Less of a compliment to her than you realise…he implies that she is an impossibility.
And to all the lazy motherfuckers who think that they’re too good to use the goddamn parking lot at the supermarket–The fire lane is NOT for parking in. I don’t care if you “just have to run in for a second,” chances are you’l end up walking out with three times more stuff than you intended. That’s what happens there. Would it fucking kill you to walk an extra 30-50 feet? And don’t give me this handicapped bullshit either! If you had a handicapped sticker on your car, you could park in the reserved spaces. That’s why they’re there. But you don’t even have that much! What: are you better than everyone else and don’t have to follow the rules?
Well, while you’re “Just popping into the store for a second,” take an extra minute and stop by Aisles 3 and 9. Pick up a bottle of tabasco and a home enema kit. Mix well, and apply. Repeat if necessary.
Line one up for the 5:30 a.m. joggers along my route to work – you know, the ones who ignore the perfectly good sidewalk in favor of jogging down the middle of the street. One would think that anybody health concious enough to go jogging at that hour would be health concious enough not to run down the middle of the street in a black sweatsuit before sunrise!
Ah, but who among you actually gave that enema? I did. Sadly, it wasn’t a literal enema, but I did get to chew her out for a bit and damn did it feel good. I went to her this afternoon with three suggestions on how to speed up the process. Unfortunately, all three required her to do some of the work which she was obviously too busy and important to do. I, of course, have all the time in the world and would love nothing better than to drop all else and help someone not in my department.
She came to me later, in front of a lot of other co-workers, and with fire in her eyes, accused me of being lazy, uncooperative, and always making excuses for things I am required to do. Then she walked off without waiting for a response. Others would come up later and tell me she was way out of line. Anyway, I sat there for about three seconds, quite stunned. no way she just did that. I thought.
So I followed her into her office. I told her exactly why I don’t like helping her, that I am just helping her as a favor and I really don’t care if her project gets done, and that she was rude to just walk off without even giving me a chance to tell my side of the story. I could see her getting angry at me, knowing there wasn’t much she could do.
“We’ll just see what your job description really is on Monday.” she smuggly ended the conversation.
Yes, let’s. I’ve already talked to my boss. He agrees with me. Have a good weekend, bitch.
… slouching against the subway entrance with your legs extended across the doorway’s entire width. Stop grumbling, rolling your eyes and sarcastically saying “Excuse ME!” when people brush up against you and give you dirty looks. The reason everyone keeps bumping into you is that your BLOCKING the fucking doors they’re trying to use to get on and off the train. Can’t you read your X-Man magazine in the middle of the subway car, jackass? Maybe you’re just too constipated to think straight. Let me borrow your mag for minute – I plan to roll it up, shove it up your ass and pour piping hot printer’s ink through it. You can have it back when I’m done; in the meantime you can amuse yourself by reading the “PLEASE DO NOT BLOCK THE DOORS” sign posted on each and every damned door on the train.