Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Another note for my Journal.

You are looking at the new, proposed, high-speed transportation line that the Board of Directors has decided the Zetti Homeland Historical Society needs to attract tourists. It will take guests from the front door, above the main attraction room, around through the first of the conservatories and deposit them there.  Thereby forcing them to walk through the entire exhibit, through the Garden Tea Room, where they hope they will be exhausted enough to sit down and have some tea and biscuits. 
They will then, having regained their strength and deposited some money in the Historical Societies coffers, walk through the rest of the exhibits to the main entrance, where refreshments will again be offered, at specialized little snack shops.

This was the reason for my summons the other day, to see the Director.  He's quite pleased with himself and the committee. They feel this is a workable idea, it will improve the appearance of the building with the new glass front.  Seeing the tram zip back and forth will bring people in off the street. And, we will increase employment with the Garden Tea Room and Snack shops.

I have a severe headache.  I seem to have lost a few pounds here and there.  I suppose it's the daily trek up and down those cement stairs to the Sub-basement level 3. I seem to have developed muscles in my calves.

I find the Director a moron.

I stood there silently listening to him expound on this new "Development stage" wondering what in the world it had to do with me. I should have had more tea this morning.

Apparently, the Committee, with the Director's backing feel that I would be perfect for running the Garden Tea Room.
I stared in amazement at him while he ran on and on about my organizational skills, people skills, and what they hoped were my cooking skills.

I didn't know where to begin, although there was hardly a need because the old buffoon wouldn't stop talking.

He ushered me out of his office, patted me on the shoulder and told me to think hard on this offer but not long and then he giggled. He said he would love to have my answer when he met with the committee again.  Apparently, they are all off on some sort of sabbatical on another planet.

I think it's the giggling that gave me the headache.

If I could bomb the entire building and protect the entire Sub-basement Level 3 from any harm, I would do it.

That's it!  I need to get in contact with Z'Corkey and suggest that he move his entire collection of materials to his own building. We need to rid ourselves of this place.  I will miss Otto and his twinkling pants but perhaps we could find a place with less "issues" and more conducive to displaying the centuries of findings of dear Sir Z'Corkey.

Run a tea room?  What is wrong with that man? Why on earth would he think I have cooking skills? 

The entire bunch of them are weak, pudgy, tight fisted little men. I've watched them scurry out the door, glancing in my direction from under their Bowler hats. When they see me raise my hand to get their attention they run even faster, on their little pudgy feet. I have yet to actually collar one of them.  I've been sorely tempted to practice my lassoing techniques on them as they burst out of the main door. 

I haven't been able to discuss my concerns and problems with one of them. 

They have money to spend on this preposterous idea but they can't fix an elevator or install a bathroom? 

And, the matter of Z'beatrice still needs to be resolved. I am going to have to take time off from my work to go to this Easter Island and bring her back home. I have no idea what I would say to Z'Corkey, at this moment if he asked me how she was doing. 

I'm not sure how much vacation time I have left after taking off those two weeks to be with Great Aunt Martha, after the bite, from that obscene Snickerdoodle and finding out that GAMartha was dehydrated and stressed. I still find that difficult to understand. How stressed can a woman who has seven cats and a pleasant income from her three late husbands, be? And, dehydrated? The woman has a standing order with the corner bar to deliver a case of Coors Light to her, once a month.
I on the other hand have a permanent scar from that bite from that ridiculous animal and am down another pair of stockings that have yet to be reimbursed for.

Now, I have to go to the bathroom and I can't tell you how much I hate this. Going down the steps is difficult but you can get a little jog going and move quickly enough to bypass the "perils" of the staircase. Going up is far more difficult.
I do so need a drink of something.

Oh, and did I mention that the Zetti Homeland Historical Society is CHARGING ME, for the removal of the Stays Upright Porty Potty, that I had delivered here?  Apparently, when they realized that the elevator was working they refused to carry it down the steps, I wonder why, and simply left it out in front of the building. 
Instead of loading the thing back up in their truck they left to go to lunch and forgot about it.
Now, according to this God awful yellow stick note, from Accounting, I owe an outlandish sum of money for it's, the Stays Upright Porty Potty's return.

I simply need a drink and a bathroom and not in that order.

Faithfully submitted
by, Z'bea, a harried, unappreciated in her own time, unpaid, volunteer worker.

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