Look, lady, I’m not one of those people who thinks that just because you’ve climbed into your car you have an instantaneous obligation to start up, back out, and leave, so that some one else can have your spot. That’s the preferable and considerate thing to do of course, but if you want to sit in your car and read War And Peace, that is your right.
BUT once you have put your car in reverse so that the white tail lights come on, indicating that you are backing up, then you DO have an obligation to actually back up and leave. And if you don’t – when you don’t – you, madam, are an inconsiderate mentally-challenged git.
I pit myself. I should have known that frozen seaweed salad was no good after sitting out on the counter for a couple of hours. If I didn’t know then, I should have known when it tasted a little different the next morning, even after being put in the fridge overnight. (I can forgive myself that one, though, as I’m never at my best in the morning before the second or third cup of coffee) Stupid food poisoning…
Related to my earlier mini-rant about the fridge (now fixed, glory hallelujah):
Iced tea, you are tea. Why did you go sour? Tea is not supposed to go sour. Did you pick up bad habits from the fact that I keep you in an old milk jug? Don’t listen to the ghost of milk past. Doing so will get you poured down the sink and replaced with more obedient tea.
Do you have a Wal-Mart in your area? They offer over 300 prescriptions for $4 a month. That’s one of the big reasons I switched to Celexa this past February … I can handle $4 a month!
Tell him this is normal, and job hunting just sucks. Job hunting is one of the things Buddha must have had in mind when he said “all life is suffering”.
It’s not a haiku, but I think it works as some sort of poem…
Dear water company:
Why does every method of getting payments to you seem to be so slow and inconvenient? We WANT to pay you, but you’re making this so damn hard…
Dear assclown who stole our garbage can:
Die. Slowly and painfully, ideally in a way involving a rabid skunk.
Dear Coworker K:
STOP FUCKING TALKING TO ME WHILE I’M READING!!! I bring my lunch and a book every day. I have 20 minutes for eating and reading. I do NOT want to spend my lunch listening to you talk. I do not want to talk back to you. One of the few things I like about this shitty job is the fact that I can probably spend 10 mintues out of 8 hours talking to you idiots. I hate talking to you. All of you. So, if I’m in the break room and I have a book in front of my face, and it’s open, then DON’T FUCKING TALK TO ME!
Also,
Your breath smells like SHIT! I’m being completely serious here. I’ve smelled shit that was more pleasant than your breath. Will you please go see a fucking dentist? If your gums just spontaniously start bleeding, and your breath smells worse than shit, you might have a problem. On the same subject, I know we work in a factory and it’s loud in here. But, you do not have to stand on top of me when you want to talk to me. Hell you don’t need to talk to me at all. Go away and leave me alone. Take your breath with you.
I have so much more I could say, but this is supposed to be mini rants. I think I’ll stop now, before my blood pressure gets any higher.
Listen you little shit for brain lardass hoodlum-in-training, and you, the brain dead drooling cunt rocket who shot forth that walking, talking piece of fat shit: fuck you. Fuck you both sideways. I don’t give a shit that he doesn’t know his father. If you got off your fat crack whoring ass and taught him right and wrong he wouldn’t have gotten suspended. What’s the matter? He going to intimidate your clientale? He’s got 125 pounds on my 6yro son, but shoving him down, tossing in a kick, and then stealing a his Spiderman backpack isn’t enough for that behemoth elementary fucker. No, he’s got to take it further and lodge the homework folder, library book, and lunch box into separate toilets. Him coming home from school with a backpack you’ve never seen wasn’t a surprise to you? And no, I don’t want the fucking thing back now that it’s been your crack house.
And fuck you Ms. Librarian. You want your $8.95 for that Clifford book? Get it from the vapid, drooling cunt rocket.
Oh, and fuck you too janitor. It’s your job to pull shit (and books and lunchboxes and folders) from the school’s shitters. Don’t fucking tell my son to do it. Hope you feel like a great big fucker for making him cry like that. I’m glad the young girl from the YMCA told you he wasn’t doing it. Go ahead and try to get her fired.
Damn it, I have an inbox. It is right there, at eye level when you come by my desk. It is even labelled for your ease of use. What does that mean? It means that when you have work for me to do, that is where it goes. Not on my desk. Not on my chair. Not on my keyboard. Not on my phone! In the inbox, ok?
Putting it anywhere else does not make me do it first! When I come in to work in the morning and there is paperwork all over my desk, I gather it all up and put it in my inbox where it belongs! Then I sort it out according to priority. That’s actual priority, not your own idea of what I should do first, got it? Unless my boss tells me otherwise, your work goes into the lineup like everybody else’s. But it’s funny, he leaves me alone 90% of the time to get my work done because he knows that I am capable of prioritizing it myself. So get over yourselves and put your items in the inbox like everyone else.
Gah!
(also, while I am at it, can you give me time to sit down at my desk and at least turn on my computer before you run up to me and start asking me questions or if I will have this or that paperwork done? I need time to sort through all this crap people dumped everywhere before I know what I have and what is going to be done today!)
I like Subway sandwiches. I take them with me when I need to work in the evening because a sub can sit unattended for awhile if I’m interrupted without losing its appeal as food.
The customer experience at Subway sucks.
The problem is that every single Subway is a small storefront operation in a strip mall with a single employee. This means that every problem associated with buying fast food gets exaggerated.
You cannot possibly predict how long it will take to get your food, mainly because there is only a single worker there. You could walk in and find out the guy in front of you ordered five subs, or see that you have the absolutely slowest worker behind the counter. Perhaps the lady in front of you can’t figure out what she wants from the 5,000 options.
This cramps my style because I am trying to pick up a sub on my way to work.
Fortunately, they are more numerous than Micky D’s, so you do have the option of passing the crowded one by and stopping at another one three miles down the road, as I did last night.
I pit whoever (or whatever computer program) at Unemployment is sending me cryptic notices and forms with no indicated way to answer the damn questions! And then, the phone system to get a real human being is “Experiencing problems at the time, and we are unable to help you. Good Bye!”
What an assbitch of a login. You wind up with 3 browser windows- the one you started from- which launches an account page. But first you have to find it. THat second window launches another when you finally find the “make a payment” option. Grr. I’m just trying to pay off my student loan in a timely and easy fashion.
Here in Michigan, you get to talk to MARVIN, the Michigan Automated Response Voice Interactive Network. He’s super friendly, and probably the employee of the month five years runnin’. Marv gets shit done. Of course, Michigan has reason to invest in a world class unenjoyment system.
Along these lines, if you can find none of the above to mark your place, close the book and try to remember where you were. Do NOT crack the binding and flip the book over to hold your place (I almost had a heart attack when I walked over to your desk and saw my book like that). Remember when you borrowed it? How you noted the book was brand new and I told you that it was actually quite old and I had read The Fellowship of the Ring many many times? The book looked new to you because I take care of my books.
Not to mention that you ripped the map of Middle Earth. But, I guess that could have happened to anyone who wasn’t being careful. It was in the book pretty tightly.
This actually happened quite a while ago but your post riled me up so badly I figure I’m not quite over it, yet.
She ripped out your map? No, no, this is an unforgiveable sin. Fuck that person.
My mini-rant: Look, fatty. Yeah, I cant eat whatever I want. You know why? It’s partly because I’ve got good genes, I admit. But you know what the biggest contributing factor to my eating whatever the hell I want in front of you?
I spend twelve fucking hours in the gym every week. Yeah, I get off my ass and do something with it, rather than standing around bitching about how jealous I am. But you don’t know that, because I’m an asshole and I want you to feel bad. So every time you mention how I can eat whatever I want, I’m still going to reply “I know, it’s great! And I don’t even go to the gym scarf”
That hurt little look on your face makes me feel so much better.
Dear Artsy Fartsy Housemate #1: Grow the fuck up. We all have thesis to do this year. We all have comprehensive exams to do this year. This college is the hardest in the state. You should know that by now seeing as you’ve been here ALL FOUR YEARS. We’re all stressed. However, it is not our fault that your department decided to make your thesis and comps take place on the same quarter. It is not our fault that you don’t know how to study efficiently. It is not our fault that you do not know how to handle your stress and take it out on the most stupid, minute things possible.
Do NOT take it out by passive aggressively yelling at Decent Sane Housemate #1 for using your bowl and not washing it as soon as you wanted it. Seeing as all the bowls are communal, and there were a good 6 other clean bowls, you are just coming off as a bitch. Lucky for you (and unlike you), DSH#1 can control her temper by explaining that somebody was using her bowl at the time. This caused Artsy Fartsy Housemate #2 to get all emotional, thinking that she was at fault for using DH#1’s bowl at the time. DH#1 could care less, and neither could I. Thank god I was out of the house at the time this all went down. Oh, and if you have a problem with my bowls for some reason, FUCKING TELL ME. I GOT OUT OF THE DORMS SO I COULD AVOID THIS GIRL DRAMA. I know that you have Only Child Syndrome and it seems that you have some OCD with constantly rearranging things in the kitchen, but FIND A BETTER OUTLET FOR YOUR STRESS. Way to fuck up what little harmony there was in the house between Team Artsy Fartsy and Team Decent Sane People. At least AFHM#2 can hold a decent conversation and in return act like what we have to say is remotely interesting. And your cooking sucks, which is one of the reasons why I wanted to cancel our communal cooking.
Dear Students Who Come in to my Work: I don’t mind when you come in to use the language lab. It’s almost a treat, but holy hell, manage your time so that you do not hold me over! I’m going to start kicking you guys out from now on. I don’t care if you’re finished with your midterm or not! Start coming in as soon as the lab is open instead of halfway through! I don’t feel like walking home later than I already have to; it’s scary as it is.
Also, I don’t know if you guys are psychic or not, but please stop coming in as soon as I have to go pee. That’s not fun.
Dear College: Way to go with security. Just one security guard on campus at all times? Wow, that makes me feel safe. There’s been half a dozen times where I have tried to call or go to the office to have them open the door to my work, only to find nobody there. What if I had an emergency? The whole “sorry, we’re understaffed” thing doesn’t cut it; this is ridiculous. The area around our college isn’t exactly safe, we get notices of break-ins and muggings of our students. It was already bad knowing that I’d have to walk home in the dark, but in the beginning I had hoped that I could get a guard to come with me for some of the way (walking home in the dark at 10 p.m.) No go. Hell, what would you do if two cars at opposite ends of the campus were broken into at the same time? You’d be screwed, as it actually did happen at least once so far.
Dear Woman who Birthed Me: I can’t bring myself to call you mom since it’s been a good decade since you’ve last acted like one. I don’t know if I took all of your intelligence with me on the way out of your vagina, but you are definitely not on the same playing field with the rest of the world. I really don’t want to see you this holiday season. I’m just putting up with you because you’re going to be in the same room with my other relatives who I actually do want to see. You lie too much. The way you dress embarrasses me. You never apologized for anything because you never believed you were wrong in any way; the whole world was just out to get you. You think that the psychologist my sister went to see (to deal with the divorce) turned her against you (no, my sister is just intelligent enough to see the truth). You think my sister (who is 6 years younger than me) turned me against you (no, this itself is laughable). Looking at you reminds me of all the years I grew up taking care of myself. I will not accept any presents from you since they come from money you don’t deserve- Dad’s retirement fund he had to pay in alimony. Don’t talk to me this season. And especially don’t try to touch me, since you have lice…again.
