Word: Pinguid

pinguid

[ping-gwid]

adjective

1. fat; oily.

 ***************************

The office was empty when Henry entered.  He looked all around the place, just to

confirm there was nobody hiding anywhere.  Sure enough, the simple office was devoid of

anyone’s presence.  He was not sure what to do.  He had been told to just go right in by the

receptionist, so he assumed there would be someone there to meet him.  

    Henry stood near the middle of the office, unsure of what else to do.  Should he sit, or

would that be considered rude?  He knew the basic job interview etiquette for most situations,

but not this one.  What does one do when the person conducting the interview is late?  He opted

to stand, just in case.

    He shifted his weight from foot to foot as he waited.  The office was nice enough at least.

 Enough windows for a good amount of natural light, nice furniture, tasteful artwork in strategic

locations.  Nothing terribly fancy, but nice.  

    Henry jumped when the door slammed open.  He turned and saw the person who he

assumed was the interviewer.  He struggled to hide his distaste.  Calling the man fat would be

an understatement.

    His suit struggled to contain the man’s hefty gut, and Henry counted no less than three

chins.  Not only that, but there was enough grease and oil on his face alone to fry chicken in.

  The interviewer wiped the top of his balding head with an overworked handkerchief as he

waddled into the office and slumped into the well made office chair behind the desk.  The chair

creaked and Henry marveled it remained in one piece.

    “Sorry I’m late.” The interviewer said.  “There was an unusually long line at the cafeteria.”

    “That’s perfectly fine, sir.” Henry said through a forced smile.  He sniffed the air.  He could

smell the pizza, or something equally greasy, coming from the interviewer.

    “Let’s see now.  You’re Henry...Becker, correct?”

    “Yes, sir.”

    “Good, good.  Have a seat.”

    The man continued once Henry had sat down.  It was a struggle to remain seated against

the man’s smell.  It was all encompassing.

The interviewer introduced himself as Mr. Farrow, one of the human resource

department’s middle managers.  The interview was fairly standard.  Mr. Farrow asked all

the normal job interview questions.  In fact, it seemed like he was reading from a script

as he talked.  He jotted down notes on Henry’s answers as they went.  The action was

disturbingly distracting.  The waves of fat in the man’s hands and wrist moved like some

kind of perverse jelly as he wrote.  It was almost hypnotic in its repulsiveness.  Between

that and the greasy, oily smell hanging in the air, it was getting increasingly difficult to

focus on the interview.

 What made it worse was Mr. Farrow’s breathing.  It was a loud, heavy wheezing that did

not sound healthy.  And he gulped air like he had just spent an hour in the gym.  Henry

was not sure whether to be concerned for Mr. Farrow’s immediate wellbeing, or be

disgusted by the sight, sound and smell of the man.  Midway through the interview he

settled for a tenuous balance of the two, while still doing his best not to show either.

It was a blessing when Mr. Farrow seemed to run out of questions to ask.

“Do you have any questions for me?” He asked.  

Henry knew that it was expected that he would ask a few question.  He had questions

prepared.  Several of them, in fact.  But he still said:

“No, I think you just about covered everything during the interview.”

He knew that one line could greatly reduce his chances of getting a job.  He knew he

might not hear from anyone from the company again.  He knew all that.  He also knew he

did not care all that much.  He just wanted to get out of that office as quickly as possible.

 He would worry about getting a job later.

***************************

Job interviews are hard. At least, for me they are. Not sure what other people think about them 

though.

Word: Facepalm

facepalm

or face palm, face-palm

[feys-pahm] Slang.

noun

1. the gesture of placing the palm of one's hand across the face, as to express embarrassment, frustration, disbelief, etc. (often used as an interjection): She read the post and comments and did a facepalm.

Okay, that was dumb—facepalm!

verb (used without object)

2. to use this gesture to express such emotions.

******************************

    “Hey, Jack, come and see what I just did.” Bill said.  The pride in his voice was palpable.

    Jack was less enthused.  He groaned at having to actually move.  He still mustered up

the energy to slide off the threadbare couch and see what his roommate was doing.

    “Check it out.  I just made us a bunch of cash.” Bill said.  

    “How’d you manage it?” Jack said as he shuffled over the bare floor.

    “Okay, so it’s not in my account yet, but it will be pretty soon.  Like, a few months,

according to this email.”

    Jack stopped.  An email that promised money?  He had yet to see the message in

question and it already sounded fishy.  Dubious even.  He moved behind Bill and read.  He was

right.  The email was definitely a scam.

“Please tell me you aren’t serious.” Jack said.

“I know, right?  It’s a sweet deal.”

It sounded great, certainly.  It was supposedly from the bank Bill used, and made several

promises.  Basically, it said that the bank was having some issues of indeterminate

nature, and needed his help to bail them out.  In exchange for a “small” investment of

$1,000, transferred with confirmation of his bank account number, of course, the bank

would, once the problem was fixed, give him twice the money and then put it into an

account with a lush 15 percent monthly interest rate.  

The offer was the only thing good about it though.  The details put into making it look

authentic were basic at best.  The grammar would make a fifth grader cringe.  Even the

return address was horribly disguised.  In short, it was a scam so obvious even a child

would not fall for it.

“You...you didn’t, did you?”

“Hell yeah I did.  I mean, why wouldn’t I?  It’s just too good to pass up.”

Jack did something he never thought he would do in his life.  He slapped his forehead and

slowly dragged it down to his chin.

“Please, please tell me this is a joke.  A horrible, terrible joke.”

“No joke my man.  Once the bank deals with this, we’ll have plenty of money.  Okay,

maybe it’ll take a few months to build up, but still.”

Jack groaned for a very different reason.  “Bill, you got scammed.”

“What?  No I didn’t.  Trust me, I checked.”

“And how did you check?”
“I called the number, and they said it was legit.”

“Which number?”

Bill pointed to the email.  There was indeed a phone number there.  This was met with

another forehead slap.  

“You are the single dumbest person I have ever met.  Seriously, you are a grade A idiot.”

“What?  What’d I do?”

“You called the number on an obvious scam email instead of doing the smart thing and

looking up the bank’s actual number.  Hell, you could’ve just driven to the bank and asked

them.  But no, you trusted someone who doesn’t even know the difference between there their 

and they’re.”  

“Okay, smart guy, how about this.  You call the bank and they’ll confirm I’m right.” Bill said,

crossing his arms as he did.  

    “I don’t need to.  Think about it.  Do you really think a bank, the bank you use mind you,

would ask for your bank account number?  The one they could just look up in their systems?

 And do you really think they’d go to you for financial aid?  Did you think about this at all?”

    Bill opened his mouth, but paused before any words left it.  He thought for a moment.

 Then:

    “You know, I was wondering why an Indian guy named Kevin answered the phone.”

********************************************

Always be aware of email scams. You do not want to get caught by one of them. Well, unless you do.

In that case, go nuts.

Word: Deasil

deasil

[dee-zuh l]

adverb, Chiefly Scot.

1. clockwise or in a direction following the apparent course of the sun: considered as lucky or auspicious.

*****************

    The object was a stone cube of about two feet from end to end.  On top was a

raised disk with tiny notches carved out around the perimeter.  Atop the disk was a thin

triangle that stood straight up, casting a shadow along the disk.  It was, however, quite a

bit lighter than its size and material would suggest.

    The trio gathered around it and looked at the odd cube.  They had spent the last

half hour trying to get it to do something, and the only thing they had determined was that

the disk was meant to turn, but refused to do so.

    “So, what should we do now?” Ted asked.  He held the box and examined the

other five sides of it, hoping for a clue.

    “Don’t ask me.” George said.  “I’m idead out.”

    Brian scanned the clear, sunny sky and then looked at the box for a moment.  “Hey, can you put it down for a sec?”

    Ted set the box on the grassy ground.  The triangle piece cast a short shadow

that reached the markings along the disk, but stretched no further than that.

    “What’s up?” George asked.

    “I think it’s a sundial.  You know, one of those things ancient people used before

they invented clocks.  I think it has something to do with the sun or time or something.

 We’ve tried turning it both ways, right?”

    “Yup.”

    Brian thought.  At first, the group had tried simply turning it both left and right, but

that had done nothing.  Then they tried looking for some kind of key in the ground nearby.

 But, there was neither key nor keyhole, so that idea was quickly abandoned.  

    “What’re you thinking?” Ted asked.

    “Let me try something real quick.”

    Brian grabbed the box and started moving it around until the shadow disappeared.

 He then grabbed the disk and turned.  The triangle remained stationary, but the rest of

the disk turned just a little bit, stopping with a small click.

“What did you just do?” Ted asked.  He stared wide eyed at the box with a hopeful grin on his face.

“I just figured the marks along the edge must mean something, so I tired lining up

the shadow with the first one, which is actually right in front of this piece here.

 So, I figure we line up the shadow with the rest of them going clockwise, and then see what happens.”

The three boys took turns adjusting the box’s sundial so that it lined up

appropriately each time.  Every time they got it right, the dial turned just a little more.

Soon, the three boys had gotten the shadow all the way around the dial, and were

rewarded by a deeper, louder click.  The trio looked at each other, not sure what

to do now.  Ted tried getting the disk to move more, but anything he tried resulted in nothing happening.  

“So, what now?” Ted asked.

“Well, try something.” George said.  Both of them looked at Brian.  

The smaller boy sighed and began examining the cube.  It was not long before he

found out that the cube was a box.  The top now had a tiny gap under it, which

Brian grabbed.  He looked at his friends and slowly opened the box.     

   

 **************************

Sorry, I have to post this video here.  You know it has to happen.  Sorry.  (Also, sorry about the formatting.  Blogger is being weird today, I think.)   

Word: Palmy

palmy

[pah-mee]

adjective, palmier, palmiest.

1. glorious, prosperous, or flourishing:

the palmy days of yesteryear.

2. abounding in or shaded with palms:

palmy islands.

3. palmlike.

 ****************************

Being the mayor sucked.  It was by far the worst job Ted had ever had, and he had worked in several fast food places.  He had thought that all he would have to do is look good for the camera and show up at events.  But it was not so easy.

It was difficult, tedious, and dull.  The people he had to deal with were idiots that did poor jobs of hiding their hidden agendas.  And if that was not the case, then they were just needy.  Then there were the meetings.  Oh so many meetings.  More than any one person should be allowed to attend.  And they were boring enough that he would prefer to watch grass grow.  

Ted thought the small but growing town would be easy to manage.  Industry was coming in, which brought in people, which made everything better.  ANd what could be easier to deal with than a flourishing, prosperous town?  As it was, it just made things harder.  

The more people had, the more they wanted to have, and the more complaints to go along with their desires.  And they always seemed to find their way to him.  He had no idea how it happened, but they did.  He was supposed to have employees that handled the complaints, ideas, and desires.  And yet, on a daily basis, he had to meet with several dozen people, all with ideas to “better” the town.  That would be great, if any of the ideas actually had merit.

To be fair, some people did have good ideas that could help the town prosper even more, but those were few and far between.  Most just wanted some inane law about dog walking or pools or some such.  He always just said he would think about it get back to the presenter.  He never did though, and most did not seem to care.

And he did not even want to think about the grievances.  If anything, they were even worse than the suggestions.  It was like they thought the mayor was some kind of fix-it man for their lives.  Every little thing that went wrong, they expected him to fix.  Forget about trying to do something themselves, it was so much easier just to complain to the person in charge, right?  Nevermind the fact that his power was limited to certain areas of the city, and he had little to no authority to intrude on people’s everyday lives.  That did not stop the people from coming to him with their problems though.

There were times he wanted to strangle someone for trying to get him to stop a neighbor’s dog from pooping on their lawn, or get him to pass a law to outlaw rap music or something equally banal.  

But, he was the mayor.  It was the job he had selected and then chosen to do.  Just because it was in no way what he thought it would be did not mean he would not do a proper job.  He just needed to get used to the stupidity of some people.  How hard could that be?    

***************************

There's a reason why I have no interest in politics.  It's because people aren't always the most intelligent things around. 

Word: Sagittate

sagittate

[saj-i-teyt]

adjective

1. shaped like an arrowhead.

****************************

There was glass shavings all over the floor.  The sound of scraping and chiseling filled the air.  Nina walked carefully through the small, impromptu workshop to find the man making the noises.  Roy sat hunched over a workbench, holding a thin, delicate chisel in his hand.  

    Nina circled around to see what he was working on.  It was a chunk of glass that was slowly being formed into a rough arrowhead shape.  It was clearly not meant to be used on an actual arrow, since it was too rough and neither sharp nor pointed.  

    “What’re you doing?” Nina asked when Roy finally put his chisel down.

    “Practicing.”

    “Practicing what?”

    “Making arrowheads out of glass.”

    “Why?”

    “So I’m ready when things go bad.”

    Nina sighed.  She should have known it was something like that.  Roy had been on some kind of apocalypse survivor kick recently, since he had read an internet article about civilization collapsing in ten or so years.

    “And making glass arrowheads will help...how?”

    “Easy.  I’ll be able to make my own weapons.  Once I learn how to make glass, I’ll have an unlimited supply of arrows, which will help a lot.”

    “Why not make them out of rocks?  Those are easy to find, and you don’t need to learn any extra skills to make them?”

“One word: Payload.”

Nina raised an eyebrow and motioned for him to continue.

“It’s like this, arrows aren’t as lethal as some other weapons are.  Sure, you can kill with them, but only if you shoot them in the right place.  The wounds they make are too small, so bleeding is easy to deal with as well.  That is, unless you’re using a special arrowhead.  Barbed arrowheads, for instance, are harder to take out and make a nasty wound.  But even those aren’t guaranteed to take out an opponent.  So, what I plan on doing is use poison.  Now, I could make an arrowhead out of stone or metal and just coat it with poison, but a lot of those loose their potency when they dry up, meaning I can’t just keep poisoned arrows around for an emergency. And that’s where the glass comes in.  If I can learn how to make hollow arrowheads out of glass, I can fill them with a little bit of poison before I make the arrow proper.  That way, the arrow enters the person and then shatters.  This does two things.  One, is that the shards do even more damage to the surrounding area.  Two, it delivers the poison directly into the body.  This does a lot more damage, and the poison won’t dry up, since it’ll be in a container.”

Nina was almost impressed.  He had put a lot of thought into it.  It almost made up for the fact that he was casually talking about killing people like it would be a common thing.  Of course, that was because his head was also full of a bunch of post-apocalyptic action movies in addition to doomsayer articles.

Nina figured it would be better to play along for a bit.  Roy would lose interest soon enough, so no harm would come of it.  Plus, if he actually did learn glassblowing, he would have a useful skill no matter what the future might hold.  

“Okay, that sounds...nice and all, but isn’t that a lot harder?  Like, a LOT harder?  I mean, just making an arrowhead out of glass is hard enough, but to do everything you want?  I mean, you have to make it hollow, which is harder.  THen you have to know how much stuff it can hold before it gets too heavy to fly fast enough to pierce skin.  Plus, you have to know how to make both the poison and the arrow.  All of those are skills that take years to learn, and you’ll need all of them.  How are you going to make this work?”

    Roy thought about that for a moment before answering.  “I’ll just have to practice harder then, won’t I?”

***************************************

No, I do not believe that civilization as we know it will end any time soon.  And even if it does, something other than pure anarchy will take its place sooner or later.  Humans do have a tendency towards social order, even if it doesn't seem like it in today's world.