Jeff Woo – the story revealed

Stuffed into a single occupancy office with 3 other contractors with a defective AC unit was the least of my worries. The smell of McDonald’s hotcakes and sausage in the tepid air was making my nose hair quiver in pain. (yes, nose hair can quiver) As I swallowed hard to keep the stomach acid down where it was supposed to be, I knew it would be another day in paradise.

2 hours and 36 news sites later, I decided I should actually do something productive. Walking back from the coffee stand, I started feeling liberated from the tomb that I had been sitting in for the last few weeks since I started this contracting Gig. Ahh, the power of a triple shot latte.

It didn’t take long for the caffeine high to transition my body into a partial comatose state about 10 minutes after the latte was finished, and the rancid Mickey D’s scent began to waft into my nostrils. It isn’t easy sleeping while trying to sporadically click your mouse so it looks like your working.

Two of the other three schmucks in the office/jail I was stationed in were also dosing off, due to either a lack of meaningful work, or the environmental facts of the 400 degrees of body heat, the whirl of the laptops, and the deafening buzz of the florescent light ballasts that were on their last legs.

The only person that was busy was Georgia, the skinny blonde that insisted that the only way to stay at her current 92lb weight was to suck down lard infused hotcakes from the aforementioned gourmet restaurant. She was in the middle of her “release,” and the stress of actually having to accomplish something after sitting slumped in an atrophic state for months was getting to her. Receiving a few hundred emails a day is fine when all you need to do is delete them, but when you actually need to read, analyze, and respond intelligibly to them, it just plain sucks.

As my head began to gain downward momentum on its final sleep induced slump allowing me to finally grasp the imaginary triple shot latte I was dreaming about, it happened.

A curdling scream cut through the hotcakes-stench like a stinky fart in a movie theater and even caused the crippled ballasts to respect the pitch and decibel level that came lunging forcefully out of Georgia’s mouth.

“DAMN YOU JEFF WOO!”

I nervously got up to pick up my mouse from the other side of the room, after reflexes I thought I had lost while doing nothing for the last few months, actually were awakened, and for some reason thought the best thing to do would be to chuck the closest thing to my hand across the room. Keeping my eyes intently focused on Georgia, and trying to determine if this was a fight or flight situation, I noticed that one of the other inmates who was sitting closest to her, Brian, was checking to make sure he didn’t piss himself while clenching his hands together, to keep them from shaking. Aaron, the newest member of the group was contemplating if he should cry, either on the behalf of this Jeff Woo character, or because the toothpick sized woman might come after him with the same vengeance as portrayed in her last imperative statement.

Who is Jeff Woo, and what could he have done to deserve such contempt? Hell if I know. But what I do know, is, he is screwed if he ever runs into Georgia.

Freezing Florida, Details, and The Seagull

It started off as a business trip that I was really not looking forward to. It has become a trip that has been anything but normal business.

One of my travel companions (he reports to me, not that that matters, but adds a little context to the picture) is a freakishly napoleonesk prick, without the leadership qualities that made Napoleon so successful (at first of course), hence why he reports to a schlub like me.

Not that I haven't traveled with idiots on business trips in the past, but this guy is killing me. How many times and ways do I have to tell him I don't want to sit next to him on the 4 hour flight?

Him: Hey, I am in seat 12b, and I made sure 12c is open
Me: Ok, cool, I will schedule later
Him: Do it now, so we can sit together, we can share a DVD player
Me: Um. I don't have time right now

++Later++

Him: hey, let’s stop at the ticketing agent, and see if they can seat us together
Me: Nah, I have a seat I like, a window seat
Him: OK, I will ask them if they have a window seat for you, and one next to you for me, then we can share a DVD player.

Comment: Ok moron, take the F'n hint, I don't like you, and I don't want to sit by your reaking ass and watch "Elizabethtown." FREAK!

++At the Airport++

Him: I am glad I talked you into letting me give you a ride to the airport
Me: Yeah.
Him: Do you want to hold my hand? --- ok that didn't happen ---
Him (At the ticketing counter): I really need a seat so we can sit together
Me: Hey, don't worry about it, just check in. I am good.
Him: Oh, they will do it for me, they owe me.
Me: Ok, well I am going to the gate, see you there.
Him (running after me): Hey wait up.
Me (grabbing my cell acting like I have a call): Hey honey, how are you? (giving him the finger, no not the middle one, the index, like hold on a minute. Continuing to walk)
My F'n Phone: Ringggg
Me: AHHH!!! as the ring blows my left eardrum and almost knocks me unconscious.
Him: What happened!
Me: I WAS TRYING TO GET YOU OFF MY BACK YOU PATHETIC TWIT! --- ok I didn't really say that either ---
Me: My phone is broken I guess. I better call her back. He then slowly loses interest in me and walks away....

So, why don't I want to sit by him? Can his conversation really be that bad... Answer = YES.

His subject matter expertise is limited to the following:
- Blaming others for his failures
- Name Dropping people he has never interacted with
- Telling me, and everyone else, and how he has been passed over for promotions etc, because he is just "too good" for these promotions, and that he could be running the company if he wanted.

Oh, and, if your dad is 1/4th British, and you mother is 1/8th Canadian, it does not mean that you should say the words Process, and Status as "PrOOcess" and "StAAtus" you freakin moron.

Ending the rant now, and on to the Details.

After I had lost the ineffective Napoleon wanna-be, and my ear had stopped gushing blood, I wandered into the closest magazine emporium, and decided to grab a couple for my 2 hour layover and the long flights. There was one called "details" next to the GQ, and so I thumbed through it, it looked like a style magazine, so I bought it along with a travel magazine.

I threw them on top of my duffle, the "Details" magazine clearly visible on the top. I took my seat on the next flight and the seat next to mine was occupied by an attractive young woman.
This of course, was a much better situation than having to share a DVD player with Mr. Moron. I put my Duffle under the seat in front of me, got out the "Details" magazine, set it on my lap, and leaned back and closed my eyes to relax. The girl taps me on the wrist and asks where I am heading. A polite conversation commenced, and she started telling me about her ex-boyfriends, and life story. When the conversation starts to wind down, she mentions how glad she is that she could sit next to someone safe that she could talk to. I then started flipping through the Details magazine I had placed on my lap. It took an article, and a few ads with scantily clad young men in them for me to realize this wasn't just a normal "style" magazine. This flight was short, and thank God it was, because once I realized I was wearing the "safe gay guy" banner, it really started stressing me out.


The Seagull:

Noticing a seagull on my hotel patio, I opened the door to enjoy the ocean view, expecting the seagull to fly off. Instead, it looked at me, with tired eyes, and started walking toward me. I stepped out of the way, and it walked into my room. I yelled "shoo" cause that is what you yell at animals or mini napoleon's that won't leave you alone (damn, that is how to get rid of him.....). Anyway, it didn't shoo, it sat down. So, I nudged it with my foot, and it just looked at me with disgust. I put my finger down, and touched in on the beak. It closed its eyes and looked as if it was going to sleep. What the hell was wrong with this seagull?

So, I called the front desk, and told them I had a seagull that obviously needed some attention in my room, and could I schedule a massage and foot soak at the spa for the seagull. They said no, but that they would send a security guard to my room to get it out of there. A few minutes later, after a small deposit was made in my hotel room by the seagull, a security guard knocks on the door, leaf rake in hand. I tell him the story, and how I didn't think it was good policy to deny a sick, or just indifferent seagull the right to a decent massage and foot soak. He didn't find it funny, and went over to the bird to "shoo" it away. I mentioned that this particular seagull didn't like the "shoo'ing" technique. I then stated that if all the security guard was going to do, was throw the poor thing outside, I would just let it sit on my floor until it was good and ready to go outside, or the spa agreed to give a foot soak, whichever came first.

The seagull stayed. (adding pic)

Oh, and my trip to warm and sunny Florida wasn't so warm. It was the coldest day of the year in Jacksonville, but it was sunny.

Adult Talk

Next time you get sick and puke, use the same terminology as adults use when talking about babies.

Original Statement: "Man, I feel sick, I think I am going to puke"
New Statement: "Man, I feel sick, I think I am going to spit up"

Courtesy of the Infamous JF.

Gangsta

Ringtone = Coolio's "Gangsta's Paradise"

Insight: As you can imagine, my cube neighbors don't like me anymore.

On to the Woo.

The story of Jeff Woo will come soon. Promise.