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My first dog, when I was a little kid, was a German shepherd named Smokey. This is not what he looked like:

Photo found at Shorpy: January 19, 1923. “Dog Smoking.” National Photo Company.

Just when you think you can’t get any more exasperated at workplace oversensitivity, you get exasperateder.

LOWE’S REP: Sir, we have your freezer in for delivery. We’ll bring it over tomorrow between 11am and 3pm.

GIL: You realize you’re calling me at 8pm to tell me that you’ll be at my home sometime in the middle of the next workday, right? Do people who buy freezers from you typically not have jobs?

So I’m working at home today, but didn’t bring any files back with me. Sigh.

[GIL walks down sidewalk in Morristown, NJ, on the way to lunch with client. HAGGARD OLD GUY waves to get his attention]

HAGGARD OLD GUY: Excuse me, son: do you know how to get to the county jail from here?

GIL: Sorry, sir. I’m not from around here. Can’t help you.

GIL [10 seconds later, muttering to himself]: I mean, “There’s a convenience store around the corner! If you hold ’em up, you’re sure to get to the county jail!” Goddammit!

A few weeks ago, I rambled on ad nauseam about discovering my big ol’ box of correspondence. I mentioned one letter that filled me with sadness because the writer died a few years later, lost at sea:

Sometimes we lose the memory, and sometimes the memory loses us. The letter that saddened me the most was a handmade card from another girl at college, mailed a few months after I graduated. It’s filled with reminiscences, travel plans, charity work, the day-to-day — “Other than my little crusade to save the world, I’m still working at the same cafe/bookstore that I did last summer. . .” — all written in a jaunty, lively hand and decorated with a painting (I’ll post the picture later).

I try to live up to my promises, so here’s the front of the card:

But I’m not here to depress the heck out of you, so I also offer up the following images of the single most mangled piece of mail ever to arrive at its destination (address smudged out in Photoshop). It was a mailer for a college alumni event. I think:

I’m disappointed Clear Passage isn’t FDA-regulated, only because I’d love to see the Adverse Event Reporting for this side effect.

Gary Gygax, co-developer of Dungeons & Dragons, has died at the age of 69. I spent a lot of time playing D&D as a kid/teenager (along with Car Wars and Villains & Vigilantes); I bet a lot of my readers did, too. I haven’t played in 20 years, but the news of his death just deflated me.

Somehow, when we were all coming up with responses for my Exit, Ghost post, we managed to omit GG from the pantheon. (I’m looking at you, Scharf.)

More here.

Ben Chapman, who played The Creature from the Black Lagoon, died last week at the age of 79. Condolences go out to Mrs. Creature.

(Courtesy of Universal Pictures, via Photofest) 

Hey, world, thanks for letting me know that you’re not supposed to throw a chenille blanket in a washing machine. Jerks.

Let’s say you’re in sales.

Let’s say you and a coworker take out a client for lunch.

Let’s say you start drinking.

Let’s say you keep drinking.

A lot.

Let’s say that you and your coworker realize that it’s 4:30.

Do you:

1. immediately enter a treatment program, as you’ve become the butt of a million drunk-jokes in an office renowned for its drinkers,
2. have another beer and wait till 5:15 or 5:30 before slinking back to the office to get your things, so you can just start tomorrow fresh, or
3. race to the office so as to get back before 5, drunkenly stumble down the hall to your desk, giggling with your coworker and stinking of booze?

I’m pleased to report that fat, drunk and stupid is too a way to go through life, Dean Wormer!

(2/29 Update! It gets better! It turns out there was no client involved! Just a couple of salespeople out at an 18-martini lunch!) 

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