FUUUCCCCKKKKKK.
The bleeping printers keep getting clogged so it’s taken me all day to print the one order (110 pages). I’m still working on the last one (170 pages), but I currently only have one printer that’s actually, y’know, PRINTING.
Which means all day Monday I’m going to be printing this order and I’ll have the boss hovering over me asking me to get his other shit down. Did I say fuck yet?
I read these stories and all I can hear is Nelson Muntz saying “HA-ha!”
Not to defend the idiot home-owners, but you may also be able to lay some blame on idiot real estate agents. Some years back, I spent a few summers working for a pipeline company that has a number of pump stations and tank facilities in formerly isolated areas that are now being built up. It turned out that in a few cases, real estate agents were telling potential homebuyers who expressed concerns about living so close to the facilities “Oh, don’t worry about it, the company says they’ll be shutting it down in a year or two.”
Needless to say, the company had no such thing planned, and the pipeline is still pumping away.
It’s going to sound like I’m singling people on this board out, but I’m not. I see this everywhere.
“Ohmigod, I just read your post, and wow… there are tears in my eyes…”
“Wow, tears are streaming down my face… I can’t believe you had to deal with that!”
What the fuck. If some person you’ve never met writes a (probably made up or at least exaggerated) woe-is-me-story that ACTUALLY MAKES YOU CRY, you need to get a fucking grip. I pit these people for extreme idiocy and also, my eyes start to hurt when I roll them that often.
Hmm; I think I was trying to say something else and didn’t quite get there. Something about things magically changing as soon as they take up residence or something. ANYway, I would like to answer StrawberryPaprika, but I guess there isn’t any point, what with her being banned like a big loser. 
I’m going to pre-emptively rant about cleaning to sell our house in a couple months (well, maybe closer to a year. Soon, anyway.) I cleaned for five freaking hours today just to get it ready to show to real estate agents; I am having premonitions of months and months of cleaning to keep it in tiptop shape for showing once it goes on the market, and I am so not looking forward to that. I hate cleaning.
Some drunk bitch at the bar dropped a beer 30 seconds after I entered and of course it shattered everywhere. Some glass landed on my sandal-clad feet. I felt a minor bit of pain for a second but didn’t think about it because she did not drop the beer directly on my foot.
Just got home (went to a different bar) and looked at my foot. One of my toes is covered in blood. Guess which toe? The one that hurt at the bar. Her dropped beer cut the top of my foot. Thanks for being a wasted, clumsy bitch at the bar at 930pm. Too early for that kind of shit.
Javascript is enabled and I specifically told Noscript to allow youtube.com. Still bupkis.
cowgirl, this is a long-standing tradition amongst Torontonians. People buy condos downtown and then proceed to whine about the very things that a) made the neighbourhood attractive in the first place or b) allowed them to buy their condo for less than it would’ve cost elsewhere in the city.
I mean, this is the same city where people bought condos in the middle of the club district and then complained that there’s way too much noise after-hours.
Newsflash, guys… this is WHY the club district exists in the first place, so that this kind of rowdiness could be confined to a nice compact area and away from residential parts of town.
Might as well buy a condo in the middle of Regent Park and then complain that you’re sharing a building with geared-to-income and social-assistance residents. Oh… wait… never mind. :rolleyes:
Hey dumbass-if your selection gets stuck in the vending machine, do NOT buy another to try and “knock it out.” Nine times out of ten, it’s just going to stick as well, and then you’ll need a double refund.
And no, kids, if we give you a first refund, and you lose THAT one, no, you’re not getting another.
Please, don’t actually ASK me to cheat and NOT stamp your movie coupon card. As a coworker said, the only thing worse than a scam artist is a stupid scam artist.
I dislike fireworks immensely.
I’m right there under the couch with you.
The fireworks are so annoying. They’re the reason I’m awake and on the Dope and not in bed. Boom ,Boom, Boom. ARRGGHH
My dog agrees with you.
Actually, I have nothing against fireworks, and enjoy a few recreational explosions now and again.
I hate college-aged twits with fireworks, who set them off all night long.
Actually, for some vending machines I’ve worked with, that technique works quite nicely most of the time. Of course, it means I wind up with two of whatever was in the slot, but that’s all right with me unless they’ve stocked the machine with alternating products and the second is something I don’t want. If I can afford it, I’ll usually try buying another one and either eat it later or leave it out for someone else to eat.
That is true. Actually, what really irritated me was that kids were setting off all sorts of crap in the street before and after the city fireworks display making walking along the street a risky proposition.
I’m okay with fireworks, generally. Love watching them.
On the other hand, I wish I had figured out which house was shooting off the big suckers last night. This is ranch country. There’s livestock all around. My horses were completely and utterly freaked out. At least I can let the dogs climb up in my lap and quiver. That doesn’t work with the horses.
A freaked-out horse is dangerous, not only to itself, but to the people and structures nearby.
By the time I drove over there, I couldn’t figure out who was shooting them off, and they didn’t do any more big ones. Thank goodness they’re expensive.
My cats weren’t thrilled, either, but at least I had some companionship under the couch. Also, I found 58 cents.
What’s wrong with this scenario?
Customer: Can you check this lottery ticket? I can’t believe it!
Me: Sure thing. <Beepity boopity> Yep, you won $1000. Congrats!
Customer: So where’s my money? Don’t tell me I’ve gotta go all the way to Nashville to pick it up!
Me: Um, yes ma’am. Anything over $600, you’ve gotta take to the lottery commission.
Customer: <a wee bit indignant> Well, then why do you SELL them, if you’re not going to CASH them?
Me: Uh, we don’t keep $1000 in cash laying around.
Customer: Hmmph. All RIGHT.
How in the hell are you gonna bitch about a trip to get $1000 you didn’t even work for, that’s only going to take about an hour and a half ROUND TRIP? Not to mention that if we only sold what we could potentially cash out, she’d have to drive to Nashville EVERY TIME she wanted to pick up a potential big winner.
Whoops! I guess I already answered the question of what’s wrong with this scenario.
Once again, it’s my birthday. And once again, there was nothing in the mail from anyone in my family. I did get a fucking e-card from my aunt that lives here in town. I guess I’m not worth a stamp. I’m pretty used to my birthdays being no big deal to anyone but me around here, but I thought maybe my 40th would be different. Bastards. I’m going to stop sending them cards and gifts on their birthdays, and this year I mean it.