There is a certain etiquette to quitting a job...and Then there's Noelle C.

Good afternoon!

So the news was for real last Thursday when Lumbergh walked to the back office where I was processing payments and minding my own business.  "Noelle C has given notice, " he said, "Do you know anyone who needs a job?"

I know a ton of people who need a job.  And if you need a job, email me a resume to my work email and I will happily pass it on.  It's full time, with benefits, and your task is to make around 100 outgoing sales calls to established leads a day. That's it.  And you'll probably get paid more than I do, because pretty much everyone who had that job does.  If you live in the Milwaukee/Wauwatosa area, it's a good gig.

But let's back up...Noelle C gave her notice?  This was something I thought would Never, ever happen! She's threatened, but sort of in that, "I'm going to quit if you don't eat my candy" and no one takes her seriously.

Now working out your two weeks' notice is a bit of a dance and there is a certain etiquette one and one's co workers should follow.  Inevitably it boils down to a conversation like this:

"Hey, I heard you gave notice.  Bummer.  So, what are you going to be doing once you bust out of here?"

This is a completely acceptable question.  It's lighthearted, it's polite, and it gives the impression to the person leaving that the people at work do care at least a little about what your future holds.

Knowing this, because I have quit a job or two in my time, I called Noelle C when the men folk had cleared the building.  She prefers talking on the phone because she can hear a bit better.

"Yes?"  She says.

"Hey, Noelle C, what that what?"  (Cuz, I like to talk street with her.  Sometimes it makes her laugh.)

"What do you mean?"  (And sometimes she pretends to not understand me.)

"You gave your notice?  What's up with that?"

"I'm not talking about that."  And she hung up.

Now, I could have been insulted.  But I figured she was just in one of her moods because Lumbergh hadn't gotten down on his knees to beg her to stay.  So I let it rest.  And I counted down the hours to the end of the day.

That was Thursday.  Then we don't see each other until Monday.  So today, when she came in, I greeted her, but boy howdy, she was frosty.  But she was frosty to everyone and I figured it was all part of the separation process.

However, when she started to do things that made me think of Elsie W, I had to call her on it.  Literally.  But here's what happened:

I called a new lead in the morning. The woman I talked to said that person I needed to talk to wouldn't be in until 4:30 PM today.  So I made a note in the database for Noelle C to call this woman and set an appointment at 4:30.

And the very first phone call...and phone message...she made was to this very customer. 

This is exactly what Elsie W did every day.  So I called Noelle C, because that's how she prefers to talk to everyone, and I asked if she saw my note.  That's all I said, "Did you see my note about this customer?"

"Yes,"  she said, "But I don't care.  So I left a message in the morning.  Who cares?  I'll call her tomorrow at 4:30.  It doesn't matter.  You're not perfect either, you know."

Ummmmm, believe me, I realize that.  Just read this blog.  Oh wait, don't.  But calling someone multiple times when they gave us a specific time, well, that's not...good.  So I said, "I know I'm not perfect.  I didn't say that.  I just asked if you saw the note."

"I did.  And it doesn't matter.  Not to me anyway."

"That's because you're leaving." 

Sorry, it had to be said.  One of my biggest peeves is someone who is about to leave a job and does a terrible job because they won't have to answer for it later.

"Yes, I am leaving, so you'll have to deal with it because it will become you're job.  Just like everything else is."

Yes, and I'm oh ever so happy at that prospect because I know, I KNOW that while I'm absorbing your job even more than I already do, I'll get paid what you get paid....oh wait, no, that won't happen.

So I let it go, but the frostiness continued, but my Mondays are too busy to be worried about everyone's feelings.  I barely worry about my own on a Monday.


Still, I wanted to be pleasant and make peace. So I waited again until everyone else had gone for the day and she was pausing at my desk.  "So,"  I said in a casual tone because mostly I was just being polite.  She can go work in a cannery or a school or at a big box store, I'm just so happy she won't be tormenting me anymore, but I still want to be polite.  "So what's your new job going to be like?"

She looks at me as if I'd just asked her to sacrifice her firstborn.  "I told you once I'm not talking about it.  I never, ever tell anyone where I'm going or what I'm going to do or how much I'm going to make when I leave a job."

Let's review:  Did I ask any of that?

She storms into her office and continues the conversation, which I continue as well, but at a volume she'll never be able to hear.  Whatever her new job is, I hope it doesn't involve needing to hear people talk.  She then storms out of her office and plunks a cactus plant on the empty desk.  "This will stay here, I'm not taking it with me."

Um, I gave her that as a gift.

"How come?"  I ask, because I'm an idiot.

"I'm moving."

Now, I want to let this go.  I really do.  I don't want to care about where she's going.  But I can't help it.  "You're moving, like moving moving?"

"Yes, and I'm getting rid of all kinds of crap, so that plant has to go.  It can stay there."

I gave that to her...as a gift.  She couldn't stop singing about it for days.

"I'm moving into a smaller place so I can afford food and gas."

Note:  I didn't ask her that.

"Okay, hey, I wasn't trying to pry.  I was just trying to have a conversation like normal people would when someone gives their notice."

"Well, I never tell anyone when I quit a job and I don't appreciate that you're asking me all these questions.  I'm not going to tell you about how much I make or what I'll be doing or where I'm working.  And you just keep trying to pump me for information."

"No,"  I said in the voice I usually reserve for annoying children, "I was just having a conversation like a normal person.  When someone gives notice normal people show they care about that person by expressing an interest in their new jobs.  I don't care what you're going to be making or any of that."

"Well I don't appreciate that everyone knows I'm going. Lumbergh went and spread that all around and I didn't tell him he could.  It's no one's business but mine when I'm quitting."

She's got that crazed look in her eyes, but this time I figure, it's 4:26.  I'm four minutes away from freedom, and I've already shut down my computer.  So I say, "What did you think you were going to do?  Just leave one day and no one would notice?"

"That's exactly what I wanted.  But he had to go and blab it to everyone."

For the record.  The boss came in and told me she was leaving and asked if I knew anyone who needed a job.  That was the end of the conversation.  What he did or did not tell anyone else, I have no idea.

"You know what, "  I say, pretty much at the end of my rope, "I wasn't trying to dig for any information.  I was trying to be polite.  It's what normal people do.  But hey, you've been so snarly to me since you gave notice, and that's really not fair since none of this has anything to do with me."

"I didn't say it did have anything to do with you."

Her imperious tone just made me madder.  "I'm just trying to be friendly.  I don't know you well enough to know that you NEVER tell ANYONE anything about a new job."

"Well I told you on Thursday I didn't want to talk about it, that should have been enough."

"You're right,"  I said.  "It is."  And I left.  She's not going to have to tell me a third time.  Game on, woman!

Sarah's Mother's Day rant!

Good morning!

This has been a tremendous week for me.  My son, Skippy, released his first book A Collection of writing from under my sheets, Noelle C gave her two weeks' notice, and it's Mother's Day!

Yes, you read all of that.  Noelle C is less than two weeks away from being gone out of my life.  I'd like to say it'll be the end of my book series that I'm working on, but I said that when Elsie W left in a cloud of divine fury, so we'll just have to see what Lumbergh hires next.

So it's been a good week, which should translate into a good Mother's Day weekend, right?

Not quite.

In true, "It can only happen to Sarah" fashion, my Mothers' Day weekend went from a dream weekend of writing and napping to, well, let's see if you can keep up with the time line.

As some point about a week ago, my mother sent me a text asking if we could "all be together." This is a very typical mother guilt technique.  I've used it myself on my kids when they say, "What do you want for -------"  I say, "I just want us all to be together."

Which is fine when you're four people who live in the same house and can manage to get your schedules to connect for a couple hours.  Not so easy when you're three family units living in four houses  (my brother's kids split their time with their mother.) and have that many more schedules to clear. 

Now, Hubby and the kids and I had plans to go to brunch at my favorite brunching place.  I directed my mom to talk to him.  He invited her, and therefore also his mom, who lives a couple hours away, to join us.  All was well, it was going to be a nice brunch at a nice place.  No muss, no fuss.

Except...well, Brother's kids were going to be at their mother's for , you know, Mother's Day.  So then we wouldn't be "all together."

So my mother sent Hubby a text saying that Brother had wanted everyone to come to his house in the evening when his kids could be there. 

Problem one:  My kids were both going to be WORKING in the evening.  So then we wouldn't be "all together."

I won't go into family dynamics with you, I'll let you draw your own conclusions about what's happening. 

So okay, Hubby sent a text back saying he and I would be there.  And that satisfied Mother. It doubled up our plans, since we still had Mother in Law driving in, but that's fine.

And then we got a text from Brother, who expressed confusion...he was looking forward to BRUNCH AT THE BRUNCHING PLACE.

Are we drawing conclusions yet?

But we aren't done.  Hubby and Brother worked out the menu, and all was still well.  Since my kids weren't going to be there, we wouldn't be "all together" but I guess it was closer than not having Brother's kids there, so it was fine.  Hubby and I would make half the meal, then drive across two counties on a Sunday evening for dinner.  Our plans for brunch?  Scrapped. Mother in Law will be eating at our house...after we do four hours in church because my Sunday School kids are singing in both services.  So now we're cooking for two meals and DRIVING.

But we're not done yet.

I get a phone message from Brother late this week saying that we don't need to bring any food, but that as a housewarming present he'd like us to buy him a butcher block cutting board.  (Oh, did I fail to mention he moved into a new house?)  Now, my typical housewarming present is candles because, while I have NO MONEY, I have millions of very nice candles.  But no, he wants a butcher block cutting board.

But we're not done.

So Hubby says he's still making what he was going to make because he's a vegetarian and Brother never met a dish he didn't want to dress up with meat of some kind.  So now, we're cooking for two meals, we're driving across two counties, we're SHOPPING FOR A GIFT, and yes, we're cleaning the house because Mother in Law is coming TODAY in the early afternoon.

But we're NOT DONE.

Hubby then asks if it's okay if he WORKS TODAY 8-1.  The extra money is nice, but ummmm....well, he promised last night he'd clean the house.  Well, he did do most of it, but the bathrooms are still a stink pile mess, and I have to get the office in shape for company. ( I love my mother in law, and she always says she's not coming to see the house, she's coming to see up, but frankly, if she saw the squalor we live in she'd run screaming from the house.) Plus now the shopping errands fall to me this morning, alone. And since she's coming in the afternoon, my one shot at a nap is gone.

BUT WE'RE NOT DONE!

Hubby also mentioned he has a YOUTH GROUP event tonight.  He'll be bowling with the church youth group until very late tonight.  Meanwhile, I'll be watching TV with Mother in Law, when what I really want to do is work on the Else W. book. And I won't be able to do THAT because Mother in Law will be sleeping in the office.  (Hey, I suggested she sleep in our room...I was overruled.)

So let's review:  My mother's day weekend started with gift shopping for my brother, cleaning the house my mother in law.  Today I get to run errands, clean some more, cook something, (I have to bake a pie for a choir thing on Monday...) Tomorrow I have four hours of church, brunch at home with mother in law, clean up after that, the drive across two counties to Brother's house where we will be "all together" except for my kids.

We'll be done right about the time I have to go to bed to get up and face my work week again.

To ease the blow a bit, Hubby and kids had roses delivered to me at work.  That was very nice and I like the flowers very much, but that should tell you a lot about the mood in our house right now. We are not a flower buying couple.  Hubby is doing what he can to sort of smooth over the fact that my simple weekend of writing and napping has turned into a rant on my blog.

So happy Mother's Day to all you moms out there who will get to celebrate with your kids.  And none of you better say one word about your family doing NOTHING special for the day.  I will trade with you in a single heartbeat!

For the next seven days, I can't mock Elsie W.

Good evening!

Most of you remember how I have chronicled and will soon be publishing an account of my time working with the infamous Elsie W.  Well, one of the things I mocked was the fact that this woman showed up to work not once, but TWICE with her pants on inside out and backwards and countless times with her top inappropriately buttoned or the like.

Well, I have to abstain from mocking her for this very thing for the next seven days.

Why?

Because today I went to church with my sweater on inside out.

Yep, my favorite argyle button up cardigan, I wore it inside out and did not realize it until the bell rang and I was sitting in the pew looking all prayerful and it occurred to me that my buttons seemed to be on the inside of my sweater.  Horrified, I leaned over and said to my husband, "Do I have a tag on the outside of my collar?"

His response was to internally laugh so hard, he shook the pew...and got the young mother behind us laughing.

Peaches merely said, "Gold stars, Mom."

It is common courtesy in our church that if you must leave during the service you do so during a hymn so that it's less distracting.  We're Lutheran...we sing hymns every six minutes.  BUT, on this day...on THIS DAY of inside out sweater shame...the first hymn was not sung until 30 minutes into the service.  Which means the young mother behind us was nicely amused for 30 minutes.

At the opening chords of the hymn I dashed out to make a quick change.

Later, the younger mother told me she wished I hadn't changed.  She wanted to turn her top inside out in support of my fashion statement.

One should note she's a bit smaller than I am.  If I wore her sweater size, I wouldn't mind my tag sticking out either.

My Sunday School kids noted the sweater, which they told me in class later in the morning.  "Why didn't you say something?"  I asked them.

"You were sitting too far away!"  They all said.

I get it.  If I, as a middle school kid, had randomly shouted to a teacher than her clothes were on inside out,  my mother would have broken a wooden spoon over me at home.  So I'm sure, even though we're in an age where kids thing wooden spoons are for nothing more sinister than mixing liquid Jell-o, they still fear talking out loud in church.

So there it is.  For the next seven days I have to not think about how silly Elsie W was for wearing her pants inside out.

To paraphrase Jesus, "Let she whose sweater is not inside out cast the first snarky comment."

Yes, Noelle C is the reason for corporate warfare.

Good afternoon!

So this week we at Stuff Installed has a bit of a wild week.  We have seven installers, and therefore PM schedules seven installation jobs each day.  That's called filling your schedule, and it's a great thing, and it's a big reason why Stuff, Installed is the most profitable branch in the entire corporation.  (I'm not lying about that.  There's actually a big wall hanging in our showroom saying that very thing.  Basically, for all the high jinks, we rule.)

On Wednesday, however, one of our guys was out for the rest of the week with an eye injury and another guy, well, let's just say he decided installing stuff for Stuff Installed wasn't his thing.  He's been on the job two months.  And he just walked out.  So now we had seven jobs on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday and only five installers, six if you counted PM who was willing to do an installation.  But installations take all day...so we had three jobs this week we either had to reschedule or cover.

We are the only branch of Stuff Installed in Wisconsin, but there are at least two branches in Chicago, 90 minutes south of us.  So Lumbergh put in a call to the Northern branch and asked if they could spare an installer.

"Nope, sorry," came the reply.  "All my extra guys are going to the south branch all week."

Now, Lumbergh is a sneaky sort of fellow and he's figured out how to access other branches' schedules from our very own computer.  Actually, we all can do that because the ISRs  (the job Noelle C does) are required to cover for other branches from time to time, so we have to have access to other branches' schedules. 

Lumbergh checked the installation schedule for both the north branch and the south branch.  Between the two branches, both of whom had 10 installers, they had three jobs going in in those three days.  One job per day.

So....liar liar pants on fire!

We managed to serve our customers this week, and serve them well without the help of other branches.  Lumbergh won't get over this slight any time soon, but at least it gives him something to bark about other than why our sales guys aren't selling enough to make him happy.

But that's not why I'm telling you this.  I'm telling you this because when Noelle C found out about this lack of help on the part of the northern branch, she had a completely different, and of course delusional, take on why the other branch refused to help us.

"It's because I came back here."

Oh yes, the ancient history of Noelle C and Stuff Installed.  A couple years ago, right before I came on, she quit because she couldn't get along with the other office women.  I'm not making this up.  She thinks she was a victim of bullying, but after working with the woman for a year, I am convinced she quit because the other women wouldn't eat her vile soup and told her to keep her top on.  And she didn't like that.

Anyway, so she quit.  And then she came back when Elsie W was fired and called down the wrath of God on Lumbergh's head.  And now, dear Noelle C is convinced that the reason the Chicago branch wouldn't help us this week is because 18 months ago they "were going to" ask her to work for them and she refused and then she came back to this branch and now they've heard about it and they're refusing to help us.

Are you following me so far?

It's not that the Chicago branch offered her a job.  Much like when she says she was a model for Cosmo, I have my doubts about this.  "They were going to offer me a job, but I told them I didn't want to move."

So, a preemptive job turn down?

So yes, the whole reason there's been some hard feelings between our branch and the Chicago branches has nothing to do with the fact that we are far more profitable, that we did more installs in a week than they did in a month, or that our installers make more than double what their guys do.  It has nothing to do with the fact that we're a privately owned franchise and they are corporately run.  It has nothing to do with the fact that we have a 91% customer approval rating, and they are struggling to keep the doors open.

Nope, it's all because Noelle C turned down a job they hadn't offered her.

And now the weekend is over and I get to go back to work tomorrow and start living this wonderful dream again.

I wonder what she'll put in her soup this week to make it stink?

It's Easter! Time for a Rant!

Happy Easter to all!

For those of you who celebrate in a religious way, Happy Easter!  And for those of you who celebrate in a secular way, Happy Bunny day!  And for those of you who do not celebrate Easter, pastel wrapped chocolate is going to be 50% off at midnight on Sunday, so get on over to Walmart and grab it before Skippy and his friends do.

Easter used to be my favorite holiday.  It was one day, not really a season, so there was little pressure for multiple gatherings.  It's not really a gift giving holiday, so very little shopping.  (We always get something for the kids.)  And hey, ham is super easy to make.

Well that's not the case anymore. Easter has, in my family, become yet again one of those holidays we have to do battle over.  Where's it going to be?  (Not at my house...since we got the cats apparently my home is a death zone to all my relatives.)  Will the kids be there? (Probably not since neither of my kids likes big holiday gatherings and what is it about teens these days where you can't get them to commit to ANYTHING more than five minutes in the future?)  When will we be there?  (My mother, on Easter, always manages to make the commanded arrival time half an hour before we can physically possibly be at her home.  We sing in church for the late service, so we can't even get on the road  a minute before 11:30 and it's half an hour to her house.  But we are supposed to be there at, yes, 11:30.)

All this I could get past if it weren't for the last thing:

What can we bring?

I work three jobs.  My kids both work. Hubby works long hours plus we try to eek out some family time, some volunteer time at our church and oh yeah, it's EASTER so we're at church pretty much every night during Holy Week.

My mother tells me, "Oh, I have everything taken care of. Just bring one thing."

What would that be?

What's the most time consuming...messiest...not-gonna-happen thing she could have a house full of ADULTS ONLY make?

Yep, two dozen colored, hard boiled, Easter eggs.

Just 18 more to go!

When the kids were little this was fun.  We made an afternoon of it.  But the kids are grown, and really not interested in decorating Easter eggs.  Two dozen?  Let's look at what I have to do to make this happen:


1) Get two dozen eggs.  (Acutally get 3 dozen, because I always crack several in the boiling process.)

2) Boil the eggs.

3) Find the color kit I bought on special two years ago.

4) Find the white vinegar.

5) Go to the store and fight the crowds to get white vinegar.(This will take an hour, since I buy white vinegar about once every three years, or when I'm asked to make decorated Easter eggs.)

6) Find newspaper to put on the table. (We don't get newspapers.)

7) Wait, clear the table of cats, cat hair, and assorted stuff that seems to assemble on the kitchen table no matter how hard I try to keep it all off the table.

8) Find six cups I can use to put the color for the eggs in.

9) Beg one or both of my children to help me color and decorate the eggs.

10)  Fight the urge to just dye a bunch of raw eggs.  Imagine the Easter fun when we crack those puppies open!

Now, what, you ask, does my brother, who has small children, get to bring?

"Oh, you're brother will probably get some salad from the deli."

WHAT????????????????

His kids have been in Florida for a week with their mom.  He works one job.  He gets to pick up a salad from the deli?  He always gets to pick up salad from the deli!

Which would explain why I got up at 5:30 on A SATURDAY MORNING...I have 500 things to accomplish today and making Easter eggs is one of them.

I'm going to need way more coffee...

Forget time zones...it's a different day in my kitchen!

To say Skippy has an off beat schedule is a vast understatement.  The boy is want to be up for stretches of 24-30 hours at a shot and then sleep for just as long.  If he had any interest in medicine, he'd blast through those mega shifts in the first couple years.

But he works almost full time most weeks at a restaurant, and likes it well enough  while he's trying to figure out what he's going to do with his life.  We barely see him and even more rarely speak to him on the phone.  He's sort of a shadowy figure that let's us know where he is by which shoes he leaves in the front hall.

The other thing Hubby and I rarely do is speak to anyone on the phone in the wee hours of the morning.  We did that in the college years, when you stayed up until dawn debating pretty much everything, or, my case, trying to fit into things in the woman's dorm.  (For the record, I could fit into the drier, not the washing machine.)  We talked to our babies in the week hours of the morning when they woke and demanded food, diapers, cuddling. 

Well our babies are 16 and 19 now, and can cook and feed themselves.  And they have significant others to cuddle, so they don't look for it much from us.

Which means that at four in the morning, you can predictable find us asleep, in bed, with our phones quietly charging, waiting to jolt us awake at 5:30.

Not Skippy, not his place of work.

So imagine my shock when I woke to Hubby speaking to someone in the dark.  No, it wasn't the State Farm people who will answer your insurance questions at 3 in the morning.  (Did any of us ask for that service by the way?) 

He said, "We're in bed."

I said, "Who are you talking to?"

He said, "Skippy."



Nothing says 4 AM like a Grand Slam.

Now Skippy will, at times, text us late at night to let us know he's home or to let us know he's staying over at a friend's house, or he's going to Denny's or something. 

The last time he called either of us before dawn, he was on a cold Montana highway and his car was destroyed.  I, of course, went into full on MOM MODE.

"Where is he?"

Hubby says, "He's in the kitchen."

"Our kitchen?"

Hubby waves me off and said into the phone, "It's 4 AM."

He chuckles and turns off the phone.  "Apparently,"  he says, "Skippy woke up and saw that it was almost 4 and knew he had to work at 5."

Skippy never, ever works before 10 AM.  His place of business doesn't open until 10:30.  But he does sleep in a basement room with no windows.  And he was asleep the previous day when I got home from work at 6 as he sometimes is on days he doesn't work or works and earlier shift.

So it stands to reason that his internal clock was a tiny bit off.

"But why did he call you?"

"Because,"  says Hubby, "he got up, got dressed came upstairs and saw all our cars in the driveway, but didn't see any of us.  So he called to find out where we all were and why we were all home at 4."

"So what did you say?"

"I said we were all in bed.  Then he asked why we were in bed at 4, and I told him because it was 4 in the morning."

"So where is he now?"

Hubby curled  back up into a ball.  "He went back to bed.  He's got twelve more hours before he has to go to work."

Oh to have his schedule!

My Brother summed it up in five words...I have a few more.

Hello all!

Sorry for the long break, but it's been something of a down couple of weeks for me.  I find if I don't feel funny, this blog isn't funny, and that's just not good.  But I'm feeling a little funny right now, so I have to share with you the day Noelle C decided two big things:

1)  She was in love with my brother.

2)  She was going to buy my brother's house.


 As you may guess, Noelle C is a different brand of Whackadoodledoo from Elsie W.  Elsie W was universally acknowledged of whacky in a very obvious way.  And while she did call me a couple of times outside of work, I never felt like she would hunt me down and kill me in my sleep and maybe dance in the moonlight wearing my Rick Springfield t-shirts.

The Steaming Cup, my favorite coffee/sandwich shop.

Which is pretty much exactly what I think Noelle C would do.

So I spend a lot of energy NOT talking about my personal life, relationships, church, or exact address.  In Fact, I've told her I live in DOWNTOWN Waukesha, words that strike fear in the hearts of anyone who doesn't live or down in the charming downtown area of my fair city.  Once upon a time downtown Waukesha was a mess of one way streets, no parking, and funky shops that mostly smelled like weed.

Well they cleaned up the one way streets, found more parking, and Febreezed most of the weed smell out of there and it's lovely. I spend a lot of time and money down there. You should, too.

Anyway, a couple weeks ago, I got some Auto Show tickets. I couldn't use them because Hubby had to work so I checked in with family members to see who'd like tickets to the Auto Show.  Brother did.  He lives and works close Initech, so he stopped by to pick them up.  He was in the office maybe ten minutes. 

It was enough.

He left and Noelle C started purring.  Really purring.  "Is that your husband or your brother?"

Brother and I have a complex relationship.  I doubt he'd see the humor in this portion of the conversation.  "He's my brother."

More purring.  "Oh, see, he's just my type.  I saw him and I perked right up."

Ew.

Brother is just barely 40.  Noelle C SAYS she's 56, but I have my feelings that she's far older than that.  Especially since just the other day she increased the number of jobs she's held in her life from an unlikely 150 to a really unlikely 300.  That's a lot of jobs, even for someone who has had as varied a work life as she says she has, to cram in in the 45 years she's been working.  (She insists she held her first customer service office job at the age of 11.)

Anyway, ew.

I thought that was the end of it.  Then, suddenly, she says, "I looked at apartments around here and they are very expensive. It's almost cheaper to buy a house."

Her drive to work is about 5 miles shorter than mine, but it's not an easy drive and I've encouraged her for a while to find a place closer.  I'll admit it, it's self serving.  First of all, if she doesn't live in Waukesha, there won't be any chance she'll expect to car pool.  Second, if she doesn't live in Waukesha it'll be less likely I'll find her standing over my bed with a knife in her hand.

But I'm an idiot.  Instead of grunting or smiling at her like I normally do, I said, "My brother is selling his house and it's really close to this office."

The next four hours were a whirl of questions about his house  (It's a cute little place in Milwaukee, he's put a ton of work into it and he'd stay there forever but he has to move to another suburb to be closer to his kids.)  and her squealing every fifteen minutes and shouting, "I'm buying a house!" She especially liked the basement where she say Brother's stationary bike and punching bag.  "He takes good care of himself, that's so attractive."
Double Ew.

 (Meanwhile, if you're looking for a house in Milwaukee, you can't go wrong. Such a cute house...wanna see it?  Click here!)

NBM got involved in this one, mostly because we all feared, since she's never own a home before, that she'd jump in and get herself all into something she couldn't handle.  That was our fear.   We were idiots.

She doesn't work on Fridays so she set up a meeting with Fritz, the unsuspecting realtor for the next day.  My mother and brother spent some time cleaning the house to make it pristine.  (He has small kids...and he's motivated to sell, so this was viewed, by him , as a good thing.)  Everything seemed perfectly normal and nice.

And then I got a call from Noelle C.

"I'm not going to buy your brother's house." 

"Okay," says I.

"I loved the basement, all the work he did. You tell your brother I'd buy it just for that."

I won't be telling him that.

"But I didn't like the tone of voice the realtor used on me. Like how dare I ask a question.  I asked questions about why the basement walls were reinforced and he answered me in a rude way."

I feel for Fritz.  I've never met him, but I've worked with her and I know she can turn from sunshine to hurricane in a second.  He was probably trying to answer her question and she had a thought about something a man said to her once in a basement fifteen years ago and that's what triggered it.

"Anyway, I also didn't like the neighborhood."

What's wrong with the neighborhood?  It's a really nice quiet street, close to everything, in a nice Milwaukee area.  And there's a great pizza place on the corner.

"What's wrong with the neighborhood?"  Why do I ask these things?

"Well, I saw a black person on the street."

Yes, there are black people in Milwaukee.  And Brookfield.  And Waukesha.  So what?

"And besides, Wauwatosa has been in the news a lot lately and I don't like that."

I had to think about this one a little bit because the house is in Milwaukee, not in Wauwatosa, which is about a block away from where we work.  So if she's freaked out because the house is near Wauwatosa, she should be MORE FREAKED because her desk is closer to Tosa than that house.

And I should explain for those of you who don' t know the dynamics of Milwaukee suburbs.  Wauwatosa is side by side with Milwaukee, and typically prides itself in low crime.  (High housing prices.  Low crime.)  It's sort of a myth because crime happens everywhere, but Tosa is in the news lately because a guy shot his wife who just happened to be a Tosa police officer.  It was big news because it's cold right now and when it's cold there aren't as many violent crimes in the area.  So we've been hearing about this nasty domestic shooting for weeks because nothing else is going on.

Oh, and the house, again, is in Milwaukee.  So why she rambled on about Tosa was beyond me.  But whatever. 

I thought that was the end of that.

Then I got a voicemail from my brother.  Five words.

"WHAT THE F+$@! WAS THAT?"

So I called my mother and got the whole story.

And now, Paul Harvey used to say, here's the rest of the story.

It seems that this appointment was no good from the get go. Whether she got turned down by the bank for preapproval, or what, I have no idea.  Maybe she saw a dead bird on her way to the house.  Who knows what sets her off?

Fritz, by all reports, is a pretty low key, low pressure guy.  Should have been perfect for her.  Apparently the conversation in the basement escalated far more than she let on, to the point where Fritz was uncomfortable.  (I can only imagine.  Wonder if she pulled up her top.)  She refused, refused to go to the second floor.  Looked at the main floor, the basement, and then started screaming at him.  As she backed out of the driveway, Steve McQueen style from what I'm told, she screeched, "DON'T EVER CALL ME AGAIN!"

Woman, you called him. I'm just sayin'.

I haven't seen Brother since, although I'm sure I'll hear more details soon enough. Meanwhile, Noelle C's acting like she never even went to the house, let her racist freak flag fly, and unsettled a man who's been selling houses for years.

Just another fun experience with Noelle C.