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Since this funeral home was paying for an obit, they were more of a customer than a coworker this time.
Anyway, I'm doing paid obituaries, as I always do on the weekend. SOP is that I get the obit, write it out, fax them a proof, and either A) they fax me back an OK for it to be run, or B) they fax me back corrections, I do them, fax it back, and the cycle continues until eventually, we get option A.
We have two faxes. One downstairs where the paid obits go during the week, and one upstairs where I get the free obits and paid ones on the weekend (since the department that usually does them during the week isn't in on the weekend). Once in a great while, I still have to go downstairs and pick up obits because some folks just send them down there, despite my many, many violent attempts at behavioral correction. (I'm debating sending out a fax to all my regulars saying that faxes to the downstairs fax on the weekend will be IGNORED without express permission...we'll see...)
Anyway, this particular funeral home is one of our semi-regulars...we get something from them about two or three times a week. Frees and paids. They know how to use both faxes.
So, anyway, I get a paid obit downstairs from these people. No prob, I write it up, and, to save everyone some effort, write on it "No one downstairs to receive obits, please fax back to Mysty at *upstairs number.* "
IT SPECIFICALLY HAS THE PHONE NUMBER ON OUR PAPER, EVEN THOUGH THIS FUNERAL HOME HAS USED OUR UPSTAIRS FAX NUMBER MANY MANY MANY TIMES IN THE PAST.
In case the Scream-O-Vision wasn't clear, they do in fact have the upstairs fax and I did in fact expect them to use it because it's a little difficult having to race down to the other fax and race back up while being the only person in the ENTIRE NEWSPAPER to answer phone calls for EVERYTHING, since it is pure skeleton crew on the weekends and from noon to 3:30, I'm pretty much it.
This was about two hours ago. I don't care how big an obit is, it doesn't take two hours to check one for errors. I call the funeral home and ask if they ever received it. Keep in mind, *Guy* has been doing this at least as long as I have.
Me: "Hey, *Guy*, have you gotten the obit for *Joe Blow* yet?"
Guy: "Yeah, I already faxed back the proof for you."
Me: "I haven't gotten it, Guy."
Guy: "But I sent it!"
Me: Oh, well, hey, then, obviously you're right, I must be holding it in my ASS. "I don't have it yet, Guy..."
Guy: "I sent it to *downstairs number*."
Me: ... "Why did you send it down there when I asked you to send it up here?"
Guy: "That's the only number we have!"
FAIL
(In case that wasn't bad enough, it wasn't even down there, either. I had to harrass him about four more times before he finally remembered how to use his eyes and hands at the same and send a freaking fax.)
BONUS RANT
I understand you are an old lady. I understand that you are, in fact, so old that every time I see you, I am positive it will be the last because you surely cannot possibly have another beat left in your heart. I also understand that because you were a waitress at the Last Supper, technology must be a fearsome thing since you were born before LIGHT existed, let alone things like the Internet, scanners, and BRONZE.
However, you are also the owner of a 21st century BUSINESS. You own a FUNERAL HOME, and as much as that irony amuses me, seeing as how you resemble a poorly animated corpse, it also infuriates me that, as a business owner in the 21st century, you barely own a phone, let alone a computer, a fax machine, or indoor plumbing. No, I am NOT kidding. I talk to your "son" (who is in fact, my age, and therefore far more properly referred to as your DESCENDANT), you know. The fact that he knows where every public restroom in the downtown area is, is RATHER TELLING.
As much as I do respect your apparent urge to keep your funeral home quaint and old-fashioned, I have to say that you are greatly handicapping yourself by not having even a 486 around to type up obituaries with, instead having to handwrite them on yellowed and oddly scented paper—excuse me, the proper term is probably PAPYRUS—in your shaky, barely legible ancient old lady handwriting.
In case that's not enough, you then force your "son" to drive you over here so that you can limp up the stairs at the blistering rate of FIVE FEET AN HOUR while I have to sit here and smile vacantly at you so as to not be RUDE because you are an OLD LADY and my boss will hit me with her hole punch if I am.
Of course, being as this is the weekend and the office is CLOSED, this will not WORK, and you are informing me now that this is UNACCEPTABLE because you do not have any of Satan's modern machinery in your office and CANNOT send me even a freaking e-mail of your obituary and I MUST come downstairs and open the locked back door JUST FOR YOU. Ignoring how absolutely infuriating that demand is, let me point out to you that the main reason I can not is because it is almost certain that one day, someone will call one of us downstairs and will KILL US ON THE BACK STEP. In case you didn't notice, we are in the historic METH LAB district of town and shit HAPPENS. Hence, we are not ALLOWED. Oh, sure, I'M perfectly content to go down because if some fuck wants to try his luck, he can feel free, but I'm not setting that example for ANY of you because then you will ALL expect everyone ELSE to do it for you because "Mysty does it for Old Lady!" and I am NOT having that blood on MY hands.
So all in all, Miss Universe 1862, I will NOT come down to get this, and you WILL shuffle your decrepit old ass to Staples and scan it and fax it from there, and no, I do NOT care that it is all the way across town and will cost you GAS. And if you do NOT go to Staples, you will wait until tomorrow when the office is open and you will bring it then.
GET A COMPUTER. I have a COMMODORE in storage for you.
/end bonus rant
Anyway, I'm doing paid obituaries, as I always do on the weekend. SOP is that I get the obit, write it out, fax them a proof, and either A) they fax me back an OK for it to be run, or B) they fax me back corrections, I do them, fax it back, and the cycle continues until eventually, we get option A.
We have two faxes. One downstairs where the paid obits go during the week, and one upstairs where I get the free obits and paid ones on the weekend (since the department that usually does them during the week isn't in on the weekend). Once in a great while, I still have to go downstairs and pick up obits because some folks just send them down there, despite my many, many violent attempts at behavioral correction. (I'm debating sending out a fax to all my regulars saying that faxes to the downstairs fax on the weekend will be IGNORED without express permission...we'll see...)
Anyway, this particular funeral home is one of our semi-regulars...we get something from them about two or three times a week. Frees and paids. They know how to use both faxes.
So, anyway, I get a paid obit downstairs from these people. No prob, I write it up, and, to save everyone some effort, write on it "No one downstairs to receive obits, please fax back to Mysty at *upstairs number.* "
IT SPECIFICALLY HAS THE PHONE NUMBER ON OUR PAPER, EVEN THOUGH THIS FUNERAL HOME HAS USED OUR UPSTAIRS FAX NUMBER MANY MANY MANY TIMES IN THE PAST.
In case the Scream-O-Vision wasn't clear, they do in fact have the upstairs fax and I did in fact expect them to use it because it's a little difficult having to race down to the other fax and race back up while being the only person in the ENTIRE NEWSPAPER to answer phone calls for EVERYTHING, since it is pure skeleton crew on the weekends and from noon to 3:30, I'm pretty much it.
This was about two hours ago. I don't care how big an obit is, it doesn't take two hours to check one for errors. I call the funeral home and ask if they ever received it. Keep in mind, *Guy* has been doing this at least as long as I have.
Me: "Hey, *Guy*, have you gotten the obit for *Joe Blow* yet?"
Guy: "Yeah, I already faxed back the proof for you."
Me: "I haven't gotten it, Guy."
Guy: "But I sent it!"
Me: Oh, well, hey, then, obviously you're right, I must be holding it in my ASS. "I don't have it yet, Guy..."
Guy: "I sent it to *downstairs number*."
Me: ... "Why did you send it down there when I asked you to send it up here?"
Guy: "That's the only number we have!"
FAIL
(In case that wasn't bad enough, it wasn't even down there, either. I had to harrass him about four more times before he finally remembered how to use his eyes and hands at the same and send a freaking fax.)
BONUS RANT
I understand you are an old lady. I understand that you are, in fact, so old that every time I see you, I am positive it will be the last because you surely cannot possibly have another beat left in your heart. I also understand that because you were a waitress at the Last Supper, technology must be a fearsome thing since you were born before LIGHT existed, let alone things like the Internet, scanners, and BRONZE.
However, you are also the owner of a 21st century BUSINESS. You own a FUNERAL HOME, and as much as that irony amuses me, seeing as how you resemble a poorly animated corpse, it also infuriates me that, as a business owner in the 21st century, you barely own a phone, let alone a computer, a fax machine, or indoor plumbing. No, I am NOT kidding. I talk to your "son" (who is in fact, my age, and therefore far more properly referred to as your DESCENDANT), you know. The fact that he knows where every public restroom in the downtown area is, is RATHER TELLING.
As much as I do respect your apparent urge to keep your funeral home quaint and old-fashioned, I have to say that you are greatly handicapping yourself by not having even a 486 around to type up obituaries with, instead having to handwrite them on yellowed and oddly scented paper—excuse me, the proper term is probably PAPYRUS—in your shaky, barely legible ancient old lady handwriting.
In case that's not enough, you then force your "son" to drive you over here so that you can limp up the stairs at the blistering rate of FIVE FEET AN HOUR while I have to sit here and smile vacantly at you so as to not be RUDE because you are an OLD LADY and my boss will hit me with her hole punch if I am.
Of course, being as this is the weekend and the office is CLOSED, this will not WORK, and you are informing me now that this is UNACCEPTABLE because you do not have any of Satan's modern machinery in your office and CANNOT send me even a freaking e-mail of your obituary and I MUST come downstairs and open the locked back door JUST FOR YOU. Ignoring how absolutely infuriating that demand is, let me point out to you that the main reason I can not is because it is almost certain that one day, someone will call one of us downstairs and will KILL US ON THE BACK STEP. In case you didn't notice, we are in the historic METH LAB district of town and shit HAPPENS. Hence, we are not ALLOWED. Oh, sure, I'M perfectly content to go down because if some fuck wants to try his luck, he can feel free, but I'm not setting that example for ANY of you because then you will ALL expect everyone ELSE to do it for you because "Mysty does it for Old Lady!" and I am NOT having that blood on MY hands.
So all in all, Miss Universe 1862, I will NOT come down to get this, and you WILL shuffle your decrepit old ass to Staples and scan it and fax it from there, and no, I do NOT care that it is all the way across town and will cost you GAS. And if you do NOT go to Staples, you will wait until tomorrow when the office is open and you will bring it then.
GET A COMPUTER. I have a COMMODORE in storage for you.
/end bonus rant
Three Rule 1 violations just in the bonus rant. That has to be some kind of record, doesn't it?
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