pause for a couple seconds, but it’ll just be to take a breath. Then he’s right back at it. “Reverend Marpa said you carry your notebook around all the time because you had panic attacks when you were in grade school. Is that true?
“Writing therapy didn’t work for me because it made my shyness worse.
“Do you think he really is a reincarnation of the real Marpa? I guess he could be. The original Marpa brought Naropa’s teachings to Tibet. That’s what he’s most known for. Marpa the translator. But he also helped Milarepa purify his karma—he made him build and tear down three towers. That’s kind of what Reverend Marpa’s doing now, so I guess they could be the same person.”
Have a guy build some towers, make a long-distance call to Australia . . . yeah, that sounds like the same thing.
“Hey! are you writing this down? You just wrote that down, didn’t you? Maybe you did, I can’t tell. Your handwriting is even worse than mine.”
Pretty soon, I’ll have to look up and ask, “I’m sorry. Did you say something?” Not yet, though. Not yet. I’m still holding out hope that Tanha will come over and say Hi.
* * *
King of the Hill is on and it’s the one where Bobby keeps yelling, “That’s my purse!” before he kicks someone else in the kiwis. It’s probably the best episode ever. It’s even funny when you’re only listening to it.
But Viking Boy just slapped me on the leg, and that pretty much ruined the moment for me. He played it off like it was just a harmless, doesn’t-mean-anything, guy-on-guy leg slap, and so I pretended it was nothing, too. But still.
He’d been holding up his hand for a high-five, and I pretended like I didn’t see it—which was kind of hard, considering he kept waving it in front of my face—but then, just as I was about to look up and say, “What?” he went for my leg instead.
I mean, granted, it’s a funny episode, but I’ve never thought something was funny enough to slap someone else on the leg. Unless it’d be hot Tanha with her super long hair. Pretty much anything would make me laugh hard enough to touch her on the leg. I could be watching C.S.I. or some other super-unfunny show and I’d be like, “Ha-ha, hot Tanha with the super-long hair, isn’t that funny?” slap, slap.
Tickle, tickle. Rub, rub. Kiss, kiss. Squeeze, squeeze. Unzip. Unsnap. Lick, lick. Nibble, nibble. Pull, pull. Thrust, thrust. Yes.
Nice image. But I didn’t want Viking Boy to be like that with me.
I’m going outside to smoke.
June 11
Apparently Trainer Tim was pissed at me for not paying attention during his awesome PowerPoints, so to punish me or teach me a lesson or whatever, he got a tape of the call I got all my PINs on. He didn’t mention any of this at the time; he just said, “Okay, as promised, we’re going to listen to a few actual calls.”
It took me a while to realize it was me, because I wasn’t really paying attention, for one, but mainly because I sound way totally more dorkish than I realized.
When we took our break, Tim was like, “L.J., could I talk to you for a second?”
And then he went into this whole thing about how he was trying to teach me a lesson since I’m never listening and everything and how he was planning to play the call and then tell everyone, “Okay, that’s what you’re not supposed to do on your calls.”
But then he was like, “I don’t know how you scored so low on that call. I used to be in QA, as you probably know, and I don’t see how you could’ve scored lower than a ninety-seven. I’ve got your QA tally sheet right here—Greeting, Verification, Sincerity—those were all good on this call. I’ll talk to Daniel to see if we can’t get you back on the call floor tomorrow, okay?”
But right then, Tanha walked past and she smiled kind of a cute little sexy smile at me, and then I caught a look at her perfect little tight butt as she went out the door and I was like, “That’s okay, Tim. Training’s not so bad.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to have you in here. I get a bonus for everybody who completes training. But you really could be—should be—out on the call floor.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “I really am getting a lot out of your training. I don’t always look like I’m listening, but I really am.”
I’m turning into as big a perv as Adam.
* * *
God, I hate OU. I just called them to find out about my results from Judiciaries, and they’re like, “I’m sorry, I can’t give that information out over the phone. If you haven’t already received the letter detailing your results, you should probably be getting that in the next few days.”
“Can’t you just tell me what the results are?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t give that information out over the phone.”
“I haven’t gotten it. Did you send it to my address in Athens, or to my parents’ address?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t give that information out over the phone.”
“Did you send it to my school address or to my home address?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t give that information out over the phone.”
“How about this? Can I verify my address? Did you send it to Athens, or to Cincinnati?”
“According to this, it was not sent to Athens.”
So now I’ve got to drive all the way to Cincinnati after work tonight just to find out if I’ll still be suspended next year or not.
It’s a good thing I’m in training. If I would’ve been working my regular hours, I wouldn’t get there until, like, one-thirty in the morning. At least now I can make it there by eight, easy. Maybe I got sent back to training so I could get the letter out of the mail before Mom and Dad open it—one of those, the Lord works in mysterious ways sort of things. Of course, if I never got sent back to training, I could’ve driven there before work, while Mom and Dad were both at work, and got the letter before they get home from work. So maybe the Lord doesn’t work in mysterious ways, after all.
Now I’ve got to get all ninja and hope Mom and Dad don’t catch me going through their mail. Hopefully Mom won’t open my letter before I get there. And why did they send it to Mom and Dad’s anyway? They’re supposed to send stuff like that to me at my local address.
Fucktards.
* * *
I am the ninja, coo coo ca-choo.
Mom and Dad weren’t home when I got there, so I got in and out in about ten minutes. It would’ve been quicker, but they’re planting some new something in the back yard, so I had a bunch of muddy footprints to clean up.
The main thing is, I got the letter and got out before I had to deal with any of the “How’s school?” “Are you graduating this year?” “Do you have a major, at least?” questions that always lead to the “When I was your age” or “It’s time for you to grow up” arguments that never end, or the “Keith did this and Keith did that and why can’t you be a big shot investment banker like Keith and worship the almighty Dollar like a normal person” crap that always makes me wish I had the balls to quote that thing from Jesus about how it’s easier for a camel to go through a needle than it is for some rich dude to get into heaven.
The letter was basically what I expected: Blah blah blah, blah blah blah, “numerous code of conduct infractions,” blah blah, “your best interest,” blah blah blah, “your request for academic reinstatement has been denied,” blah blah blah, “one academic