Dick Clark, what a place you've got here

When I'm in the car by myself (shh don't tell anyone), I like to turn to my hidden radio presets that I know no one else will ever let me listen to in their presence. This morning I was rewarded with one of my favorite guilty pleasures. Barry, I just want you to know, I can't smile without YOU. Barry Manilow has a bad rap among people my age; I technically understand that fact. And then my heart cries out in protest when that sweet sound is filling my ears and my soul. He writes the songs! And the whole world SHOULD sing! When I got to work I was inspired to take my ipod off its ever-present shuffle and listen straight through Ultimate Manilow. Good thing, too, because I don't know if I'd make it through today's workload without such inspiring words as "Rico went a bit too far and Tony sailed across the bar and then the punches flew. And chairs were smashed in two. There was blood and a single gunshot! But just who shot who?" I always wonder.

Unfortunately, no time to wonder about the fascinating Lola and her Copacabana (although apparently there is time to blog... curious). Today I am faced with a giant spreadsheet full of accounts that have fallen through the cracks of the company. Hundreds of customers who agreed to buy our product and then because we have some very strange people working for us, were essentially put in a drawer marked "Nothing." For almost a year. Some are paying monthly for this nothingness while others lucked out and fell through the "billing" crack. Somehow I'm supposed to magically fix all these accounts with nothing but my phone and my fortitude. Memo to my workplace: I wasn't really endowed with fortitude. I don't really LIKE fixing mistakes born of others' ridiculosity (it is the only word that can possibly describe The Spreadsheet of Absurdity). But I guess thanks for the phone, at least.

Also, it smells like fish in here. Can I really be asked to deal with such nonsense under these conditions?