My nose is defective. (Also, more on my job.)

I have come to this conclusion kind of gradually, and now, after several years, I am able to just say it. My nose is pretty much the most dishonest part of my body. (Sometimes I smile when I'm really mad, so I guess my mouth is kind of dishonest too, but what can ya do. My nose still takes the cake.)

I've always really likedd my nose. I mean it's not huge or embarrassing, I don't have terrible allergies, and I've never broken it so it's still the same nose it's always been. But I've started to realize over this past year or so that my nose is just very unreliable. You know how people say things like, "Just follow your nose" and "Your nose knows," etc.? Well they've obviously never met my nose. Because it hardly ever knows what it's smelling.

For example. One time in September or so, I was in some friend's apartment across the street from where I lived and suddenly I smelled French toast. I knew I was smelling French toast. I was sure of it. And they were using cinnamon which is the best way to make French toast. I was in a boys apartment and I thought it was very admirable that one of them was doing something so domestic as making French toast. I decided to commend them on this by saying, "Oh! Who's making French toast?" and then praising the chef. But no one came forward. In fact, everyone kind of stopped and said, "No one's making French toast." So then I thought they were joking because they didn't want to share. Then I discovered that what I was actually smelling was fried eggs. UM. Howww did I mix these two things up?

Another time I was nannying, just hanging out with Malan. She had these little "Magic Grow" sea creatures that we were going to try out. You just put them in warm water and they grow to 4x their original size. I was wondering how they do this, and so, being the scientific-minded person that I am, I took one out and smelled it. I immeditely identified the smell as tanning lotion and gave myself a mental pat on the back (even though this still gave me no clues as to why it grows in warm water). Then I handed it to Malan, who smelled it as well and said, "Why does it smell like play-dough?" I hastily retracted the pat on the back and told her I didn't know why. Seriously, why is my nose so inept?

In other news, I am at telemarketing today and I would just like to take this time to describe a little bit what goes on in this office. I work in this executive park in Columbia; it's very nice and even though I'm just telemarketing I have to dress up and look professional. I work Tuesday nights all by myself, Wednesday nights with just me and Dave, and Thursday during the day with everyone. I guess I should start out by introducing the characters.

First of all, there's Dave. Dave has been doing telemarketing for about 15 years, so I'm assuming he's in his 40's. He is about 300lbs, likes gardening, and is incontrovertibly political. He could talk about politics............forever. I have sat in my chair dialing numbers for literally 45 minutes while he tells me his take on anything and everything remotely related to American politics that has taken place in the past 2 decades. He gets himself all worked up about it and needs hardly an encouragement from me to just keep talking for however long I will give him before someone answers their phone and I have to talk to them. He's like a car with really good gas mileage in this way. When I first started working here, Dave trained me. He had all these catch phrases that he would try and teach me, his favorite being: "fair enough?" We practiced that one for about a half hour because, apparently, there's a right way to say it and a wrong way to say it. (The inflections, I guess, make a difference.) When I would get on the phone with someone Dave would get really excited and wheel out of his cubicle to watch me and whisper helpful little things, like, "Go get 'em Heather. You're a good telemarketer. Fair enough? Say, fair enough?" Rather than encouraging me as I'm sure Dave was intending to do, it only got me more flustered. So someone would be telling me that they had Type 1 diabetes and I would respond stupidly with, "Fair enough?" Eventually Dave calmed down about that and now he just offers advice and direction when I specifically ask for it.

I sometimes feel like I am Dave's life coach. He is dating this 28-yr-old girl who has a baby, several drug addictions, and like 5 other boyfriends. He's broken up with her about a hundred times, but somehow he keeps getting back together with her and buying her new clothes, food, baby diapers, etc. He's convinced that she doesn't really like him, she's just using him for his money, but for some reason he answers the phone when she calls. She's very white trash, from the sound of it. One time when Dave broke up with her he did it by emailing her a poem called "Heart's Door." Every time he used the phrase "Heart's door" in it, he had gone through and made each letter a different color. He read it to me just before he clicked send, beaming the whole time. So my job, whenever Dave talks about this girl, is to tell him how bad for him she is. I remind him that they are broken up. I tell him to stop buying her things. I tell him not to answer his phone when she calls, wanting him to take her shopping. Dave's job, as it turns out, is to get back together with his girl whenever possible and then report to me how stupid he is being.

I am also Dave's diet counselor. The only thing he likes talking about as much as politics is his garden. He is very proud of his zucchinis, corn, peppers, and carrots. He's trying to eat healthily for his diet, and you would think that with such an enormous amount of pride in his garden this would be a piece of (metaphorical) cake. But somehow, the drive-through worker at the local McDonalds still recognizes Dave on sight....so that's how his diet is going. However, a few days ago, Dave informed me that he's stopped gorging and he only ate half a pizza and two hamburgers the night before. So no need to worry.

So that's Dave. Then there's Veronica. She is the secretary and, really, she's in charge of a lot that goes on around here. She has bright red hair, her own office, a jar labeled "Prozac" that she keeps filled with chocolates, and a deep-seated, unadulterated hatred for Dave. He kind of bumbles around, and his wide eyes and sloppy manner combined with his loud, irrelevant comments create a person that Veronica can barely bring herself to be civil to. Every word that she directs at Dave is biting and acidic. She picks on everything from his grammar, to his food, to his work ethic, to his social life. When Veronica talks to me on the other hand, she has always been very nice. When I started working here, she introduced herself and offered a standing invitation to her Prozac jar. Now our interaction is limited to when she gives me checks, I enter numbers into her computer for the Do Not Call list, or she's yelling at Dave and she looks to me for agreement. I think that Veronica has a sad life and she takes it out on Dave because she doesn't respect him. But she can be so nice when she likes you.

So even though Veronica is in charge of.....um everything, technically, Steve is the boss. He is the nicest boss you could ask for. He has never asked me anything about my erratic hours. He doesn't say much and I only see him when I come in on Thursdays, but he has alwas been pleasant and I think his even temper is good for the office.

The agents who actually go out and try to sell insurance will pop in occasionally and it is always nice to meet them, I think. When I meet a grouchy agent, I just don't make as many calls for them. When I meet a nice agent, I loveee making calls for them. It's very simple with me. Sharon is my favorite. She is this 50 or 60-something black woman who is an aMAZing sales rep. She could sell hymn books to an Atheist, I'm sure of it. She is super-knowledgable about the insurance and whenever she talks to me after going to an appointment I set up for her, she tells me what a great job I'm doing. So whenever I get to pick the agent I give an appointment to, I almost always pick Sharon.

Sue comes in every Thursday morning and she makes everything so much fun. When I first met her I thought she was mayyybe in her 30's at the oldest, but then she said that her favorite age was 29, and she has a teenage son. Her face just looks very young. She is super-tan, super-toned, and super-funny. She is the smoother-outer when Dave and Veronica get into a tussle. She will come and make a joke about Dave (usually about his weight) that makes both Veronica and Dave laugh and then they'll each go back to work. My first time meeting Sue was when Lizzie still worked here, and she was telling us how much she loved the feeling of being naked. It was an interesting first impression, to say the least.

Anyway I really should be getting back to work. If that's what you want to call this.