In and out of a jam

Hello, friends. It's too late now, but I should've ended my last post with, "See you in September." Alas, I did not. But welcome anyway to this week's UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for "Unhappy Ostriches Pretend They're Antelopes," but I sure hope that cheers them up. Instead, this UOPTA is where I write down some of my thoughts and stories and, often times, live vicariously through myself. I'm multi-talented. (Thanks to my loving mother-in-law for sending in that UOPTA. You can do it too just by writing to ptklein@gmail.com.)

I've got two unrelated items loosely connected by a segue to discuss today, so if you enjoy that kind of thing, you very well might enjoy what follows. First up, I was speaking to a woman on the phone yesterday named Sheena. She works with another woman named Gina, and I've spoken to both of them at the same time on a few occasions. For obvious reasons, I end up enunciating beautifully on those calls. Well yesterday at the end of the call, I accidentally said, "Thanks, Gina. I mean Sheena. Sorry about that." "Oh no problem," she replied, "I think I answer to anything ending in 'eena' now." This is where my brain causes me problems. A normal person would just laugh politely and go back to the typical end-of-call talk. Not me though. Before I could stop myself, I said, "Not 'hyena' I hope." "Uh, no, hopefully not that," she answered. I politely chuckled and we got off the call. The thing is, while I was saying it, I wasn't thinking, "Maybe this isn't the best thing to say." Instead, I was trying hard to come up with other "eenas" like it was some kind of word game. The next two that popped into my head, in case you're wondering, were "semolina" and actor "Dennis Farina." Ladies and gentlemen, Peter Klein!

And hey, I'm sensitive to the plight of the person with a name that sounds like other things. As I

mentioned in this space about a year and a half ago, I've found myself looking up as if called when people say such wonderful things as "cheater" and "wife beater." Recently, "computer" has gotten me a few times. It's no fun, and yet if I'm a certain distance away, I'm gonna keep looking up every time. Awesome.

Speaking of awesome (like this segue), I found something in a drawer this week that made me very happy. (Cue backstory!) When I lived in Sacramento for almost a year, I had a very boring job. I was looking for something to just take up time, so I didn't expect it to be stimulating, but it was like pulling teeth every day. After a short while, I'd found ways to successfully "look busy" at times, but it was incredibly painful. One can only do things in slow-motion for so long. Therefore, one morning after I'd been there for about two months, I opened a Word document and just began typing. It is that Word document that I found this week. Here are some of my favorite parts:

"I've been here an hour, and I'm done with my work. I had about twelve feedback emails to enter into the database, and I did that as slowly as I could. I then filed them as slowly as I could. I took a little trip to the bathroom, not to actually go to the bathroom, but to look at my hair. It's getting long, so I wondered how contained it was this morning. And it took up a minute, which is good."

"I'll probably eat my granola bar within the next hour, but then I have to decide when to eat my sandwich. That could take up to fifteen minutes - deciding, that is."

"One of Nina's suitors asked her if there was something going on between me and her. She set him straight and said that I was married. It's very much like high school with some of these people. Then again, maybe most of these people stopped after high school and are still in that mentality. Actually, that's a very good possibility."

"One of the women in a nearby cubicle is talking about her strained relationship with her father. Apparently he was only in her life from the age of nine to thirteen, when his wife at that time was good about sending cards and asking her to visit. She also instilled the love of animals in her. Here's where it gets good: Then they got divorced, and I guess he beat her, and she went downhill and started using heroin, got AIDS and died. But she was a great role model and took her horseback riding and explained how nothing is free in life. Although she was usually drunk. That's a great story. I'm so glad I get to hear this stuff while not working at work."

When all was said and done, I had 4,000 words. (To put that in perspective, these posts are usually between 1,500 and 2,000. This one's 1655.) I ended it by wondering if I should just delete it and chalk it up to a good time-wasting activity or print it out to show my lovely wife exactly how bored I was at work. I opted for the latter, so I hit print, deleted the file from my computer, and ran over to the printer with my belongings in hand so I could just continue out to my car. One problem - there was a paper jam. "Oh shit," I thought. "Once it's un-jammed, mine will come out for whoever's here to read. Do I say my name in it? I think so. Do I say bad things about the people here? Crap, yes, and I talk a whole lot about how I don't do any work. Shit." I went over and tried fixing the paper jam but didn't have any luck. I asked I guy I didn't really know, and he agreed to help me. Fortunately, he was an expert paper un-jammer, and it started whirring and printing something within a minute. "Mine's not printing," I said. He said, "If it comes out later, I'll just put it on your desk." "Do I tell him ahead of time that it's sensitive and to please do me the favor of not reading it? That probably would only cause more of an interest." "It's kind of important," I said awkwardly. He opened up a file on his computer, saw my document in the printer's queue, and deleted it. "So it won't print now?" I asked. "It shouldn't because I just deleted it from the pending print jobs," he said. I sighed a big sigh and thanked him. On my way out the door, I heard the printer start whirring again. "Let's just wait and make sure," I thought to myself. Sure enough, my eyes widened at the first page of my mammoth rambling document. I grabbed the full thing off the printer when it was done and bolted. "Dodged a fucking bullet!" I thought. It took me more than an hour to come down from that near-miss of a disaster.

And with that, let's decelerate our heart rates on over to the Car Watch.

Longtime and loyal reader Sue sent me an email in which she mentioned a convertible Bentley with the plate, "THE BOSS." She was quick to point out that it wasn't Bruce Springsteen driving and "just some man with a big ego." So I guess it could still be George Steinbrenner then. Also in the email, she asked me if I ever see the same plates on a daily basis. While not daily, I see a Honda Fit on the freeway almost once a week with the plate, "FIT4DB." I have to assume that the driver's initials are "D.B." or possibly it's a woman named Deb, but my first thought is always to "Dork Boy," which my favorite brother delighted in calling me for a while when growing up. He's been much nicer for almost two decades now, so I don't start crying or anything when I see that car.

My homey Rockabye sent me a plate recently that I have mixed feelings about: "URWTHUS." Well, technically, anyone seeing that plate is geographically with that car, but I hope the driver knows that our relationship ends there.

Lastly, I was behind a car with this license plate a while ago: "USC TGR." "That's weird," I thought. "They're the Trojans, and the Tigers are from Memphis or LSU. Unless the driver is a real wild animal when it comes to rooting for USC or something." Then I saw on the back window in a smaller font, "USC Tailgater." Really? You're turning that nine-letter word into "TGR" and expect me to know what the hell you're doing? Why not "SC TLG8R" instead (unless it was taken)? If it was taken and there was nothing else to adequately get the message across, then simply pass on that idea. I've said it before and I'll say it again: when it comes to personalized plates, either do it well or don't do it at all. Hey, I should know, you can't spell "personalized plates" without Peter.

That's it for me, everyone. Have a good Labor Day on Monday. My co-worker is going to a party on that day in which everyone is supposed to dress as "a laborer." So far, she knows people who are coming as construction workers, pregnant women, and gold diggers. I suggested going as a member of Britain's Labor party, which got big laughs*. (*Please replace "big laughs" with "blank stares.") Happy 1st birthday on Tuesday to little Noah, whose party this Sunday will surely be memorable...to everyone but him. That's alls I's gots, folks. Be happy and healthy, and I'll see you back here next Friday. In the meantime, you can always write me at ptklein@gmail.com. Peace out.