I want to pit fasting blood tests. Fasting for that long makes me feel very sick, and even after I eat, I feel like crap for the rest of the day. Bleah.
Mind you, he never said he worked well with the public.
Fine. I misspoke. For those who stressed out with the public, get a grip.
The things you SHOULD be stressed out about:
- A commercial entity that makes YOU smile to take shit so THEY sell more widgets and THEY get more money and YOU get nothing extra.
- That you are working in a job that you consider stressful.
- That it’s your fault you are where you are.
The strange thing is that I find speaking with people one on one, a casual conversation with your typical stranger, is often pleasant. But when you are in certain roles (you, the worker; the stranger the customer), the pleasantries are gone. Many have the attitude that because they are the customer, you are working for them. This is when people become the public and turn into either assholes or idiots.
But you can’t possibly let that stress you out. The public didn’t create the shitty situation, they’re just behaving according to what they’ve been told – “the customer’s always right.”
Can I add people who tell others what they should and should not be stressed about to the list?
No.
Does not #2 imply that if one considers working with the public to be stressful, then one is right TO be stressed, ergo, you’re full of shit?
In tonights episode of Star Trek, the part of Kirk will be played by Q.E.D., and the parts of Nomad, Rayna and Norman 1 will be played in a tertiary tour de force by DudleyGarrett.
This is going to be a constant feature with me until I get this case resolved. Of course, I’m pitting the VA. They recently decided that I was employable even though I have severe panic attacks that result in my losing consciousness and as a result have become agoraphobic. What job was I working at? —And well, I might add, too, because after you get used to gunfire and bombs going off as a constant companion, then dealing with the non-homicidal public becomes a breeze— I was working as a security guard. Let’s imagine working as a security guard with panic attacks and agoraphobia. This does not take into account the physical injuries----I injured my back and shoulder while wrestling with a .249 machine gun in the gun turret of a speeding humvee that was swerving to avoid an IED. The VA hasn’t treated those injuries beyond telling me to take 2400 milligrams of ibuprofin per day. Now I can’t turn my head to the left and it hurts pretty much all the time. The VA has decided that my back has miraculously regenerated itself, so they decreased my disability for that. However, my shoulder has gotten worse at the same time, so the decisions cancel each other out. The kicker? If they declared me seventy percent disabled, which is what I would be had my back not magically healed itself, leaving the pain undiminished, I’d be eligible for a variety of assistance in things like retraining and so forth. I’m not giving up----I’m appealing-----but the damned decision has been sitting on someone’s desk for a week, waiting for a signature, even though I was told it’s not supposed to spend more than forty-eight hours in any one location on a case where an expedite order is on record.
It’s easier fighting insurgents. Insurgents? Just want to kill you. You shoot at them, they shoot at you, it’s a perfectly understandable relationship. Bureaucrats? They don’t care how you served or if you actually got hurt while doing your duties. They want to save the government money, not help injured soldiers. We’re not even real to them.
Well done, you slackjawed mouthbreather.
You outdid the Imperial Russian Navy, Vice Admiral von Spee’s East Asiatic Squadron, and the Japanese I-400 series submarine commanders of WW2. Where the combined strategic nous of Alexei Nikolayevich Kuropatkin, the Kaiser and Yamamoto failed, you managed to strike at the very heart of our defences.
Eleven panes of glass broken in a daring early morning raid on a remote corner of my 110-year old coastal fort. Another brave blow for asshattery.
I will take the $120 for new glass out of the laughable $4000 I have to spend all year to maintain the 50 historic buildings here.
Temp agencies that make you write out on THEIR application all the things that you already have on your resume. Why? My best guess is to find out how good you are at hoop-jumping. I passed! Whee! Find me a good job now, wankers.
I know you’ve mentioned your struggles with this before. I, for one, am not tired of reading about it. I still get angry every time I see this.
I haven’t even written about the therapy that put me in a room full of shoplifters and wife beaters when I was dealing with combat stress and so forth. When we finally got another guy in who’d been in combat, he was using it as an excuse to justify his hatred of Muslims. Unfortunately for him he included Sikhs in that group because he was too fucking stupid to know the difference.
Shoplifter boy took the cake, though. He’d been in just long enough to qualify for therapy though he hadn’t served in Iraq. There’s nothing like having nightmares about blood and death and futility and then go to therapy and listen to some whiny little asshole bitch about how he’s got a problem with stealing things. He wanted big cars, a big house, just bigger anything that what the Jones’ had. I coulda slapped him, and the therapist, who just sat there.
Don’t even get me started on my therapist. One thing about panic attacks----mine are about vehicles----is that you feel so frightened you think you’re going to pee your pants. I must have done at least a hundred convoys when I was there. My therapist told me to get Depends. I told her her to go fuck herself. I’m a ‘difficult’ patient.
This sounds like a line from some great action movie. 
No, a line from an action movie would be when some young Marine stopped in the PX, pointed to my well-used M-16, and asked smarmily, “Whats’ the maximum effective firing range of that weapon?”
“Lemme tell you what, fetus, I been too busy *using * the fucking thing to measure, but why don’t you go get a tape measure and play with it yourself?”
Dear dumbass: Don’t just drop off a report and ask me to “just go over it really quick” and then disappear, leaving me to discover that the report had major, major issues to begin with, and that half the problems mentioned in the first review weren’t even addressed. That “quick review” has turned into a three day full-scale audit, complete with harassing your staff for missing data, which is always fun.
Also, neighbors: Is it sooo hard to pick up your trash? Why is there a plastic bag in the bushes right outside your door? Do you like living in a slum? Because that’s what is happening, especially since practically everyone else in this shithole acts like you. Christ, I can’t fucking stand people who disrespect their own neighborhoods and property, throw trash in the street, speed through their own residential neighborhood, and refuse to talk to each other and then blame “the man” for their living conditions. I can’t wait to move into a neighborhood where I won’t be living among the dregs of humanity, who seem to enjoy wallowing in their own filth.
You’ve really had people ask you this? Are you taking applications? I love telling people to piss off. It just makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.
My rant. User written and produced commercials. For the love of [deity of choice], please pay a professional to do it! That asinine drivel you’ve paid to have broadcast just makes me want to stomp on some poor defenseless animal. You have only persuaded me NEVER to shop with you and to do everything in my power including libel and slander to keep anyone else from crossing your door. I don’t care if you have the last boat on the planet and the forecast is rain for 40 days and 40 nights, you’re NOT getting my business. I’ll go take swimming lessons at the Y.
OTOH, I’ve developed the speed of a striking rattlesnake hitting channel presets on the radio.
Please stop forwarding those fucking “important alerts” to my email. They’re big huge files, and my stupid email account has a space quota (I do need to sign up for gmail one of these days…), and most important MOST OF THEM ARE 100% BOGUS! It really isn’t hard to go to snopes.com or even just google the stupid things before you forward them to everybody and their dog. Oh, and worse yet- the worst offender is a relative of Mr. Neville’s, but they spew their crap to my email address and not his. And he won’t tell me how he sold his soul to the devil to get them to stop, either… unfortunately, these things seldom come from somebody who could be made to stop by telling them that most of these things are bogus…
Fuck job hunting. It sucks, it really does. I’m worried while I don’t have a job lined up, and I’m either stressed because I have an interview or something coming up, or depressed because I don’t have anything coming up.
+1. There’s a local Chicago commercial where guy repeats “…to help people get the car that they desire and want.” I want to gouge his eyes out every time I hear it.
OH HELL YES!
And while I do like some of the jokes you forward to me, STRIP THE BLOODY FORWARD HEADERS OUT OF THEM!! I do not care who the last hundred people that this went through are. If you care enough to send it to me, care enough for my sanity and your continued physical wellbeing to clean it up first. I will reach through this network connection and strangle you with your keyboard cord. And you really don’t want to know what happens if it’s wireless.
Listen up, Sumbitch.
Stop parking your car in public curbside spaces so you purposefully take up two parking spaces, saving one for your pwecious whothefuckever so they won’t have to hunt for a space. I know alternate side parking is a pain, but deal – like everybody else. I know it’s on purpose and not inadvertent or caused by someone else because I see your car parked like this at least 3 times a week.
I realize that probably, if you didn’t park like this, by the time I come along, the spot would be taken anway, but you know what? When I come along and see you selfishly blocking a spot, I’m constantly confronted with your asshattery and frustrated by you lack of communal civility. This just is not done.
Neighbor-of-5-4-Fighting across the street and I will phone each other if we see a spot open up, or will wait to pull out of a good spot (a minute or two) until the other gets their car, but what you do is grounds for capital punishment or, at the least, being dipped in a vat of carbolic acid. (And don’t get me started on haphazard parkers, who cause a span of curbside well capable of accomodating 6 cars to only end up with only 4 cars.)
Original Sumbitch: If you come out to your car one morning and your antennae is broken, or there’s broken glass in the space in front of you and behind you (not put there by me, but . . .), don’t say I didn’t warn you.
And, if that doesn’t work, it could get really ugly.
Someone is liable to put their keys in your tailpipe or go down the side of your car with a potato.*
- Hilary, from Fresh Prince of Bel Air joke.