The Long-Awaited Kathy Fantastic Interview!

For more information about Brian Jacques, please visit this adorable website by Kelsey (age unknown).

Click here to get the back story.

►Note:  We regret the delayed release of the following interview of author Brian Jacques’ secretary, Kathy Fantastic.  Due to unforeseen complications, the transcripts of this interview were reviewed by committee to protect the interests of the parties involved.  However, they have now been released to the public and appear below.◄

*RRRING RRRRING*

“Hello and good mornin’!  You’ve reached award-winnin’ author Brian Jacques’ Office.  This is Kathy speakin’.  How may I be of assistance to ya today?”

“Kathy!  Hi!  Lindsay BoBindsay from the website IAlsoLikeBrianJacques.com?  We spoke recently about an interview. Got some time to talk?”

“Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiindsay!  Oh honey—you betcher. Gawd, this is so excitin’! “

“Haha, yes it is.  So…let’s just jump right in, shall we?  Now, first things first, that is an extremely long introduction you gave me when I called. Quite a mouthful to say over and over.  Does Brian make you say all that?”

“Oh. Well, yes.  Though sometimes I add my own personal touch.  Is it too much?”

“Uh, maybe a little long– Don’t people cut you off?”

“Sure, the first time or two. But each time they interrupt me, I just start it over again. Eventually, they don’t interrupt anymore.”

“Wow… sounds pretty effective.  Is–um–Brian Jacques really an award-winning author?”

“Oh sure! He’s got the Carnegie Award, the Lancashire Libraries Children’s Book of the Year, and all the li’l homemade World’s Best Boss awards that I make for him, ‘course.”

“Cute.  Must be a nice boss!”

“Oh, yes! Let me tell you, working for Brian Jacques has changed my life!  I started off so young, just a bumpkin who di’nt know a thing ’bout literature, and takin’ a job in London where I di’nt know nobody and everything was so diffrint!  Brian was the first person who di’nt make fun of my accent… but now I guess it’s all like second nature to me—I can keep up with the best of them when it comes to book stuff, and my accent is my calling card!  It’s really great.”

“Sounds great.  So where are you from?  Tennessee, I’d guess?  And how did you end up in London?”

“CLOSE!  I’m from a li’l town called Clinton, Kentucky.  Did you know every state has a city called Clinton? Yep, even Hawaii.  Ain’t that neat?  Yeah, I’ve lived a lot a places. Richmond, Jefferson City, and now here!  I moved here as a surprise for a man I was seein’ back then.  Applied for this job on a whim, and Brian hired me!  Which was great, seein’ as how once I got here, that guy wasn’t so excited to see me as I thought he’d be—some people don’t care surprises—but I already had all my stuff here… so I just stayed put!”

“Wow.  So how long have you been working for Mr. Jacques?”

“Seven years and three months—to the day.”

“That’s a long time!  And what all do you do?  Phones and stuff?”

“Oh, sugar, it is that and so much more!  I receive all his mail, and calls, and packages, and whatnot. And I do his schedule. And travel.  Oh, and the bills, and office maintenance issues. I also order his exotic skin lotions, and plump his pillows.  Plus arrange play dates for his dogs and his pet gila monster, oh and also take care of the plants.  Oh, and I keep his checkbook balanced. And find a new restaurant each month for his meetings with Mice Communications.  Also, I wash his car.  And set up a schedule each fall for his rodent LARPing group to practice before the tournament.  And I reply personally to his fan mail.  And send out cards to his friends and family on their birthdays—I’m really good at doing his signature, if I do say so myself.  I also arbitrated his divorce… Let’s see…  Actually he doesn’t do much here himself.  He works from home—or his boat sometimes.” 

“Oh. Wow.  Sounds like quite a list of tasks.  How do you find time to read any of his books?”

“Oh—haha—just your average receptionist workload, ain’t it now? Honey I know you know what I mean. I just git to gigglin’ when I read that blog of yours… And anyway, ya know, I make time.  Some days it can be very slow in this office.  I just love to read.  Yes.  Loooove to read…  ::ahem:: And I love fantasy novels.  Like Artemis Fowl, Eragon, Harry Potter—you name it and I’ve read it.  Lately I’ve been explorin’ Beedle Bard and Inkheart.  Are you familiar with those authors?”

“Uhh, yeah… I’ve heard of most of those.  Can’t say I’ve read them all.  But let’s focus on Mr. Jacques—since after all i do also like Brian Jacques—hahaha. You know, there’s definitely a lot of Brian Jacques books I haven’t read.  I guess after a certain age you think you’re too cool to read about badgers and mice living in castles, right?  ::hesitates::  Uh… I mean… even though it is untrue.  You just think it.  When you’re young.  Preteens.”

“Ummm… well… ::nervous laugh::  sure… except… ya know… I think Melvin is a great role model for kids.  What with his fightin’ those evil warlocks—err–um—dragons?  And marryin’ that princess?  And his magic carpet… and such…”

::short pause:: 

“Wait—what?  Melvin?  Who is—do you mean the character Martin?  I never read anything about any warlocks in the Redwall series when I was a kid…… “

“It is easy to get confused with all the magical things that go on, though.  Between the characters.  Either actual magic or storytelling magic. Depending on how you view it.”

“………Kathy, I am a literature student, and I recognize book report bullshitting when I hear it.   Kathy, have you ever actually read any of Mr. Jacques’ books?”

“Uhhh—well… I–uh–I… Really, I try to get around to it but you know with all this —*wails* OH, IT’S NO USE!!!  You caught me, Lindsay—I’m a fraud.  I never read any of Brian’s books!!!”

*Gasp!*

“You don’t understand—I can’t!!!  I’m just terrified of mice!  Just terrified!  But ‘course I couldn’t tell Brian that when I applied or else he wouldn’t've even considered me for the job — and ever since then the lies have just built on themselves!  I’ve been living—in sin.”

“Jesus, Kathy. Ok, so you’re working alone in an office, for an author you claim to adore but whose novels you actually can’t read because you have musophobia.  I couldn’t have made this up if I’d tried. What a story!  Really this illustrates a lot about our mutual profession, I think.”

” But–*sobs*–but Brian would be so disappointed if he knew!  You can’t let him find out!  He can’t know about this!”

“Kathy, musophobia is a serious problem, especially in this situation, where  it is affecting your daily life.  Brian should understand that and would probably be supportive in helping you overcome a fear of mice. There are support organizations you can call. You have rights. I think.”

“Do you–do you really think so?”

“Absolutely.  There are ways of treating and curing your fear.  I bet reading his books would be good therapy for you!  Maybe help you see the mice from a different angle or help you sympathize with them.”

“Oh yuck!  I really don’t think so.  I just hate them.  I just can’t even think about them!”

“Well, maybe you just need to look at it from a new point of view.  For instance, in Mr. Jacques’ books, I like to think of the mice as metaphors for men. You know, like men are small in the universe.  Of Mice and Men. That kind of thing.”

“Hmm… Really?  That is interesting.  I never thought of it that way… A metaphor for men’s lives, huh?”

“Yes, you should try it!  Look Kathy, I give people psychotherapeutic advice all the time at work.  We can do this together. Maybe just start by leaving a stack of Redwall books by your desk. Then, every day, just move them a little closer to you until it doesn’t scare you to see the mice on the cover.  Some day you’ll be able to pick one up.  Maybe one day soon, maybe not. Take your time. Then read a page.  Before you know it, Brian’s writing style will have swept you away, and you’ll forget the stories are about mice at all!”

“You really think so? I’m not so sure…It would be so nice not to live with this secret shame anymore…”

“Kathy, you can do this.  You can break through your irrational fear of rodents and read this children’s novel, I know you can!”

“Well, thank you for your support, Lindsay.  I feel so silly bringing all this up during what was supposed to be our interview—but of course, you’ll keep all of this to yourself, right hon???”

“Uhhhh—”

“—Oops!  Oh god. Look how the time flies!  Brian’s power yoga class starts in like ten minutes and I haven’t even washed his mat yet!  He likes a special eucalyptus oil I use, helps awaken the chakras… plus I have to hold his towel between sweat breaks. You know how it is.”

“Ew. Kathy. No.”

“Oh and hey, Lindsay, before you go, ONE recommendation!  Have you heard of The Redwall Cookbook?  It’s got some great recipes!  You should check it out.  Makes a great gift.”

“Ooookay!  Thank you!  I’ll Amazon it later and take a look.  (Especially since I now know you have definitely not read it and are shamelessly promoting your boss’s work.) And hey thanks again for talking to me and everything—it was very, um, informative.”

“What?  Sure!  Anytime, Lindsay! Gotta go, bye!”

*Click!*

THE JIG IS UP

Almost as if they knew I was frittering away company time on this blog about how I fritter away company time, I recently was given a new ‘project’ to do.  It’s actually pretty exciting, and is nice because it’s something I could put on my resume!  … That is, if I were applying to compete in a Being Bored contest.

This is what keeps me from staring at my blog, chit chatting with friends online:  I take a spreadsheet, with some 900 client names on it, and look up the events that each one has booked.  I count how many took place in 2006, 2007, and 2008.  Then I note the agent responsible for those events.  Then I note how many were booked through other companies. Then I go to the next client.  Rinse and repeat 899 more times.  This kind of task does a few different things:

1- Illustrates what a tool I am.  When assigned this task, I replied brightly with “Sure! No problem! By Friday? Oh, I’ll definitely get it to you before then.”  I am a sucker.

2- Illustrates the shortcomings of our database.  There is probably an electronic way to do this. An extension of this is the fact that computers will soon replace me, as my position does not involve playing chess. (Fortunately, I think.)

3- Strengthens and tones my fingers for high-speed surreptitious blogging (as I’m doing now) to be done on both the sly and the fly.  It’s essentially a personal challenge to me as a receptionist as to whether I can maintain normal job duties (humming, scoffing at small talk/stupid winterwear, adopting a warm and loving tone for my various phone crushes, watching my co-receptionist wander off on a regular basis for extended periods, gmailing, providing life/spiritual advice to weirdos that call in, blogging, etc.) while also fielding the occasional ‘special request’, as this project is called.

4- Provides important life lessons.  Example- Yesterday I searched for a client under the word “Raisin” and like a billion entries popped up.  “Who knew we did so much raisin business?” I thought, “Who knew raisin workers needed so much guidance and motivation?”  Turns out  that ‘fundraising’ has the word ‘raisin’ in it, and in fact there was only one raisin entry.  Keep it in mind for your next scrabble game!  Woooooooo!

5- Enables me to claim that I ‘assist with marketing research projects’.  Because those are the terms in which I in fact WILL couch this on my resume.

6- Gives me a different excuse to constantly be typing at my desk.  (It’s not Gchat, it’s ExCel, ok?  Geez, don’t you know I’m a marketing researcher?)

In short, they’re on to my wasting of company time and are prepared to play dirty to get me to earn my pay.  Fair enough.  In the meantime, I’ll blog about it, act very busy and important while doing it, and only look up from it when an attractive visitor comes in, at which point I will hurriedly look away so that I can “get back to work”. 

Because that’s what I do now.  At least until this spreadsheet is done.

Behind the Scenes

║
me:  hey my mommy commented!!! 
Lindsay:  i knoooow!  
Lindsay:  only your friends care about us
me:  for now
     note my friends, not my boyfriends
Lindsay:  note my neiiiiiitherrrrr
    why does no one love my blog as much as i do
    thank you for posting, i thought you were trying to phase yourself
    out
me:  hahahahahahhaa
    we are the most insecure bloggers ever — except for all the others.
Lindsay:  fingernail posts forthcoming
me:  hahahahahhahaha
     i think you aren’t bringing it up in every conversation with your
     friends like i am. and i mean awkwardly
Lindsay:  hahahahhahahHAHAHAHAHAHAH
     i will do it more often, for sure
     like “hey friend, i dont’ want to have to ask you again to read my
     blog. and i mean that in a threatening way.”
me:  hahahahahahhahahahaha
     that’s what i said to jessica last night.
     with a    ; )     >: (     ; )    >: (    after it.
Lindsay:  LOL

Not to be outdone

► so obviously lindsaybobindsay has proved to our satisfaction that she is in fact all about this blog.  the allegations against her have been dropped by the Grand Jury — the case was no-billed.◄

 
instead,  it looks like i’ll need to get my ass in gear if i want to keep up with the sheer volume of her posts.  just look how many there are!

good news is that i do feel compelled to share with my readers a new-found obsession. the bad news is that by doing so i will surely lose all credibility with them when it comes to my music recommendations……but so be it!

this week, i’m into musicals. YES I SAID IT. last week my aunt treated me to a production of Cats at the local theatre — and i liked it. i didn’t get it at all (that’s the “magic” of T.S. Eliott?) but i liked it. i mean, it was about cats. and insanely bright and sparkly lights. and whatever a “gellicle moon” is. what’s not to love?

This cat loves musicals.

i also fell for the Hollywood revival of Mamma Mia! — but that is because i absolutely love love love ABBA.  YES I SAID IT.

i haven’t taken the ABBA cd out of my car stereo in at least 2 weeks.  no one is willing to ride with me anywhere anymore… 

but you know, i really don’t get it…  why is ABBA so reviled?  i know there’s an understandable disco backlash –  but ABBA is so much more!!!  ::sigh::  i guess they are just victims of the same irrational attack on pop music that i have always failed to understand.  can someone explain this to me?

What's not to love?

maybe i’ll never understand where all the hate comes from — and maybe that’s for the best.  i have a sneaking suspicion that pop-haters are not more sophisticated but really just more self-loathing and depressed.   in fact, i’m sure of it.  to better illustrate my point (and to salvage my reputation for good music taste), i offer two bands for your consideration:

The Sounds

 

Of Montreal

take these recommendations seriously because they took ABBA seriously…  and they could change your weekend.

Ergo

I’d say most of the reasons I get looked at oddly at work are my own fault, but completely understandable if you ask what I’m doing/why I’m doing it. 

Example: I smell like a daycare, but it’s because I sneezed in my elbow to avoid sneezing on my hand and spreading germs, but then I had to wipe Purel all over my arm.

Example: I am scraping yogurt into my mouth with the edge of a fork, but it’s because I’m poor/busy so I don’t take a lunch hour 4 out of 5 days and then have exactly 10 minutes to eat my lunch, and the spoons are two floors up.

You get the idea. Anyways, today was perhaps my favorite example so far.  I finally figured out that the reason my left lumbar area was hurting was because of a weird turn I had to do to transfer extensions, so I wanted to rearrange my desk.  The phone units are all attached, and plugged in through a hole in the top of my desk to the outlet strip below.  So… since neither the phones nor the plugs  fit through the hole, I had to unplug the phone at the bottom– this involved unscrewing the back panel.

Jump forward about 15 minutes when I’m surrounded by three phone units, a bunch of screws, computer cords, phoen cords, the back panels of each phone unit, my monitor, keyboard, mousepad, and that weird thing that goes under my wrists.  I’m also under my desk and apparently not visible. 

All I hear is “Oh my god! What happened? Who did this, what’s going on? *fumble fumble* hello? hello? Hey does anyone know what happened to the phones? They aren’t working, and they’re broken!”

*Lindsay pops up* 

“I took them apart because my back hurts. From turning.

… Uh, but I’ll put them back together. I’m moving them. I… nevermind.”

I didn’t end up moving them because of the cord lengths won’t work around the monitor I have.  I did end up moving my keyboard slightly to the left.  (Hey, you gotta do what you gotta do.)  Now I am all at right angles and have a much more intimate knowledge of how my phones are connected– the Circle of (Office) Life, if you will.

Next project is bringing in my drill/driver to fix our wall-mounted TV, which is both crooked and off-center despite the numerous markings on the wall behind it.  I may not be welcoming, but I’ll make sure our welcome sign looks nice.

Other ways to look weird and improve your ergonomic experience:

• Casually stand with one foot on a nearby railing
• Sensuously roll your shoulders while on all fours
• Be inventive! – (Bonus points if you wear a dress similar to that worn by the woman in the top left image.)

I really think so, think so, think so, think so.

Today snow falls in my part of the country, a little over a month before the National Cherry Blossom Festival. 

In similar news, Kema once again accepted a payment from the cute Asian girl gang member without being violently killed… Success!

So in honor of these events our blog is turning Japanese! 
Meaning that today we express ourselves in haiku.

 

My best friend at work

Is, I admit, the Internet

Snacks a close second

  

 

“No, how are YOU?”

An acceptable response

No one really cares.

 

 

 

Ergonomically

I’d say that’s a bad idea

But it’s sure comfy

 

 

 

When you’re important

You tend to talk like Ben Stein

Importance seems dull

 

 

 

Extensions light up

Like Christmas when they’re busy

The Gift of Voice Mail

 

 

 

For more than you ever wanted to know about the song “Turning Japanese”:

♪♫♫♫♪♫♫♫♪♫♫♫♪♫♫♫♪♫♫♫♪♫♫♫♪♫♫♫♪♫♫♫♪♫♫♫♪♫♫♫♪♫♫♫♪♫♫♫♪♫♫♫♪

Thank you for a stirring and informative contribution, Ms. Bobindsay. 

And now… *ahem*  

Kemawema’s Haiku Supplement

I am a genius
but stuck in this cubicle,
I wait for discovery.

♪

Ringing in my ear,
my many lines shine brightly.
Spanish? Wrong Number.

☼

Clients are children,
Like my really dumb kids, whom I’d
trade in a heartbeat.

♥

I play Spider Solitaire.
You get your masters degree.
It all evens out.

♣

Type type Click Click click
We don’t whistle while we work.
Doesn’t sound like us.

♫

O monotony!
Tonight after work I am
turning Japanese.

::bows::

 

 

Edited to add: We’re famous again!  Listed on this easily-decieved website: http://www.haiku.com/HaikuBlogs

Talk about a pleasant surprise

Our blog is once again famous!  What a pleasant surprise readers of this post must have had when they followed the link to our blog, supposedly ‘probably related’ to whatever non-Better Reception stuff they were reading. 

A pleasant surprise is certainly what Ms. Wema and I feel when we see that at least one person was fooled into reading our searing insights on the Universe.  Baaaaaaaaha suckers.  We are famous for all time.

That said, our fame has reminded me of two things.  First, I do realize that we’ve been remiss in our updates of further conversations with Kathy in Brian Jacques’ office,  and we thoroughly intend to rectify this once we’ve the time to fully detail what was said.  In a word, the woman is captivating.  Second, the idea of our blog one day being famous, posing on Wheaties boxes and doing guest appearances on Conan, is the perfect opportunity to talk about names and identities– something that most people assume is not important when it comes to receptionists.  That’s fine, but just so you know we do talk a lot of smack about you once you are out of earshot.

Top Ten Names I Have Been Called At Work By Callers:

10. Lindy

9. Lizzie/Lissie

8. Nancy 

7. Wendy 

6. Leslie — to be fair, one of these works here

5. Jennifer

4. Baby/Baby Girl/ Boo  — Thanks UPS guy! 

3. Sub Wrangler

2. Dirty Racist B*tch

1. Spongy

They all have stories, to some extent, but the last is the only one for which  I’ll go into depth. I used to work in a position that utilized skills other than ‘having a voice and some fingers’.  Indeed, I was a phone interpreter for the state department of health and the department of social services.  At that time I had this little intro I had to do every time someone called in, and I never had much trouble with people understanding my name (they tend to listen when you’re the one they understand).  But once, ONCE, a woman paused for a long time, a very long time, to fill out a form, and after a while said, “Spongy.”

So I interpreted ‘esponjosa’, not sure what was going on wherever they were, and not even sure if that was the word for spongy.  The spanish-speaking woman was confused, so we went back and forth a few times.

“Spongy?”

“Esponjosa?”

“Como?”

“What?”

“Spongy!”

“Esponjosa!”

“Que?”

“What?”

“NO, SPONGY. YOU. SPONGY.”

“No, esponjosa.  Usted. Esponjosa”

“LADY I AM TALKING TO YOU, INTERPRETER LADY, I AM TALKING TO YOU.”

“Sorry, you’re telling me something? What’s this about a sponge?”

(coworkers listening at this point, one concerned and one rolling on the ground laughing)

“No, I’m talking to you, Spongy.  I don’t know why it’s so hard to talk just to you. Can’t I talk just to you?”

“…. Ma’am, I thought you were saying Spongy.”

“Well that’s what you said your name was! Is that not your name?”

“… No. I’m almost certain I said my name is Lindsay.  In any case, my name is Lindsay. What were you trying to tell me?”

I don’t think any amount of explaining really clarified what was going on for the Spanish-speaking lady who just needed some vaccinations for her little girl.  As a result, I’ve often considered inserting ridiculous names when I introduce myself, knowing that no one gives a flying sponge what my name is.

From Rags to Stitches

Of course Monday morning reminds me most of how much i look forward to the day when i can shed my professional telephone voice and my pleasant but dismissive attitude and burn this mother to the ground.  (word to the wise:  most receptionists pretty much feel the same way, so it’s good idea to treat them very nicely — especially if the office you’ve called has record of your private account information or a list of your lethal allergies.)

i’ve been taking prerequisite courses for 6 months now, and i will begin applying to nursing programs across the state towards the end of this year… that is my slow and painful plan to finally free myself from secretary shackles…  since i do love this blog dearly and i am dedicated to addressing receptionist issues (and one of our most current pressing issues is the issue of getting the eff out of this hellhole), i thought i would enthrall our readers with some of my experiences in this process in a series of posts entitled “From Rags to Stitches”…

currently, all i have to report is that there is a very creepy guy in my Anatomy/Physiology night class that benignly stalks me…  only in a slightly inconveniencing way, since he forces me to be cunning and sneaky in planning my route to the classroom each day, but also he provides me with a small personal victory each time i successfully avoid him.  no, this is not directly related to my nurse’s training.  but it is an exercise in patience and ingenuity, so i figure i can still add it to my resumé. 

also, last week i aced my first exam in this class. score.

My Slutty Valentine

Note:  if you’re like me and today you googled

“what to do for Valentine’s Day” 

– better just admit that it was over before it began. 

♥

all the good ideas are already trite, and ”handmade” gifts have taken on a whole new level of excellence that renders them unapproachable for the everyday, unskilled admirer…  and you know what that means.  eventually, all holidays will end up this way, as traditions get filtered through decades of  repetition, habit, and laziness, eventually reducing down to the common denominator that drives them all:   getting slutty.

♥

we’ve already seen these inevitable results with our eldest, pagan holiday, Halloween.   i haven’t been purposefully frightened by a Halloween costume in years  – but i have definitely been shocked and scandalized by a thousand slutty nurses, slutty witches, slutty Bo-Peeps, slutty pirates, slutty zombies, slutty fairies, slutty nuns, slutty cops, slutty ghouls, slutty cartoon characters…  while not exactly the original spirit of the day, it sure is easy.

♥

so Valentine’s Day is destined for the same early, diminuitive grave, i would think… and i would welcome it.   because then at least my directive would be clear:   get slutty.   

♥

but as this infernal holiday currently stands – waivering between a sweet celebration of deep-felt devotion and an exposed card company propoganda plot – it is practically impossible to grasp as a concept, let alone distill into some kind of superbly gratifying and individualized gift.

♥

so the good news for my boyfriend is that i’m embracing the hardcore sexuality of future Valentine’s Days now. Everybody, get slutty.

♥

And here’s a pretty picture.

Thanks, Sciencedude!

Susie Home Maker Boboozie Bome Baker

I have this opinion that I can’t explain… I don’t know how I developed it or why.    When I ask people about it, they seem confused because  it seems a silly issue to point out and it’s a well-loved part of office culture.  The thing is… I don’t believe in baking for work.

I dunno when I decided it wasn’t okay to bake for work, but I never ever do it.  People who know I like to cook and bake, especially for other people, often suggest I bring in things for work when I complain that I have no reason to try certain recipes. 

So why not? I think it’s a subtle mixture of feminism and professionalism, or at least that’s what I like to think.  Maybe it’s the fact that I don’t like these people that much and that they are less healthy than me already. Maybe it irks me to imagine someone saying “She is a great worker… AND she bakes!” as if that were some kind of cherry on top (of a home-baked good brought to the workplace).  I mind less if it’s store-bought food.  Maybe it’s a distinction between home and work that I like to keep clean.  Or something? Why am I so against it?  Dunno, just am.

So in honor of our Sweet Treat Valentine’s Day Bake-off that is being held here at work this year, here’s a poll.  I almost participated in this bake-off because I think I could win, but I didn’t because… I refuse?  Why?  I dunno. 

Tell me what you think.