Anybody Need Some Tiny Rants?

[Runestar]

Dear patrons of my neighborhood Post Office.

Please notice the sign by the curb. You know, the bright yellow one placed low enough to be easily visible by anyone driving a vehicle? See what it says? It says “ABSOLUTELY NO STOPPING 4:00PM - 6:00PM”. See how the curb is painted yellow in that same spot? A clue, yes?

The purpose of this restriction is to allow northbound buses, during rush hour, to stay in the curb-side lane (you know, the one where the bus stops are?) rather than having to constantly pull into (and interrupt) the flow of traffic in the primary lane.

Notice please, that the NO STOPPING sign does not include any of the following disclaimers:

(1) “Unless you turn on your emergency flashers.”

(2) “Unless you leave the engine running.”

(3) “Unless you leave someone sitting in the car.”

(4) “Unless you’re just ‘popping in for a minute’.”

Therefore your excuse for leaving your vehicle in the curb lane is automatically null and void. The post office has a perfectly good parking lot next door. The next time I see your lazy ass leaving your vehicle by the curb during the restricted time I will seriously consider tripping you up as you saunter towards the door.

Oh, and you folks who insist on using the handicapped-only spaces at the bank because you’re just running to the ATM? The same applies to you. Dickheads.

[Dante]

To my fellow GO Train commuters:

Your mom doesn’t work on the train so you’ll just have to pick up after yourselves. Newspapers, coffee cups, apple cores, etc. don’t just get left on the floor. Fucking pigs.

The aisle is used for the walking. If you insist on putting your bags, briefcases or feet in the aisle, don’t bitch when they get stepped on. Accidents happen. Sometimes even on purpose.

I recognize that even the smelliest of people have a right to use the train. But could you please arrive earlier so that when you sit next to me, and the miasma of your funk washes over me, I still have time to find a seat elsewhere? You always show up late, and I’m forced to stand in some other car.

[Neidhart]

Dear NBC4 (and any number of other offenders)"

The term is “sneak peek,” not “sneak peak”! It’s not a fucking mountain! Spelling it that way just makes you look like a grade-A moron!

[lizardling]

It’s REINS, not REIGNS. Not when you’re holding the things that’re attached to the bridle on a horse, dammit.

I found this, and several other egregious spelling errors, in the manual for ‘Shadow of the Colossus’. Their editor or copywriter needs to be beaten around the head and shoulders with several copies of the game. :mad:

[Hostile_Dialect]

Dear Classmates/Friends:

Let me start off by saying that I like both of you a lot. You’ve been a lot of fun during this summer calculus class and you’ve really helped me keep my head screwed on during our long study sessions, nevermind helping me keep sane in the blistering East County heat. (Well, humidity. The heat’s OK.)

Anyway, I like both of you, but you pissed me off and frankly hurt me today. I know it’s silly and I try not to let these kinds of things get me down, but first the three of us were going to celebrate the end of summer session together after the final today; then the plans changed and we were going to throw a party at the bar your friend owns, where you said I could get in even though I’m 19; then the plans changed again and we were going to go out for lunch. Then all of a sudden your dentist was invited and he was going to take the three of us out. OK, whatever, I don’t care, I’ll roll with it. Then your dentist was inviting his buddy. Then everyone was going to go hit up a bar, but you had to go to a bar downtown and not your friend’s bar in East County because your boyfriend (yeah, you, the one with the dentist and the bar-owner friend) might show up there to knock some back and see you with your dentist, who he knows has the hots for you. I’m not 21 and you don’t know any bar owners down there, so I can’t come.

What the fuck ever. Thanks for getting my hopes up that I wouldn’t have to sit around at home, only to rewrite your fucking dentist into the plans and count me out. Your dentist!

I can think of a couple someones who won’t be invited to the party when I move out.

Thanks a Fucking Lot for the Gesture,

fetus

[Godfrey_Daniels]

11 pm last night and your fucking dog has been barking for two hours. If it happens again tonight you’re going to find out what it’s like to have that Pomeranian piece of shit up your ass.

[SmartAleq]

Bathing suit manufacturers. You are all going to a special hell somewhere, in which you will be wrapped in multiple layers of that horrible nylon fabric which is the only thing bathing suits are made of these days, then set on fire and colorfully shrinkwrapped. Not only are the fabrics suitable only for causing UTIs and “feminine itching” to those of us sensitive to polyester, but your whimsical notion of sizing is fucking ludicrous. NONE of the sizes on any of the suits from any of the manufacturers bears any resemblance to any OTHER sizing scheme, neither in bathing suits nor other women’s clothing, necessitating much time sweating in a hot ass changing room cubicle under the most unflattering lights possible cursing and watching myself get fatter and blobbier by the second. Thanks a buttload, fuckwipes!

Me. I’m fat and look like shit in a bathing suit because I haven’t been hiking as much as I should, so it’s my fault I had such an excruciating experience.

Grandchildren. Well, not them so much as the fact that it’s probably not the best idea to take ten year old boys to clothing optional beaches to see Grandma in her birthday suit. Hence the standing in broiling rooms trying on stupidly sized items of sticky cloth. I really prefer my usual bathing suit–because it’s always with me wherever I go and takes no time at all to dry off. It’s pretty much the right color, too.

It’s hot, dammit! I moved here so I wouldn’t have to deal with heat and I resent it when it happens. Yuck, ick, poop I say–bad cess to any temp over 85F!

[Anne_Neville]

[QUOTE=SmartAleq]
Bathing suit manufacturers. You are all going to a special hell somewhere, in which you will be wrapped in multiple layers of that horrible nylon fabric which is the only thing bathing suits are made of these days, then set on fire and colorfully shrinkwrapped.
[/QUOTE]

Oh, yes.

Further rant to bathing suit manufacturers: My stomach is not attractive. I don’t want to show it, and trust me, you don’t want to see it. There was a good news-bad news situation a while back: Good news: I lost some weight, in my stomach area. Bad news: I got stretch marks because of it. Why the fuck can’t I find a one-piece swimsuit that covers my stomach and does not have stupid looking bows at the hips, or some other feature designed to make the suit ugly? What the fuck was the designer who came up with that smoking? You think those of us who don’t want to show our stomachs off don’t already look bad enough in a swimsuit, without putting stupid crap on the suit to make us even uglier? :mad:

To the person in line ahead of me at the grocery store: There is a time and a place to balance your checkbook. Standing around like a stupid cow and keeping me from moving up to the doohickey where I swipe my credit card is NOT the place to do that. The store gives you a piece of paper with the amount you paid for your groceries on it- it’s called a “receipt”. Use that to balance your checkbook after you get out to your car, don’t make everybody in line throw murderous glances at you while you hold up the line. I know you may enjoy hanging around in grocery store lines, but most of us have things called “lives”, and can think of other things we’d rather be doing.

To the managers of my apartment building: You know the maintenance guy is overworked, and you admit it to me. So hire another one to help out already! Our rent ain’t cheap- I’m sure you’re pulling in enough money to hire another maintenance guy. Oh, and have somebody clean the pool- it’s got scum on the surface.

[El_Kabong]

To all the cement-headed idjits sending me E-mails with giant attachments at work:

My fucking mail box holds 70 megabytes; that’s what IT thinks I deserve, and that’s all they grant me. I just cleaned all the crap out of it yesterday, and less than 24 hours later, I’m getting the nagging “Your box is full” messages again. Why do all you flaming assholes insist on filling it up every single day with worthless shite?

I mean you, Madame Sans-humeur at the head office in Paris. Thank you for noting, on behalf of the company, that I am entitled to choose myself a watch as a reward for surviving twenty years with this cowboy outfit without blowing my brains out, and thanks again for e-mailing the almost incomprehensible images of the catalogue sheets for the watches in question. Being as they look like they were scanned on a 1976-model Xerox telecopier, can you explain why two lousy pages come out to a pair of 2-megabyte files?

And you, oh holy keeper of the training records. Must you send your 3-megabyte updates thrice each time to the same address? Is this some sort of cult thing, like saying “Beetljuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice”? How 'bout forwarding it just once per update, hmmm?

And, lastly, you, Mr. job-seeker who claims all the mad IT skillz: you send me a PDF conversion of your dull-as-dishwater, one-page, default-template MS Word resume, and it occupies SEVEN FUCKING MEGABYTES? Did you even look at the file size before you foisted this atrocity on me, you blithering putz?

I swear to God, if I see another “Your mailbox is full, clean it out, dickhead” message tomorrow morning, I’m gonna make bonfire out of that busted old company laptop and dance around it making Indian noises.

[carnivorousplant]

[QUOTE=El_Kabong]

My fucking mail box holds 70 megabytes; that’s what IT thinks I deserve, and that’s all they grant me.
[/QUOTE]

Good gad, I wish I could do that…12 Gigs those folks have…

[QUOTE=El_Kabong]

“Your mailbox is full, clean it out, dickhead”
[/QUOTE]

GG, I wish I could send that…
Dude, do you have a junk mail function? The ability to block email? A filter?

[El_Kabong]

Dude, do you have a junk mail function? The ability to block email? A filter?

Yup, got all that, all of which is pretty much useless for my purposes. The junk mail that does get through I just delete; even then, I rarely get spam that’s more than about 30K per message. It’s all the business-related crap that drives me potty.

I’m simultaneously Training Manager, Recruitment Manager, and, of all things, QA Manager for our local office, so I’m constanly getting buried under an E-mailed avalanche of resumes and manuals, and if that’s not enough, every mook in the company seems to want to send me their misspelled documents to edit. That last is a complete joke, anyway; for example I’m willing to bet that less than 100 of my 4000-whatever posts here are typo-free.

Yup, big ol’ bonfire tomorrow, that’s the ticket.

[Darryl_Lict]

This is a pretty long thread, I hope my rants are new.

What is the deal with kids waiting in lines these day. Why is it that they have to stand 5 feet behind the person in front of them. You are not cool, you are lame. Listen people, if there’s enough room for a couple people in front of you, you are not in line. You should never have to ask someone if they are in line, OK? I reserve the right to step in front of you because you are not in line! Lately, I’ve been standing uncomfortably close to the person who is violating the proper standing in line distance. It seems to work as these people are obviously freaked out by other humans standing too close. My fellow humans, join me in my jihad against poor line etiquette.

OK, and what is the deal with the asswipes with the super bright headlamps. Yes, you’ve got that stupid shit super duper lift kit on your Ford F350 monster truck. This still does not mean that you are allowed to not adjust your headlamps correctly. And when people are flashing their headlamps this means that your headlamps are too bright. Yeah you can flick you 900,000 candlepower headlamps to show how macho you are, but let’s face it, your headlamps should not be 3 standard deviations above the mean brightness. I mean I can see the shadow of my car in your nuclear fusion beams. If you can’t see right, you shouldn’t be driving, you asshole.

[Hostile_Dialect]

@Darryl Lict

OK, and what is the deal with the asswipes with the super bright headlamps. Yes, you’ve got that stupid shit super duper lift kit on your Ford F350 monster truck. This still does not mean that you are allowed to not adjust your headlamps correctly. And when people are flashing their headlamps this means that your headlamps are too bright. Yeah you can flick you 900,000 candlepower headlamps to show how macho you are, but let’s face it, your headlamps should not be 3 standard deviations above the mean brightness. I mean I can see the shadow of my car in your nuclear fusion beams. If you can’t see right, you shouldn’t be driving, you asshole.

I go to school in what seems like the lift-kit capital of urban California, and I just found out last week that the truck-modders are putting in illegally bright headlights now as the cool new expression of machismo. Not enough :rolleyes: in the world.

[Smapti]

To my customers, who I love with all my heart;

“Minus” is not a verb. I cannot “minus the tomatoes” from your sandwich. I can make you a sandwich with no tomatoes if you want, but I cannot “minus” them from the sandwich.

“Jalapeño” is pronounced with a y sound on the last syllable. The little squiggly line isn’t there just to make it look snazzy.

Don’t tell me you want “a large drink” and then get hissy when I ask you what kind of large drink you want. We have many different beverages on tap, but none of them are called “Drink”.

I can’t “super-size” your meal. Do you see any golden arches anywhere? For that matter, THEY can’t super-size your meal either, because they stopped that promotion two years ago. And while i’m on the subject, I cannot sell you a McChicken, McFlurry, McNuggets, or any other product with the prefix Mc- attached to its name.

When it takes you four-and-a-half minutes to get from the speaker to the window, PLEASE do not wait until you get to the window to check and see if you remembered to bring your debit card.

No, I am not going to “hook you up”. I am not your buddy and my job is not worth giving you free food. If you want free food, the County Food Bank is open from 10-4 every Tuesday and Thursday.

Watch the language, buddy. That kind of talk might be acceptable in whatever gutter you dragged yourself out of this morning, but this is a place where people lkie to take their kids to eat. We don’t need you throwing F-bombs into every single sentence, especially when you’re on a loudspeaker that half the restaurant can hear.

If it’s not on the menu, we don’t carry it. Just because we had that for six weeks, about ten years ago, doesn’t mean we carry it now. It’s not on some secret menu that we only tell our best friends about.

Sales tax is non-negotiable. I don’t care if they don’t have it in wherever you come from, up here we do.

If you’re at the window and i’m clearly busy making drinks, bagging orders, or speaking to another customer, DO NOT wave money or cards out the window in your hand. It’s not going to make me get the work done any faster. This goes double for people who are waving money out the window before they’ve even reached the window. What do you think you are, the Pony Express? Do you think i’m going to grab the cash from your hand and give you your change and your meal without you ever needing to come to a full stop?

If you want to add something to your order when you get to the window, it’s going to take a little longer to get your order ready. Believe it or not, I don’t just reach under the counter and grab a freshly-made, fully prepared and wrapped sandwich that happened to be sitting there. If what you want is to remove something from the order, or change something to something else, that’s going to take even longer, first because it requires management approval on the register and second because now we have to throw out the item we already made for you and make something else. And for god’s sake, do NOT ask if you can order more food when i’m trying to hand you the bag. At that point, if you want more food, you can pull your gluttonous ass around and wait in line again.

And lastly, the sign that says “Checks not accepted” MEANS checks are not accepted. Get it?

[dawson]

[QUOTE=Smapti]
To my customers, who I love with all my heart;

“Minus” is not a verb. I cannot “minus the tomatoes” from your sandwich. I can make you a sandwich with no tomatoes if you want, but I cannot “minus” them from the sandwich.

“Jalapeño” is pronounced with a y sound on the last syllable. The little squiggly line isn’t there just to make it look snazzy.

Don’t tell me you want “a large drink” and then get hissy when I ask you what kind of large drink you want. We have many different beverages on tap, but none of them are called “Drink”.

I can’t “super-size” your meal. Do you see any golden arches anywhere? For that matter, THEY can’t super-size your meal either, because they stopped that promotion two years ago. And while i’m on the subject, I cannot sell you a McChicken, McFlurry, McNuggets, or any other product with the prefix Mc- attached to its name.

When it takes you four-and-a-half minutes to get from the speaker to the window, PLEASE do not wait until you get to the window to check and see if you remembered to bring your debit card.

No, I am not going to “hook you up”. I am not your buddy and my job is not worth giving you free food. If you want free food, the County Food Bank is open from 10-4 every Tuesday and Thursday.

Watch the language, buddy. That kind of talk might be acceptable in whatever gutter you dragged yourself out of this morning, but this is a place where people lkie to take their kids to eat. We don’t need you throwing F-bombs into every single sentence, especially when you’re on a loudspeaker that half the restaurant can hear.

If it’s not on the menu, we don’t carry it. Just because we had that for six weeks, about ten years ago, doesn’t mean we carry it now. It’s not on some secret menu that we only tell our best friends about.

Sales tax is non-negotiable. I don’t care if they don’t have it in wherever you come from, up here we do.

If you’re at the window and i’m clearly busy making drinks, bagging orders, or speaking to another customer, DO NOT wave money or cards out the window in your hand. It’s not going to make me get the work done any faster. This goes double for people who are waving money out the window before they’ve even reached the window. What do you think you are, the Pony Express? Do you think i’m going to grab the cash from your hand and give you your change and your meal without you ever needing to come to a full stop?

If you want to add something to your order when you get to the window, it’s going to take a little longer to get your order ready. Believe it or not, I don’t just reach under the counter and grab a freshly-made, fully prepared and wrapped sandwich that happened to be sitting there. If what you want is to remove something from the order, or change something to something else, that’s going to take even longer, first because it requires management approval on the register and second because now we have to throw out the item we already made for you and make something else. And for god’s sake, do NOT ask if you can order more food when i’m trying to hand you the bag. At that point, if you want more food, you can pull your gluttonous ass around and wait in line again.

And lastly, the sign that says “Checks not accepted” MEANS checks are not accepted. Get it?
[/QUOTE]

Smapti,
just judging from the wording and wit of your rant, I think you could find a better job. At least one that doesn’t involve a drive up window.

[Lissa]

[QUOTE=Darryl Lict]
It seems to work as these people are obviously freaked out by other humans standing too close.
[/QUOTE]

I use this at work. For some reason, museum visitors assume that the hundreds of DO NOT TOUCH! signs don’t mean they shouldn’t touch the artifacts. In response, I have mastered the art of the “subtle violation of personal space.” If I see someone with the intention to touch an artifact I deftly step into a position which makes them feel uncomfortable and they automatically back away.

It doesn’t work on everyone, mind you. On old ladies determined to pick up a Sevres vase, I could probably climb onto their backs and it would deter them from their goal. I get offended at their patronizing tone when they say, “Oh, honey, I won’t break it!” If you try to explain fingerprints and the damaging nature of skin oils, they look at you as if you’ve insulted them. “My hands are clean!” Yeah, I wash my hands too. I just wear these white cotton gloves for the fashion appeal.

I have an open letter I would like to share:

*Dear Tourist,

I’m glad you decided to come to the museum today. I love sharing all of our treasures with you. However, you have some habits we should discuss.

See those sparkling-clean case windows? I didn’t spend a half an hour before you came in carefully Windexing them so your toddler would have a nice, clean surface to which to press his chocolate, catsup and snot-encrusted face. I beg leave to inform you that the glass is a solid and doesn’t dissapear, though I have to admit to being a bit amused when you forget its presence and stub your finger against it repeatedly as you reach out to touch the Bright, Shiny Thing therein.

It’s a wonderful thing to bring children to a museum and expose them to our rich history, but I have doubts that a two-year-old is going to appreciate spending two hours or more in a place where they can’t touch, can’t run, and can’t scream. Nor do I appreciate being delegated to trail around after your Little Darling to ensure he doesn’t do such things.

“Stay with your group” includes YOU. The rest of the people on the tour get a bit testy when I keep having to interrupt to go searching to see where you’ve wandered off to and fetch you back. Yes, I know you’re not going to break anything. I trust you explicitly, nylon-clad stranger, but there are these silly rules set up by people who don’t have such an intimate understanding of your amazingly oil-less hands or your complete confidence that you won’t drop that priceless object you so blithely grabbed.

Yes, I know it’s our mistake in assuming that ropes, barriers and an escort will be enough to keep you from grabbing things. But we’re poor, see? We don’t get much in the way of federal funds, and we’re encasing items as our budget allows. Until then, we hope that the normal signals such as a big fucking barrier and a huge sign that says DO NOT TOUCH will suggest that you should keep your grubby hands off, and failing that, a gentle reminder from your guide should suffice. (Despite my repeated requests, the board has not seen fit to equip me with a cattle prod.)

Dearest tourist, I have to wonder if you come from a place ignorant of indoor plumbing. You look like an American, and you posess our grating American accent. Your grandiose sense of entitlement practically screams that you’re an American, and you apparently have the means to travel. How is it that you are unaware of how a toilet functions?

I’ll give you some pointers. You pee inside the bowl. This is not a gas station rest-stop. There is no need to pee from a distance to ensure that your pristine bottom does not come in contact with any of our fixtures.

See that little silver handle? Should you depress it, your leavings will swirl away like magic. Perhaps you were proud of what you left floating in the bowl, or perhaps you are an environmentalist who is worried about excess water consumption. Nevertheless, no one wants to use a toilet brimming with your waste. It will be flushed, not left as a monument to your visit.

To the left of the sinks, you will see a tall, square receptical. This is known colloquially as a “trash can.” Into it, you deposit your paper towels, mint wrappers and personal hygiene products. It looks like you may have a vague notion of the item’s purpose, because you placed your trash in its general vicinity, or possibly made a feeble attempt to aim for its cavernous maw. My momma always said that if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. By this, I mean if your paper towel flutters to the floor, it’s considered to be the correct thing to do to pick it up and put it into the can.

Whilst touring the museum, it is not exactly enjoyable to delay the rest of the group with a long explanation of your geneology. Yes, your long line of farmers is fascinating to you, but the rest of us don’t give a flying fuck. Nor do I particularly care that your aunt has a butter churn just like that one. No, I don’t care where she got it, or where she decided to place it in her home. Listening to you expound on a chair “just like that” that your grandmother once had but was burned in a fire simply represents fifteen minutes of my life that I will never get back.

Please do not argue with me. I’m not making up these dates, facts and historical tales as I go along. I don’t care how many John Wayne movies you’ve watched-- it doesn’t make you an expert on history. We spent years with experts making sure our replica buildings and exhibits are accurate. We’re not about to change the building because of something you’re sure you saw on Little House on the Prairie.

Nor is the tour the time to share your political views. Lecturing to the group at large why blacks were better off under slavery doesn’t make you look smart. It makes you look like an asshole, and a stupid asshole at that. Nor should you ramble on and on about how things were better in the past because everyone had “Jesus in their hearts.”

Which brings me to another point: If you are a Young Earth Creationist, you’re likely not going to enjoy our prehistoric cultures and fossil exhibits. Neither will the rest of the group enjoy your protests that the dates on the lables are “wrong.” See those people over there, rolling their eyes and shifting uncomfrotably on their feet? It means they’re not interested. They just wanna see the fossils and stone tools, so shut up.

I enjoy questions. I like talking about history-- that’s why I work here. But it’s no fun answering a question I’ve just addressed, as in: “This is a car made in 1900.” “Wow! What year was it made?”

Thank you for your kind attention to these issues.

Your guide,
Lissa *

[Count_Blucher]

A big ‘Fuck You!’ to Circleline, and by extension, The National Park Service. Your website says that time passes and tickets to The Statue of Liberty are available daily on a first-come-first-serve basis. This was the basis of the trip that I planned, promoted, and tried to organize for this weekend. A helpful ranger at the liberty state park location explained that I needed to book time passes 24hrs in advance, so I called today.

So, when were you Asshats going to tell me that the tickets to the statues base were sold out and had been sold out for Months…!? Yes, we can drive there and catch the Ferry. We can even walk up to the building and take pictures. We Just Can’t Fucking Go Inside!!!

To the Park Service, I only Pit you because you hired Circleline, the worst and most corrupt scumbags to handle tickets since Ticketron and Ticket Master, to handle visitors to one of our nations most famous landmarks. And God Dammit, I Shouldn’t Need To Pay Off A God Damned Scalper to get my kid in to see a National Fucking Monument!!!

[Lissa]

[QUOTE=Count Blucher]
So, when were you Asshats going to tell me that the tickets to the statues base were sold out and had been sold out for Months…!? Yes, we can drive there and catch the Ferry. We can even walk up to the building and take pictures. We Just Can’t Fucking Go Inside!!!
[/QUOTE]

This happened to me at the Tower of London. I didn’t know you had to get seperate tickets to go into The Queen’s House, and so I missed out on what I wanted to see the most.

One of the Beefeaters saw how upset I was and asked me what was wrong. When I told him, he told me to go up to the guy who was leading the group and explain and he might let me come along with the last group. The guy refused. I know he didn’t have to bend the rules for me, and I certainly didn’t expect him to, but I was very dissapointed. (And mentally bitching-- really, what does one more person hurt?) But rules are rules, and I didn’t do my homework like I should have.

[kaylasdad99]

You know, Lissa, one time when I was a kid, my family went on a tour of San Quentin.
If you get your husband to get you a job as a tour guide at his workplace, maybe you won’t have these kinds of issues with the tourists.

[Lissa]

[QUOTE=kaylasdad99]
You know, Lissa, one time when I was a kid, my family went on a tour of San Quentin.
If you get your husband to get you a job as a tour guide at his workplace, maybe you won’t have these kinds of issues with the tourists.

[/QUOTE]

You kidding? That place gives me the creeps. We’ve been together for eight years, and the first and only time I ever set foot through those gates was about six months ago. I don’t intend to go back.

He guides a lot of tours through the prison, from political dignitaries to students. He has his own headaches from it, including the people who think prisons are evil and the ones who don’t seem to understand it’s not a petting zoo.