Very long rant
TLDR; Stupid fucking monkeys in human guise suck.
I am usually fairly even tempered when it comes to tolerating the day to day stupidities of my fellow man. I’ve even been known to commit a few myself. I generally try to find something funny in it or at most fume about it for a minute or two and then let it go.
But today I’m finding this impossible so I come to the Pit.
It started with a walk to the store with my wife and two five year olds. It was a nice pleasant walk full of looking at spiderwebs and rambling narratives related to birds and such delivered at breakneck speed by Zeebs (nickname).
Then I saw it. A little blue bag of dogshit sitting next to a tree. It was neatly tied up and sitting there like an offering to Canfeacus - the Babylonian God of Dog dung. You took the time to pick up after your dog, you tied the fucking bag but you couldn’t walk the 50 or so feet to the nearest garbage can?
Somewhat dumbfounded at the mentality required to perform this maneuver I shook my head and turned it into a lesson in good citizenship for my boys.
I maintained this air of stupefied good humour until not 20 feet further I spied two more little blue baggies of dog shit secreted between a chain link fence and a bush.
Really? You ridiculous fucknugget! There is a garbage can even closer than it was with the first little blue sacrament.
I want to meet this person just so I can ask about the reasoning. I’m sure the answer to, “How in the name of all-things-holy does this make fucking sense to you?!?” would advance psychology and philosophy by a hundred years in a day.
Until then, fuck you!
Having arrived at the store, good nature somewhat restored we took to shopping.
The local Stupidstore has some lobster tanks and some crab tanks. My boys like to go look at them and so we did. Zeebs pointed out that one of the lobsters was dead. I looked and sure enough the poor soul had joined the choir invisible. As an added indignity it had had chunks of its legs eaten by its tanky brethren.
I told the lady behind the counter that there was a dead lobster in the tank.
“Lobster?” She said.
“Yes, there is a dead lobster in your tank.”
“Okay, which one?” She asked as she came out from behind the counter to the front of the tank. I pointed to the obviously deceased lobster and said, “That one. He’s even had some of his legs eaten off.”
“Okay I see the one.”
I said “cool” and set about getting my boys settled and the rather full cart in motion.
This is when the manager entered the picture.
She asked if she could help me and I told her I was just letting them know there was a dead lobster in there. This has already taken more time than it should and I want to leave.
“Oh, where?” She asks as she comes around to the front of the tank. So I point it out to her. She acknowledges that this thing is dead. “Great” I say as I try and settle my increasingly fidgety children in preparation to finally leave.
Counter-girl gets up on a stool to fish the deceased from the tank and end this impromptu viewing.
“So which one do you want?”
“What?!?”
“Which one do you want?”
“I don’t want any. I just wanted to let you know about the - Boo (nickname) hands to yourself! no Zeebs we don’t need a package of fishheads - dead lobster.”
Manager re-emerges and says “So are you wanting to buy something?”
“No, we were just looking at the tank and we saw a dead one. I was just letting you know.”
“So you don’t want a lobster?”
Counter-girl is still on the stool looking thoroughly confused.
“No, I don’t - Zeebs put that back in the cart. Boo get your hands out of the mussels - I was just trying to let you know - Yes boys I want to get going too - that there is a dead lobster.”
I know I could have just walked away but have you ever been caught in the whirlpool of an absurd situation? If not then you’ll not understand the attractive force of incomprehension. You are trying to get across an idea that can be conveyed in a precious few words and, despite the legion you have already conscripted to your cause, conveyance is failing.
The manager again comes from behind the tanks to the front. “One of them is dead?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
I again show her the crustacean Lenin.
“So you don’t want one?”
“No! - Boo hands to yourself or no cookie - I was just trying to let you know about the dead one.”
Girl on the stool is still perplexed and awaiting instruction.
“Oh, we’ get it out then. Thank -you. Get the dead one out of the tank.” The last was said to the visibly relieved stool-counter-girl."
We say our goodbyes and I walk away in awe and questioning my love of both Dali and Kafka.
When we were finished shopping we left the store and split a cigarette. The whole time there is a cab from XYZ Taxis sitting in the taxi stand. We finished the smoke and I walked toward the cab making the - I had heretofore thought - universal gesture of please come here. No motion. I got nearer and said, “Hi. We’d like a cab.” No response, no movement. He was looking right at me so I’m pretty sure he saw me.
I repeated, in case he hadn’t heard, “Hi man, we’d like a cab.” Success, he pulls the car parallel to our shopping cart and leans out the window,
“Do you want a cab?”
“Yes, please.” I felt my eye beginning to twitch as a sense of deja vu descended upon me.
“You have to phone, you can’t just wave and I have a call right now.”
I’ll break his response into two parts. The bit about I have a call right now I can accept. There is no reason why I should assume that no one else wants a cab this precise moment and it is perfectly reasonable that he would have gotten a fare over the radio.
[supplemental tangent] I’ve taken cabs in this town for about 25 years. Never, before today, has a cabbie told me you can’t flag one down at a cab stand but rather you must phone. <-- I called the company from home afterward to complain and was told that this is not policy and of course you can flag a cab or ask a driver to radio for one. [/supplemental tangent]
“Fine!” I think as I relish the taste of freshly ground teeth, “Can you please call a cab for me on your radio?”
“No! I told you that you have to phone. I can’t call for a cab from here you have to phone.”
Having the choice between Law and Order level violence in front of my children or walking away muttering profanely to myself I cinched up my belt and waded into the fray - of fucking people that separated me from the payphone - as I muttered impotently - albeit profanely - to myself.
It was, if I may say, a truly great mutter. It caused those nearby to stop and enjoy the richness of my mutterings while simultaneously, and prudently, making way.
I am now safely nestled in the comfort of my home and am safe - for the moment - from having to endure the torment of my fellow Homo Sapiens <-- whoever came up with that name had a motherfucker of a sense of humour.
In conclusion:
How did you fucking people manage to leave your houses without breaking your necks on the sidewalk you stupid fucking reprobates?!
Seriously, of the offenders I actually saw, I didn’t discern any drool dangling from your chins, I saw no helpers, I saw nothing that would outwardly suggest that you were suffering from anything that would justify such aggressive and obstinate idiocy.
How do you manage to piss without soaking your shoes and destroying three city blocks? I don’t fucking get it.
Fuck global warming, fuck fracking, fuck pollution, the single greatest problem facing mankind is that we don’t summarily execute slobber-monkeys.
Zeke
