4th quarter every year is always a white-knuckle, piss your pants, throw-up-in-your-mouth roller coaster time of year for me. Between the mayhem at work, family, holiday gathering and shopping for family and clients, at the end of it all I feel like Cameron Diaz in the closing scene of "Very Bad Things" sitting in the cud de sac in a ratty robe, rubber cleaning gloves and waving a toilet brush while crying hysterically at the sky (except instead of Cameron picture Delta Burke's Body or Kirstie Alley in her "Veronica's Closet" days).
All this and my new doctor won't prescribe me Xanax. Speaking of....my regular doctor of 18 years closed her business out of the blue last month (without notifying anyone). I feel like Ahnuld just told me "I've been erased" because I don't even know how I'll ever retrieve my medical and gyno records. At this point in my life I can't imagine throwing a kid into the mixture. I really can see how people forget their kid is in the back seat of the car, although in the unlikely event at 41, that I actually do have a kid, I'm sure the universe will pay me back with a redhead freckled face smart ass kid who will talk smack to me from the moment she can speak. Granted she will be wearing Prada Mary Jane's and a crisp white Lacoste Polo while whipping my ass.
To top things off, a week before Christmas my company announced bankruptcy. I was so busy that I just shrugged and said, "Whatever." Just like the people that make $90k a year and buy a million-dollar house, or a person who makes $25k a year and buys a $4,000 Louis Vuitton handbag, my company pretty much did the same when they bought our company - only on a much larger level.
To top things off, a week before Christmas my company announced bankruptcy. I was so busy that I just shrugged and said, "Whatever." Just like the people that make $90k a year and buy a million-dollar house, or a person who makes $25k a year and buys a $4,000 Louis Vuitton handbag, my company pretty much did the same when they bought our company - only on a much larger level.
The day before my holiday break, I met with a client in the evening an hours drive from my office (in the snow). We were supposed to work out an agreement for the first quarter but midway thru he said, "Boy, I'm beat. Let's talk about this in January." I tried to put my special "Parker close" on him (not the one where I push my new weight gain huge boobs out so the top button on my shirt pops open) but an actual more skilled verbal assertive close. He still looked at me like I was nuts and on my way I went.
The next day I woke up not excited about the first day of break, but instead knowing the hell that awaited me when I'd get back. A long time client signed an annual contract with me then went on vacation for two weeks. In the meantime his new hired ad agency called me to tell me I could basically wipe my ass with that contract and would need to re-negotiate with them - a.k.a. have them grind me to a pulp so that they can look heroic and oh yeah, I would be making less than half my commission with the new deal. Super. Let's get this party started Mo-Fo's. The agency then proceeded to call and email me all day despite telling them I was on vacation, had doctor's appointment and was picking up relatives at the airport (none of which was true - except the vacation part). Honestly I could have been in the hospital with tubes coming out of my mouth and they would still be asking for more and more... maybe even a kidney.
It was hard not to take this one personally. In college my dickhead ex-boyfriend once came to the restaurant where I worked with his new girlfriend and sat in my section and ordered a bottle of Frexinet champagne for me to serve them (the "Cristal" of the late 80's - or so I thought). This "are you kidding me" gut-wrenching feeling was the same way I was feeling. I was officially Christmas Salesperson Roadkill.
When Christmas day finally cam, I was just happy that I wouldn't be bothered by a client in need or their rape-me-in-the-ass ad agency. I can always count on my mom for a Christmas zinger however. She actually asked me if I thought it would be a good idea for her to offer to pay for Jenny Craig for my overweight 48 year old brother that had just come in for the holidays. Mmmmm, probably not such a great idea Nancy. However, I said jokingly, "Will you pay for me to do Jenny Craig?" Without missing a beat she looked at me and said, "Ok."
-Parker
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