Saturday, September 24, 2005

Things You Learn From Your Co-Workers - Volume 1

I got home from work Friday in a pretty good mood to begin with, it was one of the amazingly up cycles of my bi-polar nature, so everyone at work had been commenting on how they loved “this Jeremy” that was walking around like a crack addict who had just gotten his fix. I was approaching everyone and holding out my bag saying “Cheeto?”, and anyone who didn’t take one was subject to “the routine” of me walking around behind them reading off the ingredients, “You see it does have Phenylanine in it, a known carcinogenic … that means they are extra yummy!”, followed by comments of “Look every 21 of these has 6% of a full days supply of vitamin E!” … upon a weird look or two, “Where else are you going to get Vitamin E, are you having eggplant for dinner? Elephant?” and the day would get loonier as I go. I suppose that it comes with the territory, I often get pretty honest with the Bosnians I work with, when they comment, “Sorry to break it to you, but there is no “this Jeremy” without that “other Jeremy”, it’s the nature of the beast.”

Most of the people that work at Pink Mafia headquarters are either Bosnian, or they are Latin American. The English speaking people are far outnumbered by the Spanish speaking people, and the Servo- Croatians, are starting to get there. It’s very hard work, and the average American, isn’t willing to do it after all. The Anglos come in and quit, the Latinos & Bosnians come in and stay … I am fine with that. I even learned almost completely how to speak Spanish, and the Servo-Croatian is coming along nicely. The Bosnians though in particular (all 9 of them) have particularly taken an interest in me, as I am very happy to learn their words. “Why not” I say, they learn mine, and I do know the difference, they live here and all, but the absolute joy in their faces when I learn to say words like “Falla” {thank you} and “Itsvini” {excuse me} or the fact that I greet them every morning with “dobro jutro” {good morning} is like seeing the smiles on my own children sometimes. They are spelled exactly how they sound by the way.

Speaking of children I had to come home, and immediately don the cape of Superdaddyman, as I had a call from my youngest daughters teacher waiting for me on the machine. It appears that she is spitting on other kids, forcibly taking things from them, and she punched one boy so hard in the nose that it bled for an hour. Despite the encouragement of {new code name} “The Yummy Mummy”, to not kill her, I had to deal with this swiftly. I will not have any bullies in my house. “What happened to the sweet little girl who used to be Imtoocutus,” I said to myself as I was plotting everything that it would take to make her the right level of miserable. I figured out what happened, she turned into a girl, right before my very eyes, and I am NOT to be trifled with. I went through this before, everyone note that she has a 13 year old sister for God’s sake.

Off the bus she came, in the house she went, onto the couch she sat, and I started pacing. It is after all one of the things that Superdaddyman does during his interrogation practices. I could see the fear in the eyes of Imtoocutus, she knew she was in for it now, I made the first statement that came to my mind {an age old Fink family technique that my father taught him, and was then handed down to me} … “What do you have to say for yourself Mister … oops I mean Missy” noting that the shake up was based on not actually having to talk to anything that wasn’t a spastic boy getting off the bus in a long time. She is cunning though, she went strait to the most dreaded weapon in the Imtoocutus arsenal … she started bawling her little eyes out.

“They are all mean to me … I told them to stop … the teacher is supposed to protect me … I’m just a yiddle girl … I don’t want to go to school” and it was that incredibly high pitched scream that is kinda like a whisper … yeah that one that just rips your miserable heart out and drops it on the floor in front of you. “You’re my daddy … how can you let the boys punch me … I hate boys …” oh the agony of it all, as I grabbed her, and tried to calm her down, … what was this all about again .. Oh yeah …

“Listen baby-girl, you can’t just punch and spit on other kids at school …” and I was drowned out by yet another octave higher, the dog was starting to stir, and Greektradgedius Inyiddish was coming .. Oh God no … Superdaddyman can not face both of them at the same time. I am so totally screwed, this was not in the parenting manual that they gave me at the hospital the day she was born. For the amount of money that whole ordeal cost me it should have damnit!

I think I did ok, she promises that she will not hit anyone unless she was hit first, and I only had to buy her Burger King {I made her wait till she was done eating it all before she got the toy, I showed her … humph!}, to get all of the screaming and wailing to stop. I was pretty happy to get off so cheap, I thought I was going to have to give her the keys to the Focus, for a while there, and as usual I imagine that you are wondering how this all ties together? Look up the word’s “jebeti”, “supak”, and “seljak” sometime … they come in handy, when you don’t want to corrupt your kids any worse than you already have. Je Te Volim Misliti To ;8o)