Winter's a-coming! Season of Death Mini-Rants

The BBQ Pit
361

Yup. I was in the grocery store tonight with my husband, and some woman had her ~4 year old girl with her. The girl was shrieking - not yelling, but the ear-piercing, make-dogs-howl high pitched shrieking - to get attention. She would shriek every 15 seconds or less, and this went on for a few minutes while I looked for a particular roast cut that I needed, then asked the butcher if they had any, and then tried to figure out what cut of roast I needed to substitute. The mom shushed her kid only twice, and only distractedly, as she was chatting and thus busy, apparently. Meanwhile my husband and I moved a few aisles away so his ears could stop ringing - and literally, they were - and I could concentrate to look it up online. This only reinforces my belief that some parents tune their kids out pretty effortlessly and don’t realize the level of volume they can produce.

I live across the street from a grade school, where they have outdoor recess in decent weather. I know that little kids make noise, but these kids only (extremely rarely) shriek. I suspect the teacher monitoring their play keeps them in line if they haven’t already learned when shrieking is OK. They do yell. Yelling in play is fine; shrieking makes me tense, and then makes me want to try to ignore the kids as much as possible if it continues. This is a dangerous precedent, as some honest shrieks of fear or pain may be ignored due to too much wolf-crying.

And yeah, the neighbors are probably just being douches, but still. Shrieking = bad.

362

You dropped your cigarette, ma’am. Ma’am? You dropped your cigarette! Ma’am? Ma’am…?

363

Then I wish you hadn’t said that bit in the first paragraph. He can use your saying that to back him up. And you sound like a bit of a cat yourself.

364

Small children can be annoying, but it’s not like anyone here would want to see them on a leash with a choker collar. Right? . . . . {crickets}

365

This has been a truly craptacular week. In ascending order of crappiness:

I was taking the French press apart last night to wash it, and somehow managed to catch a rough bit of metal on the base and gashed my right index finger, just above the skin crease of the uppermost joint. Bled like mad, and it’s terribly sore.

The idiot dog’s latest “hobby”? Chewing up all sorts of fun stuff, including, most recently, my favoritest, most comfortable pair of work shoes. You know, the ones that felt just right, had the exact right heel height for most of my slacks, and are no longer on the market? Yeah. Those.

My grandmother has been experiencing a whole series of health crises lately, beginning with hospitalization last month to treat congestive heart failure and severe anemia. She’s at the nursing home now, and somehow yesterday she fell and gashed her shoulder and broke her kneecap. She’s scheduled today to have the cast removed from her wrist - which she broke last month while in the hospital. Her quality of life is declining so rapidly that I sort of think that something sudden, painless, and catastrophic would be more welcome than not.

My co-worker’s husband went to hospice over the weekend. It’s a matter of days or a handful of weeks. My poor colleague (and friend) called me on Tuesday, crying: the proverbial straw that overloaded the camel? The ballast on her fluorescent kitchen light went out, and she had no idea what to do, and it was just too much. This is so, so hard for her, and there’s not a damned thing I can do except cover her shifts when necessary, and fix her kitchen light.

And last night, my husband’s colleague’s little boy died. At age 3. Two days ago, he got a chunk of hot dog stuck in his throat - neither mom nor EMTs could dislodge it, and he was without oxygen for about 30 minutes. His parents have to live with that the rest of their lives. Again, not a damned thing anyone can do for them. I don’t know how I’ll survive the memorial service, but I sure as hell can’t imagine how they will survive it.

:(:(:(:frowning:

366

I have an idea for an invention - a noise-silencing bubble that goes around a child and transmits the noise only to the parents. That way they can still hear when baby needs a change, but the rest of the world doesn’t have to. It’s still in the developmental stage.

367

I used to be annoyed by the political ads in Alaska prior to any election cycle. But I was not prepared for the avalanche of such bullshit that I’m seeing here in Oregon. Not only do we get the ads for Oregon candidates, we also get the ones for the Washington candidates (or at least the Vancouver area). And talk about gloves-off, shit-slinging, your mother does troop ships attack ads! Holy shit! When they’re not attacking the other guy as a souless, devil worshipping baby raper, they’re yammering on about how they’re “fighting for” something or another: not actually accomplishing anything, of course, just fighting for it. It all makes me thankful for the mute button.

368

I don’t deny that I share opinions about colleagues (especially those I have to work closely with) just like everybody else (including probably you), but Co-Worker was engaged in something far beyond that, so you’re way off the mark. Further, if you had actually read my post, you would see I intended to say just that (items 1(i) and (ii), 2 and 3) to Co-Worker but he is now avoiding me.

369

Is that poker game in The Game Room ever going to end? That thread title about tar balls and vuvuzelas is as dated as a Tiger Woods joke.

370

I think you’re wrong yet again. I babysat quite a lot in grade school and high school. In grade school, I was the “kindergarten cadet,” which means I was the person assigned to help the kindergarten teacher round kids up in the morning and send them out at the end of the day. I was an assistant teacher at my dance school for years (including the youngest students), and I gave private dance lessons to several children who were around your daughter’s age. I’m also in my late 20s, which means I currently have quite a few friends with young children. And, as you keep glossing over, I spent a decade being under ten years old and having friends in a similar age range, at which time we were all taught to only scream in emergencies and had no problems not screaming while playing.

I notice that you haven’t yet answered my question. Which is it:

1.) Your daughter is too stupid to be taught not to scream in emergencies.
2.) You’re a shitty parent who’s too lazy to properly socialize her child.

Reaon #512 not to own a fucking dog.

The only thing I can hope for is that everyone who hears about this learns the lesson with their own kids that you *have *to cut that shit up small enough that if they don’t chew it, they won’t die if it goes down the wrong pipe. What a terrible way for the parents to have to learn it.

371

Seems like the problem with hot dogs is that they’re not hard, like candy, so people don’t see the danger involved. But hot dogs are so rubbery that they’re even tougher than hard items to expel or fish out, and are the perfect shape to clog an airway. What a terrible thing to happen.

372

Best hot dog advice for kids I got I think was from someone on this board, and I’m stowing it in the back of my head for if I ever have kids: Don’t just cut them into circles. Cut them in half lengthwise first–or better yet, into lengthwise quarters.

373

Oh, god. Some repulsive woman just cheek-kissed me. And not an air kiss, either, she made to give me a half one armed hug, and I was Ok with responding to that, but then she gave me a big loud smack on the cheek. I have made every indication to this woman that we are not friends but she just does not get it. I can’t be rude because she’s a work contact but no one should kiss anyone with permission. I can’t wipe my cheek off enough, and her hygiene leaves much to be desired, and I am all grossed out. I think I showed my disgust a little on my face, I was that horrified.
YUCK YUCK YUCK PTOOEY YUCK

374

Better not mention anything to ZPGZ–she’ll probably recommend you get rape counseling.

375

I’m going to jump in out of the blue and ask you something: do you think you have to respond to every single farking post in this thread? Subsidiary question: do you really think anyone cares that much about what you think (aside from you, I mean)?

I don’t agree with much about what **lavenderblue **was saying, except this one bit: your schtick - the self-righteous snarkiness I think is what I mean - is getting really, and I mean REALLY, old. Have pity on us, and give it a rest.
Roddy

376

Considering that said dog is my husband’s K9 partner, and one of the sweetest, goofiest, most protective animals on the planet, I guess we’ll keep him…

377

Fuck you, I’m taking one of the new chairs.

My company is cheap. Too cheap to put out PTO on our checks or even on a computer somewhere we can check it. So cheap that they, while promising to do so, STILL have not paid out last year’s unused PTO. So cheap that our building is Office Furniture Hell, where old office chairs go to die.

Back in April (or thereabouts) they finally broke down and bought about 50 new chairs. Of course, with 300 people on the floor, it would be unfair of them to make us fight over them, so they decided to put them in the training rooms.

I’d been sitting on a chair that was wrecking my back something fierce. I went through hell in July before finally demanding a new chair. Before that, every time I asked, our Director simply told me to go steal one from someone else. Perfect solution, eh? At that point, however, he actually went around and found one at a desk that wasn’t in use and gave it to me. It was a lot better, but not perfect, and I appreciated the effort on his part.

Today I went in after a four day weekend, sat in that chair and the hydraulics collapsed straight to the bottom. BAM! Wracked my spine from top to bottom.

THAT’S IT!

I went over to my boss, told him what happened and announced that I was done messing around with these chairs fucking up my back, that this jolt was the last straw and that I was going to go to the training room and take one of the good chairs. My Supervisor being a good guy, not only agreed, but volunteered to go get one himself so that he could tell his boss (the Director) that HE took the chair and gave it to me. I went and got the chair myself anyway, but thanked him for the offer.

Now we get to see how long I get to hold onto it, or if I have to threaten to get a doctor’s note for a better chair before they get the clue.

378

Chimera - A few years ago, my employer decided to replace the falling apart, one arm set high, the other arm broken, recliner-like chairs. It was a happy day!

For those who didn’t telecommute.

Those of us who were in office only half the time were told we didn’t need new chairs, despite the fact that the chairs still were used every day, just by two different heinies.

A month or so later, I came in to find a pretty new chair at our desk. My telecommuting partner bitched up the chain of command and managed to score one for us. Sweet! Turns out it wasn’t for us, it was for him. He provided a note from his doctor stating he needed a chair with better support, &c. At the end of his day, he was supposed to roll it into our sup’s office. I found that out the next day I was in and had no chair at all.

Called the property person, she led me to the graveyard of hideous chairs. I spent a decent amount of my time testing every damn chair, much to her dismay. Too bad. I need a friggin chair. Picked one, rolled it back to my desk. My next day in office - no chair. Someone else stole it. Found it on the other side of the floor. I rolled it BACK to my desk, went and got some packing tape and post-its, taped my name all over that damn thing.

Six months later I finally got a pretty, shiny, comfy chair.

379

Last time I made a big fuss, after spending a couple of hundred on medical bills and prescriptions in late August, my then supervisor (not the current one) allowed as to how he could probably get special approval for me to go out, buy my own chair and bring it in.

Um, NO.

380

Actually, when my daughter was a toddler/preK, I had a harness for her. Bright yellow. It had several straps, one for when we were walking, and a couple of them to keep her in her stroller or cart seat. Since she was a climber, even before she could walk, those straps came in handy. And while some people thought that I was mean to make her walk with a harness on, I can tell you that I got a lot of positive comments on it. And, by Og, she wasn’t off over in the next aisle ripping open packages while I was trying to decide whether to pick up more ground beef or maybe get a round steak this time.

When she expressed an interest in walking without the harness, she had learned that I expected her to stay with me. No, I didn’t pull her along by the strap, like a cat that has decided to play dead instead of walking on a lead. However, more than once I did find her trying to take off after a shiny bauble had caught her attention. Which is what little kids DO, until they grow out of it. By letting her walk with a strap connecting us, I was able to wear her out AND my back wasn’t killing me at the end of the day.