By way of a a pitiful explanation, I worked job number one and job number two on Thursday and was so tired I couldn't even type this blog if I tried. My brain was so fried I couldn't even focus on the baseball game. I hear the Snakes won.
So, when I stupidly answered my phone, after seeing a 205-area code, it my own fault. It was Haroldine. The last time I heard from her was two weeks earlier when we discussed why she wasn't getting her deposit back. The reason for this call was to rehash her reasons she deserved her deposit refunded (and to let me know--in the event I missed it the first time--her opinion of me). It didn't really matter. My stance still hadn't changed, but my mood certainly had.
I would like to tell you I said something along the lines of "bless your heart." But at that exact moment, there was nothing left in me. Instead, as she bawled me out, I just put my phone down and walked away, taking care of the immediate events unfolding in my life, and more to the point, letting her call me names into the cellular void.
When I did come back, I heard her say, "Are you still there?"
Sadly I was, but my manners weren't. I told her I was done with her for the night. I also told her--only because I wasn't thinking quickly--if she wanted to rehash this, she would have to call me back on Friday. I really didn't feel like chatting. And then I said bye and hung up before she could protest any further.
After waking at 5 a.m. and dealing with people of all walks of life with all types of crises on Thursday, Haroldine's pissy fit didn't even make the radar of things that phase me (Sticks and stones Haroldine!). But it still doesn't warrant me to loose my cool--not that I care too much. I don't owe her a deposit. If I did, I assure you, I would pay it. I don't steal.
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1 comment:
She's a piece of work. One of those people who thinks if they squeak loudly enough - they'll get greased. Stick to you guns! You don't owe her the deposit! If anything she owes YOU.
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