The Sonia Show

Writer. Mocker. Beer drinker. Old movie watcher. Mother. Goober.

I’m the office idiot. Oh good.


Yeah, so, I apologize for the lapse in blog posts, but the weather has been really nice, and the San Francisco Giants have been playing really well … And, you don’t really care, do you? I’ll just get to the good stuff.

So, I went to ILM last week for lunch. One of David’s good buddies, Ryan, works there, and he gave us a tour. It was pretty cool. Of course, I totally geeked out about all the “Star Wars” stuff.

Darth Vader selfie.

Darth Vader selfie.

I know.

I know.

My Mother's Day gift.

My Mother’s Day gift.

Ryan even introduced us to someone who is working on the new “Star Wars” movie, but I didn’t ask her anything about it, because I’ve decided I don’t want to know. I’m not reading any of the articles about the new movie. Big fans of any particular movie can get obsessed with details, trying to find out everything they can about casting, plot details and more. I have decided I would rather just see the movie. I don’t want to know anything. I know. Weird, right? So old fashioned.

Speaking of old, my company hired a new employee, and the poor guy is sitting on the other side of my cubicle wall. He’s a younger guy, and I’m sure he thinks I’m a totally lame old lady. I feel so sorry for him. He has to listen to my assy shit all day long. Last week he got to overhear me leaving a voicemail for someone in the corporate office that went like this: “This is Sonia Mansfield returning your call. You can call me back at … Oh … Umm … I don ‘t know my own desk number. I will email you my number. Thank you. Bye.”

Seriously. I’ve worked here for five years, and I’ve had the same phone number the entire time. I didn’t know my own number. I don’t call myself. We almost never use the phone around the office other than to call into conference calls. Everyone is on Google Talk. So, yeah, I dug out my business card and put it on my desk so it won’t happen again.

It was shortly after that incident that I discovered I never made an outgoing message on my desk phone, too. So then my new neighbor got to listen to the office manager explain to me how a phone works, which made me feel all kinds of smart.

The week before that my headset wouldn’t work for some reason, and after a few minutes of “can you hear me now” my new neighbor came over and fixed it for me.

He must think I’m the biggest idiot of all time. He probably goes out after work and regales his friends with stories of the office idiot who can’t figure out her phone. You know, the way I like to regale my tens of readers with stories about the office busybody.

In other news, the Spawn is practically swimming. Check it and see.

He is so brave … and tall! He’s only 2.5 years old, and he can walk around in the shallow end of a swimming pool. He may not be where he needs to be talking-wise, but he’s ahead of the game in swimming. Also, he’s really cute.


Have a great weekend, you guys!




Author: The Sonia Show

I'm a writer/podcaster/mother/goober in San Francisco who likes to drink beer, shop, laugh and make other people laugh, watch old movies, feed my unhealthy obsession with pop culture, kick breast cancer's ass, go on adventures with my mighty, mighty good man David and my awesome autistic son, Calvin, wear orange and root for the San Francisco Giants, participate in general jackass-ery, talk about TV, eavesdrop on strangers' conversations, make nerdy “Star Wars” and “Simpsons” references, and post personal things about myself on the web for all to read, which makes me some sort of literary exhibitionist.

3 thoughts on “I’m the office idiot. Oh good.

  1. Totally understandable. I had to go find my syllabus every time I wanted to tell someone my office number. The only person who ever called it was my wife.

  2. Girl, those office phones are no joke though…they’re hard to sort out! Sympathies.

  3. Five bucks if you make your outgoing message give your new neighbor’s number instead of your own. You could mine this “office idiot” thing for blog posts for months.

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