I'm having a conversation with a customer while I'm cutting his blinds on Wednesday, the 9th.  He's not only noticed my hearing aids, but I talk differently from the people in the area.  He's wondering about my hearing loss history since he used to be the enforcement officer for his company.  I have no problem sharing since he is nice about it.  Instead,  most people around here just say, "you talk funny."  He asks if I'm from the area.  At some point I tell him how my boyfriend likes to hear me say the names John and Bonnie (Honey's cousins from Ohio).  At the end of our time together, I hand him his blinds and he says, "Thank you, Bonnie."  I don't correct him because most of the time I never see these people again and if he's going to turn into one of my boyfriend/stalkers, I'd rather he knew me as Bonnie. 

That is until the cashier who overheard this last part pointed out that we can win valuable prizes if a customer uses the computerized opinion form and our name. "Of course they could describe you as Bonnie the girl with the hearing aids," the cashier says.  So I ask him if most customers are rude enough to ask for Derek the black man?  Or Derek from the appliance department?  Then he says, "good point."  God they could be dangerous if they thought.  Crap, now I have to run back to HR and tell them that when a compliment comes in for Bonnie, that it's me.   Bonnie can be their nice employee because Catty sure is turning out to be a real bitch.  Though Bonnie the bitch sounds better than Catty the bitch, or maybe Catty the crab.  Eh, who cares?  By the end of the week I'm thinking positive that the next week has GOT TO BE BETTER.

I have found the best way to work through depression is to have plenty of projects.  Keep your hands busy and your mind won't go idle or thinking things it shouldn't.  My friends really like it when I get angry cause I clean like a woman possessed, same concept, smaller scale.  So Bonnie, I mean Catty, has been coming home from work and scrubbing and scraping the garage.  We had a really sunny warm day at the beginning of the week and I used that to get one of the garage doors painted.  This is what they look like.  Left side scraped, right side painted.  Why does this pic look so out of focus?

I was going to paint the other doors the next day but when I walked into the house there were pieces of cat everywhere.  Not actual body parts.  Millions of little tufts of fur were on the landing, spilling into the living room, and floating across the kitchen floor.  Oh my god!  What happened here???  Where were the cats???  Did they pick each other apart?  It sure looked like there was enough fur to make two cats.  My heart was hammering in my chest as I searched for the cats.  I was afraid I would find bald bleeding bodies curled into the corner of the basement.  Just then I saw Honey's cat Sparky poke his head out of the blanket on the corner of the sofa.  Whole cat, not bald, but watching me out of one eye.  Now, Sparky is usually on the receiving end of the beatings though he puts up a good fight and gets some good shots in when confronted.  So I'm thinking my cat's dead somewhere.  I go running up to the bedroom where he would normally be locked up.  I rush through the door where my cat is laying on the bed looking at me through one eye.  I went back and inspected both cats.  No blood, they aren't bald, and they both have two eyes each.  Thank God!  Eyeless cats would have freaked me out.
  

So this must have happened after I left the house but before Honey and the Teen took off for the day.  Honey swears my cat snuck out when I got up to shower.  I just think the whole thing is weird.  My cat would have been hiding out while I was moving around getting ready for work and playing with Sparky.  He not only hid out but waited for me to leave before he attacked.  Honey and the Teen were awakened by noise of the fight.  Are cats capable of planning?  What would have happened if he had waited until we were all gone?  Are they really capable of such evil?  They look so innocent.   My cat is the brownish striped.  Sparky is the black and white. 

Anyway, no painting.  I have pieces of cat to clean up.  I figure if I'm going to vacuum, I might as well do it all.  Bathroom, dusting, what the heck, it can be today's project.  I'm moving from room to room.  My hearts not really into it. I'm easily distracted.  Winter clothes.  Books that need to go to Good Will.  Concentrate, concentrate.  Those are projects for rainy days.  Dusting . . .vacuuming . . .almost done. 

What's this?  Why, it's the really clean remote that used to live in the bedroom.  It's missing it's battery door.   I've missed you my little friend.  The universal remote just isn't filling your shoes.  I thought Honey threw you out, or at least gave you a proper burial.  Oh what's a little more procrastinating.  I'm almost done and I want to reminisce about the good times I had with my electronic friend.  I run my fingers over the buttons.  The Guide (such convenience).  Info (easy decisions).  Mute (for reading dialog when I'm not wearing my hearing aids).  Page down, Volume, Recall.  Oh, the memories! 

Before I realize what I'm doing, I pop the back off the main remote and remove the batteries, carefully inserting them into my old friend.  Just for old times sake, I hold the batteries in with one hand and press the on button with the other, pointing it at the TV in the living room.  The TV comes on!  I'm not getting too excited, this did happen when it was dripping wet.  I press the Guide.  The guide comes on.  I page down.  The page moves down.  I burst into tears and clutch the remote to my chest, then I quickly stop the tears not wanting to re-injure the remote.  Ten minutes later when Honey walks in the door, I'm holding the remote out to him blubbering about it being cured.  We all embrace.  It was a joyous moment.  Honey even broke out the new batteries and fashioned a prosthetic battery door (duct tape).  Then we celebrated with a beer and carried our old friend back up to the bedroom where we watched some news from the bed.  Our beloved remote is back in the remote condo (the night stand) and all is right with the world.

Ok, not really right with the world.  What is up with this immigration bill?  Why don't we just throw open the doors of the prisons and turn the prisoners loose?  Didn't all those thieves just want to better their lives?  Get real.  Oh my, not very Bonnie like, am I?

tags: work  customers  depression  painting  cats  fighting  cleaning  remote  

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