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Dear Funeral Home Employees,
For the record, the obituary you called about at 9 a.m. was here. It was here again when you called at 9:36. It was once more here when you called at 10:13. Oddly enough, it was here once again when you called at 10:17. Bizzaros of bizzaros, it's been here every once of the approximately 42 times you've called me in the last five hours. However, if you do not check off on your checklist that it IS, in fact, here, the next time you call, it might spontaneously vanish right before deadline. Got it?
Craptastically yours,
Mysty
Dear Coworkers,
I love you all...except maybe you, TB. But if you don't start answering your own damn phones, I am going to start wrecking your stories. I will tell the woman calling to be interviewed about her 90-acre herb garden that you were eaten by rabbits. I will tell the gentleman trying to send you a copy of his new book that you have renounced reading as being "unclean," without attempting to explain how this still allows you employment at the newspaper. And I'm giving serious thought to telling that lovely woman who bakes the fresh bread that you privately refer to her as Hippo Hips. Seriously, I know you're all insanely busy right now, but guess what, I'm insanely busy too. The fact that you can't be bothered to answer that caterwauling device with the shiny buttons and handset is no longer my problem. Answer the phone or face the consequences.
Bite my shiny metal ass,
Mysty
Dear Whiny Ass Mother,
I'm terribly sorry that your son's scholarship doesn't warrant front-page news. I'm even more sorry that your hair dye is approximately the same shade as my cat's hairballs after he eats his catnip toy. Please accept this quarter and an invitation to call someone who cares.
Very, very sincerely,
Mysty
Dear Vindictive Former Employee,
Thank you for a bright spot in my day. Meeting someone else with such a zeal for ending certain humans really helps.
Lovingly,
Mysty
Dear Letter To The Editor Writers,
You do realize that you included your home addresses with your letters, right?
Menacingly,
Mysty
Dear Blushing Bridezilla,
The deadline is 5 p.m. on Monday. It is 2:13 on Tuesday. No, your announcement will not be in this Sunday's paper. Screaming at me will not change that. In fact, it might encourage your announcement to spontaneously vanish. Along with that photo that you paid $25 for, spent $300 on for hair and make-up, and lost wages in order to pose for. If you would rather speak to the other clerk, J, when she is in on Thursday, allow me to grant you her extension. I promise you, however, she will be even less swayed than me. If you ask me nice, I may do you a favor. She never will.
Irritatingly,
Mysty
P.S. You overpaid.
Dear Moral Moan-jority,
Yes, I'm quite sure we'll have something about Jerry Falwell's death in the paper tomorrow, even though we are a "completely left-wing and soulless" paper. However, if one more of you threatens me with God's holy fires of retribution, I can't promise we won't put a picture of him first-basing it with a Tinkie-Winkie doll.
Photoshoppingly,
Mysty
Dear Downstairs Coworker,
Get away from me before I cease your being.
Murderously,
Mysty
Dear Funeral Home Employees,
I'm sorry, that obit isn't here. And so sad on the deadline, too.
Promisingly,
Mysty
For the record, the obituary you called about at 9 a.m. was here. It was here again when you called at 9:36. It was once more here when you called at 10:13. Oddly enough, it was here once again when you called at 10:17. Bizzaros of bizzaros, it's been here every once of the approximately 42 times you've called me in the last five hours. However, if you do not check off on your checklist that it IS, in fact, here, the next time you call, it might spontaneously vanish right before deadline. Got it?
Craptastically yours,
Mysty
Dear Coworkers,
I love you all...except maybe you, TB. But if you don't start answering your own damn phones, I am going to start wrecking your stories. I will tell the woman calling to be interviewed about her 90-acre herb garden that you were eaten by rabbits. I will tell the gentleman trying to send you a copy of his new book that you have renounced reading as being "unclean," without attempting to explain how this still allows you employment at the newspaper. And I'm giving serious thought to telling that lovely woman who bakes the fresh bread that you privately refer to her as Hippo Hips. Seriously, I know you're all insanely busy right now, but guess what, I'm insanely busy too. The fact that you can't be bothered to answer that caterwauling device with the shiny buttons and handset is no longer my problem. Answer the phone or face the consequences.
Bite my shiny metal ass,
Mysty
Dear Whiny Ass Mother,
I'm terribly sorry that your son's scholarship doesn't warrant front-page news. I'm even more sorry that your hair dye is approximately the same shade as my cat's hairballs after he eats his catnip toy. Please accept this quarter and an invitation to call someone who cares.
Very, very sincerely,
Mysty
Dear Vindictive Former Employee,
Thank you for a bright spot in my day. Meeting someone else with such a zeal for ending certain humans really helps.
Lovingly,
Mysty
Dear Letter To The Editor Writers,
You do realize that you included your home addresses with your letters, right?
Menacingly,
Mysty
Dear Blushing Bridezilla,
The deadline is 5 p.m. on Monday. It is 2:13 on Tuesday. No, your announcement will not be in this Sunday's paper. Screaming at me will not change that. In fact, it might encourage your announcement to spontaneously vanish. Along with that photo that you paid $25 for, spent $300 on for hair and make-up, and lost wages in order to pose for. If you would rather speak to the other clerk, J, when she is in on Thursday, allow me to grant you her extension. I promise you, however, she will be even less swayed than me. If you ask me nice, I may do you a favor. She never will.
Irritatingly,
Mysty
P.S. You overpaid.
Dear Moral Moan-jority,
Yes, I'm quite sure we'll have something about Jerry Falwell's death in the paper tomorrow, even though we are a "completely left-wing and soulless" paper. However, if one more of you threatens me with God's holy fires of retribution, I can't promise we won't put a picture of him first-basing it with a Tinkie-Winkie doll.
Photoshoppingly,
Mysty
Dear Downstairs Coworker,
Get away from me before I cease your being.
Murderously,
Mysty
Dear Funeral Home Employees,
I'm sorry, that obit isn't here. And so sad on the deadline, too.
Promisingly,
Mysty
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