Category Archives: The Funny SIde

Timetables and Turntables

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I get to the train platform on time for my usual train. An older woman, and not – I am 61 for reference, is loudly kvetching to all who will listen how the time arrival board has stated a train will approach in 1 minute for over 5 of them. After listening to her for a minute, and realizing this will not end anytime soon, I blatantly pull out my iPod in her face to tune her out – literally. It’s me grooving with some Brothers Johnson.

🎵Feel sunshine sparkle pink and blue playgrounds will laugh if you try to ask
“Is it cool?” (is it cool) 🎶

And yet I can still hear her whinging even as a train finally approaches the station.

As a several decades commuter of NYC transit I do not say a word for I drink and I know things. <– If you get that, you GoT that.

  • The train approaching the station is going to be packed, so I step back and wait for the train after this that I know will imminently follow.
  • That next train will be relatively empty because everyone will have crowded this coming train in the delay..
  • There will always be another train.

    🎵I get knocked down but I get up again you’re never gonna keep me down 🎶

  • Bitching and kvetching only upsets the complainant more. And above all…
  • Neither of which will make a train arrive any faster,  so I chill.

Clearly these are not things some have learned. Or perhaps they enjoy the sound of their own whinge.

IDK and IDGAF as now it’s 🎵Me-ee an-and Mrs. Mrs. Jones... 🎶

Ms. Kvetching brushes past me to take the spot I vacated on the platform to be at the door and presumably push her way into the train. Lo and behold, instead of her boarding said train, everyone on the train push past her to disembark. The train is going out of service.

But dear me oh my! *clutches cyber pearls* The wailing and gnashing of teeth that commenced from her and other commuters!

It worsens when it’s announced over the PA system that no trains will be making stops on the local downtown side until the train that went out of service has cleared the track.

Passengers are advised to take the next uptown train, about seven minutes away by the time board, to the express stop one station away for access to the downtown express that will bypass the station. Several follow that sage advice, including Ms. Kvetching. Another woman then starts outright bitching – really, there’s no other word for it. She is bitching so loud on her phone that those like me who chose to stay on the downtown side can hear her clearly. I mean she is bitching so loud I can hear her from my side of the tracks over my Metallica which universe now plays on my iPod to amuse me.

🎵 Black heart scarring darker still, yes she’ll be there when I’m gone, Yes, she’ll be there when I’m gone, Dead sure she’ll be there…🎶

Two local trains pass on the express track to the chagrin of most on both sides of the track as complaints rise in volume. It does not help that an advert for positions available for hire in the MTA is announced. I have the giggles, but seem to be the only person finding the humor in this. And the humor deities, Thalia and Gelos strike again

🎵 I’m the kind of guy who laughs at a funeral, can’t understand what I mean? Well, you soon will…🎶

There is an unofficial stare down between the many who have now moved to the uptown side of the track and the few of us who have stubbornly?/knowingly?/hopefully? held our ground on the downtown side. Oddly enough it reminded me of the smug look some Mac users have when pulling out their sleek machines among us run of the mill die-hard brick carrying PC users.

A gentlemen seeing that I carry a bulky package I need to drop off to FedEx when I get to work offers assistance if I wish to go to the dark – erm I mean – the uptown side. I decline even as a third local train passes on the express track and he departs for the uptown track.

About seven-eight minutes total have passed

🎵 *Theme to “Rocky” plays* Gonna fly now, flying high now, gonna fly, fly, flyyyyyyyyyy…🎶

There are perhaps about eight of us in my line of vision on the downtown side when another local train approaches – on the downtown LOCAL track. Those of us who patiently waited have Cheshire Cat smiles amongst each other as the opposite side goes into a fresh uproar. I am on the train and smirk as a few young ones who hauled arse from the uptown to downtown side just make the train.

I am mentally howling with laugher at my iPod which continues to be one with the Cosmos in amusing me.

🎵My baby takes the morning train..  🎶

I look out the window and catch the infuriated faces of Ms. Kvetching and Ms. Bitching as my train pulls out of the station without them aboard. I make eye contact with another experienced commuter who also waited and we knowingly smirk as we go our merry little way

Yes, the schadenfreude was massive with me and Digable Planets.

🎵Check it out, man I groove like dat, I’m smooth like dat
I jive like dat, I roll like dat
Yeah, I’m thick like dat, I stack like dat
I’m down like dat, I’m black like dat
Well, yo, I funk like dat, I’m phat like dat
I’m in like dat ’cause I swing like dat
We jazz like dat, we freak like dat
We zoom like dat, we out (we out, we out)🎶

Let’s see how others are chugging down their slice of life it down this Tuesday…

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Not Enough Coffee For this

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On the subway MMOC (minding my own commute) and glance up when the top three inches of a very colorful pair of boxer briefs under white ripped jeans come into view interrupting my crossword puzzle.

These are worn by a man who certainly is AARP if not Social Security eligible. I’m serious.

[Me internally – you must be kidding why?]

He (with happiness): Hi

Me (with caution): Hello.

He (with hope): You’re pretty.

[Me internally – I haven’t had coffee to deal with this ish, whyy?]

Me (with patience): Thank you.

I immediately go back to my crossword but I’m partially blinded by the colors in my peripheral and I cannot begin to expound upon how chagrinned that makes me.

He (throat clearing): Hey.

Me (eyebrow arching): Yes?

He (with hope): Can I get your digits?

[Me internally – Digits? DIGITS?? Oh surely you jest! Whyyy?]

(I find out why in a moment, but he looks at me and takes a step back; which was impressive given it is morning crush hour.)

Me (with disdainful): Let me be blunt. I can’t get down with a man who chooses to not keep his pants up. If I wear my trousers as yours I’m a slag. But you approaching a woman thusly is acceptable? Au contraire! I do hope the next station is yours.

He (with surprise): Damn you cold.

Me (with saccharine): Antarctic and dropping.

(There are some who will read this and chuckle getting the extra meaning – you’re welcome.)

I don’t know if the next station was his or not, but he left my sight. That was all I wanted.

Man Sitting Next To Me (shaking his head with mirth): You didn’t have to be so mean. The way your face went evil if looks could truly kill brotha would be a problem for the cleaning crew. Why you do him like that?

[Me internally – Oh Really?]

Me (turning my head with attitude): I had to be how I had to be. My face is my face. And what makes you think your opinion of such worth to voice it?

MSNTS (affronted): Fuck you.

[Me mentally switching dictionaries: Oxford > Urban]

Me (amused): Base language notwithstanding, sentiment fully reciprocated.

MSNTS (getting mad): You looked like you were a nice one until you opened your mouth.

Me (getting even): And your appearance likewise implied intelligence until your utterances indicated otherwise proving the adage of deceptive miens. . I can explicate, but conversational cessation would be preferred.

MSNTM moved as though he was about to do something. I didn’t even think about it as I started reaching for an earring (I flow between vivacious and voracious several times daily.)

Different Man Standing In Front of us who witnessed both exchanges: Bruh, stop. The way she just code switched on you like that? You ain’t possibly topping her, leave she be. Cause if I think you even thinkin’ ‘bout laying hands? Imma haveta take my earrings out along with she and none-a us want that this morning.

Me (gratefully): Thank you.

I go back to my crossword.

[Me internally – Why you must have that big ol’ wedding ring on? Whyyyy?]

MSNTM gets off two stations later with a muttered “Bitch.”

I don’t even look up. “Thank you, I resemble that remark.”

“I ain’t scared of you.” DFSIF laughs as he exits a station later.

“That’s ‘cause you scared of your spouse.” I laugh back. “Lucky wretch.”

“Damn right and yes I am.” He winks his goodbye.

And this is all before 7am.

If yesterday was Mad Monday for me (do not ask), today is definitely Takedown Tuesday.

Proceed with caution.

Let’s see how others are taking it down this Tuesday…

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Obsession – My Ode to Joe

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This is my confession it is my obsession
I have a natural predilection to its addiction

Memories of my father and his ochre cup
Attached to his side, breakfast, lunch and sup’

My oath to drink only one all my friends joke about
I would offer my first-born rather than do without

An olden concoction for which we modernists still toil

To smell its aroma fills me with such frustration
To see its liquid flow as I pour fills me with anticipation
To taste its liquid heat is such a sensation
To feel its burn down my throat fills me with elation
To hear that last swallow fills me with such trepidation

For some it is more precious than diamonds, gold or oil

An obsession shared by many on this orb
As sip after sip it is so greedily absorbed

I oscillate between the need the makes my heart burst
And the joy of feeling the elixir oust my deep thirst

I’m like a kid with chewiest of toffee
Nothing beats that first oomph of coffee

Glass coffee mug with line indicating it is safe to speak to owner of said mug when the contents have reached the bottom line.
Yes, this is my coffee mug at work.
Yes, my colleagues know not speak to me until my coffee reaches well under that bottom marker.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics: Cheers!

dVerse Poets Pub graphic
dVerse ~ Poets Pub

Today at dVerse Poetics our host and pub-tender paeansunplugged invites us to raise a glass and sip on some verbiage to that all quenches our thirsts. I chose the libation that gets many of us up, running and ready to face the world with less of a snarl in the mornings – well at least me.

Office Whoa-s

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Client 09:51-email: Raivenne, it’s not working. HELP?

Me 09:56-email: Please give me a call. No idea what you’re speaking of.

[While waiting for email reply, I look through files, begin to see the problem. Start an email response.]

Client 10:21-email: Will do. Are you free now? Here is the issue.

Me 10:22-email: Yes. Call me.

[While waiting for call, I continue look through their content on the back end and discover a series of issues that I presume are the reason for the request for help and continue typing mostly to have talking points at hand when they eventually call.]

One of the things I inform students during training, is that our application identifies them by name, date, and time, down to the seconds, when an action happens. Do not waste time telling me or any one on my team that you did not do something, because the application will, as I call it, rat you out. I do not contact you if I do not already know that it was you (royal you in this case as it involves more than one person), that did it. I already know if I do not cauterize this at the source now, it will drag out unnecessarily, so I aim for a preemptive strike.

My talking points become a diplomatic full out email, complete with screenshots, timestamps, and step-by-step breakdowns to explain:

– how ya’ll done effed up

– when ya’ll done effed up

– when ya’ll attempted to cover up the eff up which then

– created a bigger eff up, so

– here’s how to fix your eff up and ‘cause summa ya’ll clearly didn’t listen the first time I tol’ ya’ll ‘bout effin’ dis up

– here’s yet another step-by-step detail of the ideal scenario on how not to eff dis up again.

And yes, I went uber petty and purposely CCed all parties involved in the shenanigans, to avoid the backend I thought he/she/they -blame the person not in the email- I knew would happen without it. I spent nearly an hour and a half crafting that email, being excruciatingly detailed, because office diplomacy of politely, but emphatically, saying ya’ll some stoopid Keystone Cops sonsabeeches and we, meaning me, ain’t gots time fo’ ya’ll ‘peatin’ the same ol’ dumb ass ish ova’ and ova’ is wordy as fuck.

I ended the tirade with “Had the ideally happened this entire “conversation” would not be needed.”

As always when I go off the email-rails, I have a second, and often third, pair of eyes go over things because I sometimes forget to camouflage my natural penchant to snark my Rubenesque African American callipygian to near non-existence.

“Oooh, you are pissed!” “Damn did you at least send lube first?” were my colleagues response before I was allowed to click send.

Alas, because I am a cunning philologist (hah! Not the word you thought I would use here was it?), I am also aware that despite my best efforts to curtail my wont for multisyllabic linguistics in professional diatribes, my email diplomacy ofttimes necessitates the employment of verbiage translations. I should mention, in that one hour and a half span of composing said email and writing this slice – I am still awaiting that promised call. Thus, I am not in expectation of immediacy in response to my correspondence.

I think I will pull a Cheshire Cat now – smile and wave and disappear…

Let’s see how others are smiling and waving it out this Tuesday…

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Personal Falling

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I am aware it is still Summer. I am the person who emphatically espouses yearly that my birthday is officially in the summer, regardless that the vernal equinox follows only a couple of days later. So believe me, I well aware it is still Summer.

That being said, it’s officially Virgo season and this week I have noticed my personal markers for the coming season have begun:

  • Waking up to darkness again at 5 in the morning.
  • Being fully dark again by 9pm
  • Enough leaves have begun to descend that the groundskeepers around my job are using already using leaf blowers to clean.
  • I haven’t seen so many people wearing long sleeves since early May.
  • Last night I closed a window because the cross breeze was a bit too cool to take.

I know we still have a month of regular summer, and there’s also Autummer* to go through later in the fall season. But these past few overly humid Canicular days are starting to get to me.

Come on sweater weather!!

*Autummer – what I dub what was once known as Indian Summer, which is no longer used out of respect to Native Americans. It is that brief, yet lovely, time of year mid-to late autumn, here in the US and Europe where after it starts to feel noticeably cold, it suddenly warms up for a few days.  It is what summer should be: regular length days and acceptable heat, just before Jack Frost slips his fingers in to give a hint of what’s coming next.

Let’s see how others are chilling it out this Tuesday…

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On Parade in the AM

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7:27am my desk: I am standing at my keyboard going through my usual morning routine as I log in. My earbuds are in, my iPod has RATM blasting because while my body is on the job, the rest of me is still asleep in bed. A colleague passing by sees my very enthusiastic headbanging, looks at me like the very insane person I am, and pronounces “No, it’s too early. No.”

Because she arrived at a perfect moment in the song – I look at her, smile benignly and when the beat drops in my ears a moment later, I raise both hands high – full on rock fingers gesticulating – face scrunched befitting the song’s mood and reply in her face with “🎵Come with it now! 🎶“

She understandably blinks at my unexpected response then shakes her head laughing clearly knowing the song by that one lyric sung even if she can’t hear it herself. “Nope, MUCH too early for that.”

“Hey, I just walked in I’m not awake yet,” I laugh as she walks away while I head-bang on and continue with my checks.

“Have you tried coke?” she asks as she reaches the corner.

And because I really am not quite awake yet, therefore honestly thinking about the caffeine boost, I hear a fading disembodied voice around a corner call out “And I don’t mean the stuff in the can.”

I settled for my usual morning IV infusion of C25H28N6O7, and C12H22O11, aka coffee black 20oz with 2 tsp sugar; but now all I can imagine is a series of horned Red Bull cans carrying banners as they follow a white powdered line down the street stomping in tune to RATM.

[For those not into such – RATM is Rage Against The Machine, an American Rock band and their song I reference is the very loud and very thrashing Bulls On Parade.]

Let’s see how others are rocking and slicing out this Tuesday…

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So Easily Entertained

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Here’s what must be my shortest slice ever: me being oddly amused by the local flying frack enjoying breakfast.

I was minded of when my sons were toddlers picking up and tossing food with their hands. I looked very much like this. Now, here is a sentence that you won’t read every day…. the pigeon was cleaner.

It’s been a slow week – what can I tell you? Apparently nothing.

Let’s see how others are slicing it what left of this Tuesday…

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Quantification Feculence

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I’m on my way to work. As I pass near a guy on a park bench, clearly taking a moment’s respite before continuing his run, I hear, “You’re pretty for a fat girl.”

Luckily, I have the earbuds in, so I pretend I did not hear that, ignore him, and blithely keep walking.  

Lothario has the effrontery to rise, and then jog backwards to catch up to me, just to inform me that most women say thanks when handed a compliment.

Wait… What? Oh, come the bleepity-bleep-oh-bleep-this-bleepity- bleep on! No!

To say I would not have been in the mood for such nonsense after my third cup of coffee is one thing. I’m dang sure not up for up at not even a quarter after seven in the feckin’ morn with not one drop in me.

“You’re right, and conversely most women don’t thank the person who back-handed insults them.”

I declare I can all but hear the crickets of confusion chirping in his head.

“How did I…?”

Le sigh…

“Most men know better than to make a definitive statement then quantify it with another that negates it.”

I try to be helpful, but oh dear Lord –three things I pray– I think the crickets are even louder.

Why am I doing this to myself? Oh, wait! I’m not.

“Nay. Nein. Nix. Nope. Nyet. I’m out.”

I start to walk away when he puts a hand up.

“El Sol’s ascent has not attained sufficient altitude to engage in such feculence, dude.”

This time I’m expecting the succession of rapid blinks from him as a chorale of crickets join in for harmony, and I am not disappointed.

“I’m sorry… I just don’t get how you’re insulted.”

I note he’s careful not to touch me even accidentally as I move forward; he only wants to continue the conversation. That is the only reason I entertain this.

“Look, are all your public declarations of perceived attractiveness to unknown women attributed with their body mass?”

Oh, that sweet, sweet cricket orchestra crescendos for a moment, but I see when the magical penny finally drops, “you’re saying I would not have added that last part if you were skinny. Fuck. You’re right.”

“Certainement.”

“Okay” He sighs taking it like a champ, “I stand corrected.”

“And I exit, vindicated. Caffeination’s lack will soon make bitter my tongue. Better luck next time. Bon jour.” I give a short nod.

His amused expression tells me what I already know: my tongue has been bitter this entire conversation. I know he thinks it, but in this he is smart enough not to say it as I start to walk away again.

Points to House Lothario.

“Hey, one moment.” He calls out.  

Demerits to House Lothario.

“Dude...” I stop and turn letting my face show how that lack is not working in his favor. “…be succinct.”

“Is it next time yet?”

Points to House Lothario

“You are pretty. Perhaps join you on your quest for caffeination?”

Fast learner! More points.

“Thank you.” I laugh, “Alas, I suspect I can tick at least a score’s gap between our ages. That brings you to a vintage within the bounds of that which I brought upon this earth. Négatif. This conversation is fini.”

I wave my fingers and walk away in a manner the requires no further quantification, as I don’t look back.

If you’re asking: What’s with the French, Rai? So am I. I have NO idea; I don’t speak it – but there it is.

Au revoir!

[Side note: I do love the moments when my internal Oxford Dictionary overrides my internal Urban Dictionary, and it was in rare form considering my lack of morning coffee.]

Let’s see how others are quantifying their slices this Tuesday…

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Elevat-tiquette

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I slightly sprained my ankle over the weekend. So, stairs and I are not the best of friends this morning. Luckily, the train station near my job has elevators. I generally don’t use them, but today I swoop into the first elevator behind two other women just as the doors close. As we are at the lowest level and each just left the same train, there only one direction to go, up. One woman, on my left, is standing by the call panel, I notice she is holding a paper towel sheet. A common enough sight these days in the world of Covid. The other woman slightly to my right has a cane. The three of us do that I see you, but I’m not looking at you, thing in which all mass transit commuters and in this case, strangers in an elevator excel.

I’m mentally patting myself on the back for my excellent timing for the elevator so a few seconds pass before I realize we are not ascending to the mezzanine level. I look at the call panel and sure enough neither woman has pressed the button. I was about to make a little joke on how elevators might work a little better if at least one of us remembered to push the button, when the woman to my right sucks her teeth, rolls her eyes and reaches in front of the woman to my left to press the call button.  

Okay. Clearly something is going on there that I missed, but my name’s Nat, I’m not in that. Whatever.

There is an odd tense silence as we ascend to the mezzanine level and exit. We make our way to the next elevator that takes us to the street level. In this elevator, the woman who was to the right of me, and I have switched places. Like the previous elevator, there is only one destination to choose, the three of us are going to the street level. It’s an unspoken rule in such situations, if they are nice, the first person to enter an elevator will hold the door open button for others to safely enter before they push the button for the floor. IF they are nice. And that’s when I begin to see the problem.

The woman with the paper towel, having entered first is again closest to the buttons, but for some reason she does not push it. She stares straight ahead clearly expecting the other woman or I to push the call button. You know, the call button that she is standing right in front of.

Now I know why there was teeth sucking and eye rolling as I struggle not to follow suit with a annoyed huff. I remind myself these two women are my elders. If I’m lucky I will annoy some near sixty-year-old person with my own special brand of curmudgeon-dy in another decade or so. Still…

No. No. No. No. No. It is barely 7 in the dang morning! It is MUCH too early for such trifling nonsense. And I haven’t had my coffee yet!

To put in some context, the trains were fast this morning. I am really early for work, so I could easily be 100% that bi-er-that person and wait the two of them out. However, my ankle chose that moment to remind me of its slightly-less-than-optimal existence.

Fine! I’ll be the mature one.

Now you know any situation where I, Raivenne, am forced to be the mature one, is a stupid situation. I start to reach for the button when the woman with the cane clears her throat loudly. You know that throat clearing sound your mama made right behind you when she’s caught you doing something you know have no business doing? It was that sound. It was near Pavlovian the quickness in which I snatched my hand back like a switch took to it.

“Etiquette dictates when walking with a sharp implement you do so with the point towards you, because in case of an accident ‘cause it’s kinder to harm oneself than another. It seems t’me the one with the ability to protect us all from the germs on them nasty ol’ buttons with that trusty lit’l napkin they carryin’ jus’ for that purpose should be like the kind one and press it fo’ us all.”

Aww sookie-sookie now!

I don’t know if Napkin Lady was from the south, but Ms. Cane surely was. Her call out was delivered with all the all sugar and spice and mint julip enough to make Scarlett O’Hara, or at least Julia Sugarbaker, proud.   And me?

Hmm, I never noticed that spot on the wall before! It looks old. Surely facilities had been through here over the long weekend, the floor is clean… How long has it been there?

Yeah, let me tell you, that wall in front of me was The Most Interesting thing in the cosmos just then. Enough that I embodied the three monkeys because I was not saying a dang thing as I pretended that I did not see as napkin clad knuckle pressed the call button, nor heard the very self-satisfied sniff behind me.

I swear for a moment it felt like I went back in time and I was that small child caught between grown folks arguing about grown folks things and hoping they don’t notice I’m there and then turn on me for listening to grown folks conversation when I can’t go anywhere because I’m not grown and (whoa – whoaaaa – sorry about that – tiny bit of PTSD there – I’m back…).  I did not have to see it to know some serious side-eye between those two happened behind me. I’m just grateful I didn’t hear (in)sincere apologies if a cane accidentally made contact with a foot.

When the elevator doors opened, I got off first and left them to whatever passive-aggressive shenanigans were employed before they went their not-so-merry little ways.

Let’s see how others are slicing it out this Tuesday…

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Some SOL Company

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When I encounter friends, colleagues, countrymen, hell perfect strangers, who were raised with civility and make the mistake of asking “How are you?” one would presume being a woman raised by Sothern Belles one would think I was equally brought up with such manners that would have me politely respond with some variant of “I’m fine.”

But nah, my NYC mouth blithely shuts down all such social convention as I almost always reply with “Insane as usual. And you?” {Hey at least I’m housed trained enough to ask – mostly I’m tired of my southern Grandma reaching up from beyond to Gibbs SlapTM me upside the head – but I digress.] This is almost always met with a chuckle that ranges from exaggerated eyerolls [those that know me very well], through amused head shaking [those that know me somewhat], to nervous smiles [those who are not entirely sure if I’m joking].

Today I took it one step further. Having had the above exchange with a colleague in the ladies earlier, I pass her office a while later.

“You know how I said that I was insane?”

She knows me just well enough that she starts smiling, “Yeah?”

“I can prove it….”

The smile turns into a I already regret letting her in grin, “How?”

“Please explain to me why I cannot get the bass line, not the melody, not the lyrics, but specifically the dang bass line to DuckTales out of my damn head?”

She blinks a few times getting the reference and asks the pertinent question: “When is the last time you’ve even seen DuckTales?”

“My youngest is thirty-eight, so-decades!”

For those who don’t know DuckTales is an animated TV series produced by Disney. The original cartoon series premiered in the late-80s and ran for several years. The show featured Scrooge McDuck, his three grandnephews Huey, Dewey, and Louie (yes, the nephews of Disney’s Donald Duck), and others, on various adventures. It was part of the afternoon line-up my boys watched after school. Thus, I was not exactly kidding when I said decades.

It had a very catchy theme song, with a pretty groovy bass line, which I heard five days a week for several years. And for some reason it was now stuck in my bird brain.

After stating she how she concurred with my self-assessment, I was informed I was SOL because she couldn’t help me and laughingly ordered me to get away from her immediately before I infected her. Another colleague was passing and made the mistake of inquiring what shenanigans were I causing now. I do have a slight reputation for such – slight.

Long story-short: going by my burning ears, there are at least five colleagues cussin’ out my name for the bass line likely still running through their minds.

I mean we all know adage Misery loves… Well I’ve had that miserable bass line in my head most of the day – so guess who’s joining me? For those of you reading this who know theme in question, and now are equally infected, I would say I’m sorry, but we’d all know I’d be lying.

That SOL in the title doesn’t stand for Slice of Life today.

Let’s see how others are slicing it out this Tuesday…

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