white trash


Spirits were not so high the next day. Kim the Klingon’s daughter tends bar at the restaurant and was not happy that the place emptied out during the fight. Neither was management. Apparently there was only 16 dollars in tips to split by the end of the night.

On Friday there was a custody hearing down at the courthouse, so the Kim didn’t come to work. She was supposed to be at home with her grandson while his drug-addled parents fought over him, but when we tried to reach her by phone, we found out she left the kid with her boyfriend and went out drinking. Oddly, my boss had nothing to say about this.

Nor did she say anything on Wednesday when Kim was hungover and amusing herself by searching an online roster of who is currently in the Clackamas County jail, to see if any of her friends were there. She was doing this while the boss was freaking out over state tax records that mysteriously disappeared from payables. It’s discouraging.  I’m not exactly sure what it is this woman manages, because it certainly isn’t the office.  Amy and I started keeping track of her personal phone calls. Added up, they average about five of her eight hour day. I’m not exaggerating.

I’m also not sure why she was hired in the first place. This is a small town and word gets around. About five years ago, her son needed a kidney. She volunteered one, and the whole town pitched in for a benefit which raised about $20,000 to cover hospital expenses and a portion of the medications for her son.

Shortly after the benefit and the surgery, she showed up in a new Mercedes ( well, new to her) and was buying new furniture for her house. Shortly after that, as her son filed for bankruptcy, she took a vacation.

And yet, my boss not only hired her, but loves her and believes she can do no wrong. It’s disgusting in a way I don’t understand.

I know all about why we sometimes see only what we want to see, or why we make excuses for the men we love, or for our family members, or glossing over little imperfections in our friends for the sake of maintaining friendship……….but this makes no sense until I look at it from the perspective of my boss’s addiction to chaos.

Of all the things there are to be addicted to, that are so much more fun, addiction to stress and strife just seems dumb.


The Lamp From Estacada

The Lamp From Estacada

Stuff like this always makes me nervous. While we’re sitting on the step of our delapidated front porch, and two identical big white furry dogs come over to say hello. They move in unison, bark in unison, and then go over to Nana’s tie-out and check her out in unison. I didn’t say anything about the creep factor of the encounter until my daughter’s quiet comment “It’s almost like they are aliens, isn’t it?”

She was right. But I had a different reason for the creep factor. A few years ago I had a bad dream about a big white violent dog that suddenly showed up at our front windows. When I told this dream to the local psychic, she said the dream was a warning that someone was gonna hurt me. She was right too.

The dogs left, in unison. Marina mumbled something about Twin Peaks, which was interesting being as I just got done describing this as a teeny-tiny little Twin Peaks town in my last weblog entry.

And now this. A teeny-tiny little woman named Ginger came all the way from Estacada to see if we would like to sell her big weird lamps in our teeny-tiny little shop. See picture above. Doesn’t it remind you of the Leg Lamp from “A Christmas Story”? It’s so horrible that it’s fantastic.

I get to work this morning and the Klingon of an Office Manager is beaming with pride: last night, her son and his girlfriend got into a barfight that wound up in the parking lot of a local restaurant, the patrons of which witnessed not only the fisticuffs but the girlfriend’s tube top being pulled off in the process. Yes, tube tops are still very much in vogue up here. Several cop cars were called to the scene but her kids took off before they could be busted for the drugs they were carrying. Kids? Wait a minute, they are at least 30.

My Office Manager is one tube of blue eyeshadow away from being Mimi in the Drew Carey show. I will find a picture, and you will see I am not exaggerating.

It’s all very Hatfield/McCoy. This feud started several years ago when said Office Manager drank too much tequila tried to strangle some woman named ‘Cyndee’…who happened to be Jeff’s wife, who I believe threw the first punch last night, at the Office Manager’s son’s girlfriend.

Spirits were high here at work today, I heard the story repeated 9 times to different people ( yes I counted). This was enough of a drama fix to last all day and hopefully well into tomorrow afternoon. Also, she just scored some Lorazipan, which we are waiting for an excuse to partake of.

This is why I never burn my bridges. A girl needs all sorts of friends.