Special rules for special people.

I said I was going to update yesterday, and I didn't, and I'm glad I didn't. I like writing these entries but I find the writing improves the longer I'm detached from a situation. If I were to have hopped right in yesterday, when I said I would, this would have just been a page-long incoherent rant. I know I still slip up from time to time and post those but I do try to avoid it. I would much rather wait a few days, cool down, and then reflect on what happened in order to tell an interesting story than just list the things at my office that piss me off and then glibly pop out a "people are stupid, hyuck hyuck hyuck."

So just for the record, I don't believe people are stupid nor do I hate my job. I believe people are selectively inattentive, and usually stubborn, and the combonation of those things often gives the appearance of stupid... but to someone who is being selectively inattentive and stubborn himself.

Which is not to say, of course, that some people aren't stupid, or that I don't deal with some stupid people here at the pee clinic... but those stories aren't as interesting as you might expect, which is why I don't write about them (often).

Anyway, enough about that. Let's talk about the special privelages one of my largest clients enjoy.

First, they get a huge break on their bill at the end of the month. The exact specifics of the deal I don't know (nor would I mention here if I did), but suffice it to say they pay less per drug test than most of my other clients.

Second, they send me a list monthly with all the people they're sending down to be tested, a courtesy I'm sure we would not extend to most clients. It simplifies things for them because they can easily identify who came down to my office and when.

Third, they get one day a week all to themselves. I come into the office and open a half-hour early, during which time I do collections only for this one client. All they have to do is get their guys here.

Fourth, I keep a sign-in sheet specifically for this company which I would fax to them at 9am each morning I opened early. That is, on the specific days the company does its random drug testing.

In theory, it looks like a very good deal for these guys. We're essentially bending over backwards for them. Problem is, they don't take advantage of what they've been given.

The lists of names? Always late. The early mornings Nobody shows up. And since nobody shows up, all I can fax them is an empty sign-in sheet, which is meaningless. What actually occurs is this: one person from the company will show up before 8am, when I am opened specially for his company. A few more people will trickle in throughout the day, often on my lunch break. Most of them show up the following day.

Really what this boils down to is: I am sick of getting up early for nothing. I'm sure everyone in America can sympathize.

The past few weeks I haven't bothered keeping a separate sign-in sheet because by the 9am deadline, the thing would only have one name on it. I received a phone call yesterday asking why this was, and I explained to the guy on the other end that the whole "separate sign-in sheet" only works if they actually manage to get their employees down here at the time they promised. I also told him that only one person was showing up during my early half-hour, and could we please try to fix that situation?

I didn't bring up the fact that it's now the end of June and I still don't have July's list.

Of course I'm not in any position to make demands of this guy or his company. The agreement reached was that I will continue coming in at 7:30 on the days he picks, and continue faxing him a sign-in sheet even if it is empty. A company as big as his (and please note that it is not "his company" so much at is "a company he works for, and is in charge of the department which handles drug testing") obviously the impression that things are running efficiently is more important than things actually runnin efficiently.

Oh well.

Hmm... that came out a little ranty anyway. I'll try to work on that.

The story I had planned to tell today was about Mexicans not having translators. But I've already told enough of those, haven't I?

...why?

It's about 5:03 p.m. I'm in the back room stacking boxes of collection kits, waiting for my girlfriend to show up and give me a ride home. I hear the doorknob jiggle. Then it jiggles a little louder. Then a loud knocking. Then the sound of a foot hitting the door.

I go out to investigate.

"Hey, let's try not to break the door, okay?"

"My bad, but it wasn't openin'."

"It was locked. It's after five."

"What, you all closed?"

"Yes."

"Why are you closed?"

"What do you mean why am I closed? It's after five. I'm closed."

"I'm here for a drug test."

"I can see that, but I'm closed. I'll be open tomorrow at eight."

"Why I can't get one now?"

"Because I'm closed. It's after five. You'll have to come back tomorrow."

"Man, ain't that some [explitive deleted]."

I'm trying to envision a door somewhere, perhaps leading into a restaurant or a bank or some other business, that only opens after you kick it. I can't imagine for the life of me what this man was thinking. Maybe the door is just really, really stuck!

This isnt the real story about what happened this week at the pee clinic... but I'm in a really foul mood and felt it was better to use this crappy story to vent, rather than ruin a good one with a bunch of ranty nonsense. See you tomorrow.

How do you use a semicolon?

Early in the morning is the preferred time of day to get drug tests for cantankerous old hags. I don't know why that is; probably because they need to hurry up and get home in time for their 10am supper.

...okay, that was hateful and unfair to (most) old hags. There are some very nice old hags out there. Mrs. Grammar wasn't one of them, though.

Her collection was more or less unpleasant right from the get-go because she refused to hand me her ID. It was tucked into a transparent sleeve in her pocketbook, which is a right convenient place for it I admit. However, it's difficult to get your license in and out of these things sometimes, as was the case here. For my part, I don't accept an ID I can't actually hold and examine. It's relatively easy to pass a fake if it's behind a quarter inch of plastic and nobody gets a chance to look at it. I've seen some really bad fakes, and a few really good ones, from my short stint working in a gas station a few years ago, so I learned a few tricks to examine and ID rather than just glance at it in passing.

Mrs. Grammar didn't like being asked, a second time, to please remove her ID. And she told me so. She mentioned that she "didn't appreciate being lumped in with drug dealers". I gave her a sympathetic nod and said that everyone has to follow the same rules, I'm only doing my job, etc... this line of bullhonkey usually serves to shut down all but the particularly irate complainers.

(Right here I had typed out a little mini-rant about the young black man with the saggy pants who left his sample before Mrs. Grammar did, and about how her "lumped in" comment probably referred directly to him... but that's a baseless accusation and anyway takes me too far off topic.)

Mrs. Grammar is on a roll now. She lists all the reasons that the whole drug testing process is demeaning and how she won't stand for it. I say nothing. I wait patiently for her to get tired of listening to herself, then give her the instructions and hand her the cup.

"This is ridiculous," she declares as she sets the cup of urine on the counter, "you're young enough to be my great-grandson." I do a few quick calculations as I'm finishing up my paperwork. "I very much doubt that," I reply, and the matter drops. Mrs. Grammar was born in 1937 and I'm 23 years old. Feel free to do the math yourself.)

After this Mrs. Grammar tries to leave... except she hasn't signed the form yet. I call after her, "Ma'am you aren't done." I'm ignored, so I call louder, "Ma'am, you aren't done. I need you to come back please."

"I'm not finished," Mrs. Grammar shoots back. "The word is finished. Done refers only to cakes."

She comes back to sign the form. As she's doing so, I correct her error: "Done can refer to anything that has terminated or completed, including an action. You say a cake is done because the baking process is over. I say you are done when your drug test collection is over."

I should probably point out that when someone corrects my grammar in a way that is not intended to actually point out a flaw in my wording, but rather to insult or degrade me, I take it as a personal attack. I am highly proficient with the English language. Furthermore I have a great deal of respect for it. I know that sounds nerdy, but hey, I'm a nerd. English fascinates me. Like anyone else I make spelling errors and typos from time to time, and mix up this or that word... but that is not indicative of my lack of knowledge on the subject of English, just that I'm human and make mistakes.

I also understand that there are many, many different dialects of English. Unlike some "grammar nazis" I know, I don't mind technically improper English. Ebonics and Spanglish do not faze me; in fact I find them interesting to listen to. I don't split hairs over the correct spelling of the word "colour" like some British fanatics. The fact that English as a language has evolved over so much time, in so many different directions, excites me. I love learning more and more about the language, while most of my fellow Americans are glad to be done with it after high school.

That's done with, not finished with. As you can see, I know what the goddamn word means.

Mrs. Grammar tries to argue with me, until I offer to look the word up in the dictionary. She says she knows English and doesn't need a dictionary. So I pull out the trick that always, always works in these situations.

"How do you use a semicolon?"

Anytime someone is trying to play grammar rodeo with you, this knocks them off their bucking bronco. Every time. Without fail.

I love the semicolon. It is my favorite punctuation mark. Yes, I realize that it's completely weird and probably a little pathetic that I have a favorite punctuation mark; but I do, and it's the semicolon. I use it as often as possible; partially because I know how to correctly use it and I like to lord that fact over people who don't (as it makes me feel smart), but also because once you're proficient with it, it's just too damn useful to ignore.

(Right here I had typed out the rules for proper semicolon usage, but then decided that if you want to be able to use my little anti-grammar-nazi trick, you should do your own homework. Wikipedia awaits!)

Mrs. Grammar doesn't know how to use a semicolon. I'd have bet twenty bucks she didn't have the first clue what a semicolon was. "Just like a colon," was all she said. I handed her her copies of the paperwork and said, "You're done now. Have a nice day."

I have some bad habits when it comes to English, especially writing. I tend to overuse (and even misuse) ellipses. I break up my thoughts far too often with parantheses (or have you noticed that?). I've even been known to unintentionally fall into the there/they're/their trap, from time to time.

In fact, I'm not even going to spell check this post -- not because I'm confident there aren't any typos, but because I never spellcheck any of my posts. It's just a bad habit I have. I'm not saying to myself, "Gee, the subject of this post is English and grammar... I should spell check it to make sure there aren't any dumb errors." I'm human like anyone else. There will be errors in this post and probably many more to come.

But I know how to use a semicolon. And that's what's important.

2006 - 1937 = 69. That's her age. 69 - 23 (my age) = 46. That's her age when her make-believe great-grandson was born. 46 / 3 (the number of complete generations from her birth to her great-grandson's birth) = 15.3. That's the average age women in this bloodline are when they give birth. 23 - 15 = 8. That's the age of Mrs. Grammar's great-great grandson, and he'll be expecting his kid in seven years. I'd say this family has more to worry about than grammar.