Archive | 11:59 PM

The Hate … The Frustration … The Red SOLO Cup

10 Dec

The phone rings and I answer. It’s not for me, so I have to take a message. I exhale and wish I hadn’t picked up the receiver. Not because I don’t like taking messages. No. It’s because of the cup. I turn and look for it, and there it is, next to the post-it notes. It’s not even a real cup. It’s a red SOLO cup. And it sits there next to the phone mocking me.

I reach for the black pen. Nope. No ink. I reach for the blue pen, which has ink, but it doesn’t write. I reach for about five more pens and they all have the same technical difficulty. I get black Sharpie marker … dry. I reach for a highlighter. No. Nothing. I finally pick a pencil. It’s new. No sharpened point. They’re all new or broken.

The cup ...

The cup …

Things would be so much easier if my mom just had caller ID, but my parents chose to have one of those old school phones with no screen and the ginormous buttons, just in case you started losing your eye sight. In addition it has one of those long 100-foot chords that follow you everywhere around the house. You would think with that much leeway I’d be able to find a pen anywhere on the first floor of this Guat household, but I could not.

I would like to just throw the cup in the trash, but I couldn’t. I’ve tried and I was vetoed. Apparently its presence is necessary. The Feng Shui balance of it all, I guess.

However there’s really no Feng Shui or qi energy going on with this cup. It’s more like frustration.  It sits precisely next to the phone, insinuating that it is supposed to help you with all the writing utensils it holds, but no it doesn’t. It’s filled with pens that don’t work, and new or broken pencils.

I put plenty of sharpened Ticonderoga No.2 pencils and Bic pens in the cup every couple of months, but for some reason when the phone rings and you need to take a message, the battered pens and pencils find their way back into the cup, and no one ever sees anything. Ever. No one ever takes a pen and forgets to put it back. No one breaks a pencil and then puts it back into the cup … it was always someone else. Always.

So I go in search for some kind of writing utensil, but it’s taking too long and the caller appears to be getting frustrated. They choose not to leave a detailed message and say they’ll call back later.

I look like a customer service dumbass, but it’s really not me. It’s the cup. The red SOLO cup.

A couple of hours later the phone rings again. I let the machine get it this time.

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