What I think is that the SDMB should have a fund. A Bail fund if you will. So when you open up the newspaper later this week and see that I’ve been arrested for beating an old woman with a sack of staplers, you can just go to the fund and say,
“must have clucked her tongue at jarbaby for the last time. Come on kids, let’s go get her out of jail.”
jarbaby
I hear you on the swimming thing.
My little sister is a swimmer. She goes to the YM to practice fly. This would be fine, no? Evidentally no. And Mom won’t get the guts to ask the fuckwads in the lap lane to move the hell out.
I told Becca I’d take her. I’m not much of a swimmer, but I’m a damn good body guard for my sister when I’m enraged. And I have good lungs, I bet they’d drown before I would.
Dealing with people on cell phones can be fun, jarbabyj, if you try. You see, they’re obviously on the phone with someone important, or at least important in their eyes (actually 15 blocks away is an identical maroon talking to your Shirley on HER cell phone). What’s the worst possible thing that could happen to Shirley at this moment? To become embarrassed.
You see, everyone with a cell phone likes to think that THEY are not the ones bringing a bad name to all cell phone users. It can’t be that person who is incapable of driving and talking. That person thinks they are completely capable of functioning and being aware of their surroundings while on that phone.
So make sure you yell “Get off the cell phone, you moron!” loud enough for the person on the other side of the conversation to hear you. Honk long enough to get that person’s attention. Because then Shirley has to explain to the other person that yes, she is indeed on a cell phone standing in the middle of the stairs. Or driving in two lanes. Or is in the doorway. Or is walking across the street too slowly. Or is in the checkout line at the grocery store.
I read an old science fiction short story about morons populating the earth. All the smart people went to school and postponed children to have careers and such, whereas all the yokels spat out the babies like watermelon seeds. The smart people were quickly outbred, leaving a select few intelligent “maintenance crew” to watch over the idiot populace. I’ll look for the story and tell all of you the name. 
“The Marching Morons” by C. M. Kornbluth. He often collaborated with Fred Pohl, too, but this story was a solo effort. You’ll have to look pretty hard for it, as I believe it was written in the 1940s or 50s, so you’re not going to find it just anywhere.
That’s deep. Me, I just hurt.
May I add to this little lovefest? My own personal nomination for fuckbrain of the year go to the clumps of people–and I’ve seen people of all ages do this, though it seems an art form to the the young–who stand where the aisles cross in department stores and talk to each other, generally about whether or not they are going to buy that adorable little dress , or why so-and-so hasn’t shown up to become one of the pod people (packs of pod people parade through the mall at all hours, joined at what passes for hips, linked arm in arm, pushing pre-pod people in strollers–where do they all come from?). Like the cell phone user, they are completely oblivious to the fact that their little sissypriss group bonding exercise is inconveniencing others. And to walk around them, you must go into the displays. Which is nearly impossible because the dumbfarts who design the store displays put them so close together that you need to be a walking skeleton to squeeze through–but that’s another rant.
Department stores are hell even without people–they should all have Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here enblazoned over every entrance!! Think what the world would be like if we locked all the pod people in the malls all the time–they wouldn’t notice–and it would get them off the subway.
See? This is why I’m going to live in the middle of nowhere.
Nice and quiet.
pan
“I read an old science fiction short story about morons populating the earth. All the smart people went to school and postponed children to have careers and such, whereas all the yokels spat out the babies like watermelon seeds. The smart people were quickly outbred, leaving a select few intelligent ‘maintenance crew’ to watch over the idiot populace.”
—Ummm, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but that was no “science fiction short story” you were reading. It was the NEWSPAPER.
Don’t you mean “Screw the Black Russian” 
Eve,
I think you’re right- wasn’t that the lead Post story last week? (After they finished trashing Lizzie and her Mercedes?)
Re: the OP
Once again, I gain a deeper appreciation of living in the boonies. We not only care about each other, we help each other out. Move to the country! The cows don’t give attitude!
A Guide to Riding the Chicago Avenue Bus.
If you are packed into a tight space on a moving vehicle which others are continuously exiting and entering, it might be a good idea to remove the giant backpack and hold it down by the floor.* This lessens the chance that you will bash the faces of helpless seated passengers with it as you turn. It also makes it easier for people to squeeze by you. And harder for them to pickpocket you.
At times, when the bus is crowded, the driver will yell “Please move to the back of the bus!” as he’s letting more people on. This is an indication that you should MOVE TO THE MOTHERFUCKING BACK OF THE BUS. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. The easy way involves YOU MOVING YOUR ASS AND YOUR GIANT BACKPACK TO THE BACK OF THE BUS! The hard way involves the 20 people who just got on the bus squeezing themselves and their giant backpacks past you TO THE BACK OF THE BUS. You know why? Because there is room back there!
Okay, the bus is really crowded. We’ve all moved to the back of the bus. A cursory survey of the back of the bus shows that people are pretty much hanging from the ceiling. Do not, under any circumstances, try to wedge yourself back there to “see if there might be a seat.” You are living in a dream world, child. Someone as naive as you is likely to get her head crushed in by an errant backpack.
All of us bus-riders share the same primal fear. We fear that our stop will come, and we won’t be able to squeeze out of the crush of humanity in time to exit. Therefore the instinct is to hang out near the doors so that you’ll be “ready” when it’s time. This instinct is understandable. However, I want you to listen to me: The bus driver and the other riders will let you off the bus. So right now, you should MOVE TO THE BACK OF THE BUS. When it’s time to get off, you should let the people around you know that you are trying to get out. If your heart is pure and you believe, they will let you off. Take deep breaths. There is no reason that you should have to kick, shove, or claw any of your fellow passengers… And watch that backpack, will ya?
Oh goody! You are taking a group of junior high students to some downtown attraction! Must you and your squealing brood travel at rush hour? If you could wait just 1/2 an hour to ride the bus, it would make a big difference to us all.
We all make sacrifices. Occasionally, my view of the hot Kierkegaarde-reading guy is obstructed by other passengers and I cannot go to my “happy place” where he reads aloud to me from The Seducer’s Diary while feeding me strawberries and tells me about his guilt. Perhaps this morning is not the day that you can spread out the Tribune to its fullest span and read all the articles at leisure. Perhaps you’ll have to give up that seat for the little old lady who just got on carrying seventeen parcels. Just relax, okay?
*This is not a rule but a tip I picked up living in Eastern Europe. It’s never failed me.
Not necessarily. I have seen empty seats surrounded by standing riders. Sometimes, the reason they won’t sit down is because there is someone in the aisle seat whose body language indicates that he has no intention of moving his legs so you can sit down. I have also seen someone try to get to an empty seat and have a standing rider refuse to move out of the way. Also, some people (this is REAL lunacy) think that sitting down is an admission of weakness.
Also not necessarily. Just last week, I saw a woman with a stroller and child try to get to the back door only to have the driver shut it before she got to it. Some drivers are impatient and desperate to finish their routes so they take their breaks.
I think that’s the whole problem with the assholes described in this thread: They are unwilling to make sacrifices. They’re not accustomed to it. They can’t understand why they can’t have what they want when they want it.
jab1, those are the rules for riding The Chicago Avenue Bus (#66). This is clearly indicated at the top of my post. You can make your own damn busriding rules.
Second, if your woman with stroller and the passengers around her LET THE DRIVER KNOW that she is coming off the bus, he will let her off. He can’t be expected to read minds or use his magical bus driver x-ray vision to see through the throng of people, but he will hear and respond to a “Hey, coming out!.” And I argue that this is still no reason for the woman with the stroller to hover and block the exit for her entire bus ride on the chance that this might happen. If everyone will BELIEVE that the driver will let them out and not stand firm like a fucking defensive line in front of the door, then getting on and off the bus would be much easier for everyone.
Third, does this sound familiar?
Poster A: This pisses me off.
Poster B: Well, that doesn’t ALWAYS happen and besides I once observed a similar situation where the opposite happened.
Poster A: How nice for you. And that changes my experience exactly how?
Your last point was spot-on. People don’t want to be inconvenienced in the slightest. Pass the whiskey, Lux, the fuckbastards are at it again.
“I am the slow driver. I am the insensitive asshole. I am the rickety shopping cart. I am the cholesterol that clogs the arteries of the world… I am the Fuckbastard!”
I always thought there should be a law that outlaws retired people from the post office and fast food restaurants during the hours of 11:30 a.m. until 2:00 p.m. so the working folks could stand a chance of getting stamps or something to eat. I mean, they’ve got all day…
Jarbabyj:
I don’t mean to call you out, but since when has the world revolved around you?
I mean, don’t get me wrong. You had a bad day - you ran into assholes who think your time is worth less than their time, or, worse yet, don’t think or care at all.
jarbaby:
Can these people read minds? Probably not. Sure they should have noticed, but maybe they were preoccupied, having fun, being stupid, whatever.
I mean, you certainly have no trouble calling me out when something’s askew, right? So why didn’t you politely ask the kids to move the hell out of your lane?
Are you expecting the world to roll out the red carpet for you? Or was this pit rant nothing more than a cathartic diatribe?
Acco, it doesn’t require a mind reader to understand that child punching me in the vag is inappropriate behavior. The mother was right fucking there.
And no, I do not think the world revolves around me, sweetie. If the woman on the subway was blocking me, she was blocking thirty people. The bitch at Walgreens was giving bad service to everyone. The people at the pool were preventing the lap swimmers (about five of us) from having lanes, not just me.
And yes, I was being cathartic.
jarbaby
Because when you’re dealing with family, it’s sometimes better to just suck it up, and not go over to their house again, rather than have the other person get pissy, and start an argument in front of everyone. JMHO.
Looks like she does expect that, huh? If the stupid bitch would have just asked people nicely to move, like you said then…wait a minute…
from jarbaby:
Dammit, another unsubstantiated opinion defeated! DAMN YOU, READING COMPREHENSION!
Sealemon:
Note that I did not use the “michigan avenue millionaire” example in my post. Thanks for noticing, though.
Damn *you[/], reading comprehension.
jarbabyj:
Let me word it like this then:
Do you feel that people are obligated to respect the importance of others’ time, freedom of movement, etc.? I’m trying to understand your position, that’s all.