Sunday, October 7, 2012

Jane Allport


        Many of you may be wondering who Jane Allport is. Is it the sister I have never told you about because she became an eco-terrorist and we disowned her? A crazy distant relative who lives in Salt Lake City but occasionally rides into town when she’s on a cocaine high looking for a couch to sleep on? Maybe it’s the poor wife who is married to me for tax purposes, who spends most of her day at home watching The View and vacuuming while she fantasizes about a life not married to a gay man? If you guessed any of these, you are wrong. In fact, if you guessed a woman, you are wrong as well.
Jane Allport is me….when I am talking on the phone. It all began when I was a young boy, and I would answer the phone and people would call me Linda, believing me to be my mom. My voice is not terribly effeminate, and for the most part sounds like a regular guy’s voice (give or take a few quirks), yet on the phone I am mistaken for a woman 7 times out of 10. It has become a running gag at work, as numerous clients have mistakenly called the office asking for ‘Jane Allport’.
Every time somebody calls me ma’am on the phone, I suddenly try to lower my voice and pray to Barry White that I can discreetly show them their error without actually having to say “I’m not a woman, you ass!” And my voice goes so deep, you almost expect me to say “Turn down the lights, put some light music on, and feel the love of a summer evening”, just sultry, sensual baritone.
Back when I was telemarketing, people would call saying Jane had called them. I would say my name is Jake and that Jane was my sales partner. Let me tell you something, Fictious Jane is one hell of a saleswoman. Somewhere out there somebody believes that I am married to a pretend woman (who in all actuality is just me), and that we are telemarketing partners together. Jake and Jane Allport: Power Couple.
If need be, should I ever be in a tight spot (for instance, should I be framed for armed robbery or anger a powerful mob boss by making fun of his overweight wife), I should like to keep Jane Allport in my back pocket. I’m not saying I would enjoy dressing in drag, but Jane could really bail my ass out in a jiffy if I needed her to.

Monday, October 1, 2012

John Lennon Is Big In Cuba


All The Names Have Been Changed In This Post

The end of the day is usually pretty mundane for me. I make a few last minutes phone calls, fax some papers, staple things, and walk around talking to people in the office while I run out the final 4 minutes before I can go home. Today was different, because a very unique disheveled gentleman decided to pay our office a visit. Four minutes before I was heading out the door, two men walked into the lobby, one a regular person who had some questions about a position we were hiring for (let‘s call him Bobby St. Green). The other man was wearing a dirty Tasmanian Devil T shirt, was holding a grocery bag full of garbage and a house phone (let’s call him Crazy Mike).
It all started when I had “Joan The Accountant” write a note out for Bobby St. Green, and I said “She has to write my notes because my handwriting is really really bad” Bobby laughed, and that should have been the end of the humorous interaction. Crazy Mike began to speak though.
“Try writing in Chinese. I write in Chinese, and it’s hard.” I nod my head and say I bet it is hard to write in Chinese. After many years at ACO, I know a crazy person when I see one. I also know exactly how to handle such situations like this. Most people don’t, and they end up being sucked into an uncomfortable vortex of bizarre mundane family stories and conspiracy theories that they try to escape from with about as much luck as a paraplegic in quick sand.
The biggest thing to do is to stick on topic. Ask them “Can I help you with something?” “Anything else today?” “What can I do for you?” keep the conversation very direct. That was my intention, because I could tell this man was gearing up to bend our ears a tad. Bobby St. Green though was too nice of a guy, and began to engage him.
“Really? You write Chinese?” He asked. Crazy Mike had the opening he needed, and boy he didn’t disappoint, He didn’t even build up to the craziness, he just jumped right into the left field category.
“You know China has it’s own space program?  They’ll be to the moon by 2020.  There’s a statue of John Lennon in Cuba. That’s true, a statue of John Lennon, think about that. And get this, Louis Farakhan? You know him, right? His best friend is Raul Castro. You know him? That’s Castro’s brother. Speaking of friends, did you know Abraham Lincoln and Karl Marx were friends? I know all of this, because I deliver Chinese food.” He held up his bag of garbage. I had never seen such a rapid fire of craziness. He then asked Bobby St. Green to make a phone call for him. Remember, Crazy Mike and Bobby St. Green have never met.
“Could you dial a number for me? My phone isn’t working.” He held up the cordless house phone in his hand. Bobby, being the nice guy that he is, dialed a number for the guy, who took the phone and said “I got the food” and hung up.  At that point, “Joan The Accountant” asked them to leave.
Crazy Mike then went out to the side of the road and began waving at cars.

Crazy Mike reminded me of the old days at ACO, when eccentric people would come in and terrify everyone, man, woman, child alike. Like the crazy Nazi lady. Crazy Nazi Lady is a really tall woman with blonde hair, blue eyes, and really bad skin. Did I mention she walks with one crutch? Also, did I mention that she is covered from head to toe in Swastikas? That part is kind of important. Nowadays, it is really easy to label someone a Nazi, just for being controlling or fascist, but this woman really was a Nazi who used to bang her fist on the shelves and shout for help across the store. She once asked me for the best way to kill squirrels.
Another guy always wanted to talk about my name being in the bible and the different portion sizes that Halloween candy came in. When he asked if I knew my name was in the bible, I foolishly replied “If I remember correctly, Jacob wasn’t a very good guy.” Something that he found very funny, and kept repeating over and over. If there is anything I don’t want a mentally ill person to have stuck in their head, it’s the phrase “Jacob isn’t a very good guy”, for obvious reasons of course.
My favorite though was the man who told me that his son was the head chef at a restaurant by the time he was 12, and that I should invest my money in “silver dimes and bullets”. Why would he recommend that you say? “Because that’s what’ll you need when the world ends.” There are some interesting people out there.