The Mad Poller What Polls at Midnight (maeincarnate) wrote,
The Mad Poller What Polls at Midnight
maeincarnate

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And I thought I rode the Metro a lot

I'll save my workplace complaining for another entry, but lemme just say this is the first chance I've had to sit at my desk for more than twenty minutes in the last two days. We found ourselves on this deadline that we hadn't prepared for and all of our resources were otherwise occupied. Marketing Lady kinda snorted and said, "well, do you know anyone who can come in and help?" And that's how it came to pass that girlninja has been temping here these past few days. Having a friend come in to work at your job for a while is the funnest thing ever. Now someone has names, faces, and impressions to attach to my stories about these people; but being my friend, she already has taken my impressions as fact. She already knew that Meghann is Stupid and Kevin is the Loveable Dork, and as such has fit in with the crowd instantly. But the cruel twist to having to need your friend come in and help out at work is that she's there because you're so busy that you can't just sit around and hang with your friend.

Yesterday started off with the cutest thing I have ever seen on the metro followed by your standard irritating customer service issue. I'll spare the second story, since any of you who have read this journal with regularity probably are familiar with the scene: I comment on terrible customer service, employee said it wasn't their problem, "are you the manager"/"I'm not answering your questions" screaming match ensues...yaddayaddayadda. Maybe I'll just post the letter I'll be writing to Oh, Good Pain.

I ran down the escalator and snuck into the first car of the waiting train yesterday morning just as the doors closed behind me. I had discovered earlier that my headphones weren't working during a vain attempt to drown out Christina and Terri's excruciating conversation on the bus about how even though Christina and her friends are from Alabama, they're not typical snobby southern girls, as evidenced by her studying abroad and double major in French and Art History. I noticed a young boy, about two or three years old, sitting in a stroller near the front of the train making little kid gurgling noises, focused on my crossword and prepared for the worst.

As we left the Pentagon, the little boy, flopping his feet around and staring off into the distance, parrots back after the conductor: "Next Sta-shon, Ar-ling-ton Cem-a-tar-ee," and when we arrived, "Ar-ling-ton Cem-a-tar-ee. Doors open on the left." He did the same thing at Rosslyn. Cute turned to amazing when the kid beat the conductor to the punch and announced "Foggy Bot-tom. Doors open on the left." An awed gasp rose from the passengers, who until that moment were doing a good job of pretening not to notice him.

Sure, despite what that kid says, the doors don't always open on the left. It was still the most adorable child-making-noise-in-public situation ever. And the best part is that my co-worker has seen this kid in the evenings before and says he does the routine all the way home.
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