My Internet connection went down this morning after a few furtive moments clicking around on my morning blogwalk, explaining, in part, the lack of activity here at Possumblog. It’s odd not being able to know what’s happening on Internet time—surely I’m missing something. Or not.

Anyway, right now it’s about 9 a.m. Sometime in the future, I’m sure that the computer boys will have hooked the hose back up and this will be posted, but for the moment, let me tell you something…

You know, nothing says “office Christmas party” quite like a big pot of collard greens!

Not only does it give the table a touch of festive greenery, it smells just like Grandma’s house (after the toilet backs up, but right before she takes a big dip of snuff). Not only is it pretty and odorlicious, it is one of those holiday finger foods that you just can’t get enough of!

Why, why, WHY did someone bring a seven gallon stockpot of collards? All the rest of the stuff is normal holiday fare such as a meat and cheese tray, crudite, desserts, chips and dip, sandwich fixings…do we really need a mess of greens? Is this really someone’s idea of light finger food?

Now I love turnip and mustard greens and collards just like anyone else. But friends, at the office Christmas party they are just out of place, like a tur…well, I better not use that example or one will surely find its way into the punchbowl.

You think people are weird? Try working with a herd of bureaucrats.

In related news, it is now about 9:30, and I just went downstairs to get the first of many 20 ounce Diet Cokes I will consume today, only to find that the snack bar had been brightly decorated and posted with a sign saying it was closed so that the Finance Department could have their Christmas party in there.

Which would be just fine, except in their exuberant decorating frenzy, they completely covered up all of the vending machines with pretty red plastic sheeting! The door was open, so I went in and went to my beloved Coke machine. Completely covered. Coin slot, buttons, and product bin. Sealed for your protection.

Grrrrrr. Whadda bunch of inconsiderate bean-counting maroons!

Luckily, I am a real man and had at my disposal the means of liberating these poor oppressed vending machines—the terrifying one and a half inches of cheap folding serrated Japanese stainless steel quickly sprang from my pocket and sliiiiiiiiced across the top of the bin…snipsnipsnipped at the coin slot…and ::poked:: a button hole. In went my coins, out came my caffeine fix.

I imagine sometime today we will go into lockdown as the culprit is searched for.

Oh good lord, it’s getting worse. 10:15 a.m.

I just went to rid myself of about 8 ounces of that Diet Coke I bought 45 minutes ago, and found one of our little straw-boss drones in the men’s room, washing vegetables in the sink. I made a joke about him being like Kramer preparing a whole meal in the shower, but of course, since he works in an asylum and has no concept of popular cultural references, he just went right on washing his little baby carrots and cherry tomatoes and bits of cauliflower.

I don’t know about you, but I ain’t eatin’ ‘em.

11:15. The official start of our noontide repast, except there are no forks. Gosh, you think people who are PLANNERS would have thought that out a bit.

Sink-Washing Martinet Guy got to lead the prayer by virtue of his awesome authority—“’kay, let’s pray so we can eat!” With such heartfelt faith and piety, I’m surprised he didn’t say “in Jebus’s name” at the end of it.

Tim the Cheese Seller dude I wrote about last week brought a nice selection of runny French stuff. I know one was Brie, and there was another one beside it that I got a gooey wad of. I don’t know what it is (and don’t really care) but it has an interesting flavor of butter and pecan sawdust and Clorox. Those French!

I found out who brought the Pot o’Collards, and I’m not surprised. He could pass for a member of some conspiracy group (Left or Right—he has a real ecumenical spirit), except he’s just a bit too insane. Five minutes alone with him, and even Lyndon LaRouche would shake his head and let out a low whistle. Of course, I may have gotten on his bad side by opening the pot and loudly asking, “Hey, who cooked a Christmas tree!?”

My contribution to the whole shebang was sandwich bread. This happened because I made a concerted effort to hide from the list-bearer, but I was finally found and could not escape. So, sandwich bread. BUT, not just any sandwich bread—“exotic” sandwich bread. This is the term dreamed up by our psychotic administrative support specialist to describe anything not square and white. So my “exotic” selection consisted of Jewish rye, pumpernickel, and sourdough, all purchased from that well-known purveyor of all such exotic foodstuffs, the Food World grocery store in Trussville.

11:40. Just went back for seconds and in order to keep from coming across like such a total cheese rube (as if you care), I asked Tim what the variety was that I had gotten earlier. Sounded something like “Geaumlahflahmlah.” Again, those French, and that wacky language of theirs! So if any of you want any cheese that tastes like swimming pool chemicals, be sure to ask for it by name.

I got a few more little knickknacks and doohickies and Tim was holding forth to someone about the various cheeses, and I heard one little gem fly out, “blahblahblah…yeah, it’s a real popular cheese with people because it doesn’t offer a big challenge…blahblahblah.”

Well, gee-stinkin’-whiz, excuse ME! Don’t I have enough challenges in life without some derned bacteria-laden milk concoction making it worse! I DON’T WANT CHALLENGING CHEESE! I want cheese in a pressurized can, cheese whose ass I can whip, cheese that sits there quietly and takes orders from ME! HEY, you want challenging cheese, be my guest, but go all the way! How about some nice Gouda with blowfish poison sprinkles, huh!? There’s you a challenge! How about a nice U238/Camembert blend, feta with ricin, or a sultry Reggiano Parmigiano with the clap. I got yer challenging cheese RIGHT HERE, bub!

Anyway, the Internet connection is still not back up as of noon, so I am going to copy this to a floppy, go over to the library and post it (Lord willing and Blogger has not had another server disaster) and try to answer all the huge stacks of Nigerian e-mail.

12:30. SAYYYY, not so fast there, Fat Boy! I just walked over and was met with a sign stating that all Birmingham City Libraries are closed today for inventory. Must be getting ready for that last big push before Christmas or something.

And, it started raining.

Blech.

So, I’m back here again.

FINALLY!!! 3:00 o'clock and it's working again. And nearly time to pack up my bread and go home.

Oh well.
posted by Terry at 3:02:00 PM