Temper Temper, Little Roo

As it turns out, there are a lot of little things turning up in my daily routine, on top of what was presented to me on paper on my “job description” at my interview. I knew I was going to be working on their catalog, both editing and some layout and content. I knew I was going to be working on building their media database and writing and sending press releases. I did not realize I was going to be loading software and handling customer issues with orders. Not knowing much about software or their product, yet, both are a little tricky, but I’m making it happen, more or less. I also didn’t know I was going to be working on paper jams, consolidating our domain names, or shoveling.

Manual labor was so NOT part of the job description. What about my pink sweaters, sparkly shoes (also pink, if you must know), just-so curls, and general lack of overall muscle screams “HEAVY LIFTING” to you?

Not that I really think this will be a daily occurrence. But I can see how it might happen more than once this snow season. What happened was, Kanga got his truck stuck. Our office (/basement/freezer) is located in a house high on a plateau that receives a lot of snow and wind. My car can’t even make it back there. Kanga has a big Man Truck, and wanted to see if he could pull Tulip’s truck out from the back garage, which involved driving alongside their house (where, I suppose, there is a driveway, somewhere beneath all the snow) attaching a rope, and pulling it out. Apparently things did not go quite as planned, and after much fishtailing, spinning wheels, flying snow and then dirt, and a gawdawful smell, BOTH trucks were stuck. (I was blissfully unaware of all of this, seeing as how I was in my little office area, curled around my warm, fifth cup of tea for the day. [which I do not take lightly either, Dantares, just so you know.])

But I was fetched by Bar-B and reluctantly followed her to the garage, where she grabbed a shovel for me. Apparently Kanga was throwing himself a bit of a tantrum, saying all sorts of “I’ll just have the damn thing towed to the dump. It’s done. It’s broken. Useless piece of crap.” Blah blah blah. Because his toy didn’t do what it was supposed to do. (That’s right, I called his dumb truck a toy. I stand by it. Plbthbthbth.)

So Kanga went inside to sulk (something about a bad back) while the three women, (me, Bar-B, and Tulip) began digging out his truck from about a 4 ft. high snow drift.

I am actually not complaining. (r-i-i-i-i-i-g-h-t) it was a nice, sunny day, and a nice break from staring at the computer screen. Plus, the manual labor actually got my blood flowing and I was able to shed layers for the first time ever at my job, instead of praying to the J. Crew gods to please send new warm, yummy sweaters already.

We actually got the truck dug out, and Kanga decided maybe it was not junk after all, and drove it back up the hill. We cheered... until he began backing back down, and we were all like, “Oh, no no. What are you doing? We just worked very hard to make it NOT do what you are doing….” And he hitched it to the other very stuck struck, and nothing happened. So we got to dig out the second truck, and with the gunning of some engines (and some lamenting of the dirt on my white corduroys by me) both trucks finally emerged onto the road and I believe Kanga’s male ego felt much better. Bar-B got to leave early, Tulip changed into fleece pajama pants, and I drank my first glass of a non-super-heated-beverage. So we were all very happy.

But if they ask me to chop wood, today, I’m out, man. I’m out.