Mopping, sopping, wet

On Tuesday, or maybe it was Wednesday, I don’t remember actually… anyways… it was raining cats and dogs.
And as I was walking down 42nd street, towards the S-train to take it across town… I saw a man, mopping the sidewalk…
Interesting idea… mopping the sidewalk, that is just going to get more wet… what was he thinking?
Then I began to wonder if he was maybe told to do that by someone else, or if he took it upon himself to do that. I’d love to be a manager one day, and look at the people under me and say… “Go outside in the rain, and mop the sidewalk!”


Fair Verona

On Route 46, at the intersection of Route 3… there’s a traffic sign (or whatever the large green signs that say what roads are intersecting, and towns off the road) that says…

Now, I know it’s not entirely Fair Verona, but I thought it was quite interesting that those two names would show up on the same board.
“My Fairfield Verona”

And I really hope you know why this is interesting…
One hint.
If you don’t get it now… google it!

That’s not what I wanted…

I just looked up “sushi places in Morristown” and a great little “eat sushi” website came up. So I clicked on it, and it took me to a comprehensive list of sushi places in Morristown…
Sounds easy enough right?
Well… I scrolled down the list, and on that list was Dominoes Pizza.
Now, I don’t know about you… but I don’t think I’d be getting my sushi from Dominoes, even if they do sell it…
though I have to admit, when I saw it, I was a bit intrigued and wondered if they did in fact sell sushi at this particular dominoes in Morristown.
So… I being the person I am, called up the number that was given with this particular Dominoes.
A young man answered the phone… and here’s the convo… (I literally typed it as I spoke with him, so this is a copy and paste. LOL

“Hi, Dominoes, is this for delivery or pickup?”
“Hi, I’m not actually placing an order. I was just wondering what kind of sushi you have.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sushi. I found the name of your establishment on a great eat sushi website. They said you had sushi.”
“We have anchovies.”
“Are they in a roll?”
“No, they come in a can, and we put them on the pizza.”
“Oh, can you get a pizza roll?”
“No, we don’t make those, I think that’s a Pizza hut thing.”
“No, i mean, do you have a pizza sushi roll?”
“I don’t think so. Let me ask.”
*** *** *** on hold *** *** ***
“I just spoke with my manager, he said we don’t have sushi pizza, but that if you are interested in making a suggestion, I can give you the address of where to send it to.”
“Oh, I don’t have a suggestion, I just thought you had sushi, because it says it does on this website.”
“On our website?”
“No, on an eat sushi website.”
“I’ve never been on that one. I like facebook better.”
“Ok…” (that comment that he just gave me actually made me speechless for a second)
“Can I interest you in ordering lunch?”
“No, I’m in NYC.”
“Oh, we don’t deliver there.”
“Well I’m sure there’s a dominoes in NYC that does deliver.”
“I don’t know. I can ask my manager.”
“No… that’s ok. Thanks!”
*hang up*

I’m horrible… I really didn’t think Dominoes has sushi (obviously) but it was actually a really funny conversation… and thought you’d get a kick out of it!

I don’t owe you anything.

New desk. New phone number… or at least, to me it is… but throughout the past 2 days I’ve been getting a phone call from some creditor that is getting on my last nerve, and is quite annoyed with me too…
Here’s my conversation with him.

“Hi, is Jane Doe there?” the voice on the other end of the line asked as I picked up the phone.
“No, I’m sorry, you must have the wrong number,” I replied in my ‘client voice’ as my friend puts it.
“No, I don’t, because I’ve spoken with her at this number in the past. Please put her on.”
“No, really, you may have, but I just started last monday and this is my phone number now, and she’s not here.”
“Oh, just put her on, I’m done with this nonsense,” he replied, and sounded quite annoyed.
“Sir, there’s nobody here with that name, my name’s Ash. This may have been her phone number in the past, but now it’s mine. Please mark your records. Thanks.” And I hung up… because I’m at work, and I’m not about to spend time arguing with someone on the other line.

That was yesterday.

Phone rings… it’s the same number, I ignored it… it went to my voicemail, which blatantly says my name in it… here’s what he leaves.
“Oh, so your name is Ashley now? Whatever it is, you still owe us money. Either pay up, or we’ll be sending someone out to collect.” And then he hung up… and yes, I know it’s odd for me to say he hung up… but he hung up with such a force that I actually heard the phone slam together before it cut out.
I’m just hoping he doesn’t think that my full name is someone else, and that I’m pretending to be me…


I went to Duane Reade during my lunch break, while I was waiting for my sushi, and bought some bags of candy. (I have a problem… a sugar/candy problem… I’ll admit that now, and then we’ll move on with the story.)

Anyways. I picked out the different bags of candy that I want at my desk, and then walked up to the register, laden with the different colored bags. The man in front of me was pulling money out of his pocket, and putting it on the counter… and then this happened.

“Excuse me sir, does this look like Canada to you?” The lady at the cash register said. She sat back on her heels, giving him a sassy face as she crossed her arms across her chest.
“Eh?” He answered, and I snorted. It was so stereotypical that I wasn’t expecting it. Especially not in a Duane Reade on the east side of Manhattan.
“Oh, so you are Canadian,” the lady responded. And I swear, she mentally gave him the three snap across her body with a little shake of the head that said ‘oh no you din’nt’
“Are you being racist?” Said the very very very white Canadian man to the horribly stereotypical black woman.
“Me? You’re calling me a racist?”
“Well, it seems to me that you’re not serving me because of my nationality,” he responded.

Meanwhile. I’m standing in line, and while it was kind of a funny thing happening in front of me, I had no idea how the hell she even knew he was Canadian… back to the story…

“Sir, I simply asked you if this looked like Canada,” she said with a huff. The man then looked around, then looked out the door towards the street and shrugged.
“I think this could pass for any of the cities in Canada,” he responded. “But I’m still not sure why you’re being so discriminatory.”

To which the lady pointed at the coins that he had put down to pay for whatever it was that he bought…
“We don’t accept Canadian money,” she said.

Why couldn’t she have just started with that? It would have saved us all a lot of time…
Still… I can’t help but giggle over the fact that when the man finally pulled out a credit card and paid, and walked out… and then I walked up, she looked me up and down and said… “You’re not with him are you?” I shook my head, and put down my bags of candy… I really really really really wished I had a couple of Canadian coins at that moment to plunk down and see if I could get her going again.