The Fuzzy Dragon's Den

Players:
CL: confused lady
Me: guess who!

Phone: Brrrrrrrrains. Brrrrrains. Where da brrrrrrains?
Me: Thank you for calling, this is Vasaris.
CL: This is Confused Lady in the LA office.
Me: Hi, Confused! What can I do for you?
CL: I've got a rush shipment from Canada to the US. [Other Office] told me that you do that.
Me: ... Um er, so do they...? Okay. So... Where are the goods crossing?
CL: *sounding very lost* ...From Canada..?
Me: ...right.

In fairness, she's in LA and may have no reason to realize the Canadian border is very, very long and has more than one access point. Or, if I'm going to be nice, know which Canadian ports go with which US ports except she can probably use Google, that's how I figured it out. But "...it's coming from Canada?" will never stop being funny.

Dear carrier:

Providing proof that you faxed your entry to someone else -- while demanding to know why I haven't finished already -- is an excellent way to make me giggle.

Thanks for the laughs!

--me

(Okay, heavily paraphrased. Portions of this conversation may have been hallucinated.)

Shell-san: *heaving sigh* "Okay then. That fucking clusterfuck of a fucking fuck is done!"

Me: That's a whole lot of fucking going on. I hope the clusterfuck brought lube.

Shell-san: No. Fuck.

Me: Damn. That's gotta chafe. Never hold a clusterfuck without lube.

Shell-san: ...

Me: ...

Shell-san: ...I can't believe you just said that.

Me: Me, either.

Sadly, a crappy picture, but the little bugger didn't really want to sit still and be admired. Peacocks, not exactly a daily occurrence. O.O

He just came walking up along the sidewalk and off into the parking lot. Shell-san and I were most... distracted by this. And if Shell-san hadn't been going home, we would never have known that he was there.

Perhaps it's a sign. Perhaps of the arrival of the peacockalypse?

One of the eternal questions in international trade is 'Are the buyer and seller of these goods related to one another?'

It's a good question -- it helps determine whether or not you can use the primary method of determining the value of a good... the transaction value.

But sometimes it's results in the darnedest things.

Today I saw a note that solemnly informed me that the Royal Canadian Mint is not related to a variety of U. S. companies.

It made me laugh as saying that the Royal Canadian Mint is not related to, say, Dunkin' Donuts, is rather like saying the U. S. Department of the Treasury isn't related to Tim Horton's. Um. Duh?

Or, as it goes:

Me: *waves*
Shell-san: Coworker #1
B-san: Coworker #2, in another office

Me: OMG, B-SAN IS SEXY AND HOT
Shell-san: ...what?
Me: B-san scanned everything I would need for this! I ♥ B-san! I don't care what he looks like, he's sexy and hot.
Shell-san: I'm totally telling him you said that. Although, he is cute in a geeky-boy kind of way.
Me: [sternly] He used his brain. By definition, sexy and hot.
Shell-san: *laughs maniacally*

One of the greatest fears in the business I am in is the loss of files.

Physical files.

That isn't to say that it wouldn't be getting up close and personal with King Kong's Gonads if the digital stuff were to go the way of the dodo, but Customs is very clear on the 'THOU SHALT HAVE REAL PAPER FILES OF EVERYTHING FOR FIVE YEARS (3 in some cases and, like, 90 days for packing lists) UNLESS YOU HAVE TEH SUUUPERSPECIAL PERMISSIONS AND SH*T, BECAUSE WE BELIEVE IN A WORLD WHERE WE USE LESS PAPER.'

No, we don't get it either. But they're Customs and the Absolute Wrathful God, a being of such strictness that we pray to our intercessors (OH, HAIL THE GRAND AND GLORIOUS YODAS, WE ♥ YOU!) to in the hopes of avoiding smitings. Smitings are baaaaaad.

Anyway, I've been trying to find a file. It's been missing and taunting me with it's absence -- you know, brief phone calls, the occasional text, post-its stuck to my car windows with mocking smilies, that sort of thing. So today, as it's been whispers slow I was determined to figure out where the squirrley little jerk was hiding. I mean, really, post it's on my window? That file totally needs a lesson -- next time it needs to get Alan Rickman to call me and read me the phone book. Heck, I'd settle for Awesome Voice Dude from Sunshine-colored Carrier and a McDonald's menu.

Well, maybe not McDonald's.

*sighs wistfully*

Right. I was talking about my missing file. I searched, telling M-san that I was really confused by the texts and phone calls and post its and she said "Do you mean file X? I've been getting taunting emails. Seriously, where could it be?"

I kept looking, and when I found it, I discovered that Bosslady had put it in disguise! She'd painted it with gobs of dark eyeliner and black lipstick and coached it to look like a Goth hiding in a dark corner. And she'd done this for no discernable reason whatsoever. It was very disturbing, because, dude -- The Awesome and All-Powerful Customs (blessed be it's Saints, the small, big-eared green puppets) -- really frowns on runaway files, raining smites and high-speed bowling balls on those who cannot keep track of their many and profiligate cellulose children.

So, remember folks -- dousing a file in black ink, changing it's name and calling it Shirley is just the road to smiting. Or, at the very least, a note on your desk that says... "Ummmm, WTF?"

"It's like Cupid swapped his arrows for a steak knife..."

...so instead of pricking me with an arrow, he's going to stab me repeatedly with a dirty knife to make me fall in love?

I... I... I... think I need to find a place to hide from batshit crazy stalker!Cupid. The image gives a whole new meaning to bleeding love.

Seriously, someone hold me and keep me safe from Cupid. *shivers*

Because hugs are good.

I'm taking an on-line thing about INCOTERMS (which, if you ever decide to be an importer are very important, in fact, if you want to buy/sell anything that requires significan't movement of freight, they're pretty darn useful, but I digress).

One of the proposed scenarios for 'Well, we didn't agree to INCOTERMS' was the delivery of goods via parachute. Strangely, I'd never considered the idea that I'd have to tell a freight carrier (from UPS to USPS) that shipments dropped from 10 to 30 thousand feet up would not be appreciated.

(For that matter, the implication that my company would deliver via parachute is a bit... disturbing. 0.0)