Affluent Stupidity
"Have I offended you in a past life?"
"No," she said, annoyed.
"Would you like me to have?!" I countered.
She gets pissy and walks off. I HATE people like that. Nothing seems to please them, convinced of their own stuffy superiority. This one I encountered at the bank. I was there because they once again proved that they can't add. Now, if they were still doing this by hand, I'd be a little more forgiving. But we're talking about the ability to punch numbered keys in a meaningful order! You're even TOLD what to type! Yet these slobbering life forms, just this side of the food chain up from ameobas, seem to fuck this monotonous task up more often than they change clothing. I stand there in line for the better part of an hour, while some old man insists on depositing his entire collection of rare pennies, dating through the decade of the 1980s, waiting to be told that the bank doesn't refund fees due to bank error. I leave after much arguing with this woman.
Another wonderfully cheerful and carefree Monday! I somehow pass the time before I have to go to work. I haven't had to work all weekend, so when I arrive, there's a huge pile of word searches and campy tropical trivia, courtesy of the "Have Fun Committee"--which is essentially what all the student council and drama club queens do in the real world. They insist that, by doing something I was bored with by fourth grade, they can make this a better work environment. I have an idea! Let's all get together for slumber parties, roast marshmallows, sing camp songs, and drool over Josh Hartnett! WHEEEEEE!
Then the phone calls start. I'm plagued by people who insist that their customer's social is only 6 digits (sorry darling, it doesn't work that way) or customers so fucking paranoid (thanks Dubya) that, at the mere mention of giving their social security number to another living soul, they get bitchy, saying, "You can't make me, I don't need this card anyway!"
That's NOTHING compared to the store "ass"ociates themselves! If they're not lying about seeing a student ID, they're trying to use their own Visa for the poor, underpriviledged housewife, who, as it turns out, already has delinquent accounts with every other division my bank services. Beautiful! Then there's the associates (the true Ass. of the Month) that interrupt everything you say, then hang up in the middle of your decline speech. Yummy!
Then there's school. School seems to be mostly populated by a whole new breed of idiot. Here I have to deal with Psych teachers who proclaim that, "According to Freud, since you're male, your mother has a subconscious sexual attraction to you, and vice-versa." Hey sweetheart! Freud also did enough cocaine to kill a small state. I'd pick South Carolina. They're just weird.
My mother still takes the cake. In the early days it was the typical hippie drugs. She was cool then, laid back (placid) and tolerant (unable to give a shit). But since she hurt her back, she's been on anti-inflammatory meds. Then she started bipolar-fixing meds, then meds to counter out their side effects. Now she's on pre-emptive Alzheimer's meds. When she's even coherent she gets high on God. What a winner! The perfect role model! When you're too fucked up to be responsible for anything it's OK! Jesus makes it ALL better--He can make your problems go away!
Oh well, I've survived this long. But if something happens (like Bush stealing the election again), there's always Canada!
"No," she said, annoyed.
"Would you like me to have?!" I countered.
She gets pissy and walks off. I HATE people like that. Nothing seems to please them, convinced of their own stuffy superiority. This one I encountered at the bank. I was there because they once again proved that they can't add. Now, if they were still doing this by hand, I'd be a little more forgiving. But we're talking about the ability to punch numbered keys in a meaningful order! You're even TOLD what to type! Yet these slobbering life forms, just this side of the food chain up from ameobas, seem to fuck this monotonous task up more often than they change clothing. I stand there in line for the better part of an hour, while some old man insists on depositing his entire collection of rare pennies, dating through the decade of the 1980s, waiting to be told that the bank doesn't refund fees due to bank error. I leave after much arguing with this woman.
Another wonderfully cheerful and carefree Monday! I somehow pass the time before I have to go to work. I haven't had to work all weekend, so when I arrive, there's a huge pile of word searches and campy tropical trivia, courtesy of the "Have Fun Committee"--which is essentially what all the student council and drama club queens do in the real world. They insist that, by doing something I was bored with by fourth grade, they can make this a better work environment. I have an idea! Let's all get together for slumber parties, roast marshmallows, sing camp songs, and drool over Josh Hartnett! WHEEEEEE!
Then the phone calls start. I'm plagued by people who insist that their customer's social is only 6 digits (sorry darling, it doesn't work that way) or customers so fucking paranoid (thanks Dubya) that, at the mere mention of giving their social security number to another living soul, they get bitchy, saying, "You can't make me, I don't need this card anyway!"
That's NOTHING compared to the store "ass"ociates themselves! If they're not lying about seeing a student ID, they're trying to use their own Visa for the poor, underpriviledged housewife, who, as it turns out, already has delinquent accounts with every other division my bank services. Beautiful! Then there's the associates (the true Ass. of the Month) that interrupt everything you say, then hang up in the middle of your decline speech. Yummy!
Then there's school. School seems to be mostly populated by a whole new breed of idiot. Here I have to deal with Psych teachers who proclaim that, "According to Freud, since you're male, your mother has a subconscious sexual attraction to you, and vice-versa." Hey sweetheart! Freud also did enough cocaine to kill a small state. I'd pick South Carolina. They're just weird.
My mother still takes the cake. In the early days it was the typical hippie drugs. She was cool then, laid back (placid) and tolerant (unable to give a shit). But since she hurt her back, she's been on anti-inflammatory meds. Then she started bipolar-fixing meds, then meds to counter out their side effects. Now she's on pre-emptive Alzheimer's meds. When she's even coherent she gets high on God. What a winner! The perfect role model! When you're too fucked up to be responsible for anything it's OK! Jesus makes it ALL better--He can make your problems go away!
Oh well, I've survived this long. But if something happens (like Bush stealing the election again), there's always Canada!
posted by Blink at 7/05/2004 01:57:00 PM
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