RETURN OF THE SON OF PEE BOY

Wowsa!

I've been BUSY today!

Actually ... I've been transcribing tapes all morning. I did an hour and half interview yesterday and had to go back, listen to it and type all the stuff I could use out of it.

To say the interview got off track would be an understatement. To say it went careening off a mountain top, hitting every ledge and tree on its way down would be more appropriate and visually appealing.

It's really the sucky part of the job. The actual writing's great. I'm rusty on the whole interviewing thing, and usually come off as somewhat mentally slow when I conduct phone interviews.

Anyway...that's my job. Both interviews I had conducted yesterday have more to add to their respective profiles, so I have to wait until the second interview with each before I can write and finish the story.

Y'know...I'm willing to bet each and every one of you are on the edge of your seat right now, reading every word and savoring its meaning.

Yeah right.

Y'all just want me to go on and on about my genitalia.

That's what I thought. You dirty little perverts, you.

I'm thirsty.

But the water fountain's all the way at the other end of the building.

To get there, I have to pass about eight offices, the receptionist, about three more offices and countless people in the hallway.

It's so far away that I have two Gatorade bottles on my desk. When I go to the fountain, I fill up one water bottle and bring it back to my desk. I drink it in about an hour. Then I have to pee.

I hate having to get up every hour to get water and pee in front of my new co-workers.

I know what they're all thinking..."There goes New Boy...we need to start calling him Pee Boy, 'cause he won't stop peeing."

I can see it in their eyes. "Hey Pee Boy...with all the pee you get rid of here, we need to start charging you rent on the urinal."

"Hey Pee Boy...how can you weigh so much? You musta peed a good couple of gallons away today."

I think I'd rather be New Boy.

Not Pee Boy.

That's why I wear new Depends for Young Adults!

Actually...have y'all seen that commercial for Depends where the opera singer who's actually kinda young is saying how she wears Depends on stage because she can't always get to a bathroom during a performance?

Man.

That would be insane.

The lady's in her 40s or something. Has no medical problems whatsoever.

Yet she wears Depends because she may be onstage sometime and have an incredible urge to drop a load in her undies.

And with Depends, she can crap her panties and keep belting out that opera solo.

I think I'd freak out if I had front seat tickets to an opera and the lady onstage had pee running down her legs while she sang.

I'd have to ask for my money back. I'd convince the girl at the ticket counter that I was scarred for life and could never listen to opera again.

They'd have to change the phrase to "It's not over 'til the fat lady craps her pants".

Man.

I think I'm going to start attending the local opera and see if I can spot a bulky bottom on any of the singers, then hold up a sign that reads "DEPENDS??" like they do on wrestling.

Who am I kidding? I live in Alabama. The local opera is three hillbillies named Jacob and a lady playing a jug singing old negro spirituals offkey.

Opera in Alabama.

(snort)

Get real.

You know...a lot of people may be sick of it by now...but I don't think I'll ever get tired of that song "The Freshmen" by The Verve Pipe.

I think I want that last sentence etched on my gravestone.

I got my first pay stub today. I've worked here for three weeks...yet I only got paid for a week's worth of work.

Maybe they hold out two weeks of pay when you first start so that you work here for several years and then finally when you leave you forgot that you're supposed to get two weeks pay at the end, and so you walk away and forget about it and the company breathes a sigh of relief because they don't have to pay you then.

Maybe.

I'm checking the employee manual and seeing if this is how it's done.

If it's not, I'm walking into the payroll department and start sweeping piles of paper off of desks with my arms, all the while yelling "YOU PEOPLE RIPPED ME OFF!"

I might do it.

Then everyone would call me "Psycho Boy".

Which sure as hell beats Pee Boy.