What it means to be an Assistant
I’m bloging from Planet Stuffy Head. Seriously, I am hearing things as if I’m chillin’ at the bottom of the bathtub. Like Charlie Brown hears the grown-ups talking in those cartoon movies we used to watch. WA WA WA WAH.
Driving down from 7000 ft this morning, my head could be compared to a balloon slowly inflating. I’m sure the other drivers were staring at me, my mouth wide open, trying to yawn the corks out of my ears. It’s now 9:40 am and I still feel like I’m in a tunnel.
I am also in Administrative Limbo. Having sent out 20 something emails, calls and faxes, I’m almost in panic mode at the lack of response. I need a Spanish Translator by 10:00 am tomorrow. Living in Southwest Colorado, you wouldn’t think this would be such a difficult task. Yet my phone is silent, my email empty, the fax asleep.
Do I step it up and become annoying phone call girl? Do I slink into the shadows with my tail between my legs? At this point, any call I receive will be filtered through 8 layers of cotton in my ears, and responded to in muffled grunting, in between sneezes.
I was just informed by my boss that if I don’t find someone to assist this very legally sensitive matter, well…there IS no other alternative, lets just say that. WORK, YOU PEON! DO YOUR JOB! Get those fingers BUSY Little Miss Secretary! Get out there and hustle SWEETIE!
I speak broken spanish at best. Yo no tengo la palabras necessitas para este situacion. AYE CARAMBA. DIOS MIO. Ayuda ME!
*Head continues to inflate*