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Friday, December 09, 2005

The Lion, the Witch, and the Teenagers

I saw The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe last night at the midnight view. It was there that God told me that I was not to be involved in any way form or fashion with teenagers. Or spanish teenagers for that matter. What do you do Brian? What do you do when there is a pack of them behind you kicking the chairs, talking, giggling, etc. If you turn around you look uncool and invite more of the same, only this time, it's focused on you. If you sit there you're miserable. Oh and it's part of a youth group, sanz chaperone.

I turned and said, "Would you guys mind holding it down. Thanks." This brought more chair kicking. This brought more talking and giggling, and now, mocking. I turned around and smiled several times. On my way out I stopped by the bathroom. One of the churchy teens was standing at a urinal. I walked up behind him and shoved him forward. It wasn't a hard shove, but it got his pants wet and seemed to hurt is swollen dignity. "Hey Man!" he whined. "Not so funny is it?" I asked in a calm voice. I left the bathroom feeling much better.

I hate teenagers. Which means I'm old. I was cursing "...those teenagers". Keith Moody got a kick out of it. Me pushing obviously makes me as bad as them, but I can buy beer and vote, so, in your face teenagers.

A

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Merry Jihady Christmas

So I opened an account for a Middle Easten man several months ago. He was tall and middle aged, dressed conservatively from a half day at the office. Probably a doctor or engineer of somesort. Well spoken with a hard line accent on consonants. His wife would be coming by in a few days to be added as a signer on the account, so I set the paper work aside and waited.

A week went by before his wife showed. She was significantly younger and dressed in a dishdash and berka-the proper attire for the devout Muslim wife. Although pleasant, she was soft spoken and had very little to say to me. I signed her on the account, filling out the proper paper work and necessary computer strokes.

Two months go by and today they told me that I failed to get the majority of the information I need to properly dress the account. This means I have to call this man and obtain the information via phone, which I was not enthusiastic about doing as my skills as an interpreter have just recently overcome Ebonics and Hick.

He answered the phone in what must have been an native tongue. The smell of spice and inscence filled my nose as I recalled what he smelled like sitting in my office. I had to explain why I wanted information from him 6 times before he finally divulged his address and birthday. A driver's license number was completely out of the question and his voice grew more metallic and cold each time I asked him to repeat himself. I apologized for the inconvenience of the 5 minute phone call and said that there was nothing more I needed from him.

"Thank you Mr. Abdwash and have a Merry Christmas."

Silence. Then a loud explosion that vaguely sounded like the reciever being slammed into it's rest on the phone.

Merry Christmas Iraq. Merry Jihady Christmas.