Gawd. I did it again.

Not that it’s special or unique every time I do it — I mean it probably happens at least twice everyday without my knowledge — but I’ve caught myself doing it several times this week.

Being Gracie, that is.

It must be my new job that’s got me this distracted. I’ve been so excited every day since I’ve started working there that half my brain has leaked out from inattention. I mean, contrary to popular belief, I really am an idiot, and that fact has made itself very clear to me lately. It began with my forgetting a few small things here and there, at least one thing every single day — nothing crucial, but all inconvenient. I just thank the powers that be that I didn’t get stopped by a patrolman on the day that I forgot my driver’s license!

Then it moved on to malapropisms. There I was, talking to a potential freelance client about when I’d be able to do some design work for him when I mentioned my time restraints. It wasn’t until after the conversation had ended that I realized I may have used the wrong word. I consulted my human encyclopedia and dictionary — the resident know-it-all — and I asked, “Time restraints or time constraints?”

He half-snorted, half-laughed at me and said, “Time constraints are if you don’t have a lot of time. Time restraints are when you’re strapped to a clock and can’t get loose.”

Ooooo-kay.

The next day my phone rang at work, and I picked it up thinking that it was going to be my first actual phone call there. As it turned out, the caller was trying to reach Bruce.

“Bruce?” I asked.

“Yes, Bruce,” he confirmed. I could hear the smile in his voice. “Do you know Bruce Lee?”

Bruce Lee? Did he just say Bruce Lee? The legendary martial arts movie star long dead? The caller actually wants to speak with Bruce Lee himself? Did he seriously think that I would know Bruce Lee?

“Nnnno,” I answered slowly, lingering on the N, “not personally.”

There was a brief pause before he said, “You think I’m joking, don’t you?”

“Well,…” I began to say.

“I really am calling for Bruce Lee,” he said. “If you could just transfer me to him, I’d really appreciate it.”

Thank goodness I had the presence of mind to check my photocopied list of employees and their extensions; I figured that if my superior shared his name with a long dead president, perhaps some other fellow employee shared his name with a long dead movie star. And, lo and behold, there was Bruce Lee’s name right under my nose, with his extension just one digit off from mine. I transferred the caller as I found myself looking at the typewritten names and muttering.

I see dead people.

I feel like such an idiot. I wish I could say that it ended there, but it didn’t. While discussing a future residential move, I daydreamed out loud about owning a duplex so that I could live in the top portion and rent out the bottom portion. The renters would end up paying my mortgage, and I could live absolutely rent-free.

“And if I don’t like the people downstairs, I can evacuate them,” I concluded happily.

“Evict,” my resident know-it-all corrected me, chuckling. “Not evacuate.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, trying to save face. “That, too.”

That’s the only drawback to hanging around smart people. They don’t miss when you’re being dumb; they catch it every time.

But I guess the upside to all this is that I get to be the comic relief.

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