Head hurts. Must blog.
I have had a headache for a couple of days – what I call a “slow burner.” Hurts like hell, but I generally ignore it. But I had that going on and I left for work early because I knew I would need to stop for coffee.
All of that put me at our main office ten minutes before we open. Unusual, though not unheard of. I opened the door and entered.
We have only been at this new building two weeks (a little less, actually). The security system has the same code, but it is a little different.
I started punching the buttons and I punched one wrong. On our old system, you had a few seconds to correct that sort of thing. Apparently, you no longer do.
This HUGE SHRIEK started in the thing – right next to my ears. It was physically painful. We just had a big staff meeting on brain injury the other day, so it made me a little paranoid – choking, throwing, hitting, and LOUD NOISES can do it. Not good. Yet I pushed forward into the breach – desperate not to be told off by the cops (who reamed out the last advocate who made a boo boo).
I kept my head (and ears) right next to the SHRIEK and kept pushing in the code. I had all but given up when the fucking thing stopped.
Hands shaking, I took down the rest of my coffee, a cookie, and two Excedrin. Then the phone rang.
“Maine (incomprehensible babble) Security. Who guards the door?”
I knew it. I’m brain injured. I have no clue what this over-polite bitch is saying.
“Who guards the door?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said – thinking remorsefully back to heckling Percival because he couldn’t tell the Fisher King, “Whom the grail serves?”
She said it again. “It’s the challenge question. Who guards the door?”
“Well, they didn’t tell us the challenge question,” I said, feeling like an ass.
Long pause. I know I sound more and more like the psycho-burglar that she already believes me to be.
“Is there anyone else there?”
“No, (holding back from sarcasm quite admirably) I got here first. That’s why I opened the door.”
Long pause. “Okay. Can I have your name?”
Gave it to her. She hung up. Three seconds passed, and I REMEMBERED WHO GUARDS THE DOOR!
It’s a teddy bear that we refer to as our “mascot.” Obviously can’t put our security question on the internet. Need the job. So let’s call the bear Q (even though I abhor James Bond).
Didn’t have over-polite bitch’s number. *69 for number. Track down over-polite bitch. As soon as she picks up her connection, I shout like a mad woman, “Q guards the door!”
“Thank you,” she said, Sphinx-like. “That is what I needed to hear.”
There. Hung up on the weirdest moment ever. And we still weren’t open for another three minutes.
Gotta go. Presenting on “power and control” to deferred-sentence substance abusers. Rrrrrrrrrr. Need another cookie.