Even worse: once on an episode of Cosby, some friends have Sondra and her husband help them move. They get there godawfully early, and the wife says perkily, “I made some decaf!” Decaf! Early in the morning! When they were there to help them move, dammit!
Yeah, I know it’s just a TV show, but the OP did say tiny rants. And it did and does seem so inappropriate that I’ve never forgotten it, as long ago as it was.
“can I have your phone number?” “555…” “…” “…” “yes?” “321…” “okay…” “1234.” “okay great. is there an extension to that?” “yes.” “okay…” “…” “what is the extension?” “456.” “thanks. Okay, can I get your address?” “9876 Unhhhhh street.” “that’s ninety-eight seventy-six…” “yeah” “could you spell the street name for me?” “SIGH C” “okay” “A” “…” “…” “okay…” “L” “California?” “yes.” okay, is that a house or an apartment?" “an apartment.” “Do you have an apartment number?” “yes.” “…” “…” “oooookay… what is that number?” “345.” “thank you. Now what can I get for you?” “rice.” “steamed rice?” “no.” “fried rice.” “yes.” “what kind?” “FRIED.” “no, I mean… chicken, shrimp, beef… what kind?” “oh. chicken.” “…” “…” “Great, will that be all for you?” “NO! I want… um…”
(etc. etc. etc.)
The best part is, these people ALWAYS seem to call when I have someone else on hold or when I’m holding down the place completely alone and have six tables full of customers physically there. GAH!
I hate when people decide they have some disease or disorder just becuase they mildly display ONE symptom. Liking even numbers does not make you autistic, feeling blue when it’s been winter too long does not mean you have SAD, and chances are really really good that you’re NOT “mildly OCD” even if you like to have a neat locker. Also, I am not “so totally OCD” because I like symmetry and dislike randomness. It’s even worse when they start to take it seriously and decide they can’t sweep the floor because they have “mild OCD” and don’t like the dust flying around or start complaining at length about how difficult their compulsion to color coordinate makes their lives or their tragic stories of lipgloss adiction.
I don’t really buy that men are supposed to have such poor impulse control that they JUST GOTTA LOOK if I happen to be wearing clothig that isn’t 5748468483 sizes too big. I really REALLY should be able to walk down the street in regular jeans and a tank top and not be afraid. I should be able to wear a skirt (calf-length… or, hell, even a shortish one if it’s hot out.) without having to allow that, by my clothing, I’m seducing men and allow that they have a look. I. should. not. have. to. hide. my. body. I’m not running around in a bustier and hot pants that say “sexy” across the ass. WHY MUST YOU HARASS ME? I’m not even attractive! It’s not like I’m a shapely and beautiful girl with perky round boobs with big targets painted on them. I’m a flat-chested underweight teenager with the body of an eleven year old and all you grizzly old men who want my phone number are disgusting.
To my stomach-
Why do you hate me? I don’t hate you! Okay, that’s a lie. I do hate you. But I’m being nice to you! Can’t we please please resolve this peacefully? We’re going to have to live together until I die, and I’m afraid I have more say concerning when that happens than you do. So please- digest food. Get rid of it in a timely and peaceful manner. Do not make me look pregnant every time I eat. Do not fill up with gas and make me stink. Just be nice.
No, I won’t lower my gaze when I’m in your godlike presence. I am not some unclean creature who is unfit to look upon you, and any problems your teen-angsty insecurities are handing you are your problem, not mine. You’ve got nothing I want; get over yourself. Incidentally, I may be three times your age but I am not “old”. Anno domini will catch up with you sooner than you think and you’ll cringe at your teenage knowitallness.
Aside, to the girl student I saw wearing a teeshirt that said “Nobody knows I’m a lesbian”: you misspelled “cares”.
I have a coworker who whines constantly. We suspect the last good thing that happened to him was being born, but I’m not sure it was that recent. Yesterday, I went back to the shop floor to report on a routine snag. His supervisor was in a meeting and he asked me what was going on. I told him and told him I wanted to check with my department head and the customer service rep who had given us the job. He followed me around the plant, through another section of it, into the office and to my desk, whining the whole time about how everyone’s incompetent, as I tried pointedly to ignore him. When I sat down, he continued to stand by my desk and whine. At that point, I’m afraid I yielded to base, craven cowardice. I stood up and headed to the ladies room. It gets better. He came back later to whine at me about the job. I told him repeatedly to talk to the customer service rep. My department head happened to overhear this, including me telling him to talk to her, and called me to rescue me. I’ve got a good department head.
HAH! You made me snort!
Oh, dear? It’s gonna catch up to you also, when your little cuties are teens. 
Oh Sampiro, I love the Karen Carpenter rule!! I keep on having to turn my giggles into coughs when I read your posts at work. (And I also hate orientaters.)
Drunk, former supervisor, father of five who spends all his time drinking and gambling. Because one sentence of an entire conversation was contrary to what you think that doesn’t give you the fucking right to go to my BOSS who now thinks I am a two-faced, morale-dropping, insideous troublemaker.
I fucking love my job. Yes, there is room for improvement, maybe sober people have ideas. Why don’t you stop chasing around every single female that gets hired INSTEAD of taking care of your wife and kids to pay attention to something besides your dick, you would realize these things.
I have a 10 month old baby and a laid-off husband. I don’t need to lose my job because you are trying to curry favor with the boss so he won’t kick your drunk ass to the curb. Yeah, I know you both are in the “cheat on your wives” club as well as full fledged members of the “every single female wants me” society and charter members of the “let’s go to work with a black eye because we don’t know how to go out drinking without getting our asses kicked” pledge group.
FUCK OFF and stay the fuck away from me.
To my hair:
You know I love you. Even though I occassionally pull you out when I’m nervous and I often go days without combing you, you know I love you, right? That alone should give you some self-esteem.
So why do you let the humidity bully you around? Stand up for yourself, dammit! You were doing fine this morning, despite the rainy weather we woke up to. But as soon as I came into the office, I could feel you frizzing all up. You turned into cotton candy before lunchtime. I’m kinda happy I’ve been cloistered in this lonely office. No one has to see the monstrosity called monstro’s hair.
We looked cute this morning! How many times can I say that about us? Hardly ever!
I know you hate it down here, but can’t you try harder? Just a little? I mean, we have just one more year left here in the Tropics. Let’s pull it together, shall we?
My user found the deleted app in the waste basket, created a shortcut and ran it instead of the new one. It ran until it became damned confused about the path.
Oy.
Incorrect! My dog is always on the left because she’s trained that way, whether heeling or not, and she really doesn’t know how to walk to my right. She drifts to my left with the leash across my front and I end up walking on her feet. So, when we walk on trails, I walk on the LEFT side of the trail, taking up maybe a foot of it, while she walks completely OFF the trail in the verge, sniffing pee and walking in the grass, which is more comfortable for her feet. Since the trails are NOT streets (on which, might I point out, walkers are SUPPOSED to keep to the left in order to see oncoming traffic which is trying to flatten them) and there are no lines or strict rules about where to walk or ride or whatever, just ride the fuck around, okay? If you really need to go a million miles an hour on your goddamned bicycle, maybe you ought to be out on the roads duking it out with cars that are more your speed. On a multi use trail bicyclists are expected to yield to EVERYONE, walkers, horses, dogs, the lot. Animals are not completely predictable and if a big dog gets scared by a bike zipping by, dodges into it and crashes the numb fuck riding it it’s the bicyclists fault, not the dog’s. If a bicyclist spooks a horse and catches a hoof in the head it’s the bicyclist’s fault and the vet bills ought to be sent to his hospital room. If a bicyclist hits a kid who has wandered slightly off the wholly imaginary area in which bicyclists seem to think it is exclusively permissible for people to walk, it’s the bicyclists fault and I will help the parent explain it to the stupid bicyclist.
On a multi use path, overly speedy bicyclists are the analogue of the huge obnoxious SUV driven by a cell phone user and if bicyclists don’t like being thought of that way maybe they ought to think about how they behave on paths with walkers, dogs and other miscellaneous personages, all of whom are equally entitled to use said trail.
I reckon you shouldn’t walk on the wrong side of the road.
And whatever happens on the other end of the leash is our fault, not the kid, not the bike, not the other dog, because he trusts us to take care of it.
A) It’s not a ROAD it’s a TRAIL. Savvy the difference?
B) As it is my responsibility what happens to my dog, I walk in such a way on said trails so as to minimize the likelihood of my dog having an adverse reaction to other users of the trail. I stay between her and the crazy/stupid bicyclists–they’ll hit me first and I can sue.
C) All such trails are CLEARLY marked that bicyclists yield ALL right of way to hikers and horses. Period. End of story. If there are no hikers or horses, then and only then may the bicyclists zoom full speed down the trail.
Which is why I tell all the stupid, speed crazy, clueless idiots on bikes to fuck the hell off, learn to ride it responsibly, and stay away from my goddamned dog.
Just like I did here.
:rolleyes:
I cannot argue with such logic.
Take care of the dog.
“Nobody knows I’m a cares”
???
I don’t get it.
“Nobody cares I’m a lesbian”
Sadly, we have no desks. HOWEVER, the breakroom idea does have merit. I will keep any posted who wish it!
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
[SIZE=1]Ow ow ow dry throat ow ow water
Erk I mistyped.
Yes, please.
Don’t forget the industrial strength magnet if she keeps them around the office.
Mine will walk around behind me to get on the left side if I’ve tried to get her to walk on the right. It’s a part of her training that has stuck with her for nigh on to a decade, though I haven’t enforced it in years.