Assumptions

I know what they say about people who assume... however I can't help myself. Part of my daily job involves me looking at handwriting. Most of the handwriting is just normal and doesn't catch my attention but like everything there are diamonds in the rough. And I have to tell you I have convinced myself that I can tell which of those special few are written by a author that is happy, who is sad, who is angry and that the one man in particular is evil!!

I see things come in from Body Shops with cheerleader handwriting on them. Not to the extreme of hearts instead of dots over the letter i but seriously this was the girlfriend we all had in high school that practiced her alphabet until she found her own style...remember that girl?? Well guess what? She works in a Body Shop now and she's still using that handwriting she perfected in eighth grade. All the practice paid off!

There is always the writing that is near to impossible to read. I find myself doing a Scooby Doo right there in my cubicle. Tilting my head to one side, one ear higher than the other "Hoooo?" You know the Scooby Doo! If that doesn't work I squint, maybe invert the image, tap my finger on my desk a few times and then wish I had a Urim and Thummin of my very own. This always leads to a phone call, which opens up a whole other world. Body Shops are a interesting place. They are mini worlds in and of them self most of them run by total domination and/or mass confusion. I always feel like a character on Star Trek who is being beamed onto an unknown new planet, I must brace myself for whatever character I might encounter.

But in the black whole of body shops there is evil penmanship man! In my mind when something comes across my desk from him I see a big meaty hand crushing a writing utensil in a throbbing sweaty fist massacring ink across the page in a horrific scene of scrawling numbers and letters that resemble something like a name and a claim number. It's awful and he's awful. I dread the day he leaves something off and I have to call him. I can hear his devil voice now thanks to all the movies that have given me that sound. He's totally a mouth-breather that even over the phone his breath smells too warm as he hollers at me..."It's a Toyota Corolla!!!!" I shudder at the thought. I'm seriously considering keeping holy water in my desk to sprinkle on my phone just in case. Fortunately I only have to worry about it for two more days and then this gets to be someone else's problem.

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