Minda 7
I know Indira and I are being victimized. As the new arrivals, we get crappy time slots for everything. Including biweekly counselling. So she and I see Ms Birnbaum at her worst. Not only Monday morning uptight, usually hungover and looking like she ain't been laid in a while and has had yet another knock down drag em out with her husband.
Her look clearly conveys, "I'm a piece of merde and so are you, so don't dare mess with me."
Bring it on.
"Now Minda," she starts in that phony sacharine tone, "when we met last we were considering your competitive nature."
(News to me, I don't think I'm competitive.)
"Now let's go back in history. There was a serial killer, a man, who set the all time Canadian record at 188. So just why exactly did you go to 189, then stop, law low, do no more killings?"
"I'm interested to hear your theory on that ma'am."
"Well everything else in your file indicates being non-competitive. Never bothered with school sports. Never studied much, could have done much better according to your teachers. I'm guessing this is for a cause, as opposed to simply seeking the record, personal fame."
"Hard to argue with someone as perceptive as you, ma'am. I believe anything a man can do, a woman can do better."
She gasps, "you mean, you did all this for Women's Lib???"
With an innocent smile, I nod. (Good, she's buying.)
She goes into an absolute rage, "do you know how many centuries women have struggled for equality? For how many centuries they have had the reputation of being morally better than men? Along comes bonehead you, sets the cause back at least a century, all by yourself. Talk about an own goal. ..." The rant consumes the rest of our time.
As I go out, Nancy is waiting, "so, what kinda mood is she in?"
I grin, "I pass the torch to you."
"That good, huh? Bring it on!"
Heidi asserts, "according to the rules, we can't vote yet. Minda hasn't spoken on the topic."
With an effort of will a Prussian Guardsman would approve of, I drag myself away from my daydream.
Trying not to sound too smart ass, I speak quietly, "now to summarize, we have less than 300 books, mostly Harlequin. Should we sort alphabetically by author surname, like a real library? How long would it take? Say an hour. But that's only the first time. Everyone here is familiar with how DRO works. Must goof off all day, big five minute blitz at the end."
Pause for effect, "so, who wants to bell the cat? Who wants to face down the lions in the arena and tell them Caesar says sort alphabetically?"
Heidi grins, "given they'd be inclined to tar and feather us, maybe it's best to simply drop the issue. All in favor?"
Unanimous.
Ms Birnbaum looks more hungover than ever. "Now Minda, looking at this file, I confess to a certain confusion on motive. Had you chosen 189 people at random or say 189 postal workers, I might be able to understand that." Tries hard to smile, fails, "but well ah that is, every single one of those victims just happens to be Jewish. Given your surname is Zilberg, that seems a conflict of loyalty. Surely you could have found even a few goyim worthy of all that hate?"
"No ma'am, none at all. None of the goyim were ever guilty."
She leans forward, bug eyed, "guilty of what????"
"Ma'am, if you check the list real careful, you'll see none of the victims were ultraOrthodox."
Dry reply, "I already noticed that. So, what exactly are all these non-Haredim guilty of?"
"Insulting me ma'am, I mean for being ultraOrthodox."
She turns deathly white, faints by falling forward on her desk.
"Oh dear," says the clerk as she dials the nurse, "first time this has happened."
Hah, does that make me winner or what?
There's a loud and festive crowd in the Day Room. Nancy rings a bell and conversations taper off. "And now the moment we have all waited for. We decorate one of our number."
An aside, "may I have it?" She is passed a large foil star, cut out of pie plate, strung on a ribbon.
Huge smile, "I will now read the citation, 'For single handed gallantry going eyeball to eyeball with the enemy, in the enemy's own lair."
Loud cheers as she drapes it on me.
Someone asks, "when is that counsellor expected back from stress leave?"
Someone else replies, "I heard at least six months."
I suppose that makes me not a rookie anymore.
(So ends Part Two; the blog could be inactive for several months as Part Three is prepared.)
Her look clearly conveys, "I'm a piece of merde and so are you, so don't dare mess with me."
Bring it on.
"Now Minda," she starts in that phony sacharine tone, "when we met last we were considering your competitive nature."
(News to me, I don't think I'm competitive.)
"Now let's go back in history. There was a serial killer, a man, who set the all time Canadian record at 188. So just why exactly did you go to 189, then stop, law low, do no more killings?"
"I'm interested to hear your theory on that ma'am."
"Well everything else in your file indicates being non-competitive. Never bothered with school sports. Never studied much, could have done much better according to your teachers. I'm guessing this is for a cause, as opposed to simply seeking the record, personal fame."
"Hard to argue with someone as perceptive as you, ma'am. I believe anything a man can do, a woman can do better."
She gasps, "you mean, you did all this for Women's Lib???"
With an innocent smile, I nod. (Good, she's buying.)
She goes into an absolute rage, "do you know how many centuries women have struggled for equality? For how many centuries they have had the reputation of being morally better than men? Along comes bonehead you, sets the cause back at least a century, all by yourself. Talk about an own goal. ..." The rant consumes the rest of our time.
As I go out, Nancy is waiting, "so, what kinda mood is she in?"
I grin, "I pass the torch to you."
"That good, huh? Bring it on!"
Heidi asserts, "according to the rules, we can't vote yet. Minda hasn't spoken on the topic."
With an effort of will a Prussian Guardsman would approve of, I drag myself away from my daydream.
Trying not to sound too smart ass, I speak quietly, "now to summarize, we have less than 300 books, mostly Harlequin. Should we sort alphabetically by author surname, like a real library? How long would it take? Say an hour. But that's only the first time. Everyone here is familiar with how DRO works. Must goof off all day, big five minute blitz at the end."
Pause for effect, "so, who wants to bell the cat? Who wants to face down the lions in the arena and tell them Caesar says sort alphabetically?"
Heidi grins, "given they'd be inclined to tar and feather us, maybe it's best to simply drop the issue. All in favor?"
Unanimous.
Ms Birnbaum looks more hungover than ever. "Now Minda, looking at this file, I confess to a certain confusion on motive. Had you chosen 189 people at random or say 189 postal workers, I might be able to understand that." Tries hard to smile, fails, "but well ah that is, every single one of those victims just happens to be Jewish. Given your surname is Zilberg, that seems a conflict of loyalty. Surely you could have found even a few goyim worthy of all that hate?"
"No ma'am, none at all. None of the goyim were ever guilty."
She leans forward, bug eyed, "guilty of what????"
"Ma'am, if you check the list real careful, you'll see none of the victims were ultraOrthodox."
Dry reply, "I already noticed that. So, what exactly are all these non-Haredim guilty of?"
"Insulting me ma'am, I mean for being ultraOrthodox."
She turns deathly white, faints by falling forward on her desk.
"Oh dear," says the clerk as she dials the nurse, "first time this has happened."
Hah, does that make me winner or what?
There's a loud and festive crowd in the Day Room. Nancy rings a bell and conversations taper off. "And now the moment we have all waited for. We decorate one of our number."
An aside, "may I have it?" She is passed a large foil star, cut out of pie plate, strung on a ribbon.
Huge smile, "I will now read the citation, 'For single handed gallantry going eyeball to eyeball with the enemy, in the enemy's own lair."
Loud cheers as she drapes it on me.
Someone asks, "when is that counsellor expected back from stress leave?"
Someone else replies, "I heard at least six months."
I suppose that makes me not a rookie anymore.
(So ends Part Two; the blog could be inactive for several months as Part Three is prepared.)
posted by afghangirlscifi @ 8:22 AM
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