The closer it gets to the holidays and the whole holiday season best-time-of-the-year nonsense, the more I dread any sort of outing that involves me having to go to a store that isn't a gas station. I'm not a people-person at the best of times, and being crammed into the crowded, noisy, INSANE sardine can that is a retail store at this time of year makes me want to either throw up or punch someone. I haven't decided.
I hate shopping to begin with. Even grocery shopping irritates me. I just want to get in, get what I need, and then get the hell out without having to talk to anyone. Don't interrupt me, don't get in my way, and while we're at it, just don't even look at me, okay? I get annoyed at people that block the aisles, carts parked sideways, taking up ALL the space while they debate over which can of beans they'd prefer. I get annoyed at people that back up without looking where they're going. I get annoyed at people that stand right in front of the ONE thing I need down an aisle and then give me dirty looks when I say "excuse me" and then proceed to reach around them to get it. If you don't like it then get your shit and move on! I hate having to leave an aisle and then come back because someone is spending ten minutes parked in front of the peanut butter and I can't get to what I need.
I swear if people drove the same way they pushed their shopping carts there would be nothing but accidents on the road 24/7. My mom and I always joke that we're going to buy our own personal carts and then deck them out with air horns and cow catchers reserved for the for the people that cut you off and then refuse to walk faster than a snail's pace. I may have to start accidentally-on-purpose running into the backs of people's ankles to get them to move. It's even worse when I shop where I work because the aisle are sort of small and sometimes it can be hard to navigate between the people and the multiple displays that clog up all the open spaces. If you can't fit more than 1 shopping cart through an aisle, there's a problem. I hate in-aisle displays that take up valuable floor space, it's like an obstacle course to get down the damn baking aisle now. I just want my box of brownie mix, stop making it so difficult for me to get my chocolate!
I feel so sorry for the people that only have time to shop on the weekends. I don't know how you guys deal with the Saturday crowd of middle-aged women at Meijer. You know who I'm talking about, the frosted blondes with their soccer-mom haircuts and their ironed, bedazzled jean jackets that give you the stink eye if you accidentally get in their way in front of the kale. Some of them don't even seem to realize there's other people in the store as they stomp their way at full speed (in heels. no less, because why not wear heels to the damn grocery store) past the canned goods. They'll just bowl you over without looking up from their phones if you don't duck and cover and use your shopping cart as a shield.
If you're like me, and you view the grocery store like a battlefield, I wish you only the best of luck this coming holiday season. May the odds (and sales) be ever in your favor.
Sincerely,
Smart Girl.
Tuesday, October 16, 2018
Monday, May 25, 2015
What Exactly Are We Celebrating At 11:30 P.M. On A Tuesday?
It's finally here.
The season I've been dreading since it ended last fall...
It's FIREWORKS SEASON.
I don't really understand this town's obsession with fireworks. I swear they have them for every single stupid holiday. Since when did Memorial Day need fireworks? When did we stop doing them just on July 4th? Did I miss a memo somewhere?
I have nothing against the giant, fancy, professional fireworks displays. They're great, everybody loves them. No, what annoys the ever-loving crap out of me is my neighbors, celebrating who-knows-what, in the middle of the day on a freaking WEDNESDAY, for crying out loud. Fireworks on a Friday would at least be somewhat more reasonable. What is there to celebrate about a Wednesday?
And the fireworks going off at all hours of the night...sweat heaven, GO TO BED! IT'S MIDNIGHT YOU FOOLS! I'm absolutely the neighbor that calls in and reports the noise after 10 p.m. It's called a noise ordinance, as in we have one, and I swear if you wake me up with your stupid firecrackers one more time I'm gonna come down there and shove them up your nose. You don't need full dark for firecrackers, of all things.
I'm also kind of waiting for the day someone gets run over because people tend to think the middle of the street, in total darkness, is a GREAT place for fireworks. I understand the need for pavement, so you don't set the lawn on fire, but is the middle of the street really the BEST place for that, especially considering the way people drive around here? I vote no, but what do I know?
It's not like I'm a Smart Girl or anything...
The season I've been dreading since it ended last fall...
It's FIREWORKS SEASON.
I don't really understand this town's obsession with fireworks. I swear they have them for every single stupid holiday. Since when did Memorial Day need fireworks? When did we stop doing them just on July 4th? Did I miss a memo somewhere?
I have nothing against the giant, fancy, professional fireworks displays. They're great, everybody loves them. No, what annoys the ever-loving crap out of me is my neighbors, celebrating who-knows-what, in the middle of the day on a freaking WEDNESDAY, for crying out loud. Fireworks on a Friday would at least be somewhat more reasonable. What is there to celebrate about a Wednesday?
And the fireworks going off at all hours of the night...sweat heaven, GO TO BED! IT'S MIDNIGHT YOU FOOLS! I'm absolutely the neighbor that calls in and reports the noise after 10 p.m. It's called a noise ordinance, as in we have one, and I swear if you wake me up with your stupid firecrackers one more time I'm gonna come down there and shove them up your nose. You don't need full dark for firecrackers, of all things.
I'm also kind of waiting for the day someone gets run over because people tend to think the middle of the street, in total darkness, is a GREAT place for fireworks. I understand the need for pavement, so you don't set the lawn on fire, but is the middle of the street really the BEST place for that, especially considering the way people drive around here? I vote no, but what do I know?
It's not like I'm a Smart Girl or anything...
Sunday, March 15, 2015
Sometimes I can actually FEEL the stupid wafting off of people.
I don't claim to be a genius. I have absolutely no idea what my IQ is, but at the very least I feel like I'm pretty average brains-wise. That being said, I have a really, really hard time understanding how some people can be so fucking STUPID without noticing they have an intellect the size of an atom. How do you go through life being that dumb and still manage to walk and breathe at the same time? I just don't get it...
Our backyard butts up against the parking lot for the apartment building behind our house. Not usually anything worth writing about because it's a parking lot...nothing abnormal or exciting. Earlier this week though someone dumped a mattress AND boxspring over our back fence, like we wouldn't notice it in broad daylight. It happened at some point between times when I went outside with our dog. Pretty much the worst surprise ever--hey look, somebody's scuzzy, filthy mattress! Yay!!!! (Said no one EVER).
How do you not feel the tiniest bit guilty about doing that? I drop anything on the ground without feeling bad. How exactly does a person take care of a mattress anyway? My roommate solved the issue by shoving it back over the fence. Not my mattress, not in my yard, not my problem.
Stupid people are the reason I loathe grocery shopping too. I just want to get in, get my shit, and get the hell out before I'm tempted to ram somebody with my cart. How complicated is it to NOT stand with your cart in the middle of the aisle and block the way while you debate for five minutes over which kind of beans you want? Pick one and move on! Or the people that cannot read how many items the limit is in the express line? It says "12". 12 does NOT mean 35, it doesn't mean 20. TWELVE. Just because the cashier won't say anything (speaking from experience here; I worked at Meijer for 2 and a half years and we were NOT allowed to tell the lady with the heaping cartful of groceries she couldn't use the express lane) doesn't make it okay. It's an EXPRESS lane for a reason.
And the self-checkouts! Sweet mother of pearl, WHY is it so hard for people to scan their own groceries? You don't have to take a class, just scan the fucking barcode. I will make an exception for the items that have such a small barcode that the machines physically cannot read it, but aside from that, if your IQ is less than your age just go through a regular, manned, checkout lane. Nobody wants to stand behind you in line for 15 minutes while you spin your box of crackers around trying to find the barcode or while you hunt for the random produce item you apparently found in the bowels of hell itself that, OF COURSE, doesn't have a sticker on it with the code for you to type in...
Ugh. People wonder why I stay home so much? It's really a public service so I don't go on a rampage and murder all the retards I find. I swear I don't have anger issues, I have idiot issues, and this town seems to have a plethora of them.
So please. Next time you have an extra mattress, or the next time you go to the store, please use some common sense so the people around you don't have to imagine what it feels like to punch you in the throat.
Sensibly,
Smart Girl.
Our backyard butts up against the parking lot for the apartment building behind our house. Not usually anything worth writing about because it's a parking lot...nothing abnormal or exciting. Earlier this week though someone dumped a mattress AND boxspring over our back fence, like we wouldn't notice it in broad daylight. It happened at some point between times when I went outside with our dog. Pretty much the worst surprise ever--hey look, somebody's scuzzy, filthy mattress! Yay!!!! (Said no one EVER).
See, look at that hot mess. MY YARD IS NOT A GARBAGE DUMP!
How do you not feel the tiniest bit guilty about doing that? I drop anything on the ground without feeling bad. How exactly does a person take care of a mattress anyway? My roommate solved the issue by shoving it back over the fence. Not my mattress, not in my yard, not my problem.
Stupid people are the reason I loathe grocery shopping too. I just want to get in, get my shit, and get the hell out before I'm tempted to ram somebody with my cart. How complicated is it to NOT stand with your cart in the middle of the aisle and block the way while you debate for five minutes over which kind of beans you want? Pick one and move on! Or the people that cannot read how many items the limit is in the express line? It says "12". 12 does NOT mean 35, it doesn't mean 20. TWELVE. Just because the cashier won't say anything (speaking from experience here; I worked at Meijer for 2 and a half years and we were NOT allowed to tell the lady with the heaping cartful of groceries she couldn't use the express lane) doesn't make it okay. It's an EXPRESS lane for a reason.
And the self-checkouts! Sweet mother of pearl, WHY is it so hard for people to scan their own groceries? You don't have to take a class, just scan the fucking barcode. I will make an exception for the items that have such a small barcode that the machines physically cannot read it, but aside from that, if your IQ is less than your age just go through a regular, manned, checkout lane. Nobody wants to stand behind you in line for 15 minutes while you spin your box of crackers around trying to find the barcode or while you hunt for the random produce item you apparently found in the bowels of hell itself that, OF COURSE, doesn't have a sticker on it with the code for you to type in...
Ugh. People wonder why I stay home so much? It's really a public service so I don't go on a rampage and murder all the retards I find. I swear I don't have anger issues, I have idiot issues, and this town seems to have a plethora of them.
So please. Next time you have an extra mattress, or the next time you go to the store, please use some common sense so the people around you don't have to imagine what it feels like to punch you in the throat.
Sensibly,
Smart Girl.
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
Parking Wars
Lately we've had a ridiculous amount of trouble with people parking in the street and blocking our driveway in the process. I'm not talking about just parking too close to the driveway, I mean full-on, entire length of car blocking us into our own drive. It happens multiple times in a week, sometimes even multiple times in the same day, and it's always due to one of the two houses across the street from us, either Pregnant Man's house or the house that our old neighbors caught on fire. Once in a while we get lucky and the car will be parked in front of the driveway beside ours, still annoying because it's still, you know, illegal and stuff, but less of a problem because the neighbor next door is at work during the day and isn't home to complain, and probably wouldn't complain even if they were home because, let's face it, the neighbor next door is incredibly weird, but that's a story for a different day.
Where was I? A few days ago my brother was home when our good old friend R had a visitor. Said visitor proceeded to park his giant boat-length car directly at the end of our driveway, because our lives are apparently never that easy. We waited a few minutes to see if the car would move. Maybe, for once, the driver would realize they were blocking us in...No such luck.
Once we realized the car wasn't going anywhere, my brother decided he was gonna go hop in OUR car and drive around the block a few times. Slightly childish, sure, but since the alternative was calling the police it seemed like the nicer option at the time.
Now, you should note than when my brother went outside, the car at the end of the driveway wasn't idling, or moving, or even ON. It had been turned off completely and was, quite obviously, PARKED. Isn't that the definition of parking your vehicle, putting it in 'park' and then shutting the engine off? My brother proceeded to back to the end of our driveway, and the moron in the other car had to turn his car back on so he could pull about 5 feet forward. His rear bumper was still partially blocking our drive.
My brother was gone for a few minutes, and when he came back he pulled back into our drive, got out of the car, and was halfway up the front walk when he decided maybe if he asked the other driver nicely if he could stop fucking parking at the end of our driveway. Not in those exact words, but, po-tay-to, po-tah-toe.
The driver's reponse, and I quote: "I'm not parked, I'm waiting for someone."
Um.
Didn't we JUST review what parking was? Your car was OFF, dude! OFF! If you're not parked, what the crap are you doing sitting at the end of our drive?
I'm not sure what was said after that. I do know that while my brother was still arguing with the driver good old R came trotting across the street, shouting that it was all ok because the driver was his brother. Because having your brother being the one parked illegally is SO MUCH LESS ILLEGAL.
When my brother hit the point where he realized he wasn't gonna get through to the dumbass driver he turned around and walked back to the house, and the driver proceeded to shout after him, from the relative safety of his front seat, "Oh go cry about it! Go cry about it!", because the worst comeback he could think of is one I'm pretty sure I've heard from second graders.
My brother didn't cry about it, but he DID call the police. The cops in this town are pretty decent; I realize parking violations are a minor issue compared to robberies and whatnot but for once we had an officer show up within maybe 20 minutes instead of 60 minutes plus. They sent us Giant Cop too--he had to duck to get through the porch door! (I wasn't intimidated--he was wearing shorts. I can't take a policeman seriously when he's wearing shorts. It reminds me of the mailman. *shrug*) He was super nice, and since we explained to him that the parking morons keep doing what they're doing he promised to pass our complaints on and hopefully send a few more patrols our way. I was hoping the car would still be in front of our drive when the cop showed up but no dice. That's ok. The next car that parks there gives me a valid reason to catch up with my good friends at 911...
Honestly. What the hell is wrong with you that you think it's totally fine to just park right in front of some stranger's driveway for however long you feel like? Is this just a thing now? Should I expect it wherever I live from now on?
Banging my head on the desk,
Smart Girl.
Where was I? A few days ago my brother was home when our good old friend R had a visitor. Said visitor proceeded to park his giant boat-length car directly at the end of our driveway, because our lives are apparently never that easy. We waited a few minutes to see if the car would move. Maybe, for once, the driver would realize they were blocking us in...No such luck.
Once we realized the car wasn't going anywhere, my brother decided he was gonna go hop in OUR car and drive around the block a few times. Slightly childish, sure, but since the alternative was calling the police it seemed like the nicer option at the time.
Now, you should note than when my brother went outside, the car at the end of the driveway wasn't idling, or moving, or even ON. It had been turned off completely and was, quite obviously, PARKED. Isn't that the definition of parking your vehicle, putting it in 'park' and then shutting the engine off? My brother proceeded to back to the end of our driveway, and the moron in the other car had to turn his car back on so he could pull about 5 feet forward. His rear bumper was still partially blocking our drive.
My brother was gone for a few minutes, and when he came back he pulled back into our drive, got out of the car, and was halfway up the front walk when he decided maybe if he asked the other driver nicely if he could stop fucking parking at the end of our driveway. Not in those exact words, but, po-tay-to, po-tah-toe.
The driver's reponse, and I quote: "I'm not parked, I'm waiting for someone."
Um.
Didn't we JUST review what parking was? Your car was OFF, dude! OFF! If you're not parked, what the crap are you doing sitting at the end of our drive?
I'm not sure what was said after that. I do know that while my brother was still arguing with the driver good old R came trotting across the street, shouting that it was all ok because the driver was his brother. Because having your brother being the one parked illegally is SO MUCH LESS ILLEGAL.
When my brother hit the point where he realized he wasn't gonna get through to the dumbass driver he turned around and walked back to the house, and the driver proceeded to shout after him, from the relative safety of his front seat, "Oh go cry about it! Go cry about it!", because the worst comeback he could think of is one I'm pretty sure I've heard from second graders.
My brother didn't cry about it, but he DID call the police. The cops in this town are pretty decent; I realize parking violations are a minor issue compared to robberies and whatnot but for once we had an officer show up within maybe 20 minutes instead of 60 minutes plus. They sent us Giant Cop too--he had to duck to get through the porch door! (I wasn't intimidated--he was wearing shorts. I can't take a policeman seriously when he's wearing shorts. It reminds me of the mailman. *shrug*) He was super nice, and since we explained to him that the parking morons keep doing what they're doing he promised to pass our complaints on and hopefully send a few more patrols our way. I was hoping the car would still be in front of our drive when the cop showed up but no dice. That's ok. The next car that parks there gives me a valid reason to catch up with my good friends at 911...
Honestly. What the hell is wrong with you that you think it's totally fine to just park right in front of some stranger's driveway for however long you feel like? Is this just a thing now? Should I expect it wherever I live from now on?
Banging my head on the desk,
Smart Girl.
Thursday, June 5, 2014
Are. You. Kidding. Me.
I get that I don't live in the classiest town. I understand that. Until recently I guess I was looking at things through magical glasses. Which is sad, truthfully, when you think about my posts about stupid things people do...which is basically every single post I've ever written. I can't help that I have some magical ability for noticing all the stupid shit people do.
A couple weeks ago I was outside in our driveway, taking my nephew's car-seat out of my car and cleaning out the trash and random paraphernalia that collects in the most random places in cars in preparation for a trip to my parent's house. It was a bright, sunny, gorgeous day, probably somewhere around 11 am. I don't remember for sure. It's not the important detail.
I was halfway in the backseat of the car, fishing out some unidentifiable crumbs from beneath Nephew's seat, and I happened to glance out the rear window and saw a guy walking down the sidewalk. Pretty common for people to go walking on a nice a sunny day, no reason for alarm. I crawled back out of the car and bent down to put something in the trash bag that was sitting on the ground, and then I heard someone clear their throat and then: "Uh...Excuse me, do you know what time it is?"
Seriously. Who in this day and age doesn't have a phone or a watch or a sundial or SOMETHING. I didn't have my phone with me because I'd planned on being outside all of five minutes and wasn't expecting any urgent calls, so I kinda shrugged and offered a "Sorry, no, I don't my phone on me" in hopes that random guy would just mosey on down the sidewalk and leave me alone. I don't like people. I don't like talking to people. I don't like when people accost me in my driveway when I'm cleaning out the car. Maybe accost is too strong of a word. Instead of leaving, because my life is never that easy, the guy did this sort of nervous twitch/shoulder shrug and plows right ahead with what he actually wanted to ask in in the first place, which had diddly shit to do with what time it was.
"That's okay. Oh, uh, by the way...do you, uh, have any Xanax?"
Pro tip for life: If you're going to ask a complete stranger for prescription drugs, ALWAYS start by asking what time it is. Total icebreaker material right there, and I can now say that I'm speaking from experience. I will never know what my face looked like at that precise moment in time, but I'm assuming my bottom jaw was somewhere around my knees. All I could do was shake my head stupidly and shrug like I was apologizing for not having any drugs. Yes, random stranger who might possibly be high right now, I'm VERY sorry I don't have any Xanax...I don't know what I was thinking, coming outside without my bottle of pills because I should have been prepared for the moment you asked me for drugs!
I think I might have said something like "Nope, sorry," but I really don't remember for sue. I probably shouldn't have waited so long to write this post because then I'd be able to write the whole thing in vibrant, glorious detail for you guys. Pretty sure the summary is spot-on, though. I think the best part of the whole shebang is how the guy tried to slide in his request for drugs like it was part of a normal, everyday conversation. I don't know about any of you, but I definitely can't go more than a couple hours without asking random people I walk by on the street if they've got any drugs...*insert blatantly sarcastic eyeroll here*
I might have been more concerned and less entirely baffled if the guy hadn't so readily accepted that I wasn't gonna sell him drugs and then moved on. The fact that our street is usually pretty busy on nice days and there's someone walking past about every 30 seconds also helped. I made a run for the house anyway just to be safe and then I creeped on him through the curtains to make sure he was actually leaving, because I have no desire to get into it with strangers. I'm hoping this this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I don't think I could make another blog post about it if it were to happen again....
Sincerely,
Smart Girl.
Friday, May 2, 2014
Drunk Man Walking
Occasionally you can turn to your neighbors when you need help. In the past, my parents' neighbors were always really helpful when it came to things like dog-sitting, house-sitting, and the like. Our neighbors now, however...nowhere near as helpful.
Last weekend my brother and my sister-in-law rented a Uhaul truck so we could move some furniture and things from my sis-in-law's parents, who are currently in the process of moving from Michigan to Florida. I wasn't there for the loading of the truck, but I can assume it was probably along the lines of people packing boxes, carrying them to the truck, then putting the boxes in the truck, and repeating that process until the truck was full. Pretty simple, right?
The unloading of the truck, however, was much more...entertaining? Obnoxious? I'm really not even sure which word I want to use.
Before I go further, I should probably explain that somewhere around a few months ago our wonderful neighbor Pregnant Man got a new neighbor. I say 'neighbor' in the sense that they live in the same house, and I'm pretty sure that house has been split into apartments judging by the four different doorbells beside the front door. The new guy, we'll call him R, does NOT, in ANY way, give off an aura of intelligence. A couple times he caught us on our way into our house, shouting at us from the curb where he was getting either in or out of the vehicle he no longer owns. He's so far introduced himself to me at least 4 times, although it wasn't until the whole unpacking fiasco that I actually learned his name. Usually the introductions consisted of him shouting "Hey there! I just moved into the neighborhood!", even though the 'just' was about 2 months before. Again, R is not the sharpest crayon in the box.
So. On that fateful Saturday when my brother and I were carrying some things from the Uhaul to the house, R and some other guys pull up in front of our house and park in the space that's not actually a space that comes about 6 inches from blocking our neighbors driveway. R climbs out of the car, staring at us like we're doing something he's never seen before, then shouts at us, asking if we want some 'free help'. Sorry, it's not like we would pay him anyway. My brother shruggingly shouts back something along the lines of "Sure, if you want to," and then R shouts back that he'll be out to help us in a minute. Turns out he had to go inside to get a back brace that in the end did him absolutely no good. He proceeds to come across the street and clambers into the back of the truck. My brother somehow talks him into helping him carry an incredibly bulky piece of furniture (I forget exactly what it was, but it doesn't really matter). I suppose that in the end having another man to carry the heaviest thing in the truck was probably a good thing, but R assures us, multiple times, that he won't go in our house, and then proceeds to put down the heavy thing they're carrying halfway between the truck and the house, and leaves it there. Mind you, in order to get in our house, from any door, you have to go up a couple steps. So now, instead of at least helping get it onto the porch so we can push it the rest of the way into the house, R leaves it so my brother and I have to carry it up and into the house ourselves, and I won't lie--I'm not strong at all.
R goes back to the truck to get something else to carry, and my brother and I follow him. At one point R mumbles something that I'm still not entirely sure of, but I hear the word 'child'. Knowing he'd seen us with my Nephew, and people always assume he's my own child, I launch into an automatic explanation that he's not mine. I mean I love the kid, but I'm not married and have no plans to have any children anytime soon, and I get tired of people instantly thinking Nephew is mine (because in this town, I swear to you every woman has at least 1 kid, regardless of age or marital status). R interrupts me to explain that he called me a 'healthy young child', because he's either over 60 or almost 60, again I'm not entirely sure. It's at this point that I catch his breath, and it smells remarkably like beer.
Now I'm pretty damn sure he's drunk, and that would actually explain everything that he's said and done up to this point. Shortly after the misunderstanding about calling me a child, he spots his 'cousin' across the street and shouts a greeting at him, and then basically ditches us to go back to his own house with his 'cousin' and a few other guys. I say 'cousin' because I'm 90% sure that the house R and Pregnant Man live in is some sort of drug dealing house, given how many random people go in and out of it all day long, and I don't for a second believe that this other man is R's cousin.
R was, in the end, almost zero help at all. My brother and I still had to fight to haul in the rest of the obnoxious furniture ourselves. We still have almost no idea what R said at any time between the slight slurring and the ghetto-thug accent. We basically just ended up with way more insight into our neighbor than we ever wanted/needed, and a slightly funny, slightly alarming story to tell about the day we moved a bunch of furniture. I also have some idea now of why R no longer has the creepy old super loud van he used to drive. I'm not complaining about that at all, because he would take off in that damn van at least 20 times a day and you could hear him coming/going for a good two blocks just due to the muffler. I don't miss that thing at all. Between R and Pregnant Man and the rest of their motley little crew across the street, I think I might spend a lot of time this summer on our front porch, windows open, notebook in hand to write down ideas for more blog posts...
Sincerely,
Smart Girl.
Last weekend my brother and my sister-in-law rented a Uhaul truck so we could move some furniture and things from my sis-in-law's parents, who are currently in the process of moving from Michigan to Florida. I wasn't there for the loading of the truck, but I can assume it was probably along the lines of people packing boxes, carrying them to the truck, then putting the boxes in the truck, and repeating that process until the truck was full. Pretty simple, right?
The unloading of the truck, however, was much more...entertaining? Obnoxious? I'm really not even sure which word I want to use.
Before I go further, I should probably explain that somewhere around a few months ago our wonderful neighbor Pregnant Man got a new neighbor. I say 'neighbor' in the sense that they live in the same house, and I'm pretty sure that house has been split into apartments judging by the four different doorbells beside the front door. The new guy, we'll call him R, does NOT, in ANY way, give off an aura of intelligence. A couple times he caught us on our way into our house, shouting at us from the curb where he was getting either in or out of the vehicle he no longer owns. He's so far introduced himself to me at least 4 times, although it wasn't until the whole unpacking fiasco that I actually learned his name. Usually the introductions consisted of him shouting "Hey there! I just moved into the neighborhood!", even though the 'just' was about 2 months before. Again, R is not the sharpest crayon in the box.
So. On that fateful Saturday when my brother and I were carrying some things from the Uhaul to the house, R and some other guys pull up in front of our house and park in the space that's not actually a space that comes about 6 inches from blocking our neighbors driveway. R climbs out of the car, staring at us like we're doing something he's never seen before, then shouts at us, asking if we want some 'free help'. Sorry, it's not like we would pay him anyway. My brother shruggingly shouts back something along the lines of "Sure, if you want to," and then R shouts back that he'll be out to help us in a minute. Turns out he had to go inside to get a back brace that in the end did him absolutely no good. He proceeds to come across the street and clambers into the back of the truck. My brother somehow talks him into helping him carry an incredibly bulky piece of furniture (I forget exactly what it was, but it doesn't really matter). I suppose that in the end having another man to carry the heaviest thing in the truck was probably a good thing, but R assures us, multiple times, that he won't go in our house, and then proceeds to put down the heavy thing they're carrying halfway between the truck and the house, and leaves it there. Mind you, in order to get in our house, from any door, you have to go up a couple steps. So now, instead of at least helping get it onto the porch so we can push it the rest of the way into the house, R leaves it so my brother and I have to carry it up and into the house ourselves, and I won't lie--I'm not strong at all.
R goes back to the truck to get something else to carry, and my brother and I follow him. At one point R mumbles something that I'm still not entirely sure of, but I hear the word 'child'. Knowing he'd seen us with my Nephew, and people always assume he's my own child, I launch into an automatic explanation that he's not mine. I mean I love the kid, but I'm not married and have no plans to have any children anytime soon, and I get tired of people instantly thinking Nephew is mine (because in this town, I swear to you every woman has at least 1 kid, regardless of age or marital status). R interrupts me to explain that he called me a 'healthy young child', because he's either over 60 or almost 60, again I'm not entirely sure. It's at this point that I catch his breath, and it smells remarkably like beer.
Now I'm pretty damn sure he's drunk, and that would actually explain everything that he's said and done up to this point. Shortly after the misunderstanding about calling me a child, he spots his 'cousin' across the street and shouts a greeting at him, and then basically ditches us to go back to his own house with his 'cousin' and a few other guys. I say 'cousin' because I'm 90% sure that the house R and Pregnant Man live in is some sort of drug dealing house, given how many random people go in and out of it all day long, and I don't for a second believe that this other man is R's cousin.
R was, in the end, almost zero help at all. My brother and I still had to fight to haul in the rest of the obnoxious furniture ourselves. We still have almost no idea what R said at any time between the slight slurring and the ghetto-thug accent. We basically just ended up with way more insight into our neighbor than we ever wanted/needed, and a slightly funny, slightly alarming story to tell about the day we moved a bunch of furniture. I also have some idea now of why R no longer has the creepy old super loud van he used to drive. I'm not complaining about that at all, because he would take off in that damn van at least 20 times a day and you could hear him coming/going for a good two blocks just due to the muffler. I don't miss that thing at all. Between R and Pregnant Man and the rest of their motley little crew across the street, I think I might spend a lot of time this summer on our front porch, windows open, notebook in hand to write down ideas for more blog posts...
Sincerely,
Smart Girl.
Monday, December 30, 2013
It's Driving Me Mad, It's Driving Me MAD!
I hate driving. Loathe, despise, abhor, pick a word. I hate driving to work every morning because, I kid you not, there's ALWAYS at least one person that runs a red light. I don't even live that far from work, maybe 2.5 miles, but like clockwork, every day there's someone out there being an idiot. I swear one of these days I'm going to die in my car on my way to work, and then I'm going to come back and haunt whatever idiot ran me over.
People that drive really slow piss me off too, especially little old people that can't drive more than 20mph in the middle of July, on a sunny day, at noon. Are there any better driving conditions than that? Because if there are, I've never seen them. I have nothing against the elderly, except for their awful driving. If you can't keep up with traffic, and you can't see over the dang steering wheel, maybe it's time you think about retiring your license. I will never forget the day I was driving to work, back before I moved, when I still lived with my parents, and some little old lady in a HUGE boat of a Cadillac pulled out of a driveway into a space the size of a postage stamp between my car and a car in front of me. I almost didn't have time to stomp on the breaks and she very nearly got rear-ended. I couldn't even honk at her because all I could do was stare and pray that I wasn't going to get creamed. I've never yet owned a vehicle equipped with a cloaking device, because I'm pretty obviously not a Romulan (or is it Klingon? I can't remember and I'm too lazy to check), so I don't understand how people don't see me coming. But I guess that's where seeing over the steering wheel comes in handy. *shrug*
And what is with people that are completely incapable of using their turn signal? I'm not a friggin mind reader, buttwipe. Unless you would like to get rear-ended, USE YOUR BLINKER! And while you're at it, don't you even think about pulling out right in front of me, because if you think I won't give you an earful of my horn, you'd be wrong. Alright, maybe sometimes I forget to honk, but sometimes I forget my horn isn't in the middle of the steering wheel and then I'm just pounding on it like a moron while it makes no noise. Derp! It makes me insane that even the cops around here don't use their blinkers. They're not OPTIONAL on your car, they're standard, so I know you have them. Just because your job is to enforce the law, that doesn't mean you are therefore above the law, you poophead. I say that with the utmost respect, but honestly...when you got your badge did you forget how to operate a vehicle?
I'm completely aware that I just sound like a complainey b-i-you-know-what right now but I don't even care. This all makes me so irate...I'm never going to be allowed to drive with my Nephew when he learns how to repeat words because I know I'll probably end up shouting something inappropriate at yet another moron driver. Or maybe I'll get lucky and be more like Linda from "Bob's Burgers" and just scream "OUT OF THE WAY, JENNIFER SLOW-PEZ!!"
Honestly.
Sincerely,
Smart Girl
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Just...don't talk unless I ask you a question, okay?
I'm not an idiot. I'm hoping you've already figured that out, but just in case, let me reiterate: I'm not an idiot. I don't claim to be the next Einstein, and I'm no Stephen Hawking, but I manage. That being said, there's almost NOTHING that pisses me off more than people that just assume I'm stupid without having anything to base that claim on.
In case you didn't read my last post, or in case this is your first time here, I work in a pharmacy. I have to deal with people that are ACTUALLY stupid every single day, and it hurts. I swear on everything chocolate that it physically hurts not being able to say the things that roll around in my head every time I'm dealing with a particularly difficult customer. Given the collective intelligence level of the entire town is about equal to a bowl of oatmeal, difficult customers are pretty much the only customers. I have no doubts that every once in a while it's not just the customer and it's me as well, but usually, usually, it's just the customer.
Back to my first point. I don't like when people assume I've got no idea what I'm doing. I'm not new to this job. I've been working in the pharmacy for about two years now, and although I do sometimes have to ask questions I think after two years I've got the hang of most of it. I absolutely loathe people that think that just because they don't see me all the time when they come in to pick up their prescriptions that I MUST be new, and therefore I have no idea what the hell I'm doing. Last week I had 4 different people ask me if I was new. All 4 of them were fairly regular customers, and I wait on them all the time. Are you KIDDING ME? I talked to you three days ago! I knew your name when you came up to the counter! No, I'm definitely not new.
I'm also incredibly bad with names. I can remember faces, but for whatever reason there are customers who I recognize but always, always, have to ask for a name. A few weeks ago one lady came up to the counter, looked at me, and said "Well you know who I am. I need to pick up my prescriptions". Um. Suuuuuuuure. Of course I had to ask her for name, because although I knew I'd seen her before I couldn't think of her name to save my life. After I asked her name, instead of just answering me, she got a little snotty and asked me if I was new. She didn't really seem to like my answer of "Nope, I've been here for a year!". Sorry to deflate your little bubble, honey, but just because you think you're the shit doesn't mean I'm gonna remember your name. I wait on probably hundreds of people every single week; there's no way on this earth I will ever be able to remember all of their names. There are certain people whose names I will never forget, but it's usually because of something bad like the lady that, quite literally, screamed at me once. I will remember who she is for the rest of my life.
It also pisses me off to no end when there's a problem with some part of someone's prescription, and as I'm trying to explain the problem, they lean around me and shout for the pharmacist. I'm not lying to you about your drugs, okay? Lying about it will get me absolutely nothing, except maybe fired, so there's absolutely no point in telling you anything but the truth. I don't deny that my coworkers can explain things better at times, because I'm terrible at explanations. I know what I'm talking about, but that doesn't always mean I can make you understand it too. However, just because someone else can make you understand doesn't mean they're telling you any different information than I told you. They're just better at making it brain-able for idiots like you.
And then we have the people that start talking to you before you've even realized they're at the counter. Shouting your name at me as I walk over to wait on you gets you nowhere. Give me a second to sign into the computer, and THEN you can tell me who you are. And for the record, please stop spelling your name at me if I didn't ask you to. If I can spell 'prestidigitation' without needing a dictionary I think I can handle your 4-letter last name. Spelling your name at me doesn't make you any more important or fancy just because YOU can't spell it. Same thing goes for the people that won't even say what their name is, they only spell it at you. For example, if your last name is Jones, instead of saying "Jones" you say "JAY-OH-EN-EE-ESS" all in one breath and as fast as humanly possible. Just...just don't, alright?
Two more things, and then I promise I'll be done whining.
1) If you have to call your pharmacy, please do the person answering the phone a favor and start off with your name. Don't go into a five-minute-long speech about how you're expecting X prescription from Y doctor and you want to know if it's ready, and if not how long will it be, and did they call in X prescription for 30 days or for 90, and did the insurance pay for that or is that the cash price, and you really want to make sure that Y doctor called it in and not W doctor that you're not seeing anymore, because you haven't seen W doctor in almost 6 months, and how much was it going to be through your insurance again? I promise you after that first four words nobody is listening to you anymore and they're spending the entire time you're prattling on wondering if you're going to shut up long enough to get a word in edgewise because they have no idea who you are to even look up your information to answer your questions. I can't even tell you how many times I'm on the phone with someone for several minutes before I get a chance to even ask who I'm talking to.
2) If your pharmacy has an outside pick-up window, either a walk-up or a drive-up, if the weather is cold, don't use it. When it's 5 degrees outside and you choose to use the walk-up window, I don't feel sorry for you when you whine that you're freezing. No shit, Sherlock, it's 5 degrees outside! Come INSIDE and get your stuff, moron. I will not be rushed while I'm releasing your medications just because you chose to stand outside, in Michigan, in the middle of winter. Same goes for when it's 100 degrees outside and you chose to stand outside in the blazing hot sun at noon and then realize it's hot outside. *sigh*
In the words of the ever-immortal Chandler Bing from 'Friends': "BAH!!"
Sincerely,
Smart Girl.
Back to my first point. I don't like when people assume I've got no idea what I'm doing. I'm not new to this job. I've been working in the pharmacy for about two years now, and although I do sometimes have to ask questions I think after two years I've got the hang of most of it. I absolutely loathe people that think that just because they don't see me all the time when they come in to pick up their prescriptions that I MUST be new, and therefore I have no idea what the hell I'm doing. Last week I had 4 different people ask me if I was new. All 4 of them were fairly regular customers, and I wait on them all the time. Are you KIDDING ME? I talked to you three days ago! I knew your name when you came up to the counter! No, I'm definitely not new.
I'm also incredibly bad with names. I can remember faces, but for whatever reason there are customers who I recognize but always, always, have to ask for a name. A few weeks ago one lady came up to the counter, looked at me, and said "Well you know who I am. I need to pick up my prescriptions". Um. Suuuuuuuure. Of course I had to ask her for name, because although I knew I'd seen her before I couldn't think of her name to save my life. After I asked her name, instead of just answering me, she got a little snotty and asked me if I was new. She didn't really seem to like my answer of "Nope, I've been here for a year!". Sorry to deflate your little bubble, honey, but just because you think you're the shit doesn't mean I'm gonna remember your name. I wait on probably hundreds of people every single week; there's no way on this earth I will ever be able to remember all of their names. There are certain people whose names I will never forget, but it's usually because of something bad like the lady that, quite literally, screamed at me once. I will remember who she is for the rest of my life.
It also pisses me off to no end when there's a problem with some part of someone's prescription, and as I'm trying to explain the problem, they lean around me and shout for the pharmacist. I'm not lying to you about your drugs, okay? Lying about it will get me absolutely nothing, except maybe fired, so there's absolutely no point in telling you anything but the truth. I don't deny that my coworkers can explain things better at times, because I'm terrible at explanations. I know what I'm talking about, but that doesn't always mean I can make you understand it too. However, just because someone else can make you understand doesn't mean they're telling you any different information than I told you. They're just better at making it brain-able for idiots like you.
And then we have the people that start talking to you before you've even realized they're at the counter. Shouting your name at me as I walk over to wait on you gets you nowhere. Give me a second to sign into the computer, and THEN you can tell me who you are. And for the record, please stop spelling your name at me if I didn't ask you to. If I can spell 'prestidigitation' without needing a dictionary I think I can handle your 4-letter last name. Spelling your name at me doesn't make you any more important or fancy just because YOU can't spell it. Same thing goes for the people that won't even say what their name is, they only spell it at you. For example, if your last name is Jones, instead of saying "Jones" you say "JAY-OH-EN-EE-ESS" all in one breath and as fast as humanly possible. Just...just don't, alright?
Two more things, and then I promise I'll be done whining.
1) If you have to call your pharmacy, please do the person answering the phone a favor and start off with your name. Don't go into a five-minute-long speech about how you're expecting X prescription from Y doctor and you want to know if it's ready, and if not how long will it be, and did they call in X prescription for 30 days or for 90, and did the insurance pay for that or is that the cash price, and you really want to make sure that Y doctor called it in and not W doctor that you're not seeing anymore, because you haven't seen W doctor in almost 6 months, and how much was it going to be through your insurance again? I promise you after that first four words nobody is listening to you anymore and they're spending the entire time you're prattling on wondering if you're going to shut up long enough to get a word in edgewise because they have no idea who you are to even look up your information to answer your questions. I can't even tell you how many times I'm on the phone with someone for several minutes before I get a chance to even ask who I'm talking to.
2) If your pharmacy has an outside pick-up window, either a walk-up or a drive-up, if the weather is cold, don't use it. When it's 5 degrees outside and you choose to use the walk-up window, I don't feel sorry for you when you whine that you're freezing. No shit, Sherlock, it's 5 degrees outside! Come INSIDE and get your stuff, moron. I will not be rushed while I'm releasing your medications just because you chose to stand outside, in Michigan, in the middle of winter. Same goes for when it's 100 degrees outside and you chose to stand outside in the blazing hot sun at noon and then realize it's hot outside. *sigh*
In the words of the ever-immortal Chandler Bing from 'Friends': "BAH!!"
Sincerely,
Smart Girl.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Yeah. Let me just give you drugs for free.
I work in a pharmacy. For the most part I enjoy my job, but some days...some days people make me want to beat my head against the counter. Somewhere, at some point in your life, you've probably encountered people like this at your own jobs. Maybe you were a cashier that cringed when you saw a regular customer with a history of bad attitude standing in your line. Maybe you were a waiter that hated getting stuck with the table that never tipped no matter how polite you were. We all deal with these people. Throw drugs into the mix, though, and it just seems to amp up the bad attitudes by about 300%.
Next time you end up at a pharmacy, allow me to give you some tips to make your visit go as smoothly as possible and so you don't end up as one of "THOSE PEOPLE".
1) Do NOT, whatever you do, DO NOT throw things at the person at the drop-off window. Even without saying a single word, you've just presented yourself as a giant asshole, and nobody likes assholes. I don't care if it's a pen or the paper your prescription is on, don't even think about flinging it across the counter.
2) Don't argue with us when we tell you how long the wait is. I'm a reasonable, intelligent person, and I know that if you have to wait 20 minutes for your cholesterol medication you're not going to be in any danger of sudden death. The more you argue and whine that you have to wait 30 minutes because you just gave me 8 prescriptions to process, the more I'm tempted to add extra time just because of your attitude. (for the record, I would never actually do that, but MAN would I like to...)
3) When your insurance company decides to hike up your co-pays for reasons that God is LITERALLY the only one that knows, and I suggest you give your insurance a call, it's not my way of getting rid of you. It's my way of telling you that I don't work for your insurance and I have no way of knowing the answers to your incredibly rude game of 20 Questions.
4) This goes along with #3 in a way, because, surprisingly, we at the pharmacy are not in control of the co-pays on your medications. If you think the price is too high, take it up with your insurance company, because there's diddly squat I can do about it. The amount of complaining you do does nothing to change that.
5) Don't lie. Just don't. Lying will not get you that Morphine that you claim you so desperately need, nor will we believe that you're really buying that Sudafed, or those needles, for your poor, sick grandmother. We work in a pharmacy, guys. We deal with people like you all day long, and we aren't stupid.
6) Chances are good that your doctor's handwriting is going to be entirely illegible. If you hand your prescription to me and I can't read it, don't bother getting pissed off at me when I say I'll have to call the office to have them clarify it for me. I'm not going to just guess at what it says. If the doctor had written it correctly in the first place, we wouldn't have a problem. Yell at your doctor, not at me, and while you're at it, tell him have the nurse write out the prescription the next time because the nurses tend to write things out properly and they don't write with their feet, upside down, in the dark, blindfolded.
7) Doctor's offices are busy, hectic places. They don't always get things done when they would like to, or even when they say they will. If you're expecting a prescription, and you check in with us to see if we've received it, and we say no, we're not lying just to mess with you. Really. None of us enjoy you calling back 12 times in one afternoon to check.
8) Prescriptions aren't good forever. They expire. It makes no difference if your prescription expired six months ago but your bottle says you have 8 refills left. It's expired. Expired means "to cease to be valid, typically after a fixed period of time". Straight from the dictionary, guys. No longer valid. That means no, I can't give you anything, even if you ask me 50 times and swear that you didn't realize it had expired.
9) If you're going to come up to my counter and take up my time, get the hell off your cell phone. Hang up, and give me your full attention. I feel like this is just common sense, but around here, common sense is pretty much kaput.
Really, all these hints can be summed up in about four words: Don't. Be. A. Jerk.
Use this information wisely.
Sincerely,
Smart Girl
Next time you end up at a pharmacy, allow me to give you some tips to make your visit go as smoothly as possible and so you don't end up as one of "THOSE PEOPLE".
1) Do NOT, whatever you do, DO NOT throw things at the person at the drop-off window. Even without saying a single word, you've just presented yourself as a giant asshole, and nobody likes assholes. I don't care if it's a pen or the paper your prescription is on, don't even think about flinging it across the counter.
2) Don't argue with us when we tell you how long the wait is. I'm a reasonable, intelligent person, and I know that if you have to wait 20 minutes for your cholesterol medication you're not going to be in any danger of sudden death. The more you argue and whine that you have to wait 30 minutes because you just gave me 8 prescriptions to process, the more I'm tempted to add extra time just because of your attitude. (for the record, I would never actually do that, but MAN would I like to...)
3) When your insurance company decides to hike up your co-pays for reasons that God is LITERALLY the only one that knows, and I suggest you give your insurance a call, it's not my way of getting rid of you. It's my way of telling you that I don't work for your insurance and I have no way of knowing the answers to your incredibly rude game of 20 Questions.
4) This goes along with #3 in a way, because, surprisingly, we at the pharmacy are not in control of the co-pays on your medications. If you think the price is too high, take it up with your insurance company, because there's diddly squat I can do about it. The amount of complaining you do does nothing to change that.
5) Don't lie. Just don't. Lying will not get you that Morphine that you claim you so desperately need, nor will we believe that you're really buying that Sudafed, or those needles, for your poor, sick grandmother. We work in a pharmacy, guys. We deal with people like you all day long, and we aren't stupid.
6) Chances are good that your doctor's handwriting is going to be entirely illegible. If you hand your prescription to me and I can't read it, don't bother getting pissed off at me when I say I'll have to call the office to have them clarify it for me. I'm not going to just guess at what it says. If the doctor had written it correctly in the first place, we wouldn't have a problem. Yell at your doctor, not at me, and while you're at it, tell him have the nurse write out the prescription the next time because the nurses tend to write things out properly and they don't write with their feet, upside down, in the dark, blindfolded.
7) Doctor's offices are busy, hectic places. They don't always get things done when they would like to, or even when they say they will. If you're expecting a prescription, and you check in with us to see if we've received it, and we say no, we're not lying just to mess with you. Really. None of us enjoy you calling back 12 times in one afternoon to check.
8) Prescriptions aren't good forever. They expire. It makes no difference if your prescription expired six months ago but your bottle says you have 8 refills left. It's expired. Expired means "to cease to be valid, typically after a fixed period of time". Straight from the dictionary, guys. No longer valid. That means no, I can't give you anything, even if you ask me 50 times and swear that you didn't realize it had expired.
9) If you're going to come up to my counter and take up my time, get the hell off your cell phone. Hang up, and give me your full attention. I feel like this is just common sense, but around here, common sense is pretty much kaput.
Really, all these hints can be summed up in about four words: Don't. Be. A. Jerk.
Use this information wisely.
Sincerely,
Smart Girl
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Sweet, sweet justice. A.K.A, Karma is my best friend today.
I don't normally think of myself as someone that laughs at other people's misfortune. Sure, if you trip over the rug and fall on your face, I'll probably laugh at you, but only after I've checked to make sure you're not seriously injured and/or bleeding. I try to look out for other people, and for the most part I feel like I succeed, but sometimes...sometimes all I can do is point and laugh and thank karma for making the rounds.
Take, for example, the countless morons in this town that simply cannot comprehend the function of a sidewalk. We've touched on this topic before, but since it's such an epidemic around here it's worth hitting on again. Today it's been raining most of the morning, and everything is wet. There's puddles in the street, on the sidewalk, and I do feel sort of bad for the people that have to walk around/through them, either by choice or because they don't have a ride.
That being said, I do NOT, not now, not ever, not even going to think about it for a second, feel bad for the people that walk in the middle of the puddle-filled road and then proceed to curse out the cars that pass by them and splash them with water from said puddles. I'm sorry, but if you're too much of a moron to get out of the damn street you deserve to have a mud shower, even more so if you're a prissy, snobby, tight-jeans-tucked-into-suede-boots-wearing disgrace to the female kind. If you insist on hiking around in the rain in your hooker boots, maybe you should attempt to walk where there's a lesser chance of getting them wet. Or better yet, don't wear them at all, because they're hideous and even if you're not a hooker they certainly make you look like one.
And before you get upset at me for what I just said, let me remind you that this girl was, by her own volition, the one walking in the street, where cars have the right-of-way, and pedestrians really shouldn't be gallivanting about, especially around here where everybody speeds and nobody pays attention to where they're going. She should be thankful all she got was wet feet and not a ride to the hospital in the back of an ambulance. Idiot.
Part of me is hoping that sooner or later I'll see her again on her return trip, because I have a feeling she will have learned absolutely ZIPPO from her encounter with traffic today. Based on previous studies, 90% of people that walk in the street tend to stay in the street for the return trip. Cars? Pffffffff. Cars will move. They are PEDESTRIANS, and PEDESTRIANS are like superheroes! Nothing can harm them! Except maybe a steamroller...does anyone know where I could maybe, perhaps, acquire such a steamroller?
Sincerely,
Smart Girl.
Take, for example, the countless morons in this town that simply cannot comprehend the function of a sidewalk. We've touched on this topic before, but since it's such an epidemic around here it's worth hitting on again. Today it's been raining most of the morning, and everything is wet. There's puddles in the street, on the sidewalk, and I do feel sort of bad for the people that have to walk around/through them, either by choice or because they don't have a ride.
That being said, I do NOT, not now, not ever, not even going to think about it for a second, feel bad for the people that walk in the middle of the puddle-filled road and then proceed to curse out the cars that pass by them and splash them with water from said puddles. I'm sorry, but if you're too much of a moron to get out of the damn street you deserve to have a mud shower, even more so if you're a prissy, snobby, tight-jeans-tucked-into-suede-boots-wearing disgrace to the female kind. If you insist on hiking around in the rain in your hooker boots, maybe you should attempt to walk where there's a lesser chance of getting them wet. Or better yet, don't wear them at all, because they're hideous and even if you're not a hooker they certainly make you look like one.
And before you get upset at me for what I just said, let me remind you that this girl was, by her own volition, the one walking in the street, where cars have the right-of-way, and pedestrians really shouldn't be gallivanting about, especially around here where everybody speeds and nobody pays attention to where they're going. She should be thankful all she got was wet feet and not a ride to the hospital in the back of an ambulance. Idiot.
Part of me is hoping that sooner or later I'll see her again on her return trip, because I have a feeling she will have learned absolutely ZIPPO from her encounter with traffic today. Based on previous studies, 90% of people that walk in the street tend to stay in the street for the return trip. Cars? Pffffffff. Cars will move. They are PEDESTRIANS, and PEDESTRIANS are like superheroes! Nothing can harm them! Except maybe a steamroller...does anyone know where I could maybe, perhaps, acquire such a steamroller?
Sincerely,
Smart Girl.
Monday, September 16, 2013
Today is apparently Idiot On Bicycles Day.
I never used to hate people that rode bikes. I really have nothing against bikes, except for that one time when I was about 5 and I got into a fight with the kickstand on my own bike, and the kickstand won. I still have the scar.
But anyway. I get that people like to ride their bikes, and sometimes they don't have cars and the bike is all they have to get around.
BUT, that being said, that does NOT give people that ride their bikes in the road the right to be completely idiotic and expect that those of us in cars won't run them over when the opportunity strikes. Being on a bike does NOT make you exempt from the rules of the road when you're riding in the street including, but not limited to, riding the CORRECT way down a one-way street, NOT using the turn lane in the middle of the street as your own personal bike lane, and also, actually STOPPING at red lights/stop signs.
I didn't think that was complicated, but then again...I really need to stop being surprised by the sheer collective stupidity.
Today my brother and I were pretty darned close to running over some stupid teenager that decided the middle of the road was a perfectly good spot to ride his bike. He started off on the sidewalk on the opposite side of the road, then he was IN the other lane, riding directly toward a whole line of cars coming straight toward him, and then he veered over into the middle turn lane, pedaling as fast as his dumb little legs would go. He kept weaving closer and closer to our lane and I had a sudden vision of him pulling to the right and streaking into our lane, falling, and our car running him over because we would NEVER have had enough time to stop--that's how close he was. I don't care if you're a teenager and you feel like you're the coolest, bad-ass-iest person that ever lived, if you're gonna ride your damn bike in the damn street, you better use your damn brain.
My brother honked the horn at the idiot kid in the street after we both thought he was going to ride right in front of us, and without breaking stride he turned around and started yelling at us. Our windows were rolled up, and neither of us have any idea what he said aside from the very clearly mouthed "f--- you!".
Hey kid, if you end up as a pancake or smooshed into someone's grill, I can't say I'll feel bad. One less moron I have to put up in this stupid city.
I also have this fear that one of these days I'm going to back out of our driveway and back over another idiot on a bike that's riding in the street, going the wrong way down our ONE-WAY STREET. I realize you're on a bike, but if you're in the street, you have to follow the same rules a car does. It's very hard to see people coming the wrong way down our street because, going the proper direction, there's about half a block of level street and then it slopes down, and because I'm not Superman, I have no x-ray vision to see through the street to tell if there's anybody there. Given how often it happens, it's really just a matter of time until we run them over. Not on purpose, of course, but I still won't be losing any sleep over it.
There was also the day that I came THIS close to hitting yet another idiot on a bike. I was on my way to work, you know, the usual, driving the correct way down our street. I started to slow down for a red light, and a teenager on a bike came careening around the corner, making a wide turn off the sidewalk directly into my lane, headed, you guessed it, the wrong damn way down the street. I stomped on the brakes and honked my horn at him, and he gave me the finger, shouted something that I can only assume wasn't very polite, and took off down the street.
I guess that's what I get for obeying the laws of traffic.
It's days like today that I'm grateful winter is coming because snow means less morons on two wheels.
Sincerely,
Smart Girl.
But anyway. I get that people like to ride their bikes, and sometimes they don't have cars and the bike is all they have to get around.
BUT, that being said, that does NOT give people that ride their bikes in the road the right to be completely idiotic and expect that those of us in cars won't run them over when the opportunity strikes. Being on a bike does NOT make you exempt from the rules of the road when you're riding in the street including, but not limited to, riding the CORRECT way down a one-way street, NOT using the turn lane in the middle of the street as your own personal bike lane, and also, actually STOPPING at red lights/stop signs.
I didn't think that was complicated, but then again...I really need to stop being surprised by the sheer collective stupidity.
Today my brother and I were pretty darned close to running over some stupid teenager that decided the middle of the road was a perfectly good spot to ride his bike. He started off on the sidewalk on the opposite side of the road, then he was IN the other lane, riding directly toward a whole line of cars coming straight toward him, and then he veered over into the middle turn lane, pedaling as fast as his dumb little legs would go. He kept weaving closer and closer to our lane and I had a sudden vision of him pulling to the right and streaking into our lane, falling, and our car running him over because we would NEVER have had enough time to stop--that's how close he was. I don't care if you're a teenager and you feel like you're the coolest, bad-ass-iest person that ever lived, if you're gonna ride your damn bike in the damn street, you better use your damn brain.
My brother honked the horn at the idiot kid in the street after we both thought he was going to ride right in front of us, and without breaking stride he turned around and started yelling at us. Our windows were rolled up, and neither of us have any idea what he said aside from the very clearly mouthed "f--- you!".
Hey kid, if you end up as a pancake or smooshed into someone's grill, I can't say I'll feel bad. One less moron I have to put up in this stupid city.
I also have this fear that one of these days I'm going to back out of our driveway and back over another idiot on a bike that's riding in the street, going the wrong way down our ONE-WAY STREET. I realize you're on a bike, but if you're in the street, you have to follow the same rules a car does. It's very hard to see people coming the wrong way down our street because, going the proper direction, there's about half a block of level street and then it slopes down, and because I'm not Superman, I have no x-ray vision to see through the street to tell if there's anybody there. Given how often it happens, it's really just a matter of time until we run them over. Not on purpose, of course, but I still won't be losing any sleep over it.
There was also the day that I came THIS close to hitting yet another idiot on a bike. I was on my way to work, you know, the usual, driving the correct way down our street. I started to slow down for a red light, and a teenager on a bike came careening around the corner, making a wide turn off the sidewalk directly into my lane, headed, you guessed it, the wrong damn way down the street. I stomped on the brakes and honked my horn at him, and he gave me the finger, shouted something that I can only assume wasn't very polite, and took off down the street.
I guess that's what I get for obeying the laws of traffic.
It's days like today that I'm grateful winter is coming because snow means less morons on two wheels.
Sincerely,
Smart Girl.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
The day the neighbors set their house on fire
I didn't always live in this town. I'm from a very, very small town about two hours north of here, and when I say "small town", I mean we had a population of MAYBE 200, and that's if you included all the stray cats and maybe the family of turkeys that lived in the swamp adjacent to our yard for several summers. I grew up on a dirt road, across the street from a cemetery, and the most exciting thing that ever happened was when the neighbor's dogs would break out of their pen and poop in our yard. No joke.
When I moved here a year ago, it was a bit of a culture shock. This town...it's something else, and that's not always a good thing. My hometown had its fair share of morons, certainly, but around here that number is probably closer to 95% of the population. I cannot go even a single day without someone, somewhere, doing something incredibly stupid. Even if I don't leave the house, someone walking down the street will be doing something that makes me wonder if they left the house without their common sense.
Like the day the neighbors set their house on fire.
It started out like any other normal Sunday. The housemates were at church, I had showered and was puttering around the kitchen waiting for the water to boil for my ramen noodles (breakfast of champions, eh?). The window above the sink offers a view of part of our street, and as I stood there washing the dishes I happened to look up and I saw a fire truck sitting in the street. I didn't hear any sirens, but I tend to listen to music very loudly when I do the dishes, so that was no surprise.
Being the curious individual that I am, I of course went to go stare out the front window to see what was going on. By the time I got to the front of the house there was a total of three firetrucks and one ambulance sitting in the street. The house across the street and to the right of ours had a cloud of dark smoke billowing out one of the back windows, and the occupants of the house were standing in their driveway, staring at the firemen as they rushed inside carrying the big giant hose.
It must not have been a very large fire, because the majority of firemen that had arrived were standing in the street, blocking traffic, hands on their hips and trying to look super important. The fire chief (according to the name on the back of his jacket, at least) was right in the middle of things, pointing furiously at nothing in particular and looking a bit like a maestro in a large yellow coat.
It didn't take long for the fire to be put out, maybe 20 minutes or so total before the firemen starting coiling up the hose and taking off, one truck at a time. Nobody was injured, because the ambulance left without ever treating anyone.
Now, I can't assume what happened. I never heard any details, and I will never know for sure what went on across the street that morning. However, considering that just the night before the police had been called to that same exact house on a domestic disturbance call and nearly arrested one of the guys that either lived in the house or was at least dating someone else that lived there, I can't help but wonder if maybe the fire wasn't entirely an accident. I don't see the point in setting a fire, on purpose, in a house you're renting and don't even own, but I'm not an idiot either. It seems awfully suspicious though, but I suppose I will have to go through life without ever knowing what really went on at the house across the street that morning.
The house has been empty since the fire. Since the people that lived there had about 306 kids that all spent a lot of time outside, screaming for absolutely no reason, it's been very quiet since they moved out.
I don't really miss the neighbors much at all.
Sincerely,
Smart Girl.
The house has been empty since the fire. Since the people that lived there had about 306 kids that all spent a lot of time outside, screaming for absolutely no reason, it's been very quiet since they moved out.
I don't really miss the neighbors much at all.
Sincerely,
Smart Girl.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Parking. It's not for everyone.
I will never, ever, not in a million years, understand how some people in this country ever get their driver's license. I admit to knocking over a few cones when I (very, very badly) attempted the parallel parking section on my driving test, but I at least have some common sense. I also have the ability to read. My mommy done learned me good.
The people of this town, though... I hated driving before I moved here. Driving is something I did to get to work, not something I did just for the fun of it. Driving makes me very angry, not to the point of ramming into people with my car, but definitely angry enough to scream obscenities at the imbeciles I'm forced to share the asphalt with, even if they can't hear me. STOP SIGNS ARE FOR STOPPING, YOU IDIOT! Oh, hey, no, you don't need to use your blinker because LET ME READ YOUR DAMN MIND!!
You get the idea.
Imagine my surprise when I moved here and discovered that not only can people suck at driving, but they can also suck at parking. I always thought it would be difficult to be terrible at something that involves your vehicle not moving at all. Who knew?
I used to think signs that proclaim, in plain bold English, NO PARKING AT ANY TIME were fairly easy to understand. I mean, you really only need two words, NO and PARKING. Even backwards they still make sense if you add a little punctuation: Parking? NO! Around here those signs are like an unspoken challenge. There's a no-parking sign just down the block from my house that's been spray-painted in a pathetic attempt to make it unreadable, which of course didn't work, because not only can people not figure out how to stop their cars intelligently (not operate the car, just stop the damn thing from moving), they can't even work a can of spray paint. Big surprise, no?
The house across the street (yes, the same one where Pregnant Man lives) has one of those new-fangled "No Parking" signs directly in front of the house. Not out of the ordinary when you realize that entire side of the street doesn't allow parking. And yet, at least two or three times per day (or five or six times a day sometimes) there's a car parked in front of the house, in front of the damned no-parking sign. *sigh*
The list of Pregnant Man's superpowers got a little shorter when he lost the power of reading comprehension.
If this is my last post, it's because I've died ramming my car into the horde of idiots.
Sincerely,
Smart Girl.
The people of this town, though... I hated driving before I moved here. Driving is something I did to get to work, not something I did just for the fun of it. Driving makes me very angry, not to the point of ramming into people with my car, but definitely angry enough to scream obscenities at the imbeciles I'm forced to share the asphalt with, even if they can't hear me. STOP SIGNS ARE FOR STOPPING, YOU IDIOT! Oh, hey, no, you don't need to use your blinker because LET ME READ YOUR DAMN MIND!!
You get the idea.
Imagine my surprise when I moved here and discovered that not only can people suck at driving, but they can also suck at parking. I always thought it would be difficult to be terrible at something that involves your vehicle not moving at all. Who knew?
I used to think signs that proclaim, in plain bold English, NO PARKING AT ANY TIME were fairly easy to understand. I mean, you really only need two words, NO and PARKING. Even backwards they still make sense if you add a little punctuation: Parking? NO! Around here those signs are like an unspoken challenge. There's a no-parking sign just down the block from my house that's been spray-painted in a pathetic attempt to make it unreadable, which of course didn't work, because not only can people not figure out how to stop their cars intelligently (not operate the car, just stop the damn thing from moving), they can't even work a can of spray paint. Big surprise, no?
The house across the street (yes, the same one where Pregnant Man lives) has one of those new-fangled "No Parking" signs directly in front of the house. Not out of the ordinary when you realize that entire side of the street doesn't allow parking. And yet, at least two or three times per day (or five or six times a day sometimes) there's a car parked in front of the house, in front of the damned no-parking sign. *sigh*
The list of Pregnant Man's superpowers got a little shorter when he lost the power of reading comprehension.
If this is my last post, it's because I've died ramming my car into the horde of idiots.
Sincerely,
Smart Girl.
Monday, August 19, 2013
The Amazing Adventures of Pregnant Man
There is a house almost directly across the street from mine. On the outside, this house looks pretty average. Pale yellow, well taken care of, nothing that might catch your eye at first glance.
That is, until you catch a glimpse of the people that live inside this house, one man in particular.
The housemates and I have dubbed him 'Pregnant Man'. Not to be rude, but because his stomach sticks out a ridiculous amount and is perfectly rounded, like he's either 9 months pregnant or smuggling an over-inflated basketball under his shirt. I've seen him sans shirt. There's no basketball.
Pregnant Man is one of those people that just doesn't seem to grasp the concept of common sense. He owns a bike (again, not unusual), but in the last year that I've lived in this house I've seen him actually RIDE said bike maybe three or four times. Pregnant Man apparently just likes to take his bike for a walk, like a normal person would do with their dogs. I see him leave the house, bike in tow, walking down the street like he's just going for a casual stroll. Sometimes I see him on his way back home, still rolling the bike along beside him, plodding slowly up the sidewalk. I don't get it.
Pregnant Man's lone superpower seems to be the ability to be a huge, giant creep. I admit I like to watch people like some people like to watch birds, because people do weird things and it makes me laugh. Pregnant Man, though, he's just a creep. He likes to stand out on his front porch and just stare at people as they walk down the sidewalk. Actually it's not so much a stare as it is a leer, which is especially disturbing when it's a woman walking down the street. Nothing makes you feel so attractive as having a balding 50+ year old man, whose stomach precedes him into rooms by at least a week, staring at you without blinking. Way to go, man. Way to go.
Occasionally Pregnant Man spends time on his porch without staring at people. I've witnessed him come out the door, belch loud enough to hear from across the street, and then go right back inside. Total time spent outside: less than 10 seconds. That was a good day. Sometimes he comes out, goes down the porch steps, stands on the sidewalk for a few seconds, and then goes back up the steps and back into the house. I have no idea what he's looking for, what he expects to see, if he's waiting for someone...I don't even have any theories because it's just too damn weird.
Maybe I just spend way too much of my free time staring out the living room window, watching the house across the street, but it never fails to disappoint. There's ALWAYS something interesting, even if sometimes 'interesting' really means 'disturbing'.
Sincerely,
Smart Girl
Pregnant Man's lone superpower seems to be the ability to be a huge, giant creep. I admit I like to watch people like some people like to watch birds, because people do weird things and it makes me laugh. Pregnant Man, though, he's just a creep. He likes to stand out on his front porch and just stare at people as they walk down the sidewalk. Actually it's not so much a stare as it is a leer, which is especially disturbing when it's a woman walking down the street. Nothing makes you feel so attractive as having a balding 50+ year old man, whose stomach precedes him into rooms by at least a week, staring at you without blinking. Way to go, man. Way to go.
Occasionally Pregnant Man spends time on his porch without staring at people. I've witnessed him come out the door, belch loud enough to hear from across the street, and then go right back inside. Total time spent outside: less than 10 seconds. That was a good day. Sometimes he comes out, goes down the porch steps, stands on the sidewalk for a few seconds, and then goes back up the steps and back into the house. I have no idea what he's looking for, what he expects to see, if he's waiting for someone...I don't even have any theories because it's just too damn weird.
Maybe I just spend way too much of my free time staring out the living room window, watching the house across the street, but it never fails to disappoint. There's ALWAYS something interesting, even if sometimes 'interesting' really means 'disturbing'.
Sincerely,
Smart Girl
Friday, August 16, 2013
There's this thing called a 'belt'. Maybe you should look into acquiring one of those.
I've never understood this fashion trend that's been popping up more and more as of late. I mean, there's really nothing attractive about the waistband of your pants sagging down below your butt-cheeks. Unless you're wearing Batman underpants, I don't particularly feel like looking at your tighty-whities (because boxers ruin the look of pants-below-your-ass, apparently). Wearing your pants that low doesn't make you a bad-ass, and it doesn't make you cool, it just makes you look like maybe you should ask your mommy if she can pick out your outfits for you every morning because you're incapable of dressing yourself.
The part that really gets me, though, is the guys that wear skinny jeans way down below their cheeks. And then, of course, since they're skinny jeans, it makes it hard to walk, and then the guys that are trying SO HARD to look and act all gangster have to waddle down the sidewalk like a penguin. I can't not laugh at them; it's physically impossible for me not to crack up when I spy them, no matter if it's in the middle of Target or just someone on the sidewalk as I drive past.
I see a LOT of this around here. Sometimes on my day off I open the curtains in our living room window and just watch the people go by. More often than not, it's some young guy in his 20's, wearing his baseball cap sideways, pants down around his knees, slouching down the sidewalk with loud rap music blaring from the tiny speaker on his cell phone. Dude, your terrible taste in music only serves to mirror your terrible taste in fashion. Please, do us all a favor; invest in some headphones, and PULL UP YOUR DAMN PANTS.
Sincerely,
Smart Girl.
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