Mischief Update—Oh, So Busy!

I know that all the recent pictures of house-clutter make it seem as if I’m slacking, but nothing could be further from the truth.  I have been plenty busy, and the mischief level around here is such that the human female daily threatens me with a kiddie pool full of acetone.   Here is a recap of my recent misdemeanors.

It is tax evaluation statement time.  The humans have just received a document stating that the value of their dwelling has gone down, which would be great, tax-wise, if I hadn’t suggested to the local taxing authority that the rate should go up.

BAMN, my greatest weapon to date against the human female’s sanity, may be a thing of the past, but I am still finding ways to make the human female’s purchasing job more fun.  (For ME.)  Several months ago now, she sent several of the laboratory’s automatic pipettors for recalibration.  The work was done, and she received a bill.  She received the bill late because the Tech responsible for getting it to her misplaced it for a good few weeks.  The female hastened to pay it, but the DBC  (Departmental Bean-Counters) refused to pay it, because it did not specifically say “Invoice.”  Never mind that she could swear on her miserable life that the work was performed.  The DBC told her to pay with the workgroup credit card, which she did.  Fast forward to recently, when she received a communication from the pipette-fixing people, informing her that her bill was unpaid due to a problem with the card.  She spent a merry half-hour on the phone, during which time it was determined that someone on their end had mis-recorded the credit card’s expiry date.  (Jotun static does wonders for cell phone calls…)

No longer having BAMN also doesn’t prevent vendor-side amusements for me.  The human female recently received two “Your items have just shipped” emails from two different vendors (Including the Vendor Who’s Responsible), later in the day on which the goods had already arrived.   The next day, I saw to it that she received an email saying that she had to fill out a new-asset form for the computer that she had ordered.  Except she’s not James Hutchins, she didn’t order a computer, and that wasn’t her PO.  She had fun trying to disassociate herself from that purchase, because it is Inventory Time, and someone is going to be looking for that laptop.

Then the Purveyor of Dead Things shipped the order of sharks early.  The labels on the boxes delivered did NOT match what the human female ordered, which was a specific mix of sexes and pregnant/not pregnant.  She and one of her staff opened each of the boxes to discover that the pregnant sharks were in fact included, but that the male:female ration of the non-preggers sharks did not match her order.  Someone in the PODT’s shipping department decided that 8 females and 14 males was the same as 10 females and 12 males.  Twenty-two chondrichthyous corpses is twenty-two chondrichthyous corpses, right?  When she called to bellow at them, they explained they’d sent all the females they had.  If they had heeded the note attached to the order which said that this shipment could be held for the larger Dead Cat Ballet which occurs every August, they’d have been able to amass the proper number of sharkettes.  Oh, and while she was counting, I saw to it that one of the bags leaked all over, so she came away, wet and fishy to the elbow.  That’s worth two points, right there.

The human female is suffering from PPP Syndrome–plethora of preserved piglets.  Every semester, the students generate a number of fetal pig cadavers that have been fully digested, and these all have to go somewhere.  One cannot put that many pounds of latex-injected porkers into the dumpster, so they must be incinerated.  A call to the Vet School, which has an incinerator and will eighty-six the piggies for a fee, turns up the fact that the Vet School is selling their incinerator to the University’s poultry farm.  Now the sale is not final, so they still HAVE the incinerator, but they’re unwilling to use it because they already have a big pile of ashes they need to get rid of from prior conflagrations and they want to get out of the incinerating business.  The human female called several times, and each time, the person on the other end assured her they would find out from the poultry farm when they’d start taking piglets for incineration, but no info was forthcoming.  She then tried calling the poultry farm, and the person there said they’d have someone call her right back the next day.  That was week before last.  The piglets remain uncombusted.  If only this sort of run-around counted as physical exercise!

Speaking of the Vet School, they have found a way to further traumatize the humans on the loss of their cat.  Despite the original bill for the feline’s treatment having been paid in full and even showing a credit, the Vet School sent a second bill, referencing a different account number, and showing an additional charge.  A call to the Vet School turned up the fact that the original case had been put under the humans’ friend’s account, since he was the one who took the cat to the vet since he was feeding her that day.  The new bill represented their account, and the fee was for for the disposal of the  defunct pussy’s remains.  What a cheery reminder.

In other news, the leaky ceiling in the Prep Room has been fixed, one month and one week from the time the human female filed the work request.  But nature abhors a dry ceiling as much as a vacuum, so when there was a terrific rainstorm last weekend, I arranged for quite a bit of said rain to enter the human male’s workspace.  Three ceiling tiles came completely down in the computer server room, simply drenching a whole rack of spare system components.  The water eventually found its way into all five floors of the building, necessitating taking apart a large number of things so they could be spread out to dry.  The human male was NOT amused, especially since this event meant the humans had to race back from out of town to deal with it.  They’re always complaining that they want rain.  I wish they’d make up their minds, the hypocrites.

I now have fewer people to annoy in the human female’s work group.  Her Prep Staff is shrinking.  They say are leaving to further their education or careers, but we all know they’re just trying to get away from her.  She has a job posting up, for a Biology Lab Technician, and has so far received applications from a two computer specialists, a psychologist, a salesman, a grandmother, a recent biology grad with not a single day of work experience anywhere, a foreign national whose paperwork would take months, and someone who might be qualified but who attached the cover letter for an application to a different posting.  Still another attached two copies of the resume and no letter at all.

All this stress is playing havoc with her sleep and her waistline.  So much so that yesterday she purchased a larger pair of jeans.  Though they were extensively pre-washed, this morning they fit worse than her old jeans.  Meanwhile, people keep bringing her cookies. 

She was looking forward to a concert in November, by two of her favorite musicians. She’s going to have to look forward a bit more, though, because the concert’s been postponed from November until January of NEXT YEAR.

There is a new mewling infant in the family, this one a new grandnephew.  The human female has a quilt all planned out—has had it planned out for months now.  She just can’t find her sketch.  (Cue innocent whistling.)

That’s not all she’s missing.  Last month, she signed herself and the human male up for some Dotage Insurance.  Since she’s becoming more decrepit by the day, it seemed like a good idea.)  There was Paperwork Aplenty, but the new policy documents were taking forever to arrive.  She called the agent to gripe ask after them, and as soon as she did, the human male said, “Oh, you mean these?”  they had (wait for it…) BEEN BURIED IN THE DINING ROOM TABLE CLUTTER!

And finally, the human female has discovered that her little silver car (she still misses the smashed blue one and has yet to get the hang of parking this one) is missing a piece.  It’s true!  The bit that is supposed to cover the cargo space when the hatch is closed is absent.  The manufacturer lists it as an “accessory,” so maybe it was never there.  Still, its lack is a frequent annoyance, which is all I care about.

I’m a bit out of practice scoring my mischief, but I thinks this has to rate a solid NINE

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