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Right. You know those incredibly stupid days that are always at the start of young adult novels, where the protagonist has something important planned and it's about 7:45 in the morning and they're having this odd dream where they're a werewolf in a school full of other urban legend creatures and the janitor, who they thought was their friend, has abandoned them in the vampire hall with a tin of lip gloss that absolutely proves they're a werewolf and all the vampires hate werewolves but there's one vampire that actually happens to like that kind of lip gloss after all so they become friends. Then it's suddenly 8:15 and the protagonist wakes up and in the middle of a great big lazy Saturday stretch they realize that it is, in fact, Friday and have to take a flying leap out of their loft bed, nearly breaking their ankle in the process, and get dressed in about ten minutes flat and call their boss to apologize for running late and of course they don't give an excuse because, forgive them, they've only been up for about ten minutes and their head is still full of vampires and werewolves (and where did that come from anyway?) so they bike like mad to the bus and the bike rack on the first bus is impossibly stuck and so they have to wait for the next bus which is ten minutes later and doesn't get as close to work either, and they don't get in to the office until after nine and really this protagonist would've just called off except she was the only one in her department because someone had just quit on absolutely no notice and the other person was out on vacation and threatening so send photos of waterslides just to rub it in, and the protagonist had to be downtown anyway for the something important she had scheduled so it was really a giant cluster-eff-star-star-star (because you can't say that word in young adult books) and in reality she'd told her boss that she was going to leave at 11:30, but that had been before she found out the something important was downtown and not an hour and a half away by train, so she told her boss she'd leave at 12:30 instead to make up the time she'd missed except everyone caught wind of the fact that she was still in the office and apparently alive and therefore capable of doing whatever menial task they demanded so she didn't get out of the office until 12:50 which gave her ten minutes to run the three blocks to the something important, except she'd transposed the numbers in the street address so she was looking for a building that didn't exist and finally at 12:59 she ran into a building that had approximately a right number and it turned out to be the one. Then she attended the something important and it was marginally enlightening and she spent some time picturing herself in one of several glamorous potential professions until they completely failed to explain how she could justify spending $80,000 on an education that would, quite probably, land her a job that would pay a maximum of $40,000 a year, which kind of put a damper on that plan, at least for a little while, and then as the something important drew to a close her attention kept wandering back to work because, though she'd planned to take the entire afternoon off and stick around at the session to ask pertinent questions and hobnob, there were mountains of files at work that no one else would take care of because everyone else was vacationing or had quit and she didn't want to come in on the weekend again. So she had to sprint back to work and in the end even though her bosses had already docked her pay for taking the half-day she ended up working all but two and a half hours of the day, and one of those hours should've been her lunch anyway, which she didn't get. Also, you can tell this is a young adult book because, even though the protagonist is employed, there are vampires and werewolves all this takes place on a Friday the 13th, just to make sure you know Bad Luck is involved.
Goshdarn terrible young adult literature. (Give me my normal author back! What did you do, sack them because they made me happy for a couple of days? And seriously, where did that dream even come from?)
Goshdarn terrible young adult literature. (Give me my normal author back! What did you do, sack them because they made me happy for a couple of days? And seriously, where did that dream even come from?)
Tags:
Dear People's Gas,
IF YOU WANT ME TO SCHEDULE AN APPOINTMENT FOR YOU TO COME TRAIPSE AROUND IN MY APARTMENT PLEASE MAKE IT ACTUALLY POSSIBLE BEFORE YOU SEND ME LETTERS THREATENING TO TURN OFF MY GAS. I DON'T APPRECIATE HAVING A NICE VOICE ON THE PHONE TELLING ME 'AN APPOINTMENT IS NOT NECESSARY AT THIS TIME' AND THEN, THE SAME DAY GETTING A LETTER SAYING 'PLEASE RESPOND TO THIS LETTER IMMEDIATELY OR ELSE WE ARE TURNING OFF YOUR GAS.' ESPECIALLY SINCE IT'S SATURDAY AFTER THREE AND I CAN'T CONTACT YOU BECAUSE YOU MAKE THAT BASICALLY IMPOSSIBLE.
I hate you,
Hippo
P.S. I only have a stove in here for you to look at, since the meter is my landlord's business. I'm sorry the lady above me freaked out about a gas leak a few days ago and tried to blame it on me, but really, I'd just like to be left alone down here, so if you could at least make this a reasonable process rather than making my only course of action the $89 home inspection (which I am not paying for, by the way), things would be a lot easier, and less angry.
P.P.S. (Monday) I hope I can trust that e-mail you sent me this morning. If you shut off my gas I'm going to be very annoyed.
IF YOU WANT ME TO SCHEDULE AN APPOINTMENT FOR YOU TO COME TRAIPSE AROUND IN MY APARTMENT PLEASE MAKE IT ACTUALLY POSSIBLE BEFORE YOU SEND ME LETTERS THREATENING TO TURN OFF MY GAS. I DON'T APPRECIATE HAVING A NICE VOICE ON THE PHONE TELLING ME 'AN APPOINTMENT IS NOT NECESSARY AT THIS TIME' AND THEN, THE SAME DAY GETTING A LETTER SAYING 'PLEASE RESPOND TO THIS LETTER IMMEDIATELY OR ELSE WE ARE TURNING OFF YOUR GAS.' ESPECIALLY SINCE IT'S SATURDAY AFTER THREE AND I CAN'T CONTACT YOU BECAUSE YOU MAKE THAT BASICALLY IMPOSSIBLE.
I hate you,
Hippo
P.S. I only have a stove in here for you to look at, since the meter is my landlord's business. I'm sorry the lady above me freaked out about a gas leak a few days ago and tried to blame it on me, but really, I'd just like to be left alone down here, so if you could at least make this a reasonable process rather than making my only course of action the $89 home inspection (which I am not paying for, by the way), things would be a lot easier, and less angry.
P.P.S. (Monday) I hope I can trust that e-mail you sent me this morning. If you shut off my gas I'm going to be very annoyed.
I think probably 90% of my friendslist has mentioned it now, and to save myself from posting a ranting reply to every single one, I should probably give my two cents. (I already ranted at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
solitaryjane...)
Because (I will probably never be forgiven for this by fandom at large), I'm probably one of the only ones who's thoroughly annoyed at this. Not because Dumbledore is gay (that's kind of cool, and I'm glad Rowling can acknowledge that there was subtext), but because JKR is freaking nuts since she discovered her own fandom and she's been self-indulgently pandering to that group of (rather obviously equally nuts at times) people since then. What's written is written. What's fandom is fandom. The two are separate for a reason, and if I could go back in time, I would personally make sure JKR never discovered her fandom until the end of the books. Because I don't think she thought of Dumbeldore as gay while she was writing the books. I think this is retroactive bull to counteract the discovery that she ended the last book with (and basically stuck completely to) a completely heterosexual "happy ending," and that wasn't likely to be 1) realistic or 2) make the slash fandom happy, and the slash fandom was the only bit of fandom she seems to have ignored. (And that ending read like fanfic, gah.)
And so, I think I should probably read the books again before I completely dismiss JKR, but... let's just say I'm kind of annoyed. You can't retroactively distinguish characters as... anything, really. If (this will be the worst comparison ever, I'm warning you now) Shakespeare had come on stage after Othello and told everyone "Oh hai guyz btw Iago is flaming!" he probably would've been egged. (Or rather, I think the point is that I would've egged him.)
And so... yeah. A really English-major sort of complaint, but... JKR, leave your books alone. (I like overanalyzing things! Definitive answers are not cool! Especially when there's no reason for them.)
Edit (slightly later): After giving thisfar more thought than necessary I've come to the conclusion that I can prove JKR's retconning in two words: Rita Skeeter. If Dumbledore was gay don't you think she would've said something? (My memory is not perfect, something may have been implied, but I sure don't remember it.) I mean, if homosexuality even existed previous to this point in the HP universe (and I'm pretty sure it didn't), wouldn't that be a pretty good indictment of his character? Hey guys, why didn't Dumbledore marry? Hey guys, don't you think that's a bit odd? I mean, as much as it'd be fun to pretend that she couldn't have attacked his character from that angle in the wizarding world, that they were a group that could accept homosexuality, there's just no foundation for it. There just is. no. gay. in Harry Potter. Except for the bits we have fun reading into. (And maybe this is just a lack of respect on my part, not believing that JKR was writing on multiple levels with subtext.) It's a world where everyone gets married, and lives happily ever after in heteronormativity. I think the epilogue made that abundantly clear. And when it came down to "wow, my world has no gay people," who was left? Who was left that wasn't dead before she could've expressed their love for someone in no uncertain terms, or already attached? It's just Dumbledore. He was the only choice. So there. That's what's got me all riled up. It's straight-up retconning. And that's not cool. Also, it's going to annoy me a whole lot when people start seriously asking questions like "How does this affect the relationship between Harry and Dumbledore?" like they're real people and it's scandalous because behind the scenes Dumbledore could've been hitting on him. Because people will stop seeing Dumbledore as a nice old man with a twinkle in his eye who was eons of eccentric but brilliant, and start seeing him as this label. Because that's what people do sometimes, and there's no foundation against that kind of thinking in the HP universe because she wasn't writing in those terms at all, and so there will be nothing to stop people from taking Dumbledore's homosexuality any which way they want to. I don't want to see Dumbledore become Old Man Sexual Deviant. (I guess the quota of books that were bought just to be burned by religious fanatics wasn't met for the seventh book.)
... I will probably never stop overanalyzing pop culture. Ever. Gah.
solitaryjane...) Because (I will probably never be forgiven for this by fandom at large), I'm probably one of the only ones who's thoroughly annoyed at this. Not because Dumbledore is gay (that's kind of cool, and I'm glad Rowling can acknowledge that there was subtext), but because JKR is freaking nuts since she discovered her own fandom and she's been self-indulgently pandering to that group of (rather obviously equally nuts at times) people since then. What's written is written. What's fandom is fandom. The two are separate for a reason, and if I could go back in time, I would personally make sure JKR never discovered her fandom until the end of the books. Because I don't think she thought of Dumbeldore as gay while she was writing the books. I think this is retroactive bull to counteract the discovery that she ended the last book with (and basically stuck completely to) a completely heterosexual "happy ending," and that wasn't likely to be 1) realistic or 2) make the slash fandom happy, and the slash fandom was the only bit of fandom she seems to have ignored. (And that ending read like fanfic, gah.)
And so, I think I should probably read the books again before I completely dismiss JKR, but... let's just say I'm kind of annoyed. You can't retroactively distinguish characters as... anything, really. If (this will be the worst comparison ever, I'm warning you now) Shakespeare had come on stage after Othello and told everyone "Oh hai guyz btw Iago is flaming!" he probably would've been egged. (Or rather, I think the point is that I would've egged him.)
And so... yeah. A really English-major sort of complaint, but... JKR, leave your books alone. (I like overanalyzing things! Definitive answers are not cool! Especially when there's no reason for them.)
Edit (slightly later): After giving this
Tags:
Dear Illinois State Legislature:
Re: The CTA, and How it Sucks Already
It has come to my attention that you are being a buttface about transit funding. Stop it. Seriously. Because if you keep up this game of chicken, they are going to cut THREE OF THE FOUR BUSES OUT OF MY NEIGHBORHOOD. And that includes ALL of the useful ones, and most painfully the ones that bothdeathscytheheck and I use to get back and forth to work. (They're cutting the Division. The Chicago would drop me off with a nice sketchy two-block walk. That means if I still have my current job in January when the second round of cuts comes, I will have no non-scary way to get back to my apartment. In the dark. Which is somewhere very high on the list of Things A Single Somewhat Skinny White Girl Should Not Do In A City. And even if I have a normal job, heaven forbid it be somewhere other than downtown because OH, I WON'T BE ABLE TO GET THERE.) This is, frankly, absolutely unacceptable, and both you and the dastardly CTA can expect real proper letters from me sometime in the near future. They will probably be soaked with tears, and I might leave them outside in the rain and burn the edges a bit, too, since THE RED LINE DIDN'T TELL ME IT WAS REROUTED TONIGHT AND I ENDED UP A MILE OUT OF MY WAY AND OH, THE 70 DECIDED TO TAKE A BREAK AFTER I GOT ON IT AND SO IT TOOK ME AN HOUR LONGER THAN IT SHOULD HAVE FOR ME TO GET HOME AND OH, WAIT, THIS IS NORMAL. So I hope you understand why, since things are bad already, I would prefer very much that they not get worse.
Thanks,
evilhippo
P.S. I notice you're only cutting about 20 buses. Why are three of them in my neighborhood? Why do you hate Humboldt Park? It's been improving, goshdarnit, and there are actual hipsters that get off the bus after I do. Do you want to turn us all into goths and emos? Because I swear that'll happen if you take our transit away. And I'll bet goths and emos don't pay for buses and trains. I bet they cry on them, and paint them black and cover them in spikesand sack Rome.
Re: The CTA, and How it Sucks Already
It has come to my attention that you are being a buttface about transit funding. Stop it. Seriously. Because if you keep up this game of chicken, they are going to cut THREE OF THE FOUR BUSES OUT OF MY NEIGHBORHOOD. And that includes ALL of the useful ones, and most painfully the ones that both
deathscytheheck and I use to get back and forth to work. (They're cutting the Division. The Chicago would drop me off with a nice sketchy two-block walk. That means if I still have my current job in January when the second round of cuts comes, I will have no non-scary way to get back to my apartment. In the dark. Which is somewhere very high on the list of Things A Single Somewhat Skinny White Girl Should Not Do In A City. And even if I have a normal job, heaven forbid it be somewhere other than downtown because OH, I WON'T BE ABLE TO GET THERE.) This is, frankly, absolutely unacceptable, and both you and the dastardly CTA can expect real proper letters from me sometime in the near future. They will probably be soaked with tears, and I might leave them outside in the rain and burn the edges a bit, too, since THE RED LINE DIDN'T TELL ME IT WAS REROUTED TONIGHT AND I ENDED UP A MILE OUT OF MY WAY AND OH, THE 70 DECIDED TO TAKE A BREAK AFTER I GOT ON IT AND SO IT TOOK ME AN HOUR LONGER THAN IT SHOULD HAVE FOR ME TO GET HOME AND OH, WAIT, THIS IS NORMAL. So I hope you understand why, since things are bad already, I would prefer very much that they not get worse.Thanks,
evilhippoP.S. I notice you're only cutting about 20 buses. Why are three of them in my neighborhood? Why do you hate Humboldt Park? It's been improving, goshdarnit, and there are actual hipsters that get off the bus after I do. Do you want to turn us all into goths and emos? Because I swear that'll happen if you take our transit away. And I'll bet goths and emos don't pay for buses and trains. I bet they cry on them, and paint them black and cover them in spikes
So, the question of my overexposed negatives may be solved. It looks like something is actually wrong with my lens, which is... not what I expected the problem to be (it's always the last place you think to look). I'm gonna cry to my TA about it tonight anyway, because I already signed up for help, but... looks like I've gotta find myself another 50mm lens. Which is at least less painful than finding myself another camera.
This does not even begin to border on the ridiculousness I've experienced since about 8:00 last night, though, which is when Skirtpants called me and left the vaguest message ever on my voicemail "Um, call me back, I have something to tell you." Which I immediately figured meant "I can't drive you over to pick upsketchyheart on Thursday." And I was right. So it was 8:30 Tuesday night... 48 hours before I need to rescue the poor girl from a rest stop on I-294 because whatever nutter designed our bus system here also got a hold of MU's.
So I catch the bus and get back to the dorm at about 8:50 and grab myself some food because I basically haven't eaten in 24 hours. Unfortunately, this food requires heating in the oven, and as soon as I turn the oven on, it hit 9:00 and the fire alarm went off. And the lovely thing about the Shoreland fire alarm is that the noise it makes automatically shuts off any higher brain functions and induces a form of animal panic more effectively than any other noise on earth, so it took a lot of effort to find my shoes, coat, and turn the oven back off. Especially while starving. So I went outside and yelled at my RA, and threatened to go back inside posing as staff (I am staff, goshdarnit, I was wearing my Rescom t-shirt and everything). And when we finally got in I ate, and told my camera woes to my mom while finding new and exciting ways to maim my thumb with a binder.
Then I had to figure out how to savesketchyheart, which involved getting over my horrid embarrassment at having such a short-notice and bizarre question for my RHs. They agreed to pick her up until they found out it was a rest-stop on 294, which is like, 30 miles out of town and also, as I expounded upon at great length to Sketchy when this adventure was at its beginnings, very very ridiculous. Ridiculous, apparently, to the point that anyone over approximately 22 is no longer able to understand it, so I retreated to the computer lab rather desperate and embarrassed and, on the whole, very unwilling to try harder to talk the RHs into giving me a ride, because the Illinois Tollway... thing-people aren't kind enough to give the addresses for any of their goshforsaken rest stop "Oasis" things, so explaining in great detail was totally out of the question. So we reached a tentative conclusion and I went to bed, because I intended to get everything sorted out this morning.
4:30 this morning, the fire alarm goes off again. Suffice it to say it's even harder to get the brain working in that situation, so I don't really remember much of it, aside from somehow grabbing two coats at once, and joking about the police arresting everyone for being in the park across the street after dark. Oh, and the massive injustice of someone pulling the fire alarm at 4:30 when there were not FLAMES shooting out of the building. When, in fact, there was no fire at all. Not even someone too incompetant to make popcorn in a microwave, no. No fire. No smoke. Just someone with a freaking awful sense of humor. And hopefully soon a criminal record, or a lot of bruises.
And, as we've learned from fiction and real life, everyone has a breaking point. When finally the world and its myriad trials and tribulations throw that last paralyzing straw onto the camel.
My solution to this? I am renting a car and picking her up myself. Screw this. I'm also skipping class on Friday so we can go to the Japanese grocery store on the north side, and possibly the Zoo. I don't care that the world is still taking digs at me, because it's going to snow tomorrow night. When? 9:00, of course. Right when I need to be on the road. In October. But whatever, world. Whatever. I don't care what you do to me. I'm just going to continue on my merry way and enjoy my weekend, even if it is bitterly cold and computerless and without a proper 50mm lens for my camera or sleep or food or higher brain functions. I have a car reserved for tomorrow, gas prices are still below $3.00 a gallon, and goshdarnit I'm not abandoning anyone at rest stops, even if the countless hordes of Chicago drivers will be 300% worse with any sign of snow. You will not win, world! You will not win!
This does not even begin to border on the ridiculousness I've experienced since about 8:00 last night, though, which is when Skirtpants called me and left the vaguest message ever on my voicemail "Um, call me back, I have something to tell you." Which I immediately figured meant "I can't drive you over to pick up
sketchyheart on Thursday." And I was right. So it was 8:30 Tuesday night... 48 hours before I need to rescue the poor girl from a rest stop on I-294 because whatever nutter designed our bus system here also got a hold of MU's. So I catch the bus and get back to the dorm at about 8:50 and grab myself some food because I basically haven't eaten in 24 hours. Unfortunately, this food requires heating in the oven, and as soon as I turn the oven on, it hit 9:00 and the fire alarm went off. And the lovely thing about the Shoreland fire alarm is that the noise it makes automatically shuts off any higher brain functions and induces a form of animal panic more effectively than any other noise on earth, so it took a lot of effort to find my shoes, coat, and turn the oven back off. Especially while starving. So I went outside and yelled at my RA, and threatened to go back inside posing as staff (I am staff, goshdarnit, I was wearing my Rescom t-shirt and everything). And when we finally got in I ate, and told my camera woes to my mom while finding new and exciting ways to maim my thumb with a binder.
Then I had to figure out how to save
sketchyheart, which involved getting over my horrid embarrassment at having such a short-notice and bizarre question for my RHs. They agreed to pick her up until they found out it was a rest-stop on 294, which is like, 30 miles out of town and also, as I expounded upon at great length to Sketchy when this adventure was at its beginnings, very very ridiculous. Ridiculous, apparently, to the point that anyone over approximately 22 is no longer able to understand it, so I retreated to the computer lab rather desperate and embarrassed and, on the whole, very unwilling to try harder to talk the RHs into giving me a ride, because the Illinois Tollway... thing-people aren't kind enough to give the addresses for any of their goshforsaken rest stop "Oasis" things, so explaining in great detail was totally out of the question. So we reached a tentative conclusion and I went to bed, because I intended to get everything sorted out this morning.4:30 this morning, the fire alarm goes off again. Suffice it to say it's even harder to get the brain working in that situation, so I don't really remember much of it, aside from somehow grabbing two coats at once, and joking about the police arresting everyone for being in the park across the street after dark. Oh, and the massive injustice of someone pulling the fire alarm at 4:30 when there were not FLAMES shooting out of the building. When, in fact, there was no fire at all. Not even someone too incompetant to make popcorn in a microwave, no. No fire. No smoke. Just someone with a freaking awful sense of humor. And hopefully soon a criminal record, or a lot of bruises.
And, as we've learned from fiction and real life, everyone has a breaking point. When finally the world and its myriad trials and tribulations throw that last paralyzing straw onto the camel.
My solution to this? I am renting a car and picking her up myself. Screw this. I'm also skipping class on Friday so we can go to the Japanese grocery store on the north side, and possibly the Zoo. I don't care that the world is still taking digs at me, because it's going to snow tomorrow night. When? 9:00, of course. Right when I need to be on the road. In October. But whatever, world. Whatever. I don't care what you do to me. I'm just going to continue on my merry way and enjoy my weekend, even if it is bitterly cold and computerless and without a proper 50mm lens for my camera or sleep or food or higher brain functions. I have a car reserved for tomorrow, gas prices are still below $3.00 a gallon, and goshdarnit I'm not abandoning anyone at rest stops, even if the countless hordes of Chicago drivers will be 300% worse with any sign of snow. You will not win, world! You will not win!
This is what you get when I let two days go by without making entries... Ahh. And I let them go not because I'm lazy, but because I was doing things. Shocking, innit?
( Today )
( Yesterday... )
Sigh... I know my sister's going to get back and take my computer away at the most inconvenient time now. But, it'll put an end to Skirtpants relating all his stupid computer problems to me... People complaining make me so mad anymore. I think it's because of all the complaining about the prices I endure at the theatre. And the general complaining about the theatre that people do. Like this lady who sent her three kids out to buy popcorn. Kids are not good at buying popcorn... so they left off a drink. Actually, they gave me a coupon for a free drink, and asked for three more drinks. So I said "the free drink, and three more, or just three drinks?" because there were only three of them, and kids make strange mistakes like that all the time. And they said "Just three drinks." Not willing to give up, I said "Three small drinks, one of them with this coupon?" They nodded, and I was satisfied. And were really slow at ordering, but eventually decided on a large popcorn. So I upsized one of the drinks to a medium, because that'd make it a combo and our combo percentages would be happy and I'd be a good employee or whatever. And didn't notice that they didn't have enough money until I'd already gotten everything. They weren't just a quarter short, either. It was several dollars. (I would've forgiven them the quarter, I had at least three laying around on the counter because people drop their change). So they ran back in the theatre and harassed their mother or whatever, and one of them stood around waiting. Then they got back with the money and I was like "Okay, that'll be $14.50, what did you want for the medium drink?" because the girl who had the medium drink had run off for the money. And she said Sprite, so I gave her Sprite. I went to take their money... and the one gave me this look like I was stupid and said "Where's the other small drink?" The way she said it, she probably could've been snapping her fingers at me, too, with her head tilted to the side and her hand on her hip. Whatever. And I was like "You only ordered three, what did you want for the other one?" They wanted a small Sprite. So I gave them their four drinks. And then they said, once again like I was the stupid one, that the medium drink was Pepsi. We are obligated, when someone requests Pepsi, to remind people that we only have Coke. I get the look again. And they tell me they want Dr Pepper. I remind them that we have Coke products only, and therefore have no Pepsi or Dr Pepper, but we do have Coke or Mr. Pibb. She tells me she wants Coke. So I give them Coke, and once again they notice that they are short, because they didn't freaking order the fourth drink the first time. I think it was at this point I realized that it would only end in tears. Because they ran back in the theatre again, and about a minute later their mother comes stomping out of the theatre and says "I ordered four small drinks and a large popcorn, what the hell is your problem out here?" By this point, I was actually mad. It took a lot not to snap back at her, but I don't think I was polite at all by responding "The total is $18.50. You only gave them $16." I got the "you're stupid" look again, and I was ready to throw things at them, but they paid and I gave them their change, and I hope I never see them again, ever. Or at least not the mother. I could see the kids again, they were sort of nice. Just... as long as they're not buying things. I mean... jeez people. Get a grip. Kids mess up orders. It is so not my fault. Neither are the prices. Or the sizes. Or the candy choices. Nor the temperature in the theatre, the focus of the picture, the sound, the lack of cupholders, the faulty video games and vending machines, the particularly sticky spot on the floor, or even the pop syrup stains on the floor in the back. Not me. You can complain about the popcorn to me. And the pretzels and nachos. I have some small amount of control over those. Heck, even the pop sometimes. Anything else? STFU. I don't want to hear it, I can't do anything about it. Oh, and don't ask me for change, I can't open my drawer back here, but there's a change machine down there at the end of the counter, unless you need ones, in which case you'll have to go out front to the box office. Yes, outside there. Where you bought your tickets. Yes, the number 2 combo costs $29.50. That's a ticket machine over there, not an ATM. Please quit tapping that with your finger just because it says "tap here," it's for credit cards and it's not hooked up yet. Yes, this is a medium. Yes, we have longer straws for that. Yes, you can have more butter on that; no, it's not extra. Free refills all around; drink up, the world's about to end. Last orders. And I was trying not to kill your friendslist before I went on this rant, honest.
( Today )
( Yesterday... )
Sigh... I know my sister's going to get back and take my computer away at the most inconvenient time now. But, it'll put an end to Skirtpants relating all his stupid computer problems to me... People complaining make me so mad anymore. I think it's because of all the complaining about the prices I endure at the theatre. And the general complaining about the theatre that people do. Like this lady who sent her three kids out to buy popcorn. Kids are not good at buying popcorn... so they left off a drink. Actually, they gave me a coupon for a free drink, and asked for three more drinks. So I said "the free drink, and three more, or just three drinks?" because there were only three of them, and kids make strange mistakes like that all the time. And they said "Just three drinks." Not willing to give up, I said "Three small drinks, one of them with this coupon?" They nodded, and I was satisfied. And were really slow at ordering, but eventually decided on a large popcorn. So I upsized one of the drinks to a medium, because that'd make it a combo and our combo percentages would be happy and I'd be a good employee or whatever. And didn't notice that they didn't have enough money until I'd already gotten everything. They weren't just a quarter short, either. It was several dollars. (I would've forgiven them the quarter, I had at least three laying around on the counter because people drop their change). So they ran back in the theatre and harassed their mother or whatever, and one of them stood around waiting. Then they got back with the money and I was like "Okay, that'll be $14.50, what did you want for the medium drink?" because the girl who had the medium drink had run off for the money. And she said Sprite, so I gave her Sprite. I went to take their money... and the one gave me this look like I was stupid and said "Where's the other small drink?" The way she said it, she probably could've been snapping her fingers at me, too, with her head tilted to the side and her hand on her hip. Whatever. And I was like "You only ordered three, what did you want for the other one?" They wanted a small Sprite. So I gave them their four drinks. And then they said, once again like I was the stupid one, that the medium drink was Pepsi. We are obligated, when someone requests Pepsi, to remind people that we only have Coke. I get the look again. And they tell me they want Dr Pepper. I remind them that we have Coke products only, and therefore have no Pepsi or Dr Pepper, but we do have Coke or Mr. Pibb. She tells me she wants Coke. So I give them Coke, and once again they notice that they are short, because they didn't freaking order the fourth drink the first time. I think it was at this point I realized that it would only end in tears. Because they ran back in the theatre again, and about a minute later their mother comes stomping out of the theatre and says "I ordered four small drinks and a large popcorn, what the hell is your problem out here?" By this point, I was actually mad. It took a lot not to snap back at her, but I don't think I was polite at all by responding "The total is $18.50. You only gave them $16." I got the "you're stupid" look again, and I was ready to throw things at them, but they paid and I gave them their change, and I hope I never see them again, ever. Or at least not the mother. I could see the kids again, they were sort of nice. Just... as long as they're not buying things. I mean... jeez people. Get a grip. Kids mess up orders. It is so not my fault. Neither are the prices. Or the sizes. Or the candy choices. Nor the temperature in the theatre, the focus of the picture, the sound, the lack of cupholders, the faulty video games and vending machines, the particularly sticky spot on the floor, or even the pop syrup stains on the floor in the back. Not me. You can complain about the popcorn to me. And the pretzels and nachos. I have some small amount of control over those. Heck, even the pop sometimes. Anything else? STFU. I don't want to hear it, I can't do anything about it. Oh, and don't ask me for change, I can't open my drawer back here, but there's a change machine down there at the end of the counter, unless you need ones, in which case you'll have to go out front to the box office. Yes, outside there. Where you bought your tickets. Yes, the number 2 combo costs $29.50. That's a ticket machine over there, not an ATM. Please quit tapping that with your finger just because it says "tap here," it's for credit cards and it's not hooked up yet. Yes, this is a medium. Yes, we have longer straws for that. Yes, you can have more butter on that; no, it's not extra. Free refills all around; drink up, the world's about to end. Last orders. And I was trying not to kill your friendslist before I went on this rant, honest.
Okay... this is about the stupidest e-mail I have ever gotten. However, the girl who sent it to me (who, incidentally, hasn't talked to me since 8th grade or so) is not someone I feel like annoying by just hitting "Reply All" and chewing her out. Every single point the e-mail brings up further proves that, well, whoever wrote it is just effing stupid, that's all. So I'm going to rant about it here.
( Stupid e-mail, angry ranting )
( Stupid e-mail, angry ranting )
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