Do you think they’ll tell me where Jimmy Hoffa is buried?
Now I’ve gone and done it! Despite my winning personality and utterly uncanny capacity to make new friends, I’ve managed to rile the entire national Teamsters Union. And that’s no small task when you consider their logo consists of two horses – the only animal that sleeps standing up!
It all started with yesterday’s Quick Hits where I congenially noted that, while the formerly striking Kane County probation workers were getting picked off by their bosses, Teamsters Local 330 wasn’t doing a damn thing about it.
Well… That’s not exactly true. To be fair, they still somehow manage to collect those union dues.
So, always being the helpful sort, I called a Washington D.C. Teamster staffer to politely explain my dismay over this unfortunate turn of events. Why, I may have even left a voicemail inquiring as to why I was doing the Teamsters’ job and exactly who she slept with to get her’s.
Now, before you hit the “send” button, I genuinely believe it was an abundantly fair question. First, her name is Ash Latimer which is clearly one of those artificial 22-and-a-half shades of burnt sienna appellations. And second, her discernible skillset consists solely of flying out to strike locations, asking a local journalist for advice while looking beyond bored and constantly referring to her cellphone, and then ignoring that sage counsel and doing the polar opposite.
To say the Teamsters mismanaged the probation workers strike would be the mildest of understatements. Yes! Sending your strikers out to knock on random doors to explain to the person behind that door that they’re less safe because the two folks standing at their door aren’t at work is always a winning strategy.
I’m sure they got all sorts of hugs that day!
So, as I was fully engaged in a post dinner nap because sitting at a keyboard all day can be quite exhausting, I received a delightful call from a D. C. Teamsters’ staffer who not only failed to note his position, but refused to identify himself.
It was only after I called him back and got his voicemail that I finally learned his name was Todd Thompson. And Todd just happens to be Teamsters Union President James P. Hoffa’s executive assistant. To quote the great James Cagney, “Made it Ma! Top of the world!”
Since Todd and I have become such good friends, I will hereafter refer to Todd as “Todd” and not Mr. Thompson, because Todd wouldn’t want it any other way.
Having propelled me directly out of a dream in which Zoe Saldana finally called me back, Todd proceeded to completely castigate me, explaining in no uncertain terms that he would be going directly to my supervisor tomorrow morning which, of course, would be this morning.
Now, I know that kind of threat would strike fear in the hearts of most mere mortals, but I’m kinda hoping Todd actually does find my boss because I have a few choice words for that m**********r.
She makes me write three columns a week; she makes me say things diametrically opposed to my heartwarming personality; she loves to call local law enforcement to get me in trouble; and then she doesn’t pay me one thin dime for my journalistic efforts.
So, not only did I encourage Todd to go directly to my “supervisor,” but I politely proceeded to ask him who he slept with to get his job. And I’m kinda surprised he didn’t take that very well because no self-respecting woman would ever sleep with anyone named “Todd Thompson,” and to even infer that possibility was the highest of compliments.
Apparently, you just can’t make some people happy! And who knew someone named “Todd Thompson” could get that angry? I’m not sure how I did it, but I musta struck a nerve.
And just when I was about to ask Todd where Jimmy Hoffa was buried, he hung up on me! When I called Todd back to explain that friends like us don’t hang up on each other, Todd hung up on me again. The nerve!
So, despite the fact I don’t send any, I’ve crossed Todd off my Christmas card list! Let’s see him recover from that cruel twist of fate!
I’m sure upon Googling me, Todd will unearth my heinous criminal history which will most certainly lead to a Teamsters’ job offer.
So here’s my eminently amicable advice for my new friend Todd, Ash, and Local 330 President Dominic Romanzzi. Why don’t you get up off your bleepin’ collective overpaid fat union asses and actually do something about an overly vindictive Kane County Court Services management that’s systematically targeting union probation workers in an effort to get those former strikers to quit?
I understand that, right before he died, Jesus told the Teamsters not to do anything until He gets back, but perhaps you might want to make an exception because I don’t bleepin’ get paid to do your bleepin’ jobs. Perhaps you might even consider directing your anger at Court Services instead of a journalist who’s simply pointing out how your useless Union completely fails its members.
Now that I have the national Teamsters’ full and undivided attention, I’m not quite sure what I’ll do for an encore. Hmmmm! Maybe I’ll call the Amish and see if I can rile them up, too. That would be a challenge but, apparently, I’m up to the task!
A frighteningly fun Vargo’s Dance event!
Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, it does! Because, on January 25, Vargo’s Dance at Route 38 and Second Street in beautiful downtown Geneva is hosting a Murder at the Masquerade – Dance Lesson & Mystery!
As studio owner Jamie Vargo put it, “We couldn’t be more excited to bring out the one and only Chicago’s Murder Mystery Company to Vargo’s for an intriguing evening of dance, murder and mystery.”
All I can say my lovely wife and I are beyond giddy over the possibility.
The studio doors open at 6 p.m. and the festivities kick off with a free Prosecco toast, a beginner’s dance lesson at 6:30, a murder, and then it’s time to solve the mystery!
You must be 21 or older to attend, cocktail attire is required (no jeans or t-shirts), wearing a mask is highly encouraged (basic masks will be provided), and you can count on the actors making fun of the attendees.
Having grown used to the women in the Tuesday night dance class consistently and collectively correcting me, I’ve kinda gotten used to that kind of thing.
Oh! It’s an eminently reasonable $30 per person, you don’t have to attend as a couple, but reservations are required. Please call Vargo’s Dance at 630-232-2990 to reserve a spot! You can pay over phone or in person at the event.
It’s BYOB, too!
Space is limited, so please make your reservation ASAP! Feel free to email email@example.com with any questions and the delightful Jamie will swiftly respond.
Of course, given my recent raft of prose, there may actually be a real murder that evening, but sadly, there would be no mystery as to why it happened! Jamie’s already preparing the eulogy and peppering it with MFs, SOBs and pain in the asses.
I certainly hope to see you there!
Our first story reminds me of a joke!
A dedicated Teamster was attending a convention in Las Vegas when he decided to check out the local brothels. When he got to the first one, he asked the madam, “Is this a union house?”
“No,” she replied, “I’m sorry, but it isn’t.”
“Well, if I pay you $100, what do the girls get?” the Teamster responded.
“The house gets $80 and the girls get $20,” the madam replied.
Mightily offended at such an unfair arrangement, the Teamster stomped off in search of a more equitable and hopefully unionized shop. His search continued until he finally reached a brothel where the madam responded, “Why, yes, sir! This IS a union house.”
Giddy with anticipation, the Teamster asked, “And if I pay you $100, how much do the girls get?”
“The girls get $80 and the house gets $20,” the madam replied.
“That’s more like it!” the Teamster said. He handed the madam $100, looked around the room, pointed to a stunning blonde and said, “I’d like her for the night.”
“I’m sure you would, sir,” the madam replied pointing to a well-worn 85 year-old woman standing in the corner, “but Ethel here has seniority.”