JESUS CHRIST, WOMAN!
Yesterday morning, in fact at 8:11 in the morning, the telephone rang and I was startled awake. I grappled with the damn phone and a woman's voice asked if this was Mr. Morseburg, and when I responded with a "yes" she began to tell me about an overdue payment which her company had failed to receive.
Well, I go to sleep somewhere between two and three a.m., and between then and nine or nine thirty, but usually around six, I feel that urge to pee. I don't want to wake up and somehow fight it, but eventually, as with most aging men, I have to give in. I must wake up, must get up, and damn it, must pee.
So, I pee. Then I have the trouble of going back to sleep. This is when I often resort to a sleeping pill. At 8:11 a.m., this is a bit early. So, yes, I said, "Jesus Christ, woman...". Obviously that was a mistake. She took offense at it and let me know it. So, I proceeded to tell her that she, like the rest of us, most be bombarded with four letter words, the use of the Lord's name in vain, and all sorts of things on TV, in the movies, on T-shirts, bumper stickers, signs, and so on.
It was here that she let me know that I was acting in an unprofessional manner, and proceeded with this liberal clap-trap, politically correct garbage, and if "you're not going to act in a professional manner, etc." Well, suffice it to say that I informed her I'd talk as I damn well pleased at this time of the morning, and it was then that she hung up. Sufferin' Succotash, Sandy, can you imagine that?
This is the third time in recent months that someone has tried to tell me to be politically correct on the telephone. Usually, I am a very polite and considerate person, even when I first wake up! Believe me. But this is the second early morning call I've responded to a bit sharply when it came before 8:30 in the morning. Hey, I'm almost 80 and I have earned the right to sleep a wee (no pun intended) bit later. How can she know? Well, damn it, anyone who calls by phone or knocks on a door before nine a.m. should be prepared for an irritated person.
Of course, she was also upset that I referred to her gender, but I am from the old school I mean, if you are a woman, either your voice, your figure, or certain characteristics will give you away. Since I was first born, I was fast learning the difference. After all, my father never opened his bra so that I could be fed! So, being rather intelligent from birth, my mind immediately registered the fact that there were two sexes and I have been very, very aware of it ever since.
It is the same with color. If you're black and I walk by, your brain gets a message from your left eye-ball that a "white guy is coming into view." And, likewise with me. If you're missing a leg, or walk crab-wise (as I do), I'll register that too. A lisp? An accent? A rough voice? Damn, I'm smart and I pick up on those little things. I know, PC rules say I am supposed to be color blind, gender dumb, and a bit stupid as well in order to get along in today's world. Perhaps I am an olde codger, because I do not intend to do so, unless, unless she'll accept, "Good Morning, Miss PITA (Pain-in-the-ass), what the f*** do you want now?"
And, here's the poem I wrote for my Urologist:
PROSTITUS UNITE US.
Oh, dear doctor, how nice it'd be,
If I didn't have to get up to pee,
At three and four and five a.m.,
Then try to go back to sleep again.
Instead of dreaming dreams so great,
All night I'm thinking urinate.
I rise to pee a wee think stream.
Is relief for me such a far-fetched dream?
(dedicated to Dr. Cumes by Howard E. Morseburg)
Sufferin' Succotash, Sandy, it's almost bedtime. Good night, y'all.