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Earlier this week, I had a day that seemed as if the very gods had conspired to just irritate, annoy, and bother me.
It begins
It started off with the cable company. I thought it would be a simple matter to go in there, get a copy of my bill (which I had not received in the mail) and go about my business--specifically, getting to work.
Silly me.
I should have known that it would take two employees well over ten minutes to figure out how to print out a bill that already existed and hand it to me. I wish I was exaggerating. Perhaps the Comcast employees have taken Bill Slowski's attitude too much to heart.
The Death Wish
As both a cyclist and a motorist, I have respect for the one when I am the other, and vice versa. In other words, I pay attention and try to have some vague courtesy towards cyclists while driving, and try not to get in the way when I am riding. But apparently not everyone is like this. Some, it seems, have an utter death wish.
After leaving the cable company, I was heading to work. At an intersection, I had a green light, and I was going to turn right. The car in front of me turned right. The light had NOT just changed, but was plainly green. Which means for the other direction it was red. Meaning, if you're paying attention, that flying across the street in front of me on a bicycle would be a bad idea.
Or so those of us with actual electric activity in our cerebral cortexes would think. But then, I shouldn't have been surprised. Because not only did this scrotum monkey come flying across in front of me, he was going breakneck speed in the wrong bloody direction! He was coming up the side of the road that I was about to turn right on, against traffic, and blasted in front of me right as I was about to turn right. So he's not only going against the traffic and blowing a red light, he is also, apparently, trying to get killed. Well, as I love my truck far more than I respect his death wish, I was able to slam on the brakes quickly enough to prevent making him the roadkill pancake du jour. I was also able to slam on the HORN, but it didn't seem to phase him on his continued quest towards whatever his destiny was. (Note: Mercury the Messenger was NOT a cyclist, just an ass goblin on a bike.)
I'm almost read....what the....?
To add to my misery, Boss Man inexplicably opened the doors fifteen minutes early. Which kind of threw my schedule into, as they say, a cocked hat.
Why? WHY?
My mood was not helped any by the presence of my least favorite coworker, who I shall call Turd. Why Turd? Well, you know that feeling you get when you step in dog crap, but don't realize it initially, and then you figure out that that horrible smell attacking your nose is actually coming from the bottom of your shoe, and is caked into the tread? Yeah. That's the feeling I usually get when I have to work with this sock puppet. Combine incompetence, laziness, a bad attitude, and a generally unpleasant disposition, and you will have Turd. (Keep him. Please.) In addition to his usual sourness, Turd this day decided to bring me a tray of clean glasses, since he could not be bothered to actually carry the glasses like most humans, and then leave the tray for some time on my bar, long after I had removed said glasses. Until, of course, I put the tray back where it belonged. (Sadly, not in his rectum, where I WANTED to put it.) A minor annoyance, to be sure, but combined with his winning personality, enough to pucker my face like the proverbial nails and chalkboard.
Puff Puff
Why oh why would you walk into an establishment smoking a cigarette and then, once you are already there, only then ask "Can we smoke in here?" If you know enough to ask, wouldn't it make more sense to walk in and ask without the cancer stick, or ask at the front door before you and your tobacco cloud have already befouled our air?
This happened not once, but in two entirely separate incidences.
How Not To Get a Job 101
1. Be one of the above clueless smokers.
2. After settling in for a couple of drinks and some munchies, ask for an application. Nothing says "Hire me!" like having a cocktail while you fill out the application.
3. Make sure you tell the bartender serving you that you've been a waitress for years.
4. Despite the above alleged experience, when the bill comes, leave less than a 10% tip.
5. After paying the bill and leaving an inexcusable tip for an alleged waitress, order one more cocktail for the road, and leave NO tip for that one, despite it being one of the most labor intensive drinks known to man.
6. Do all of the above with the only person in the establishment who has had any contact with you, so that when you come back with your application, they will surely remember you.
7. Bonus points if said employee happens to be in good with the hiring manager. Really good.
This was how my Tuesday began. And people wonder why I drink.....
It begins
It started off with the cable company. I thought it would be a simple matter to go in there, get a copy of my bill (which I had not received in the mail) and go about my business--specifically, getting to work.
Silly me.
I should have known that it would take two employees well over ten minutes to figure out how to print out a bill that already existed and hand it to me. I wish I was exaggerating. Perhaps the Comcast employees have taken Bill Slowski's attitude too much to heart.
The Death Wish
As both a cyclist and a motorist, I have respect for the one when I am the other, and vice versa. In other words, I pay attention and try to have some vague courtesy towards cyclists while driving, and try not to get in the way when I am riding. But apparently not everyone is like this. Some, it seems, have an utter death wish.
After leaving the cable company, I was heading to work. At an intersection, I had a green light, and I was going to turn right. The car in front of me turned right. The light had NOT just changed, but was plainly green. Which means for the other direction it was red. Meaning, if you're paying attention, that flying across the street in front of me on a bicycle would be a bad idea.
Or so those of us with actual electric activity in our cerebral cortexes would think. But then, I shouldn't have been surprised. Because not only did this scrotum monkey come flying across in front of me, he was going breakneck speed in the wrong bloody direction! He was coming up the side of the road that I was about to turn right on, against traffic, and blasted in front of me right as I was about to turn right. So he's not only going against the traffic and blowing a red light, he is also, apparently, trying to get killed. Well, as I love my truck far more than I respect his death wish, I was able to slam on the brakes quickly enough to prevent making him the roadkill pancake du jour. I was also able to slam on the HORN, but it didn't seem to phase him on his continued quest towards whatever his destiny was. (Note: Mercury the Messenger was NOT a cyclist, just an ass goblin on a bike.)
I'm almost read....what the....?
To add to my misery, Boss Man inexplicably opened the doors fifteen minutes early. Which kind of threw my schedule into, as they say, a cocked hat.
Why? WHY?
My mood was not helped any by the presence of my least favorite coworker, who I shall call Turd. Why Turd? Well, you know that feeling you get when you step in dog crap, but don't realize it initially, and then you figure out that that horrible smell attacking your nose is actually coming from the bottom of your shoe, and is caked into the tread? Yeah. That's the feeling I usually get when I have to work with this sock puppet. Combine incompetence, laziness, a bad attitude, and a generally unpleasant disposition, and you will have Turd. (Keep him. Please.) In addition to his usual sourness, Turd this day decided to bring me a tray of clean glasses, since he could not be bothered to actually carry the glasses like most humans, and then leave the tray for some time on my bar, long after I had removed said glasses. Until, of course, I put the tray back where it belonged. (Sadly, not in his rectum, where I WANTED to put it.) A minor annoyance, to be sure, but combined with his winning personality, enough to pucker my face like the proverbial nails and chalkboard.
Puff Puff
Why oh why would you walk into an establishment smoking a cigarette and then, once you are already there, only then ask "Can we smoke in here?" If you know enough to ask, wouldn't it make more sense to walk in and ask without the cancer stick, or ask at the front door before you and your tobacco cloud have already befouled our air?
This happened not once, but in two entirely separate incidences.
How Not To Get a Job 101
1. Be one of the above clueless smokers.
2. After settling in for a couple of drinks and some munchies, ask for an application. Nothing says "Hire me!" like having a cocktail while you fill out the application.
3. Make sure you tell the bartender serving you that you've been a waitress for years.
4. Despite the above alleged experience, when the bill comes, leave less than a 10% tip.
5. After paying the bill and leaving an inexcusable tip for an alleged waitress, order one more cocktail for the road, and leave NO tip for that one, despite it being one of the most labor intensive drinks known to man.
6. Do all of the above with the only person in the establishment who has had any contact with you, so that when you come back with your application, they will surely remember you.
7. Bonus points if said employee happens to be in good with the hiring manager. Really good.
This was how my Tuesday began. And people wonder why I drink.....
It's that or a Brandy Sour (Apricot, please) because I know what's in them. A wee bit paranoid, yes.
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