Just A Little Salty
Okay, I'm going to admit something right upfront: I am in no mood to write anything remotely nice right now. If there were some way to measure bitterness, I'd be about ten giant steps past vinegar. In fact, vinegar is starting to look sweet. Not a good scene.
I'm trying to think back to where this all began, but the only thing I can think is that it's been building up for quite some time and I just haven't had the opportunity or willpower, really, to just go off about it. Well, it's rainy and cold and people here are too freakin cheap to turn on the heat in May even though it feels like March and nothing good is on TV and there's nothing to do on a Sunday night, so here it is. Opportunity has come a knockin and I'm ready with a freaking sledgehammer.
First of all, I had to work the front desk during the Day of a Million Morons. This is the move-out day. Apparently, nobody thinks rules apply to them, because every single person wanted to bend the rules so that they could get on with their day. I was sort of setting myself up for failure because I had already worked the first move-in shift, which had gone swimmingly unwell, when I had to tell off about fifty freaks who came in and needed to get extentions to stay. Lucky for them and unlucky for us who also were staying in the building, all of those extensions were granted. Fanfuckingtabulous. What kills me, and this happens every year, is that while people are living in the building, none of them can wait to get out. Then, we give them the golden exit tickets (aka blue carts and a key receipt, with a swift sayonara kick to the ass) and suddenly, this is home sweet cinderblock home. Go figure.
Anyhow, I was answering tons of moronic questions and I was becoming increasingly frustrated. Some people just poked their heads in to ask a simple question - "What time is it?" - and my "Time to get a new watch," response was so icy that I swear the kid left icicle fingers on the doorknob. I can't take full responsibility though, because people ask ridiculous questions. Like this one kid, who called on the final day for extensions (as in, the building was closed. Go home) and asked for one.
First of all, he called up rather than came in, and I was especially rude on the phone because you avoid the risk of being spit at.
"Do I have to move today, or can I have another extension?" he asked.
"Move today."
"What?"
"Move."
"So can I have an extension?"
"No."
"No?"
"No."
"No."
"Nope."
"Umm, but it's raining."
"Yup."
Click.
Sometimes, I want to thank Alexander Graham Bell. I have a feeling, if that kid had been standing in front of me, he wouldn't have just left.
Then you have the assholes who won't deal with the fact that they can't move in until later in the afternoon. It's 8 AM, and they want to move NOW. Well too fucking bad. I tried telling them that they would hate this place once they arrived, so sit in their spacious apartments and enjoy it, but nobody liked that. Then, one girl snapped her fingers at me and I cut them right off with some sharp scissors. Seriously though, by the end of the day, if one more person had asked me one more question about moving or staying or blue carts, I was going to go all Planes, Trains, and Automobiles on them.
Then I went to a baby shower where somebody cheated off my game sheet to steal the big prize from me. This pretty much depleted any faith I had left in humanity. Maybe if someone had stolen my bag at a funeral, I would have been more upset. Maybe.
Not to mention, it rained for a week and I swear an unofficial sport began with "How Many Pedestrians We Can Take Out Driving Into Puddles." And you know what? SUV drivers really didn't have much on the asshole Jetta drivers.
Also, I'm trying to catch the season finale of My Super Sweet 16. Someone important must know I'm trying to watch it, because they haven't showed it once when I've had the TV on. Every other time, they rerun things about a zillion times on MTV. The one time I actually want to see the rerun? Forget it. Stupendous.
Oh, here's another depressing thing. Today, I spent about an hour filling out this online application for a school district. They have you do this entire thing before you can even view the jobs available, so I did it. I spent a long time double-checking for typos and everything. Then, they bring you to the screen where you can click on which jobs you want to apply for. There's this little disclaimer in annoying red writing above everything: "The positions for which you are not qualified are grayed out." I look at the box. A bunch of gray lines. I scroll all the way down. All gray. I'm not qualified for a single goddman thing. Talk about irony.
I slammed my finger in a desk drawer on Friday.
I also feel like there should also be a limit to how many favors/things someone can ask you in one day. As far as I'm concerned, you get three things a day you can ask me for. If I fulfill all three, then you're done. You've got to wait. I had a fifth grade teacher who said this to this wicked annoying kid once who was asking tons of questions. He just put his hand up to the kid and said, "Nope. You get three questions a day, and you've already gone over. Gotta wait until tomorrow." Poor kid, it was probably that he had to go to the bathroom or something. (Which reminds me. There was a kid in our elementary school famous for not being able to handle going to the bathroom without making a total scene. There were rumors of him coming out in his underwear, saying to the teacher he needed help, or not making it to the bathroom and totally ruining a kid's winter jacket. These things used to crack all of us up. Now it just makes me kinda sad and nauseous. I must be growing up.) Anyway, the point is, the teacher's idea worked. I'm going to translate that to dealing with morons who ask me for ten million things. It seems like whenever I answer one email or fulfill one request, there's another one popped in there along with the thank you. It's literally like, "Hey, thanks for your help. Also, I was wondering..." Listen, twerp, I was wondering if you were ever going to stop nagging me for every little thing I could possibly get you. Be happy with what I'm giving and shut it already. How hard is it to just write "Thank you," and click send? How about at least that? Could I get just a separate thank you? Really, could I?
The fact that Britney Spears is having yet another child with that excuse for a husband of hers makes me sad for humanity. And people look surprised (okay, horrified) when I respond, "sterilization," to what I'd like to do to help the environment. Britney could be my mascot, for godsake.
A week ago, I went to dinner at Uno's. The guy I was with finished his meal faster than I did, so the waiter came to clear his plate. He asked me if I was still working, and I said I was. About ten minutes later, I slid my plate over to the edge of the table. Sure, there was food left on it - half a burger, some fries - but it was at the far edge of the booth. The waiter came over, looked at it, and left. So I decided to try and help him out. I put all my silverware on the plate, along with both of our straw wrappers and my napkin. The trash is covering the fries at this point. The waiter comes back, looks down at the plate, and I swear, with a straight face, asks, "Are you all set?"
"Yup, thanks."
"Do you want to wrap it up?"
I couldn't even answer, I was trying so hard not to laugh. Yeah, sure. I really like leftover straw wrappers.
I've also been buying some of those Red Sox scratch tickets. AKA, I've been throwing away money. Every freakin person I knew had been winning big on those. One guy I work with won $500. FIVE HUNDRED BUCKS! Other people were winning $100, $300, $50. So I bought a few. So far, I don't even want to talk about what I'm down. All I'll say is, I'm considering it a win when I break even and win back the cash I spent to purchase the goddamn thing.
It probably seems like I've been walking around in a catatonic state. I really haven't been, until today. It's just been building up though, and the way I see it, it's gotta hit sometime. Maybe it was the week of straight rain. Maybe it was the day of a million morons (I think it should be a nationally observed day, titled just that). Maybe it's that I'm currently without a job, apartment, or boyfriend - the big trifecta. People say shit like, "It's commonly known that you can only have two out of three of a great job, great apartment, or great boyfriend." Well, Confucious, what say you if you're 0-3 on those?
I think that's it though. I can't take any more people asking me if I have a job or an apartment. Nobody's been hassling me about the boyfriend issue. Wait, that's not true. My grandmother, as we played Scrabble, asked about it. When I told her I'd been going out with some guys but nothing serious, she settled down, but not after reminding me that she had a boyfriend. Yup, even at 88, the woman's outdoing me. Too bad I aced her in Scrabble. Take that, Geriatric Juliet. (Leave me alone. I can take a shot at my grandmother if I want to.)
But seriously. Do people think I'm just not looking for a job? (Okay, fine, I really wasn't until this week.) Do people think I really want to be homeless in a few months? Granted, a friend of mine is doing a pretty solid job of bumming space on people's couches, but I'm way more high maintenance than this kid and plus, I like having all my stuff in one place. I also enjoy having a mailing address, come to think of it. (But really, he is an A+ guy, one of my favorites, so if he's "homeless," - note the quotation marks - something's got to be okay about it. For him. Not me.) I need to come up with a snappy line to give back to people when they ask about a job or apartment (or boyfriend), like "No, go fuck yourself." Something clever.
Yup, I think that's enough bitter for one day. I'm tipping out.
I'm trying to think back to where this all began, but the only thing I can think is that it's been building up for quite some time and I just haven't had the opportunity or willpower, really, to just go off about it. Well, it's rainy and cold and people here are too freakin cheap to turn on the heat in May even though it feels like March and nothing good is on TV and there's nothing to do on a Sunday night, so here it is. Opportunity has come a knockin and I'm ready with a freaking sledgehammer.
First of all, I had to work the front desk during the Day of a Million Morons. This is the move-out day. Apparently, nobody thinks rules apply to them, because every single person wanted to bend the rules so that they could get on with their day. I was sort of setting myself up for failure because I had already worked the first move-in shift, which had gone swimmingly unwell, when I had to tell off about fifty freaks who came in and needed to get extentions to stay. Lucky for them and unlucky for us who also were staying in the building, all of those extensions were granted. Fanfuckingtabulous. What kills me, and this happens every year, is that while people are living in the building, none of them can wait to get out. Then, we give them the golden exit tickets (aka blue carts and a key receipt, with a swift sayonara kick to the ass) and suddenly, this is home sweet cinderblock home. Go figure.
Anyhow, I was answering tons of moronic questions and I was becoming increasingly frustrated. Some people just poked their heads in to ask a simple question - "What time is it?" - and my "Time to get a new watch," response was so icy that I swear the kid left icicle fingers on the doorknob. I can't take full responsibility though, because people ask ridiculous questions. Like this one kid, who called on the final day for extensions (as in, the building was closed. Go home) and asked for one.
First of all, he called up rather than came in, and I was especially rude on the phone because you avoid the risk of being spit at.
"Do I have to move today, or can I have another extension?" he asked.
"Move today."
"What?"
"Move."
"So can I have an extension?"
"No."
"No?"
"No."
"No."
"Nope."
"Umm, but it's raining."
"Yup."
Click.
Sometimes, I want to thank Alexander Graham Bell. I have a feeling, if that kid had been standing in front of me, he wouldn't have just left.
Then you have the assholes who won't deal with the fact that they can't move in until later in the afternoon. It's 8 AM, and they want to move NOW. Well too fucking bad. I tried telling them that they would hate this place once they arrived, so sit in their spacious apartments and enjoy it, but nobody liked that. Then, one girl snapped her fingers at me and I cut them right off with some sharp scissors. Seriously though, by the end of the day, if one more person had asked me one more question about moving or staying or blue carts, I was going to go all Planes, Trains, and Automobiles on them.
Then I went to a baby shower where somebody cheated off my game sheet to steal the big prize from me. This pretty much depleted any faith I had left in humanity. Maybe if someone had stolen my bag at a funeral, I would have been more upset. Maybe.
Not to mention, it rained for a week and I swear an unofficial sport began with "How Many Pedestrians We Can Take Out Driving Into Puddles." And you know what? SUV drivers really didn't have much on the asshole Jetta drivers.
Also, I'm trying to catch the season finale of My Super Sweet 16. Someone important must know I'm trying to watch it, because they haven't showed it once when I've had the TV on. Every other time, they rerun things about a zillion times on MTV. The one time I actually want to see the rerun? Forget it. Stupendous.
Oh, here's another depressing thing. Today, I spent about an hour filling out this online application for a school district. They have you do this entire thing before you can even view the jobs available, so I did it. I spent a long time double-checking for typos and everything. Then, they bring you to the screen where you can click on which jobs you want to apply for. There's this little disclaimer in annoying red writing above everything: "The positions for which you are not qualified are grayed out." I look at the box. A bunch of gray lines. I scroll all the way down. All gray. I'm not qualified for a single goddman thing. Talk about irony.
I slammed my finger in a desk drawer on Friday.
I also feel like there should also be a limit to how many favors/things someone can ask you in one day. As far as I'm concerned, you get three things a day you can ask me for. If I fulfill all three, then you're done. You've got to wait. I had a fifth grade teacher who said this to this wicked annoying kid once who was asking tons of questions. He just put his hand up to the kid and said, "Nope. You get three questions a day, and you've already gone over. Gotta wait until tomorrow." Poor kid, it was probably that he had to go to the bathroom or something. (Which reminds me. There was a kid in our elementary school famous for not being able to handle going to the bathroom without making a total scene. There were rumors of him coming out in his underwear, saying to the teacher he needed help, or not making it to the bathroom and totally ruining a kid's winter jacket. These things used to crack all of us up. Now it just makes me kinda sad and nauseous. I must be growing up.) Anyway, the point is, the teacher's idea worked. I'm going to translate that to dealing with morons who ask me for ten million things. It seems like whenever I answer one email or fulfill one request, there's another one popped in there along with the thank you. It's literally like, "Hey, thanks for your help. Also, I was wondering..." Listen, twerp, I was wondering if you were ever going to stop nagging me for every little thing I could possibly get you. Be happy with what I'm giving and shut it already. How hard is it to just write "Thank you," and click send? How about at least that? Could I get just a separate thank you? Really, could I?
The fact that Britney Spears is having yet another child with that excuse for a husband of hers makes me sad for humanity. And people look surprised (okay, horrified) when I respond, "sterilization," to what I'd like to do to help the environment. Britney could be my mascot, for godsake.
A week ago, I went to dinner at Uno's. The guy I was with finished his meal faster than I did, so the waiter came to clear his plate. He asked me if I was still working, and I said I was. About ten minutes later, I slid my plate over to the edge of the table. Sure, there was food left on it - half a burger, some fries - but it was at the far edge of the booth. The waiter came over, looked at it, and left. So I decided to try and help him out. I put all my silverware on the plate, along with both of our straw wrappers and my napkin. The trash is covering the fries at this point. The waiter comes back, looks down at the plate, and I swear, with a straight face, asks, "Are you all set?"
"Yup, thanks."
"Do you want to wrap it up?"
I couldn't even answer, I was trying so hard not to laugh. Yeah, sure. I really like leftover straw wrappers.
I've also been buying some of those Red Sox scratch tickets. AKA, I've been throwing away money. Every freakin person I knew had been winning big on those. One guy I work with won $500. FIVE HUNDRED BUCKS! Other people were winning $100, $300, $50. So I bought a few. So far, I don't even want to talk about what I'm down. All I'll say is, I'm considering it a win when I break even and win back the cash I spent to purchase the goddamn thing.
It probably seems like I've been walking around in a catatonic state. I really haven't been, until today. It's just been building up though, and the way I see it, it's gotta hit sometime. Maybe it was the week of straight rain. Maybe it was the day of a million morons (I think it should be a nationally observed day, titled just that). Maybe it's that I'm currently without a job, apartment, or boyfriend - the big trifecta. People say shit like, "It's commonly known that you can only have two out of three of a great job, great apartment, or great boyfriend." Well, Confucious, what say you if you're 0-3 on those?
I think that's it though. I can't take any more people asking me if I have a job or an apartment. Nobody's been hassling me about the boyfriend issue. Wait, that's not true. My grandmother, as we played Scrabble, asked about it. When I told her I'd been going out with some guys but nothing serious, she settled down, but not after reminding me that she had a boyfriend. Yup, even at 88, the woman's outdoing me. Too bad I aced her in Scrabble. Take that, Geriatric Juliet. (Leave me alone. I can take a shot at my grandmother if I want to.)
But seriously. Do people think I'm just not looking for a job? (Okay, fine, I really wasn't until this week.) Do people think I really want to be homeless in a few months? Granted, a friend of mine is doing a pretty solid job of bumming space on people's couches, but I'm way more high maintenance than this kid and plus, I like having all my stuff in one place. I also enjoy having a mailing address, come to think of it. (But really, he is an A+ guy, one of my favorites, so if he's "homeless," - note the quotation marks - something's got to be okay about it. For him. Not me.) I need to come up with a snappy line to give back to people when they ask about a job or apartment (or boyfriend), like "No, go fuck yourself." Something clever.
Yup, I think that's enough bitter for one day. I'm tipping out.
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