An open Christmas letter from me to you.

Good morning!

Merry Christmas everyone!

I realize it's not chic in this country to wish people a Merry Christmas.  I mean, there's been this cultural battle about how we should greet each other this time of year.  What I've seen is that after all the yelling and screaming at each other about "Merry Christmas"  or "Happy Holidays" we've wound up just grunting at each other, acknowledging each other with the bare minimum of effort.  Sort of like every other time of the year.

I have been pretty busy lately, and haven't blogged much, but I thought I'd write to you, my friends, in the form of a typical American Christmas letter:  Except this isn't going to be painful to read.

 So here we go:

My Dear Friends:

This has been a tough year for many people, and that's pretty true for me as well.  My little family spent far too much time this year waiting in emergency rooms, talking to doctors, buying prescriptions for multiple medical issues we never saw coming.  It was sort of a mash in the head, starting on Easter night.  When I look back on 2013, I'll think of it as the "year of the medical bills."

Had the year ended on March 31, I would deem this year a failure, a dark, black hole.  But the year didn't end, thankfully, and there were moments of great hope and beauty along the way.

On a professional front, I got my rights back for Dream in Color and I created not one but two new covers for the book.  I also released my two Elsie W. Books 

"Elsie W.:  Unsafe at Any Speed.""Elsie W.:  Not While I'm Chewing"

And I'm currently working on a third book for my "Wicked Women" series, a book I hope to have released by Valentine's Day.

 

 

I think my favorite day this year was a very hot day in July when the four of us went to our church to have our picture taken for the new church directory.  The four of us did not want to be in the stifling hot classroom at nine at night. None of us likes getting our picture taken and let's face facts:  I haven't improved my photogenic features in the ten years since the last church directory.

But there the four of us were, the last photo session of the night for the photographer.  It had been a very tense time in our house since Easter Sunday night and frankly, we were a very fragile bunch.  But something happened during that session:  The four of us laughed together for the first time in a very long time.

We sat in that hot, miserable room, all of us looking really, really awful for different reasons.  (I personally picked a shirt that simply doesn't look good on me.  It's too light for my fair skin.  Normally I wear it under a sweater, but like I said, it was July.)  But there was something that was so funny about the photographer, what we were doing , and everything, it was like a dam broke and all the tension that had hung over us broke and we laughed together and healed.

I keep this picture on the fridge.  I love remembering that day because it was so special. Some time ago I realized I like the way I look because I look like a blond version of my aunt Carol, who is a beautiful soul and if I turn out to be like her I will be a success in my life.

Now here we are, and it's Christmas.  There's trouble in every corner of the
world.  And yet, I can't help but feel optimistic.  Maybe the world leaders will continue to screw up on a monumental basis, but if we here in the real world can shut out the shrieking, shut out the anger, and reach out to each other, we are going to be okay.

So whether you celebrate Christmas or not, let's all take a minute and see the beauty of things, even in the smallest things.  Leave an extra five dollars as a tip for your waitress.  Hold the door open for a string of people at the post office.  Give your mother a hug even if she makes you insane every day of your life.  Don't give the biggest or shiniest gift, give the one that speaks from your heart.  Hum or whistle a happy song.


Friends, I celebrate Christmas, the birth of Christ.  My basis of my faith is hope.  In my writing, I bring to life characters who are very flawed, but have hope.  If I take nothing away from 2013, which started out so very, very wrong, I can take this:  Hope is never lost where there is kindness, love, peace and laughter.

So, where ever you are, whatever you are doing right now, I want to wish you a heartfelt Merry Christmas...and my hope is that we are all just better to each other in 2014!

 

Sneak peak SATURDAY! "Not While I'm Chewing."

Good morning!

Many of you know...or should know...that I recently released the first Elsie W. book entitled "Not While I'm Chewing." 

I thought I'd make your Saturday a bit brighter by sharing a small snippet.

Remember, you can purchase the entire book in print or Kindle form by clicking HERE! 

If you have a Nook or some other digital reading device, you can purchase this book by clicking HERE!

Meanwhile:  Enjoy!

 

 

It didn’t take me long at Stuff, Installed to figure out that I had some vital, and specialized skills that few had. Who knew having these skills would be so important?

          First of all, I can read and translate a paycheck.

         When I got my first paycheck from Stuff, Installed, I was pretty jazzed as I read through hourly pay, overtime pay, deductions, totals, all that good stuff. I like reading and studying my paychecks. We’d just changed payroll services and the checks were really easy and almost fun to read.

          Meanwhile...at the desk next to mine:

          "WHAT? This isn't right! This. Is. Not. RIGHT!"

          “What's not right?” (Why do I get involved?)

          "My deductions. Who can live on this if this is how much they're deducting?” (Truly, a question we all ask.)

          I didn't get very involved past that for about five minutes. Then ELSIE W. stopped NBM (this only causes more hilarity. Read on.)

          ELSIE:  I need to talk to you about my paycheck. (She waves the tatters of the check, which is one of those that's held together by perforations and you're supposed to fold along the lines and THEN tear the ends off. She sort of forgot to fold on the lines.)

         NBM:  What did you do to your paycheck?

        ELSIE:  Nothing. I mean, I couldn't open it, so I just tore at it.

        NBM:  I hope you haven't voided it by tearing it almost in half.

       ELSIE:  WHAT? You can do that?

       (I should interject here that NBM, I believe, LOVES to needle Elsie. LOVES IT. Sort of like a nine year old boy poking at a dead animal. For him, it's fun, it's easy, and it provides amusement in an otherwise boring day. I'm just guessing, given how often he does it.)

          NBM:  Yep, you can. So what's wrong with your paycheck, other than the fact that it's torn?

          ELSIE:  It's not right. How am I supposed to live on this?

         His cell phone rang and that took NBM out of the conversation. I don't like watching the wounded, so I rolled my chair over to her desk.

        SARAH: What is the problem?

          ELSIE:  It's not right. They took twelve hundred dollars in taxes out of my check.

         (Let me just say, if they took twelve hundred out of one of her paychecks, I'm thinking I'm being WAY underpaid!)

        "Let me just look at it.” I looked at it and realize instantly what the issue was. "The twelve hundred dollars is your gross pay to date. The amount of taxes taken out is right here.” I pointed to the column.

          Elsie frowned. “It's too much taken out. How am I supposed to live on this if they're going to take that much out in taxes?”

         "I ask myself that all the time. But see, these are the hours you worked. This is your hourly wage. You multiply this by this and you get this number here."

“I don't know. I don't think you're right.”

          (I guess I should have known I was in trouble. She asked me the other day to figure out, with the calculator on my desk, what twenty percent of one thousand was. Her calculator kept telling her two hundred, but she just knew that wasn't right.)

            "It's right. The total on your check is the total after they take out taxes. That's the amount of money you have."

            She was quiet then...but that didn't end the issue. Later in the day, after everyone else had gone home for the night, she called the home office...and got very upset when they were closed. (They are in the Eastern Time Zone. We are in the Central Time Zone.)

                   She saved up her frustration until she got to work the next morning at 11:07. “How come they weren’t open at six? I’m all alone in the world, and can I tell you something? They just weren’t taking my calls because they are trying to keep me down.”

                   I would explain time zones to her, but…no. They aren’t paying me less than they pay her to explain that sort of thing.

Hey, got a book you want signed?

Good evening!

So it's summer here in Wisconsin which means many things: Music festivals, fairs, ethnic festivals, pretty much anything that will give us an excuse to drink beer outside.  It's also time again for Friday Night Live down in downtown...historic downtown Waukesha and once again I'll be doing a book signing!

On Friday, July 19, I will be down in front of Martha Merrell's Books from about 6 Pm until dark.  Yes, I will have all three of my novels and YES, I will have copies of Elsie's First Book.

If you need more info, or directions, you can leave a message here or contact me through my Facebook page!

Meanwhile, I have work to do on Elsie's SECOND book!

"Not While I'm Chewing!" is now AVAILABLE!

Good morning all!

After a really solid day of edits and wrestling with uploads, I can now

announce: 
"Not While I'm Chewing." Is now available to Kindle users on Amazon!

Yes, it's under my other name, Sarah Jayne Brewster.  Can you blame me for not using my actual name?  Ironic, that the stuff with swearing and sex I publish under my real name and the stuff that's just funny office stuff I have to use a pseudonym.

CLICK HERE to purchase!

Print format readers, you have another 24 hours to wait.  Those of you who use Nook and other reading devices, it's going to be a little bit of a wait.

But Kindle users can click here right now to purchase "Not While I'm Chewing."

Sneak Peak Sunday! "FRESH ICE"

Good morning!

Haven't done a Sneak Peak Sunday in a few weeks, and with "Not While I'm Chewing" due to come out this month, I thought I'd just remind you all that I have 3 other books available for your reading pleasure! 

Click here to purchase "Fresh Ice," "Lies in Chance," or "Dream in Color."

 

Today I'm giving you a quick chapter from "Fresh Ice."  I hope you enjoy it enough to check out the whole book!

*************

“Now that was a good meal!” Adele held the door open as the girls, Sean, and Izzy stepped out of the dark, closed space of the Irish pub and into the sticky damp of the early Nashville evening.

“Who knew you could get the best Irish food in the South?”

“Show me, Sean, where deep fried pickles are Irish food.” Izzy grinned.

“Okay, you got me there. So, who’s up for a stroll downtown? Maybe find a place with great live music.”

“Sounds like fun. Girls, you wanna hang out with the parents a bit more?”

“I’ve got just the place!” Mikayla tossed her hair and laughed at her mother. “A place called ‘Second Chance’s.’ Jenna, you are going to love the bands they have there and the guys are seriously hot, it’s a complete meat market!”

“Oh yes, that’s what a mother wants to hear from the mouth of her daughter.” Adele frowned at Mikayla. “Izzy, how about you?”

Izzy glanced in the direction of the hotel. “I was thinking I’d just turn in early.”

“Oh Mom, come on. Please come with us?”

Izzy looked at her daughter and smiled. “Okay. Where is this place?”

The walk to Second Chance’s was several blocks down to the heart of the music district. As warm rays of the sun lengthened and cooled in the settling of night, revelers filled the sidewalks and the doorways of the countless clubs and eateries. Music and neon throbbed through a haze of mouthwatering food smells. Dazzled with the color of it all Izzy was hardly conscious of the distance they’d walked until Sean opened a door and said, “Here we are!”

The girls evaporated in a sea of dancing bodies while Sean led Adele and Izzy up the stairs to the bar, where tables lined the railing overlooking the stage.

“I’ll go get the drinks, ladies, you enjoy the show!” Sean left as Adele and Izzy looked at the band on the stage.

“At least it’s not a howling band.” Adele toyed with the salt and pepper shakers on the table. “I can’t abide howling bands or bands that are too country, you know what I mean?”

“Sure,” Izzy answered vaguely, leaning on the railing to get a better look at the band.

Sean returned with drinks, and the rest of their conversation faded from Izzy’s consciousness as she lost herself in thoughts of her future now that she held a winning lottery ticket. She sipped her drink and nodded politely whenever Adele glanced in her direction, but her brain was busy sorting out what she was going to do. She was so deep in thought, she wasn’t aware the music stopped until she realized Adele was shoving her roughly. “What, Adele, what do you want?”

“Why does that man look familiar?”

As she focused on the tall, dark haired man on stage, Izzy took in a deep breath. The man was perfection. Under the hot lights his dark, gleaming hair just brushed his strong jaw. I’ve seen him before.

“Ladies and gents,” his easy, light Tennessee accent stirred something warm and wanting deep inside Izzy. “I’d like to thank you for coming out tonight and listening to some great local bands.”

“We love you Quinn!”

The unified shouts of several women startled Izzy, breaking her trancelike concentration from the man

Quinn smiled back at the audience. “I love you all, too. Most of you know I make my living talking about sports, but music has been a passion of mine for years. How about a big hand for Chance, for keeping this place open and bringing us fantastic independent music night after night?”

Here he pointed up to the balcony, where a spotlight suddenly glowed near Izzy. She didn’t look toward the owner of the bar, who waved at the crowd below. Her gaze was locked with the clear, blue-green eyes of the singer. She couldn’t look away and she couldn’t blink. Those are the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.

He’s the man from the funeral.

Everything around her narrowed until all that was left was the glow of the spotlight around her. Izzy saw nothing but Quinn’s eyes looking up at her. He held his gaze steady with her for a silent eternity. Everything else was dark and silent, like a protective cloud around them. There was no time, no sound, just the glow of recognition in his beautiful eyes. It didn’t matter one bit that they were strangers and would probably never be closer to each other than in this dumpy space. There was a connection between them, and Izzy was lost in it.

“What are you staring at? Do you know that guy?”

Izzy blinked at the staccato blast of Adele’s voice, and the connection was lost. The party below raged on as the band Quinn introduced started playing. Quinn was gone.

Izzy, too, ached to leave. “I’m sorry, Adele. I’m not good company tonight. I don’t think I feel well. I’m going to go back to the hotel.”

“You’re not sick are you?” Adele’s eyes narrowed. “We have a lot of moving to do tomorrow you know.”

No room for discussion about that. “Oh, no,” Izzy wiped her eyes. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I just need…I need some air. I think I’ll walk back to the hotel.”

“What, right now? Alone?”

“Sure. It’s not that late, really, and besides, you and Sean, you guys need some time alone, too. So I’ll just get back.”

“Are you sure?”

Izzy looked over the balcony hoping to spot Quinn, but she couldn’t find him. “Oh, I’m sure. I’ll be fine.”

***

She’s here. Quinn walked backstage and laid his guitar in its case. Isabella Landry is here, in this building. I could reach out and touch her and it wouldn’t be weird or stalkerish.

But what could I possibly say?

Well, she seemed really interested in what I saying. I could go up and maybe thank her for coming or something. That wouldn’t seem weird. Quinn rubbed his hands across his face. That’s the best reason I can muster for going up to meet a woman? Good manners? My, how the mighty lady killer has fallen. Shaking his head at his own folly, Quinn started for the stairs.

“Quinn, dude, where ya goin’?” One of the musicians put a hand on his arm.

“I saw someone…I have to catch up with.”

The musician’s face creased with a lecherous grin. “It’s a chick, isn’t it? I spotted a couple out there I’m thinkin’ of scorin’ on, too.”

Quinn shook off the drummer’s hand, repulsed by the lecherous expression on his face. “You’re a pig.”

The drummer shrugged. “Yep. I’m a pig. But I’m a pig that’s gonna get laid.”

Quinn ignored the band members’ cat calls as he ran through the back stage and up the stairs. Once in the bar, he scanned the crowded room. She’s gone.

“Hey, Quinn!” Chance shouted over the din of conversation. “I told you, didn’t I? You’re good for business!”

Quinn nodded to Chance, but searched for Isabella.

“Who ya lookin’ for?”

“There was a woman up here. Probably at that table where that couple is.”

“Buddy, there are a thousand women here and quite a few of them are age appropriate. Take your pick.”

“No, Chance, this one was…well, I’m looking for her. You don’t remember if she was with that couple?”

“Quinn, are you kiddn’ me? Look around! I’m workin’ here! If you’re so interested, go ask them if they know her.”

Quinn nodded to Chance and stepped away from the bar. He studied the couple at the table and toyed with the idea of approaching them. A light tap on his arm broke his concentration. Looking to his left, he saw two women, girls really, both looking very interested in him. “Hello, ladies.”

“My friend and I think you are the hottest thing in this place.”

Quinn’s face warmed as the two women moved close enough for him to be very aware that neither was wearing a bra…and both were young and firm enough, not to need the support. “Well, um, thank you ladies.”

“So how about if we get out of here?”

Quinn closed his eyes. How often have I turned down an offer like this?

Never.

When was the last time anyone offered?

Sally.

The thought choked him. He couldn’t breathe the air in the bar anymore.

“Oh Quinn, you must introduce me to your new little friends.”

Quinn shivered at Serena’s icy touch. Of course she showed up. She’ll find a way to make me regret doing something remotely fun without her.

He looked down into her glittering green eyes and gave her a smile. Hopefully Isabella Landry left before Serena sniffed her out.

That would be something for the gossip reporters.

Quinn almost smiled at the thought.

“Ladies, you’ll have to excuse us. Quinn has a previous engagement.” Serena’s eyes narrowed as she glanced at the girls.

“What, you really have to leave so soon?” The braver of the two also seemed to be the denser of the pair.

She is clearly not reading the dynamic here.

“Yes, I’m sorry, little girl. But I sure there are more age appropriate men elsewhere in this…place.” Serena gave a little sniff to remind Quinn how much she hated Chance’s.

“Geez Quinn, can’t your mom let you come out and play?”

Ah you brave little idiot. Quinn didn’t need to see Serena’s face to know exactly what she was thinking. She buried her nails deep in the skin on his forearm.

“Listen here, co-ed…” Serena’s normally cool voice was a ragged snarl.

“Okay, ladies, how about we all just say good night?” Quinn freed himself from Serena’s claw and put a hand on each of the girls’ shoulders. His fingers dangled just close enough to their twenty-one-year-old breasts to make both the girls giggle. I’ve still got it.

I can’t make use of it anymore. But at least I’ve still got it.

“Now my lady friend and I are going to move on, but I’m going to have my friend chance take care of you this evening. Chance!” Quinn pointed to the two girls. “You take care of these ladies, and put it on my tab, okay?”

Chance nodded and winked at Quinn.

“There, now you two have a wonderful night on me, and thanks for coming out tonight.” Mustering up every ounce of Southern charm he had, he kissed each of their hands lightly, causing them to erupt in another wave of giggles as he ushered a still seething Serena out the door.

Once outside, Quinn inhaled the humid night air. “So, that was fun, wasn’t it?”

Serena’s hand stung across his face before he saw her move.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“Don’t you ever act like that around me again, Quinn Murray!” The light of an over head streetlamp made her sharp features seem hollow, dark. Yet her eyes glowed with rage.

“Act like what? I was trying to keep you from killing those girls.”

“Why? They were horrible little bitches.”

Quinn put both his hands on her shoulders. “Yes, they were horrible little bitches. Horrible little co-eds whose daddies would probably love to bring a lawsuit against you and the station if you actually did tear their eyes out.”

“You weren’t thinking about me. You were thinking about those girls the whole time, wondering what they’d be like.”

“Serena…” he crouched slightly to look her in the eye, “when in the last two years have I not been thinking about you?” At least that much is true. The thought of her haunts my every waking nightmare minute.

Her jaw tightened. “Why would you even be here, on stage? You were the one who got up on stage and made them all want you, just like you used to. And I won’t have it, Quinn. You belong to me now.”

Her words shattered against him like glass against a stone wall.

As if I could ever forget. You won’t let me replace you with other women and I won’t let myself drink you away.

Isabella Landry is back in Nashville. And not even that thought can wipe out our little arrangement.

“Serena, of course I belong to you.” He draped an arm around her shoulders and guided her up the street.

“Really?”

He knew this new, desirous tone, well. “Sure.”

“Then let’s go back to my place and you can prove it.”

“Great idea,” he replied with hollow enthusiasm. Isabella Landry, the woman I’ve adored for two decades, is somewhere in this town, and I’m shackled to Serena.

He pictured Isabella’s face as she watched him from the balcony. Her face melded to Sally’s.

And what could I possibly do to deserve anything else?

Where there's cover art, can a new book be too far behind????

Good evening!

So in the past few months I've been working on creating my own cover art.  While I'll never reach the perfection I had when working with Nicola Martinez on my first two books  (both covers of which I've had to change recently)  I am pretty excited about how some of this is working out for me.  I'm learning a lot by simply trial and error.  Mostly a lot of error.

But recently I finished the cover for my first Elsie W. book, a book I really hope to release yet this month. 

Ladies and gents, I give you:

Don't let the size of this picture fool you...this book is going to be HUGE!  Tee Hee!

Okay, the size of the thing is...wee.  I'll give you that.  But it looks FANTASTIC on Face book.  (Are you following my author page yet?  Click here!)  And I'm sure it will look just as good on Amazon and Barnes and Noble and all that once I send it out into the world.

You'll note I'm working under a bit of a different name.  I didn't want to lose my first name,  because this book is a direct descendant of my It can Only Happen to Sarah! blog and I don't want to lose that connection.  Also, I have a plan, it's a big plan and part of that plan involves me spending WAY less time working for someone else and way MORE time writing the stories I love to write.  But somewhere, somewhere way down the road, I can see the initials SJB being a cornerstone to several lines of books. 

I'm so excited about this new direction.  Don't get me wrong, I have romance novels in my head...all kinds of great heroes and lady loves and whatnot.  But telling funny stories about my completely boring life and making people laugh is so important to me...and I can't wait to share it with you all!

Would I be a coward for using a pen name?

Good morning!

So I'm working away at the Elsie W. books and my mother, who always gives me such clear minded advice when it comes to my writing, suggested I use a pen name just to protect myself from lawsuits.

I've scrubbed the manuscript free of any actual location names, any real person's name, or any name of any real company.  The only real things in the book are the actions and my name.  And since my name, Sarah, is sort of forever tied to my blog, It Can Only Happen To Sarah!, I'm thinking I can't very well change my first name on the cover of the book.

But the use of a pen name has always intrigued me.  When I started writing, back at the dawn of time, I thought all authors used a pen name, so I created mine.  It was, shall we say, exactly what a thirteen year old girl who was clueless about everything would think a cool pen name should be.  (I won't say it here....you never know I may want to use it some day!)

Since I've been writing seriously now for a few years, I realized that many authors use their own names, and some don't, for a myriad of reasons.  I know if I ever did delve into the world of the erotic, I would have to change my name just because my mother wouldn't be able to show her face at church.  (And I wouldn't either, for that matter...oh, and how creepy would it be if someone from my church did show up at a book signing for my mythical erotic book...and then realized I teach her kids in Sunday school?  Who would be more creeped out?  It's one of those circular arguments I tend to start with myself.)  But I've never released a book that isn't fiction.

Just a rough look at an idea I had for the title...
and the pen name.

Believe me, the Elsie W. books are the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.  Except I don't use anyone's real first name...except mine, and I don't give out specific locations.

So would writing under a name that's not mine be a smart thing to do?  Am I hiding my real self from critics, or is it a good marketing tool, to separate the creative nonfiction/humor side of my work from the fiction side?

Would using a pen name for something that's real be a cowardly move?  Should I stamp my name on my real name on my books and weather whatever storms may gather?

I'd love to hear your comments!

Sneak Peak Sunday: "Not While I'm Chewing!"

Good morning!

So many of you know that I'm working on a series of workplace humor books based on a couple women I've been forced to work with.  The first book is entitled  "Not While I'm Chewing" and stars my first coworker at my current job, a woman I lovingly called L.C.W. for "lady coworker" and have now renamed Elsie W. 

This is the first chapter of the book, which should be out early summer if I can get the cover art done, and if I stop losing my work. (Yes Linda, I lost everything I worked on yesterday....grrrrrrrrrr.)

Everything you're about to read is true.  Names and locations have been changed to protect me from being annoyed by an angry Elsie W. NBM is the boss, PM is the other boss, and Stuff, Installed is the business where we all work.

Anyway, Enjoy!


The day I started work at Stuff Installed, a tree fell on Elsie’s house.  Looking back, I should have taken that as a sign of things to come.  This was a woman who, in the course of the seven and a half months I worked with her, managed to create as much chaos, disaster, mishap, and unintentional hilarity as any normal person might in a lifetime. 

For those of you reading these stories for the very first time, everything took place between Monday, July 11 and Monday, April 2.  The year isn't important.  That is my time frame for the volumes you are about to enjoy.

I was nervous about working in an office like Stuff, Installed. It was part of a large corporation, one that had a human resources department and hosted their own conferences and training forums.  But I needed health insurance and a steady paycheck.  Stuff, Installed seemed to fit the bill.

My job description was fairly ambiguous.  “Customer Service” is always a euphemism for “person who takes the angry calls.”  That didn’t bother me.  The idea of working in an office with other people bothered me.  See, prior to this job, I’d worked, for nearly twenty years, either from home or in an office alone.  My job longevity was a selling point to NBM who managed to miss the part where I hadn’t worked with actual people in a very, very long time.

Being on the phone was the number one duty of everyone at Stuff, Installed, except for the actual installers.  Those guys were lucky because they got to go and install the Stuff, and rarely had to be on the phone.  Everyone else was expected to make and take several phone calls a day.  Elsie’s job, I was told, was to make one hundred outgoing calls a day.

“She’s only been here a month,” the Bookkeeper said.  “She’s not quite up to speed.”

Truer words were never spoken.  I only worked with the Bookkeeper one week, so she never got to live through the months of Elsie NEVER getting up to speed. 

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

            That first day, July 11, when the tree fell on her house, I felt sorry for Elsie.  I mean, who has a tree fall on their house, and comes in to work anyway?  It was my first day.  I was fairly certain that a tree falling on your house should be a good excuse to not come in to work.    She seemed so afraid that if she hadn’t come in to work, she’d lose her job.  I’d been on the job three hours…and I was thinking I’d made a huge mistake taking the job.

            Turns out, working in an office run by NBM was sort of like working in a circus where the ring leader can’t make up his mind where the elephants should poop.  You’re constantly stepping in it when you didn’t even know it was there.  It only took me three hours to figure that out, and I hadn’t met the cotton-candy haired clown makeup wearing disaster of a human being that was Elsie W.

            The Bookkeeper, the woman who was supposed to train me, hated everyone.  Well, not everyone, but she hated NBM and PM.  As part of my training, I got to spend three days training with her, and mostly what I learned was that she KNEW I would never be able to do the job for which I was training.  She knew no one but her could possibly do the job she did, because NBM was a horrible human being and she was the most unappreciated person ever to work for Stuff, Installed.  (There will be many more chapters on that.)

            I was already questioning my sanity for taking the job, and then I had this exchange with Elsie:

“Good morning Elsie.  How are you this morning?”

            “Oh not so good.”  She brushed a shock of cotton candy hair out of her eyes, parked her rolling cooler next to her desk, set down three of her four purses, and pulled out her cell phone.  Elsie not only looked like a clown with her makeup, she was a walking, talking circus tent of a woman who always looked like she was moving in because of all the purses and bags she dragged with her everywhere.  Most of them were just her lunch.  “A tree just fell on my house.”

            “A tree just did what?”  I was, as most people would be, shocked.

            “Fell on my house.  It’s storming, you know.”  Elsie had this way of talking that really made me feel like an idiot.  Since I was almost twenty years younger than she, she always acted like I was a child who had never been anywhere ever.  And one who couldn’t see, hear, taste, read, or find the front door for myself. 

            “I know…but…are you okay?  I mean, is your house okay?”  Now, I was trying, TRYING to be nice.  Polite.  But all I could think was, “Why on earth would you come to work when a TREE fell on your HOUSE?”

            “I really don’t know.  It fell right on my house and I think it broke a window.  I’m not sure if the roof caved in or not.  I was pulling out of my driveway when it fell.”  She dialed a number.  I would later learn that the number for information was truly the only phone number that Elsie knew.  All phone calls, for her, started with a call to information.

            More about that later.

            Elsie spent about an hour trying to reach neighbors and friends who lived nearby to check on her house.  When she finally reached someone, she did not ask them to check her house for damage.  No, this was her big worry:

            “Can you just make sure that my potted plants aren’t dumped over?”

            I sat at the desk next to her, as I did for more than two months, before I convinced NBM to move her into a private office, and I was in shock (As I have been every day I work with her.)  Who comes in to work five minutes after a tree falls on their house?  Who makes frantic calls to make sure that the potted plants are okay?

            Now, after working with her for a while, I realize that on that day, my first at Stuff Installed, I should have run.  A normal person would have run very far from that disaster of a cotton candy haired clown make up wearer in the next workstation.  But, as many of you already know, I am not a normal person.  I am a writer who enjoys making people laugh.  So I sat and gleaned comedic gold from a one woman wrecking crew.

            True, I may have damaged my own sanity in the process.  I’ve come close to sticking pointy things in my ears to shut out the glass cutting grate of her voice, or the endless sound of chewing as she worked a soft cud of yogurt down her gullet.  But I ignored the warning signs of that first day, and I have this book to show for it.

            I just need to sell enough copies to pay my therapy bills.