I keep quite a bit of stuff in my wallet. Not money, typically, but usually stuff like pictures and other memorable items. I say this to those who got an F in Morals class and wouldn’t mind “borrowing” a conveniently lost wallet.
Now to those who wouldn’t steal a fly if it landed in their soup; the only thing of some value that I keep in my wallet would be pretty much my whole life. Meaning, if my wallet somehow turned out to be not in my pocket, my life would be over. My life, in this context, consists of pretty much my life savings, as well as the key to my office, where you can find a beautiful Alienware computer and a camera that’s more expensive than yo momma.
So with this knowledge of what’s in my wallet, and of course my wallet, someone could theoretically steal my money, steal my identity, steal my job, and end my life. Good thing my wallet is ALWAYS in my pocket.
And now I think I’ve made it obvious enough what my next paragraph is about. It’s a very disoriented feeling when the hand thrust into your pocket pulls out nothing but pocket lint. I rechecked my pocket at least 5 or 6 times with diminishing hope each time. I traced my steps through my room, out to my car, and back to my office, which of course I can’t get into without the key that’s in my wallet that’s not where it’s supposed to be. I then called one of my coworkers who let me in, and I found my wallet under a backpack on top of a chair that I haven’t sat in since…well, I really don’t know if I’ve ever sat in that chair. Which is why I’m pretty much clueless as to how it got there.
One time I stayed in a house with like 20 or so people. Everybody in the entire house got sick and threw up. Except for lucky me.
I was lucky enough not to hear my phone ring when a drunk guy called me at 3:28 in the morning looking for Al.
I played my first game of Phase 10 a couple days ago. Four games later, I’m undefeated.
I stare all day into dual 20 inch monitors plugged into a top-of-the-line Alienware computer. And I get paid.
My fiancé thanks me for finishing her ice cream.
Speaking of fiancé, am I lucky or what?!
Having dual monitors is pretty sweet, but if you don’t have the cables to plug them into your computer you don’t really get the full effect. So I ordered a couple cables online and as soon as they arrived I plugged in the first one and was excited to hear the dramatic “phfip” sound when it lit up. I plugged in the second one and waited for the phfip. And I waited a little longer. When I finally realized that there wasn’t going to be a phfip, and after testing the cable with different configurations, I determined that it was a faulty cable.
The company gladly sent me a replacement cable, but again no phfip (that sounds like some kind of bad word, now that I think about it). With two out of three cables not working, I decided to call the company to see what was up. I told the operator that I was having a problem with a cable. I’m still not sure what language he was speaking, but he transferred me to this other guy who then transferred me to another guy. If I didn’t know any better I would have thought I was the victim of some Arabian terrorist group or something. So the last guy I talked to, hereafter referred to as the “cable guy” (no pun intended) started getting all defensive when I told him that I had two faulty cables. He said something about how they couldn’t afford to send me any more replacements and there’s no way the cables could be defective. Then he said in a perfect Arab accent, “I bet you a hunnerd dollar dat it’s not de cable.”
I would have laughed in his face and took him up on his offer, but I didn’t really feel like being tortured by an Arabian terrorist cable guy.
I just gave away the last of my rubber bands. Now what am I going to do when my new computer arrives with its vast hoards of wires and cords? How am I gonna keep track of all my pens, pencils, and miscellaneous junk? How will I survive the war on terror with no ammo for my rubber band guns? After all, what good are pushpins, staples, and paper clips without rubber bands? It just sort of holds them all together, know what I mean?
“Do you have a lot of “office” supplies?”
I have enough thumb tacks to perform Acupuncture on an elephant, enough staples to hold together the Wall of China, and enough business cards to, well…what good are they for anyway? And paper clips? I won’t even go there. All I’ll say is that the guy who ordered them thought he was ordering three little packs of 100 paper clips, when he was really ordering three boxes of packs of 100 paper clips. And I still have no rubber bands.
The fear of pocket lint getting stuck under your fingernails.
The fear of catching pointlessophobia.
The fear of your computer transforming into a giant killer robot.
The fear of 3:46pm.
The fear of lightning striking a tree, which falls on a colony of termites, who get mad and chew on a telephone pole, which falls on a car, which blows up and suffocates a pigeon, which crashes through a window, flinging shards of glass at a computer, causing it to upload a virus, which triggers a war with Japan, who fires a missile at the Bears football game, causing your neighbor to curse and swear, making his baby scream louder than a jet liner, thus damaging your eardrums.
a technologically advanced rodent
the opposite of partial; whole
someone who God doesn’t believe in
inquisitive phrase requesting an action; synonymous with “can you?”
something that annoys me
similar to a paper plane, but made out of air
what I’m doing when I appear to be in a daze for a few minutes after someone just used a big word
It really bugs me when my computer makes weird noises. So you can imagine what was going through my mind when my computer started making this really annoying buzzing sound. It was loud too, and it would turn off and on and change pitches and do all kinds of weird tricks. It would start with a low hum and then jump into a high pitched squealing noise. I found out that a nice swift kick would shut it up pretty good. But then it would just start right back up again in a few minutes. It worked for a while; I’d be doing my usual stuff on the computer and the noise comes on, give it a kick and it quiets down; the noise comes back on, give it another kick. But one time it was making the loudest noise ever, and it kept getting louder. I gave it a kick and nothing happened. Another kick; again, nothing. I gave it a few more kicks in different places, but with no luck. So I decided to open the thing up and see if I could find out what the problem was. One of the fans was rubbing on something making the noise, so I made a quick adjustment. The noise stopped immediately, and I couldn’t have been happier. So I closed it back up and went on with my work, knowing that I had conquered the evil computer noise. But guess what happened next. I can’t believe the nerve that thing had. Yeah, you guessed it; the noise started up again, immune to the kicks and even the same adjustment I had made to the fan. Maybe I should just count myself lucky that my computer isn’t going on strike.
I had a business meeting today with a couple of computer programmers. The meeting went really well, and we discussed everything we needed to discuss. But after the meeting, one of the programmers came to me and asked right out, “Do you hack?” I took a split second to think about the sneaky process of breaking into computer systems, called hacking (which often requires a lot of programming skills, and is in a lot of cases illegal). I wondered why he would be so open about it, and I wondered even more why he would ask me, since I don’t really do much programming yet. So after all things were considered in my mind, I intently replied, “…What??” He repeated, “Do you hack?” and reached over and pulled out, what else but….a Hacky Sack, or Footbag as some people call them. How ironic, I thought, and spend the next few minutes, um… hacking.