To my neighbor who apologized to me recently after her child knocked me over by running into me with his bicycle at full speed (from behind, so I didn’t see him), and said “Oh, I’m so sorry you didn’t get out of the way in time!”
Are you CRAZY? I didn’t get out of his way in time? How about you’re sorry that he ran into me? How about you’re sorry that you didn’t teach your child that if he’s old enough to ride a bike, he’s old enough to know to slow down or stop if he’s getting too close to another person on the sidewalk? How about you tell your child to apologize himself for knocking over the (previously) nice neighbor lady?
An email exchange between me and the administrator of the database we use at work:
Me: Please give Programer Joe permission to do XYZ in the database.
Admin: Just switch his security group from QA to QA lead. This will let him do XYZ.
Me: How do I switch his security group?
Admin: You don’t have permission to do that. You need to ask an Admin to do that for you.
:dubious: :mad:
Further email revealed that said Admin doesn’t know the difference between “switch” and “switched.” He wasn’t telling me what to do, he was telling me what he had already done.
To businesses who post their hours in their window:
Could you please post it in a font large enough to see from further than FOUR FEET AWAY? I’m tired of parking my car, getting out, and squinting to find out that you won’t open for another hour. And I’m not nearsighted - those letters are about 3/4" tall!
Uh, no. I want them to cut out that needless “hello?” and quit playing dumb when they have caller ID. There’s no reason the exchange shouldn’t flow the same way it does when you bump into a friend on the street or the grocery store.
If I see you at the gas station and call out your name, I wouldn’t expect you to turn around, see me, and say “hello?” as if you can’t tell it’s me getting your attention. Would you expect that?
Dear cashier-person: It is regrettable that your fingers are so dry that you feel the need to lick them, frequently, as you sort through cash from the drawer before handing me change.
Realizing that money is Filthy and Nasty anyway, having been touched by syphilitics and people who don’t wash after using the mens’ room, I still don’t want to handle bills flecked with your spittle. If you really can’t separate paper money without help, buy (or get your employer to buy) one of those hand moisture thingies.
I’ve been hunting for a postdoc position, off and on, for about a year. I’ve had several people express interest, but for various reasons nothing has panned out yet. Lately, just about everyone has been just flat out ignoring my emails. Now, granted, my real name does look like something that would happen if your cat sat on your keyboard, but still, I’m very good at what I do, and my CV reflects that.
Anyway, last week I had two positive responses. Yesterday I had a phone interview that went wonderfully! The Professor and I really hit it off, and she invited me out to visit her lab. Our philosophies of science really meshed, and everything that she said sounded perfect. And she liked me! Really stroked my ego. It was such a relief, finall thinking that my search may be over.
Of course, the other shoe had to drop. I heard through a mutual friend that the star student in The Professor’s lab wanted to talk to me to “give me a heads-up” on some things. That’s never a good sign. Basically, it sounds like this seemingly perfect boss is hard to work with, with maybe a few other issues thrown in for good measure.
I’m not mad at The Professor, or her student, or our friend. I’m mad at myself for getting my hopes up. Again. I should know by know that if something sounds too good to be true that it probably is. But I still get excited every single time, and I come crashing down every single time. Damn. This sucks.
MAKE UP YOUR FUCKING MIND. Things can’t go on like this for much longer. I’m so fucking tired of all our friends playing dumb and us pretending like this is some kind of normal relationship. Because it isn’t. And it’s because of you, not me. So please grow a pair and make some kind of decision before I fall to pieces.
Western Expats…quit yer bitchin’. You are in a third world country, you should expect things to be different. You chose to come here to make lotsa tax free money. There are planes leaving everyday. STFU No one has you chained here.
I understand that you are very skilled, and worked very hard to get where you are in life and made many sacrifices. But that being said I think the current billing system is inexcusable - when I take my car to the shop, I get an estimate, and approve every procedure beforehand. I don’t gets bills 6 months later from some guy’s billing office who I never even heard of who claims I owe him hundreds for work I never approved.
Please let me know AHEAD OF TIME that you are in some way connected to my son’s brain surgery and will be billing me for your work. I’d rather know before than 6 months later when I get a $400 bill for you spending 30 seconds to dictate a radiology report that I never approved.
Just because you work in the hospital where my son had surgery and you happened to be in the same building when he had his gauze changed doesn’t mean you get to bill my insurance company a huge overinflated fee and then expect me to pay hundreds of dollars because they won’t pay it all.
You billed me. Not some billing office 150 miles away, but YOU. So when I call to talk to you about a bill, I want to talk to YOU. Otherwise it just feels like a hit-and-run. And when I do talk to your billing office, don’t have them make me feel like a criminal for asking how to contact you about the bills. If you had the nerve to overbill me, you should have the courage to defend your actions.
If you already made $1000 off my insurance company by overinflating your charges, please don’t send me a bill for an additional $100 and expect me to pay. $100 is a lot of work for me.
It’s just a telephone ladies and gentlemen. That’s all, really!
If one hand is on your cell phone while you’re answering an decidedly important phone call, and your other hand is casually flipping your hair, I sure hope your third hand is on the steering wheel, you know, steering the car.
You know, just because you are friends and there are five of you, you don’t all have to wear jean mini-skirts and tongs. Autonomy isn’t a dead concept, you know.
P.S. Thank you for the mini-rants. It is very, very therapeutic.
I know it’s raining or snowing or whathaveyou, and it really sucks to wait for the buses that stop outside my office building, but there are HUGE signs saying “DO NOT BLOCK THE DOORS,” you assholes. I need to get in and out of that building. And, no, I’m not trying to join you in the alcove, I’m trying to get to the door behind it so I can get some damn work done. So please move so I don’t have to push you out of the way. And most of you are students here, too, so you can wait inside the lobby with it’s big window over-looking the bus stop. Just not in front of the goddamn, motherfucking doors.
Port Authority of New York and New Jersey, I know you’re trying really hard to keep us safe from those big, bad terrorists, but you’re safety measures are laughable. “Strongly encouraging” us not to take “bags or packages” on the PATH trains because said bags and packages are “subject to search”? You have got to be shitting me. It’s a commuter rail for chrissake. How the hell else am I supposed to schlep my stuff back and forth from home to school? Just pile it in my arms? Strap it to the back of a donkey? Or just not take it with me and fail all my classes? Further, you say you’ll search people’s stuff, and I’ve seen a table once set up with cops standing there acting like maybe someday they might search somebody’s bag, but I’ve never seen it happen. And you’ll post cops with big, scary guns on the platform occasionally so they can look menacingly into all the train cars through the windows, but that’s all they do. Listen, I know it’s better than you searching every bag, jumping everyone who looks a little shady, but your “security” tactics are woefully bad. Just … bad. If I saw you search a bag once, maybe, or had cops riding the cars once and a while… but, no.
And to my fellow passengers: there is no fucking need to wear sunglasses on an underground train. Thank you.
To the lady across the road from me who lives on the second floor of a three storey apartment building. I saw your cats this morning, you know the ones you just let run around the neighbourhood, across a busy street, you know, the ones you truly love, your dearly beloved pets. Well, this morning, in the snow and the cold, they were alternating between scratching up the door and huddling on the front landing. Poor buggers. Our town has a leash law that, yes, applies to even YOUR cats.
KEEP YOUR DEARLY BELOVED FUCKING PETS IN THE HOUSE WHERE THEY ARE SAFE AND WARM. AND THEY HAVE A LITTERBOX INSTEAD OF USING MY GARDEN!!!
Otherwise, I will animal control and they will find a more suitable place for them to live.
Love, your neighbour.
BTW, it’s not the cats I dislike, it’s YOU for treating them this way.
Fuckity Fuck! I pressed the $20 cash back button on the debit card thingy at the Food Dog yesterday and the cashier forgot to give me my $20 and I didn’t realize it until today when I went to pay for something and found my wallet empty. :mad:
But why not, you’ve already fucked me. You fucked me last night with a 3/4 inch drill-bit up my left nostril, past all the nasal passages & damn near through to my brain. Your drilled it so deep that everytime I breath hard, the top of my nasal passages seems to freeze on one side. That and How the Flying Fuck did you train a slug to creep up my right nostril and Die!? That’s the only explanation I have for this solid gooey mass that absolutely will not drain & leave my head except in the middle of a scalding hot shower.
I swear by Og & Chultuu’s incestuous union that if I Ever find your Scrawny Viral Ass, I will torture you with total disregard to time, the Geneva Convention, and in ways that would even make Dick Cheney cheer…!
I understand you’re old. Sixty is kinda pushing it. And I know you’re used to being babied and not having much water running through you. But, see, we live here. We use water. A fair amount, actually.
I know I bitched a few years ago when you backed up, leaving a horrible cesspool- but you were taken care of right away.
And last summer, when the city was putting in new lines but you didn’t get a purdy new one to the house - I know that upset you so much you decided to balk right as we were leaving on vacation. You made your point - holiday delayed so you could be unclogged. And I knew you were starting to get a tad cranky. When it was unbelievably cold a few months ago you decided to back up just a little - enough to put me on guard and freak out whenever water didn’t drain too well.
But last night - I don’t know. I was already cranky after finding out how much The Kid’s braces are going to run me. I’d been scrimping so as to make the down payment, since I haven’t received any child support in the past few months it’s been kinda difficult around here.
You decided to throw a pissy fit. I guess I should be glad we didn’t flush the toilet. But a full washerload of laundry plus a shower worth of water in the basement is just not cool. I really had no desire to be down here at 1am filling buckets of soapy water, hauling them upstairs and tossing the water outside in the 20F weather. It was just not fun for me.
The plumber is here now, thank heavens. Luckily he’s giving me a “refer a friend” discount. But still. You are not cheap, dammit. And my basement is a mess. I will be spending the rest of the morning attempting to dry everything out. Thanks. Really. Now I don’t want to hear a friggin peep out of you for a year and a half, got it?
:mad: