should smile!’

**THIS IS A FAST, EFFICIENT WAY TO YOUR CERTAIN DEATH, DO NOT TELL ME TO SMILE**

I ignore him, continue to be enthralled by whatever’s on my screen. Then he goes on asking me how I would rate that little gem of a saying, from 1 to 50. Finally, I make eye contact. “Sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He then starts what is sure to become an epic dialogue (monologue, for I will not be partaking) on his uncle, who I’m sure is  a stellar man himself. At this point, I cut him off and say, “Sir, I’m trying to do my work.” This is total bullshit, since I’m obviously doing sweet fuck all. But I don’t care.

So then I open this up and start typing wildly, in the hopes that he’ll screw off. It worked. He did. Then his mom comes up, and I notice, on her clearly bought-from-a-suitcase-on-a-street-corner ‘D&G’ sunglasses, she still has the UV protection sticker covering her left eye. Class. She tells me her name is Barbara. I nod. She sits back down. What. The Fuck. Whatever, I don’t care.

So then the person they are meeting walks in, gives me a little nod, which is to mean, “I know these are my clients, I’m going to set up, I will return.” Orange shirt guy pipes up. “Was that the guy we’re waiting for?”  I say yes. He then goes, in the fashion of a four year old who has just been told he’s getting grilled cheese for dinner, ‘Yessssssss! I KNEW it.’ Unfortunately, I had no cookies to reward him with. Only mints. And he’d already taken too many.

The guy they’re meeting with comes back, collects the geriatric, and leaves. Leaving me and ‘scarier when I’m in a costume guy’ alone. He then mumbled something or another about leaving to move his car, back in an hour, blah blah, my mother can wait.

Then he smashed his way out of the door, and I said audibly and with complete sincerity, ‘Thank Fuck.’

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