The following people will be the first to die when I rule the world and can do such things with no fear of retribution.
- Earthlink. Everyone who works for it now**, especially the CEO and the person who decided that no matter what DSL customers are locked into a 12-month contract, unless they want to pay $150 to break contract. I had nothing but shit getting the line installed in the first place, and now that it’s been functioning for approximately a month I’ve had nothing but shit with it since. I’d really appreciate it if you could see your way clear to letting the line work for, oh, more than an hour before it dies a horrible death. I especially like the taunting effect after I reboot my computer and modem, see it working again, settle in comfortably for more Internet browsing, then get SPANKED when it dies again in fifteen minutes. And by the way, you have some of the most brain-rottingly moronic tech support people working for you that I’ve ever encountered. In short, eat shit and die, I hate you, and (since this is the Pit), felch a goat.
**Unless you’re a Doper. In which case you’re clearly smart enough to be spared my wrath.
2 and 3) My neighbours. I live in a townhouse-style apartment. On one side of me, I have an apartment full of college students. On the other side, an apartment with small children, as well as adults who like to play very loud bass music. The college students have a predilection for thumping up and down the stairs at 3 in the morning; the kids on my other side, in the middle of the day, will randomly have a full-out wrestling match, and their parents will crank up their music while I’m trying to study. Between all of these folks, there is almost always something going on on one side or another that shakes my walls and floors. Right now, they’re both at it at once. I am besieged on all sides.
To make this even better, you must understand that one day a few weeks ago, at around 4 PM, I decided to put on some music (which I rarely do). It was not nearly as loud as I like to have my music (say, when I’m in my car), because I try to be considerate of the people I live around; but as it was in the early evening I considered that I could play it at mid-volume without being too worried. It must have been too loud for the bass-loving assholes next door, because they started pounding on my wall to make me turn it down. I swear to fucking God, the next time I can hear every word of whatever shit music they’re playing next door, I won’t just knock on their wall, I will find a battering ram and punch through the fucking thing.
My ex-boyfriend, who called me blubbering drunk and maudlin last night to ramble on about how much he missed me, flirted with me though I told him it made me feel really uncomfortable, and generally made me really sad. See, I didn’t even realise he was drunk at first, until his waxing poetic about how great our relationship had been (which at first touched me a lot and made me cry) made me remember that he never gets sentimental unless he has alcohol in his system. Here I was feeling all warm and fuzzy and getting a much-needed self-esteem boost, until I finally asked “Are you drunk?” Then he got mad at me for saying that none of what he’d said meant anything if he had to be drunk to say it. I am annoyed.
My technotarded boss who is, through some cruel intervention of Fate, the head of technology at Campus Recreation, for whom I serve as student tech specialist and web mistress. Here’s the best story about her to date:
There are two web designers in the Campus Rec department, myself (in charge of upkeeping the current page) and Katie (in charge of designing the new, (supposedly) more user-friendly site). Karen, my boss, came wandering back into the little area where Katie and I work one day, asking where my colleague was. For the purposes of the following dialogue, I will give you the additional information that Karen is also the director of Wellness and keeps up her department’s own pages on the Campus Rec site, which I have long loathed her for since for some ungodly reason she decided that her pages get to have their own colour scheme, which looks completely different from the rest of the site… I can stick a link to the website into the thread, if that will help. I don’t care if it identifies me.
Anyway. Scenes from my job, part I.
“I haven’t seen her all day, Karen.”
“Shoot. I was hoping to see her. I want her to put the new page up.”
:eek: :mad: “…what?”
“I can’t get my Wellness pages to upload, so I want her to just go ahead and put up the redesigned site. It’s got all the new information on it.”
“Karen… we can’t put up the new site yet. It’s not finished. The Wellness section is the most finished, but none of the other sections are done yet. I’m not going to let just the Wellness section of the site go up. What kind of error are you getting?”
Karen is using Pagemill to design her pages, and using the FTP utility within that program. I know nothing about Pagemill (I code entirely by hand and hate WYSIWYG editors), but it’s easy enough to see that the FTP program isn’t putting the pages where they belong.
“Karen, why don’t you just use the FTP program that the rest of the department does?”
“You don’t know what I’m talking about?” This from the woman who has the gall to lecture other people in the department about upkeeping their pages, when they all know how to use the program I’m talking about.
“No. Why can’t we just put up the new site?”
:mad: “Because it’s not ready to go up yet, Karen. Just e-mail me the pages from where they’re saved on your computer and I’ll put them up for you.”
“How do I do that?”
:mad: :mad: :mad: “Do you know where they’re saved?”
Of course she doesn’t. Why the fuck would the fucking head of the goddamn tech department know where the hell she saves her own fucking files??? In the end, I found the goddamn things, e-mailed them to myself, and uploaded them with no trouble. I still can’t believe that she thought it’d be okay to just put up the brand-new site because she was having trouble with her pages.
I think that’s it. I’m done being bitter. ::Sigh:: I’m going to go devour the rest of the gallon of Thin Mint ice cream in my freezer.