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5:43 a.m. - 2003-08-13


Neat trick! Neat trick! I've got a neat trick!

While sitting at your desk, make clockwise circles with your right foot.

While doing this, draw the number "6" in the air with your right hand.

Which direction is your foot going now?






So anyway, yesterday I showed up for work and was met at the elevator and told that I was going to a ribbon cutting.

Okay fine. I didn't dress for a ribbon cutting (suit and tie), but I'd go because I was told to.

So we all go to this ribbon cutting at a new hotel in town. It's a decent hotel ... not a four star hotel by any means, but not a fleabag whore emporium either.

So the people from the hotel start speaking and the owner (I guess) starts talking about how God wanted this hotel to succeed.

They prayed long and hard to God to help them make this hotel a success and God said "Dude...just put some beds and a few stale cinammon rolls in there and they will come."

But this guy thanked God like a hardcore rapper winning his first Grammy for ten minutes.

I was soooo tempted to just yell "WE GET IT!" from the crowd, but I was too bored to muster up the energy required to yell.

Finally the guy stopped thanking God long enough to lead us in a prayer.

I don't mind a long prayer. I really don't.

As long as I'm sitting down.

But when you have 60 people standing up in a hotel lobby and ask them to pray and then launch into a 15 minute-long prayer ... well ... vertigo is inevitable.

So I'm standing there with my head bowed and my eyes closed, hands clasped tightly at waist level when I start to feel dizzy.

As a former Catholic boy, I have to ask myself ... will I go to hell if I open my eyes during a prayer for a freakin' hotel in order to save myself from diving head first into a glass coffee table?

If the answer is "yes", well then save a seat for me on the bus ride to Hades, because I popped my eyes open wide and scanned the crowd.

Even the freakin' desk clerk was praying.

Or sleeping.

I could have (and should have) snuck over to the breakfast bar for a snack while everyone else swayed and weaved, trying to remain upright during this marathon prayer session.

Then ... after the ribbon cutting, we're told to enjoy some delicious appetizers.

For those of you who have never been to a ribbon cutting, the delicious appetizers are the only reason to show up.

I don't think anyone becomes a ribbon-cutting groupie for the praising of our Lord and the actual thrill of watching a hotel owner snip a ribbon in two with these comical oversized gold spray-painted scissors.

It's the snacks, pal. The snacks keep 'em coming back.

So a group of us waltz over to the snack table where a bevy of tiny little treats are awaiting us.

Wendigo is craving a toasted English muffin with butter.

So she walks away from the snack table, over to the actual breakfast bar, snatches an English muffin and starts slicing that baby up.

A waitress is standing near her.

"Will you be joining us for breakfast today?" the girl asks.

Wendi's all "I just want an English muffin".

Then it dawns on her ... we're all restricted to what's on the free Snack Table.

English muffins are for people PAYING for breakfast.

It's too late for Wendi to put the muffin back since she's been molesting it with a knife.

But she's somewhat mortified that she has overstepped the complimentary food table rules and dove headfirst into the food stuff that actually costs money to eat.

The restaurant staff stares at her in disbelief as she quietly freaks out and decides NOT to toast her English Muffin, hoping that if she just walks away from them, they will all just instantly forget that they just witnessed a woman stealing food from the breakfast bar.

She came back over to my side, babbling about how embarrassed she was.

I tried to console her over her major faux pas, but she was inconsolable as she rammed that dry muffin down her throat as quickly as she could to destroy the evidence.

Luckily, Ann (my partner-in-crime at last week's Marketing College) sensed Wendi's discomfort and helped herself to some yogurt from the breakfast bar.

Sonya then took their lead and poured herself a glass of orange juice from the Breakfast Bar.

Sensing the rebellious nature of the moment, I poured myself a glass of orange juice.

By God ... we weren't going to be limited in our mid-morning food intake!!

So we totally eschewed the offerings from the hotel in favor of the better food that they were charging for.

We all wiped our mouths on our sleeves simultaneously and walked out silently.

We showed them alright!

So I started receiving emails from my new friends from Marketing College last week.

The results are in ... I'm officially a "hoot".

I've learned that there's two ways you can get "Uncle Bob" out of me.

One is to wake me up at 5 a.m., roll my fat ass out of bed and stick me in front of a computer before I've fully woken up.

The other is to fill me full of beer at a rapid pace.

You guys get the 5 a.m. Uncle Bob.

Marketing College got the "fun drunk" Uncle Bob.

I'm not sure who gets the better end of the deal, but they were treated to a note-perfect yet drunken rendition of "Jessie's Girl" while you guys get stories of me stealing orange juice from a hotel.

You tell me.

Have you figured out why I don't do the Journal-Con thing??

Maybe it's because once I step outside of my normal mundane life and have some late night fun, it's all I talk about for several days afterwards?


Christ. If I went to Journal Con, I'd organize an evening of drunken karaoke and then babble about it for months here.

Consider yourselves lucky that I'm not attending.

...This year.

Bring it to Atlanta and I'll come.

I promise.

I've lost my freakin' garage door opener.

I know where it's at. It's in the rental car that I had last week on my trip to Marketing College.

(Wouldn't it be cool if you got some kind of prize every time I mentioned "Marketing College"?)

I called the rental car place on Saturday trying to get it back.

"Sir, they haven't cleaned that car yet, but when they do, they'll remove the garage door opener and put it in lost and found."

ME: "You won't rent it out then?"

ASSHOLE: "Oh no sir. That car won't be rented out for a few days. Call back tomorrow."


ME: "Did you find my garage door opener?"

ASSHOLE: "Call Lost and Found tomorrow."


ME: "Hi. Did you find my garage door opener?"

ASSHOLE #2: "Sir, I'm just answering the phone. I have no idea if they found it. Call back tomorrow."


ME: "Garage door opener?"

ASSHOLE #3: "Sir, your car was rented out on Saturday. There's no way to determine if the garage door opener was in there or not. We don't have it here."

So I'm out $75.

Bottom line ... do not rent your car from Alamo/National Car Rentals.

They're a bunch of lying assholes.

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