rant


Explain to me this logic.

A utility is turned off due to lack of payment. Lack of payment occurred because tips have been slow and school gets in the way of work day availabilities.  Now, in order to turn the utility back on, you (utility company) want me to sit at home between 9am and 4pm to wait on a technician so he/she can turn on my utility.  Sitting home between 9am and 4pm means I am not working to make the money you need for me to pay you to turn the utility back on.  Further, if I do go to work to make the money you need for me to turn on my utility and I happen to miss the technician, you (utility company) will charge me a fee for missing my appointment due to my working to try and earn the money you need for me to pay you, thus increasing my need to work to pay you the now larger past due amount.

WTF?!

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Ladies, gird your loins, cause this shiz is about to get real.

A friend of mine already commented on the following ridiculousness here:

I know right?!  I couldn’t believe it either.  How in the world this stuff continues to infect our lives is seriously beyond me.  Thankfully, articulatethelimb offers a sane and intelligent response to this rancid idiocy.  There’s not too much for me to add to her commentary, which does fantastic job deconstructing the ideas line by line.   Still, her words inspired me to create an image that captured the righteous spirit of her rant in a way that could be shared quickly and effectively.  And so my friends, I offer you my version:

photo credit: supershiksa

Feel free to ‘like’ and ‘re-pin’ this on Pinterest here.  Don’t let that old narrative permeate our lives or define our standards.  Let’s make this the new standard.  Come on, ladies, let ’em hear you roar.

Remember Juno? Not the movie about a pregnant teenager. I’m talking about the mid-90’s email phenomenon, wherein a user would periodically dial-up their inboxes on a FREE account and check their non-attachment bearing, no-bigger-than-35-kilobyte messages. Juno was the first chance many average American families had to access the wonders of email in their own homes. As long as you had a computer and a telephone line, you had email. Uh-mazing.

The funny thing is, I don’t recall anyone questioning whether email was actually something we wanted. I just remember wanting it, needing it,  knowing we couldn’t afford AOL, agonizing that all my friends were visiting new places called “chat rooms” and doing exciting things like “IMing”. I knew getting to talk to nameless strangers at all hours of the day and night was something only the lucky (and wealthy) few could enjoy. But email? FREE email?! I could do that.

Oh, youth.

I’d give almost anything to eradicate the need for email in my life. There are few things more frustrating than cleaning out one’s inbox, only to have it stuffed with scores of new messages, most of which are pure garbage, in a matter of a few hours. My fragile, neatnick, and hyper-organized psyche doesn’t do well with that sort of thing. Bad enough I can never seem to keep my house or my office as clutter free as I’d like.  I can forgive myself this mess (to a degree) given how stupid busy I am most days. But, in an environment where all I have to do is push “delete” to make the offending debris magically disappear, I allow myself no excuse.

Then, there’s the expectation that we all sit around waiting for new messages to appear, that our lives are somehow as empty as our mailboxes and we have nothing else to do but immediately respond to any mundane correspondence that comes our way. Not to mention the fact that it’s often more efficient to “shoot off an email” asking for answers rather than to go looking for whatever information it is we need.  This means, a large part of my day goes something like this:

What homework is due?

– It’s in the syllabus.

How long should our chapter responses be?

– It’s IN the syllabus.

I wasn’t aware we had an attendance policy…

– IT’S IN…THE…SYLLABUS!! Please, for the love of all that is holy, stop emailing me for obvious shit and then emailing again, wondering why I haven’t responded to your previous email, when the information was easily available to you this entire time and it’s only been 1 hour since your first email! >*&*%!(@!I@(!*#&!*%!!!!!

So in closing, email, that promise of tomorrow, blesses our todays with clutter, impatience, and sloth. Thanks for that.



The mythologically challenged may not understand the title reference so for their sake, a quick introduction: Set, this is everybody…everybody, this is Set.  Set is an Egyptian trickster god who, in addition to killing his brother by convincing him to lay down inside a coffin-like box (did you not see that coming, Osirus?), decided not to wait until “the appropriate time” to be born and instead CUT HIMSELF OUT of his mother’s womb just to prove a point. Yeah. That’s hard core. It’s also exactly the way bad things tend to happen in my life, not when I could appropriately handle said badness but precisely when it would cause the most physical and emotional damage.

Within the last several months, many Set-like events have begun to pile up. Here are some of the most memorable, in no particular order:

-Within a month of returning home from an amazing vacation, the windows of my car started randomly falling into their doors, one after another, compromising the security of my vehicle and costing me nearly $900 to repair.

-Two weeks later, my speedometer broke.

-Several months later, my driver’s side door began sticking. Have to shoulder slam the door to open it from the inside.

-A week later, the door handle on the sticking door broke off in my hand while trying to exit the vehicle. Had to climb out the passenger side. It’s still broken.

-Feeling productive one afternoon, I sharpened all my household knives and scissors. A few days later, my mother sent me a surprise Christmas package. I sliced a two inch gash in my index finger trying to open the package with my newly sharpened scissors.

-A series of plumbing issues in my house finally culminated one morning before work in a flood of dirty, stinky sewer water overflowing out of every toilet, sink and tub. Turns out an unidentifiable animal had somehow managed to crawl into the pipes and died, causing all manner of nastiness to back up onto my new carpet.

-My original iPod broke two weeks before the aforementioned vacation. I bought a new one just for the trip…and lost it on the plane ride home a mere month after purchasing it.

-Oh, and the foundation of my house may be shifting. It’s creating an odd ridge in the middle of the living room and potentially compromising the integrity of the structure…no big deal.

Some of those are just silly annoyances. Some are fairly serious. All I could do without. There are others, more private and menacing, that compete for my attention and I wish for thicker skin. Anything to keep all this shit from cutting its way in. There are times when I feel I may just concede and lay down in that temptingly comfortable-looking box built just for me.

Where’s Isis when you need her?

Another semester, another finals week limps to its death. As if exams, late work, and upwardly mobile deadlines weren’t enough to slough through, the curriculum at my community college requires its students to craft a researched, argument essay as the final assignment.  Adding insult to injury is the fact that their topic must be of “global importance”.  Typically, the freshman perspective on topics like gay rights or abortion trigger my snark response. The following excerpt, however, utterly floored me:

“Pro-Life advocates believe in personal responsibility and self control. The mother should only have protected sex. If she was not raped or taken advantage of by a male relative then it is the girl’s fault. Even if she was a victim of rape or incest, with the proper medical help she can get the sperm extracted from her body and would prevent unwanted pregnancy. It is the female’s responsibility that her sex partner uses protection every time. Or she can go the safe route and not have sex until marriage.”

That’s right, ladies. It’s YOUR job to make sure he wraps it up.  And if you forget? Well, doctors have new-fangled sperm extractors with testosterone seeking drones that will locate and safely escort each and every one of the approximately 100 million swimmers now circulating your fallopian tubes.

And in case you’re wondering, no. The student did not cite his sources.

To Whom It May Concern:
cc: The Powers That Be

RE: Overcrowding, Domain, and other societal contradictions

Be it here observed and otherwise declared, in full view of witnesses and with all the force and authority of the signed, the following: People suck. For those who doubt the validity of this claim, a sampling.

Item 1 – The elderly (and ornery) Homeland shopper who, while laboriously re-reading her grocery list, ignored a very polite request to access the bundles of romaine lettuce that were partially blocked as she inspected each and every curled leaf of the neighboring Italian parsley. Upon hearing the request and turning to look the speaker in the eye, she rolled hers, returning to her task without surrendering even an inch.

Item 2 – The technology dependent youth who, earbuds firmly in place, thumbs twitching furiously on the keypad during dinner out with family, refused to disconnect his umbilical gadget. Though his family seemed not to mind (their own attentions focused elsewhere), the fatigued restaurant employee attempting to wait on them struggled to communicate the most basic of needs.

Item 3 (subparts A and B)- The overpaid checkout-girl who, after communicating a sales total and turning to enter data into the computer, paused to write the Anna Karenina of text messages, oblivious to the $20 bill the hurried customer held out in payment. Tolstoy’s manager, meanwhile, stood at the end of the conveyor discussing with a confused shopper the location and merits of raisins. He failed to notice the texting incident.

Item 4 – The pushy department of defense employee who, having already argued with the TSA officer at the airport checkpoint, shoved her fellow Americans (whose flight left in 10 minutes) out of her way with a body blow and an “I’m going, here!” Her efforts secured her the use of a *special* plastic tub and stymied the entire line’s progress in order that she might receive additional screening from disgruntled security officers.

Item 5 – The hat-wearing churchgoer who, after offering a bit too much cough syrup to her already excitable child, pulled aside a busy restaurant employee, demanding that she take a moment to sanitize the women’s restroom after said child projectile vomited all over the walls, sinks, and floors. The employee reminded the mother that paper towels were available for guest use and hinted that perhaps she might want to clean up after her child herself. Instead, the devout lady returned to her table to eat, having sent her food back to the kitchen no less than three times.

In response to these and other similar incidents, one might opt for unrepressed anger and/or cynicism. Unfortunately, this often serves only to promote the very episodes that launched such a vicious cycle. Another option is to “be the bigger person” and attempt on one’s own to “kill with kindness” the powerful forces of vanity. Realistically, this is not a viable option.

Alternatively, in the interest of peace and general goodwill toward everyone, may I propose a new holiday: National Navel-Gazing Day. For this one day, let us celebrate the narcissist within us all. Ignore those around you! Deny the existence of reality outside the boundaries of your own flesh! Embrace conceit! Promote egotism! You deserve it.

Then, for the remaining 364 rotations in our common journey around the sun, may I suggest the following: Get over yourself.

Faithfully witnessed and fully supported by,

(your name here)

dear madam:

i would like, first, to begin by apologizing for my distinct failure to recognize the obviousness of your claim to the next available gasoline pump. a mere toddler would have understand that your place as third in line on the opposite side of the aisle far exceeded any rights i had as next in line immediately behind the exiting vehicle – a witless blunder that undoubtedly is to blame for our subsequent unpleasantness.

which bring me to my second task, wherein i wish to clarify my stunned and initially immobile response. surely you must have interpreted my stillness as defiance towards your evident privilege… at least, i presumed as much by the urgency with which you gestured at me through the windshield of your red, ford mustang. gentle lady, i assure you that this was not so. rather, i was merely overcome with shame at the gravity of my misconduct. so deep was my indignation…er…desolation that it took a few moments to return to my senses. it may have taken even longer had you not so helpfully assisted me with your promises to “run my ass over” if i didn’t move my car with great haste. thank you for your generous assistance. you words were the cold shock needed to startle me into appropriate action.

yet, as you know, i foolishly was not content to adhere to our mutual understanding for long. though i did surrender you the use of the gasoline pump, i quickly moved to the neighboring pump as soon as it became available. i must confess, my motives were not pure, as i, full of malicious intent, addressed you face to face.

it here that i arrive at my final task: to humbly beseech your mercy for the egregious words i did speak to you. where was my head when i dared to inquire: “were you seriously going to run me over for a tank of gas?” far be it from me to question the actions of one so vastly superior! yet you, in your great kindness, deigned to respond saying, “listen, bitch, i waited a hell of a lot longer than you.” oh stars! the glory of your voice as you called me by name! who is worthy of such an honor?! and yet, my predatory nature would not be surfeited, for i returned with words dripping in disrespect: “whatever helps you sleep at night.” alas! and has my soul wept since. my only solace is that perhaps, some sweet day, my penance may be paid and i can once again be blessed with the honor of your presence, that i might be able to fully express my sentiments in person.

yours ever facetiously,

“bitch”

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