I Enjoy Making Stuff Up

In between trying to repair the paper folding machine, and deciding what real work I was going to do today, I followed up on a phone call from my boss that asked if I could explore where a customer's monthly mortgage statement went. I found the relevant information, and called our servicing department, who said they'd send another copy out to the customer ASAP. I then called the customer back, and had the following conversation:

Me: [After telling him how much he owed, etc.] Sorry for the confusion,
sir. You'll get your statements in a regular fashion from here on out.
Him: Well, what happened? How come I didn't get a statement?

Now, I could tell him what the rep on the phone thinks happened (his state wasn't listed - zip and everything else was valid), but that's not as interesting as:

Me: Well, you know how you live in [redacted], IL? Your statement was sent
to [redacted], LI. Which isn't a state.
Him: Oh! LI, the 51st state in the union!
Me: Indeed.

There was absolutely no need for me to make that up, especially because the
truth is nearly as weird and idiotic. I think there's something wrong with me.

Now, back to making the paper folding machine work, because I'm not folding all of these letters by hand. Even monkeying with the machine isn't necessarily appropriate. Fold them yourself, John. John [deleted - see note], whose name I will use in full, so that when you Google yourself like the insecure pervy wanker that you are, you will discover this: fold your own damn worthless letters, you miserable hack. You and your letters are a waste of otherwise useful carbon. Were I to receive one of your poorly-worded, 2-page form letters, obviously signed with a variation of Brush Script MT font, I would go back in time to intercept the mailperson at before he/she reached my home, and commit a federal offense by tipping his/her truck over and setting fire to it. That's how you commit mail fraud.

The best part is, I'm unlikely to be confronted about this, because I'll know that this post was discovered by the Googling of onesself, of which you should be embarrassed, you simpleton. So you can feel better: you're not the biggest clown in the office; you're just the most recent shiftless greed-driven coward to request that I do something stupid because you're lazy and don't want to do it yourself.

At least the phone call was fun.

[Note: While it was amusing to put his full name in, briefly, I realized that the consequences could actually be dire. So, forget it. Pretend it's in there - the rest of the post won't make sense otherwise.]