Tuesday, March 4, 2003

Gentle reader Esther C. stumbled into the Secondhand Rants skyscraper one winter night.

“Please!” she begged to the doorman. “You have to let me in.”

It was a chilly night, the type that makes you want to hug your children a little tighter and toss your relatives’ rugrats out the window. My doorman, a well-educated chap who majored in Doorsmanship and minored in Judo, let her in after she procured some very valid ID.

I don’t know why Sir Dippenschitz let her up, but let her up he did. My secretary buzzed her into my office, an ill-timed move that interrupted my perusal of a profound historical document.

“No,” I told the interrupter, “I don’t want any Girl Scout cookies.”

“I’m not sellin-“

“Cripes above, woman!” I cried. “I knew Publisher’s Clearinghouse would come to collect one day. I swear I didn’t mean to misuse those stickers. Let me get you some office supplies…”

“What are you talking about?” she blurted out. “I’m the CEO of Esthereggy.com.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, furtively hitting the red help-me-Sir-Dippenschitz-and-remove-this-nutcase-from-my-office button under my desk. “I don’t want any chickens. They terrify me.”

“Not eggs and NOT chickens, you moron!” she exploded. “I founded a website just like yours. I’m having a little prob-“

“Oh,” I said, “so Madame I-Own-a-Domain-Name wants to play the Hostile Takeover Game, eh?”

“No! I’m just having a rat infestation problem with my building.”

“Well,” I said with a sagacious nod, “I suppose I could help a fresh new start-up like your own. This is tax deductible, right?”

I handed her a whole bag of rat poison.

So that’s about it, gentle reader. I hope this example of good interpersonal communication will serve you well as you go out into the wide, wide world.

“How can her site be the new one if she’s been around forever?” you ask cheekily.

“Go jog in Lake Michigan, okay?”