Take Me Out, Coach

We’re listening to old country music in the office today. It’s relaxing and now everybody feels all nostalgic for nothing in particular, just like a general nostalgia. Ninety percent of the lyrics involve either extreme remorse over makin’ love in the night, or thinking fondly about makin’ love in the night. Both are really funny to hear in a mortgage office. I’m waiting on one of my co-workers to be like, “Yes, we got your loan approval,” on the phone with a client, “and your rate is makin’ sweet love while drunk on whiskey – I mean low! Your rate is really LOW.”

The honky-tonk atmosphere  is standing in direct contrast to a most horrid experience I just had in my ole Boss Chad’s office. Always trying to better themselves, Chad and James often find themselves entangled with pesky business coaches. (They probably think the coaches are fabulous, but I think they’re stupid.)

So I happened to be tootling about in Chad’s office when he decided to watch one of his coaching videos (he had another screen open to keep an eye on the loan business, though, so don’t you worry about that). In the video, this dude, the “coach”, sits at his desk screaming into the camera. I’m not making this up – he screams “I KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT AND YOU BETTER DO WHAT I SAY!” as he slams his hands on the desk and gets all up in camera.

It was like this:

"Do what I say, you sorry scumbag!"

“Do what I say, you sorry scumbag!”

Chad kind of winced (I mean, like on the inside) and I felt really bad for him. If anybody yelled at me like that, even if it was on a video, I’d cry and take up pottery (an industry that I suppose involves less yelling).

To help cheer Chad up after the demoralizing incident, I’m helping him and James come up with creative ways to invite referral partners to their events. Here’s my latest idea:

Bingo Invite

I’ll let you know if anybody decides to drink and play bingo with them.

Speaking of drinking, I have another health query for you all. (And thank you all for the collective diagnosis that I likely have heartburn per my last health query – no chest pains for the past week!) Here’s the thing. I can’t stand drinking cold water. It makes me chilly and feels so harsh going down, so instead of sipping on the freezing filtered clean water out of our big office cooler, I pour water straight from our break room sink into my water bottle. It tastes mostly okay, but has an “off” aftertaste. Plus, as I was filling the bottle our pipes starting making wacky noises. Like groans. Do y’all think I’m going to catch something? Please discuss.

Finally, before I go, I have a teaser for what we’ll discuss next week:

Somebody was NASTY to our sweet Hayley today. More details to come because we’re seriously waiting to see if the guy ends up on the news. Spoiler alert: It involves copious amounts of meth (not on Hayley’s part). Stay tuned, dear readers.

Now, I’m off to drunkenly bail my momma out of prison in the rain.

Schemes

Our wonderful maintenance man Juan is here fixing our broken lights today. I guess the Bosses had been trying to save money by making us all work in the dark for a while, but enough is enough, people. Online Dater Mortgage Banker Jason Bates is trying to loiter underneath Juan in hopes of having a drill dropped on his head so he can sue the building. “Then we’d change the name of this place from Midtown Plaza to Bates Plaza!” Jason hissed as he tried to weasel his way beneath Juan’s ladder.

Jason and Juan

A few people have been asking me if the ole Bosses were really going to take me down had I not delivered 50 readers to the Save the Blog party. Even my brother thought I was going to get fired. I have to say, I think it would have been totally hilarious if only 49 of you showed up, and then the Bosses could have dramatically pulled the plug on my laptop and shooed me out of the bar. Then y’all could have booed me and threw your free beers at my back as I slunk to my car…

But y’all, come on. Isn’t it obvious who runs this show? (That would be me.) I’ve got these ole Bosses eating out of my hand. I say jump and they say, well, they say something to the extent of “I seriously can’t believe you’re still here. Did you ever figure out how to use the copy machine?” And I’m like, “Not really.”

Speaking of jumping, the Bosses took us on a bowling excursion last week (most of us jumped up and down upon not landing gutter balls). Some of us handled ourselves nicely. Some drank shots of tequila upon arrival. I’m not saying who’s who.

Below, Spanish-Speaking Richard (he also speaks English, by the way) after nailing three pins. I don’t know why he always wears a nametag, but he’s so nice I feel like I shouldn’t make fun of him even though the nametag thing is a make-fun-of-worthy characteristic:

Richard

Online Dater Jason tried to teach Sandra to bowl. I think Sandra is better off ignoring Jason.

Pick up that Ball

But I can't see

Throw it!

Straight-Shooter Shane ended up winning. I can’t say we’re not nervous about Shane having yet another reason to gloat.

Shane the Winner

The bowling deal was spun as a team-building gig. Team building my eye, I say. An hour into it, the ole Boss Chad pulled me aside, in a bowling alley, to tell me how he didn’t like one of my recent posts. I squinted my eyes at him and asked, “Why are you telling me this in a bowling alley? On a team building event. You sure aren’t very buildy, Chad.”

Just So John wasn’t at the bowling soiree (and good thing since Chad was so rude). Instead, he was lounging on a Hawaiian beach. He’s back now (in a Hawaiian shirt). Said Just So John: “Do you think it’d be too gross to put my sunburned belly in your newsletter?”

Yes, John. Yes it would. And it’s a blog, not a newsletter. Get back to your loans.

Just So Hawaiian John

Okay folks, I’m out of here before Jason gets hit by a screwdriver, Chad tries to “build me up” again, or Just So John tries to give me any more ideas for my newsletter.

Underwear, Boobs, and a Robbery

My husband and I moved into our new home last week. On our first night there, after hauling boxes up stairs all day and making four failed attempts at assembling a bed together and generally pushing our marriage to the limits of what is considered bliss (turns out, we’re going to make it), it was finally time to go to sleep (on a mattress on the floor since we couldn’t figure out the bed). Then we held pillows over our ears and harrumphed through the night as one of the cats paced the hallways of our gorgeous new home loudly mourning the loss of our old house. The next morning I awoke to my husband with a towel around his waist rummaging through the suitcases scattered on the floor. “Hey hon, have you seen my underwear?” he asked.

I scratched my head and thought back to the previous day. Packed the teapot? Check. Packed the dog food? Check. Packed water bottles and scarves and frozen peas and our wedding album? Check. I packed the whole house.

Except for his underwear.

We’d left our old house the day before empty, save for a small bathroom drawer that contained a neat stack of folded undies.

“Uh, I thought you packed your underwear.” Thought I’d try the ole “it’s all your fault” trick.

“No, I didn’t pack them. I guess they’re still in that drawer at the old house?”

“Um. Mm hmm.”

I didn’t have the heart to ask what my husband’s plan was, whether he was going to wear dirty undies or none at all or try to make a pair of mine work. All I know is that he went to work, and I drove to the old house and found the underwear.

So that’s the news on my personal life. Now, on to office scoop.

It’s Just So John’s and Richard’s (I haven’t nicknamed Richard yet) birthdays this week, and some title company brought in like a whole birthday party for them:

John and Richard and The Mermaid

I’d like to remind that title company that my own birthday is August 24th and I’ll be delighted to take some flowers and candies off their hands at that time.

I asked Richard (on the left) how old he’ll be and he proudly told me 50. “Hey! What a great birthday!” I said. Richard is a nice guy and I’m glad he’s been around 50 years. Then I asked Just So John how old he will be and he mouthed out his birthday number (which was his nice way of warning me not to splash his age across the whole internet (43ish)).

Hold up. I just realized John’s shirt has a mermaid on it with shells over her boobs.

Mermaid Boobs

I don’t even know what to say about that. If you get a mortgage with him, please inquire about it and let me know.

Other office scoop: Hottest Mortgage Banker in Texas Hayley witnessed a robbery last night! Oh yes she did. She heard a noise in the night, peered out her window, and watched some dude with a long beard pilfering in her neighbor’s car and putting things into a sack. And then get this. The neighbor had apparently left a drink in the cup holder, and as the thief was stealing everything out of this guy’s car, he paused to take a drink. Out of an old stale Coke! What the what? While Hayley’s husband called the cops, Hayley pushed her own car’s alarm button to scare the crook off.

Well, you know what the crook did? Run away? you ask. Nope. Slowly walked away, and ever so slyly slipped behind a tree. Call the creepy police. That’s nuts! And you know what’s funny?  I got so freaked out and screechy when Hayley got to that part of the story that I didn’t even ask what happened next. And Hayley didn’t say. She just kept going, “Isn’t that creepy!?” and I kept going, “Oh my gosh, yes!” while we grabbed each other’s arms.

Finally, I had a meeting with my ole Boss Chad in which he acknowledged that it appears I will never make this blog what he wants it to be (he wants me to make it some stupid mortgage info haven that nobody will read). I thought he might be about to fire me, but instead he kind of shook his head in disappointment and walked away.

Finally, stay tuned later this week to meet another new guy, Shane. Shane thinks he can sass me. Shane thinks wrong, sucker.

If any of you would like to wish Richard and John a happy birthday, provide Hayley with a home security system, gift my husband some new underwear, or send your condolences to the ole Boss Chad, please comment below. I’m off to stick some duct tape over those mermaid’s boobs.