Can you say caltrops?
Thanks. When they’ve done their job, you can borrow them.
Hmmm…maybe those will stop the mailman from driving through my yard.
Look, I understand that you’re upset about the Sopranos finale. You didn’t like it, okay, you don’t have to. But stop saying “David Chase fucked me in the ass!” And if anyone is seriously calling/emailing THREATS to Chase or anyone else affiliated with the show, Get. A fucking. Life.
I rang out the Empress of the World today!
I was working express (10 items or less) when a woman with about 20 items came up. She spotted someone behind me that she knew and started chatting. And chatting. And chatting. I interrupted to give her the total, and she looked suprised, then started digging through her purse, all the while chatting. By the time I got her rung out, three people were waiting behind Her Grace. When I finished and thanked her for her purchase, she just shot me a dirty look and continued talking.
And did she take her purchase and go over to the woman? Of course not! Her Royal Magnificence stayed right where she was, stuffing things back into her purse, and then just standing and chatting. I rang up the people behind her, who had to squeeze past her to get out of the lane. Finally she left, and the store was a better place.
Bitch.
My cousins and I had a reservation for yum cha yesterday. I called a week ahead to get the reservation for 12:30 - I had originally wanted 12 midday but was told they were booked out for that time. It was the Queen’s Birthday holiday; we figured it would be pretty busy, so best to get a reservation so we could guarantee our table. Right?
Right??
Wrong. It was all very Seinfeldesque - they were very good at *taking * the reservation, but not so good at *keeping * the reservation. It’s not like we arrived 10 minutes late and lost our table - we got there 5 minutes early and by the time we had waited almost half an hour our table still wasn’t ready. People were being allowed in on a first-come-first serve basis. The fourth time I asked the girl at the desk why we didn’t have our reserved table (the first few times she said she’d find out, drifted away serenely, and never returned) she said “it’s really busy.”
Yes we know. That’s why we made the reservation. If we can just walk into a restaurant and be seated we don’t *need * a reservation. See how that intricate little dance works?
So we said fuck it and went to another restaurant. Ended up getting amazing service (due to meeting up with another friend who was yum chaing with his family and is close friends with the restaurant owners and waiters) and great food.
Jesus de Christo!
I swear, people who seem otherwise able to communicate using “u” instead of “you” pisses me off to no end. It won’t fucking kill you to add two more letters, you lazy shit for brains.
And just to head it off: No u!
Fuck you, collision center asswipe. It’s all a barrel of laughs for you, isn’t it? Haha, that stupid Grossbottom just left me another message wanting to know where his car is! Three weeks for a fender bender and I still haven’t said a word to him, haha stupid man, amirite.
Bet it was pretty fucking funny until I came through your door this morning, picked the phone off your desk, checked the dialtone, and introduced myself. You should have seen the look on your face, you collision center cocksucker, I thought you were going to choke to death on your croissanwich. Funny how my car will suddenly be ready on Thursday. Christmas fucking miracle, right there.
I haven’t bothered to find where you live but I know where you work, you dumb piece of shit. Dance for me monkeyboy, dance.
Bravo! Bravo!
I hope things get better.
I’d like to Pit a spot in my right groin (get your minds out of the gutter) which I must have pulled Monday night of last week. I got up from my chair to go to bed and "ouch"ed, but didn’t think it was important. Next day it was hurting pretty bad; it got worse through the day, helped along by having to walk all over the building due to some megaurgent fix (the urgency of said fix being another rant) and to a process which involves about a dozen people, all of which have to be visited in person; we’re a Very Modern Company, here. I sometimes think they’d use clay tablets if SOX allowed it. It so happens that my magnetic key wasn’t valid any more, and in between getting security to admit that it wasn’t working and being able to go across town for the new one, I couldn’t open any doors.
At one point I ended dumping it on my boss (insert microrant on north-pole temperature IQs), telling him “I’m hurting here, if I was in Spain I would have gone to the doctor four hours ago and you know what, I’m going to the doctor. See you tomorrow.”
At the ER they gave me an ultrasound and said it’s muscular, to have paracetamol.
I’ve been having paracetamol. I’ve also been using a cream. If I move, the muscle hurts; if I don’t move long enough, my joints complain. If I place that foot on tiptoe so the muscle doesn’t hurt, my foreleg starts yelling. Today I went to pay my electric bill and the people in that office said “you’re in pain, why don’t you sit down here and rest for a bit.” Random coworkers not in my group wince when they see me raise from the chair; if they have to tell me something they come to my place instead of dropping me a “come see me email” (did I mention clay tablets?). My boss sometimes says “it’s not better?” and I say “not much.” Of course, it is still unacceptable to work from home.
Does anybody have a leg in good use I can borrow? I. Hate. Pain.
It will be pleasant compared to what I will do to you if you fill up my mailbox while I’m waiting to hear something on my job hunt.
Does your job ever make you feel like Bullwinkle J. Moose?
Rysto: Hey Boss, watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat.
Boss: But that trick never works.
Rysto: This time for sure. Presto! [pause] Well I’m getting close.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve told them that this thing is working, only to have it break within a day…
For the love of God! There it goes again. God-fucking-damnit, what the fuck is wrong with this thing?
On a somewhat related tangent:
Fuck you, you piece of shit who rear-ended my wife (she’s fine) at 3:30 in the afternoon on Sunday because you were dead fucking drunk! Usually I think to myself “I’d love to know where you live”. And you know what? When my wife came to pick me up at the train station yesterday, guess who’s car was parked ever so sweetly in one of the reserved spaces? That’s right boys and girls. So I know where your vehicle is every damn day. And I have next week off.
And fuck you police department. You got at least two calls about this yahoo (that’s what you told my wife, anyways). Why does he still have a license?
Were you the Queen that caused all the problems in the post previous to yours?
Anne Neville, do you want a Gmail invite?
Why the hell am I smelling poop? I’m walking around outside my place of employment, and I smell poop. Oh, excuse me, mulch. Fuck that, I know poop when I smell it. I work in a modern office building, with other assorted business professionals. The only time I should smell poop is when I’m actually in the bathroom, not when I’m walking around outside. I thought I endured all that time at college so that I wouldn’t have to smell poop at work everyday. But no, here I am, standing in the middle of a cow pasture apparently. Dammit I hate the smell of poop.
I have one. What I need is a round tuit- when I get one, I’ll do all the stuff (like signing up for gmail) that I’ve been putting off…
I thought I had it bad with the mailwoman who walks all over my yard. Through my flower beds. Here’s a big friggin’ hint for you, stupid mail lady - if I have dug the grass out, surrounded it with a barrier, filled it up with topsoil, mulch, shrubs and perennials, IT’S A GODDAMNED FLOWER BED, NOT A WALKING PATH. She always parks in front of my house, too. Fortunately, she parks in the space that in the path of the hit and runs, so maybe someday her POS car will get hit there. Ha.
Nava, I’ll see you one groin-pull and raise you one painful peptic ulcer. I knew I was under too much stress, but did I start watching my diet and eating only bland food and trying to reduce my stress BEFORE I got the open sore in my tummy? No, I did not. In spite of the fact that I usually get an open sore in my tummy when I’m under this much stress. 
I know what you mean; I need to get round tuit myself.
God damn you earth. Will you please angle yourself so that the sun does not pour in the window and blind me every frakking day.
Oh yes. Multiple times. Tech support lines are clogged with people wanting, well, tech support (mostly just wanting someone to hold their hand, honestly).
So the conversation goes as so:
“…so you’re paid up, your domain has been registered until 2016, you aren’t suspended that I can see, and your website still isn’t working. It sounds like I’m going to have to send you to tech support.”
“Oh yeah, I knew it wasn’t a billing issue, but I can’t get through to tech support.”
“Er, okay. But we’re at the limit of what I can do.”
“Well, can you just connect me directly to someone?”
“They’re all on the phone, since the queue is so backed up.”
“Put me at the front of the queue, then.”
I don’t get it either. This is like the guy who sees a long line, grumbles, goes to lunch, comes back, and is pissed that the line is still long and he can’t go to the front of it.
Maybe that was me. Apparently I stepped in dog poop.
New rant: Woman. I know our tech support people were stupid in the middle of the night. I am sorry. I am sorry that we did not alert you to the actual problem, which I gave you instructions for solving ten minutes into the conversation. Do you know why it was ten minutes? I did, after all, have the answer within three. But you would not fucking shut up. You would not stop complaining. Every minute your site is down is ruining your business, you say. That’s bad. I sympathize. You don’t have a billing issue. Yes, the billing email address is one of the email addresses in one of the emails you got. No, that doesn’t mean it’s our fault your site is down.
I’ve put it back up. Now all you have to do is –
cue another 10 minutes of screaming and whining and I wanna credit for the time I was down
Well, I can’t make that decision myself, but what I can –
“Oh, of COURSE you can’t.”
deep breath I have to take the request to my supervisor. If you contact us at billing. –
“I TRIED THAT.”
…dot different domain dot com…
“MY EMAIL IS NOT WORKING”
And I can’t help you with that, but when your tech issues are all taken care of –
“TECH SUPPORT SENT ME TO YOU”
that’s because they’re morons If you tell them –
“SO YOU’RE SAYING YOU CAN’T HELP ME.”
…well, at the moment, yes.
“FINE, I’M GOING TO CANCEL. click”
You know, I’m fully willing to go out of my way to help people when I can. I go over to tech support every day and glare at a higher-level guy until he does my bidding (actually, I wheedle and offer pizza). I make sure people’s stuff is taken care of before I let go of them, and really that’s not actually part of my job description. I go the extra mile for people who are willing to let me be helpful because I want them to be happy and I kind of get off on making people happy. It’s the inner sub, I guess. I’ll even be really sweet to someone who’s frustrated and upset and get them taken care of. But there’s a difference between that and just calling a number so you have someone to unload on.
I really don’t want to go to work tomorrow.
And knock it off with the stupid…
“are you sure you’re ready for this?”
scroll, scroll
“you’ve been warned!”
scroll, scroll
"you’re going to hate yourself!
scroll, scroll, scroll, scroll
MORONIC GROANER PUNCHLINE!! (“I warned you!”)
…jokes! I really HATE that!