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Showing posts from December, 2014

Love and lost love in telephone ghosts

Way back when I worked for a famous catalog company that rhymes with H.P. Henny, the days following Thanksgiving were nothing short of hell. If you had taken yourself a happy little vacation to visit the family and eat dead poultry, you had to cart your ass back in time for the barrage of folks who just couldn't wait to get Timmy or Betsy or Susanna or Jim the best new toy, the best new pair of shoes, the best new lingerie—and for daddy—the best new tie. Unfortunately, early shoppers had beaten the pack and it was my job to tell the newbies they were crap outta luck, try another item, and another, and another. But first . . . upon arriving at the telephone center it was customary to stand against the wall and wait for an extra station to open up. Why? Because the staffers had over-scheduled their employees like Santa's elves munching on candy canes dipped in crack. They didn't care if you stood there for an hour, nobody was going to miss this fantastic event of mass consum…