This afternoon as I "sewed away" and sat in my sea of felt, tulle and rhinestones, I decided I was going to behave just like everybody else in the world who works hard at something. I opted to exercise my U.S. Department of Labor Law "given" "right" to a 10 minute break, a luxurious cup of coffee and daydream a little about sitting on the seawall crabbing with the Webbman. Now mind you. . . . not just any coffee, but coffee ground from fresh beans purchased at the world famous DeKalb County Farmers Market. As if the fresh ground beans weren't decadent enough, I then slowly poured and stirred the half and half which I had heated in the microwave, added raw sugar just to the point of "perfectness" and revelled in being able to enjoy something so divine while I'm covering my bases as a hard working "soul". Now, truth be known, in order to get away with this "10 minute break entitlement", I have to pretend that I live in one of the eight (8) States in our Nation that actually "DO" provide a break to their employees per State Law. I think I'll pretend I live in Oregon this month and maybe next month while I'm on break, I'll pretend to live in Vermont. After all, I don't think there is an age limit that restricts our right to "make believe". In fact, I KNOW there isn't . . . . I've lived in Bitsy's world all my life and I don't intend on readjusting my life philosophies now!
I would never want it said that those of you who boldly go on to read "Bitsy's Bits" don't gain some form of knowledge from the words found within. I would never want you to leave empty handed devoid of any new found "pearls of wisdom", SO on that note, I cite the following source for the previous information outlining our rights, or lack thereof, to the joy of 10 minute breaks: http://www.dol.gov/whd/state/rest.htm
I don't know about any of you, but I found myself in a peculiar situation today. It was downright annoying. I decided it was about that time of the month to call the "Financial Institution" of my "choice" to confirm exactly how much money I didn't have, so I dialed the 800 number, listened to the prompts (the ones I have totally and completely memorized). I pressed #1, then #1 again, then my 16 digit account #, then I always know they're going to ask me to type in my zip code. Well, upon my delicate dainty careful concise input of said16 digit account #, this is where the aggravation began. The recording lady, you know the one who belts out commands like she's a Brigadier General's wife, loudly says "You have entered an incorrect account #, please input your account # again.", in "that" voice. Well, I give her the benefit of the doubt and I "enter my account # again". Then Quasimodo says yet again "You have entered an incorrect account #, please input your account # again". By now, I'm talking to the Brigadier's wife and saying "What do you mean I entered an incorrect account #? I have had this account # for 4 years now and I KNOW the damn #!" Quasimodo just keeps on displaying her ignorance and her total lack of flexibility and well after her telling me the same stupid thing four (4) times and me talking back to a RECORDING, I realize in place of my account #, I have been typing in my zip code. I just hung up. I figure they don't need to tell me what my measly balance is. They don't need to confirm there isn't much money in there :) I can live quite nicely without the Brigadier's wife or Quasimodo knowing my financial information, or in my case, lack thereof!
Have you ever done this? Am I the only person who replies to recordings and on top of the replies, I also manage to curse them out a time or two? Really, have YOU ever done this?
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