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I think I've started swearing a lot more in my entries. Huh.
I'm grateful that in exactly 45 minutes I'll be sucking down my first beer of the evening. I'm also grateful for the fact that I worked out before work this morning, so I don't have to feel guilty for not feeling like exercising when I get home.
That beer sucking will be in prep for all the yard work that has to be done, though.
Apparently, my site is 48% evil. I question their analysis methods - I figure it's at LEAST 79% evil.
Hoobastank's "The Reason" is going round and round and round in my skull.
2003 - Back from Hawaii.
2002 - Stuff I thought about.
2001 - Letters from Michael.
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June 25, 2004
Respect
Today's soapbox is brought to you by the word "respect". As in, the lack of it. And man do I come across some blazing examples of non-respect. The most recent of which is a flock of jabbering gentlemen who crowded me through the door into the office area, on my way back from the ladies room. There's this push button thingy that automatically opens the door (the building pressure in this place is a bitch). It takes a moment for the door to swwwwiiing open, and as I stepped up after pushing the button, a flock of meeting-departees crowded behind me and impacted upon my bubble space to the extent that I had to scooch forward just so they wouldn't actually physically run into me. They practically trod on my heels, yapping away, and didn't even see the daggers I shot at them with my eyes. A totally wasted glare, right there.
Then there's the ASSHOLE that sets the car alarms off in the parking garage, every single friggin' day. I hear it when I walk into the building in the morning, and I hear it when I walk out of the building in the evening. I even hear it quite often if I go off-site for lunch. He of the badass Harley ownership, who just has to potato-potato-potato along at such a frequency as to cause every single car parked along the row to start chirping, and then revvs a sharp blast to get them to full-out alarm (one honks methodically, one goes "be-beeep-beep-be-beep-beeeeep-be-beep-beeep" in a stuttering, random way, and several have that "eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-doo-dee-doo-dee-doo-dee-doo-dee-weeooo-weeooo-weeooo" techno delight warning). He revvs, on purpose, just to set them off. I know this for a fact, because I heard him laughing about it with another Harley guy in the parking garage. What a total asshat. What a complete fuckchop. What an ultra-maroon.
Don't even get me started on how people drive around here. Apparently, Arizona doesn't believe in directional signals to change lanes. No, just cut people off, issue a return flip-off, and speed up in case somebody's got a gun. Red lights are a joke - it's a contest of chicken to see who will scream through the intersection and who will stop. And if you don't use the first three seconds of the red light to make a left-hand turn - that golden moment in which traffic coming from the opposite direction is stopping at the light so you can sneak by without having to wait through another light cycle, but before the other lanes of traffic start moving - you're a plain ol' wussy. There's glares, and horn honking, and wild gesticulation that you get to observe in your rear-view mirror. Never mind that you preferred not to be T-boned by oncoming traffic, thanks.
People who schedule meetings and then don't show up. People who make your project late because you're waiting on a piece from them. Telemarketers that call at dinner, at 8:00 on Sunday morning, or during sex. People who act snotty at YOU because THEY dialed the wrong number. Inaccurate drive-thru orders. People who don't take their fussing babies out of the movie theater. Jack-in-the-Box cashiers who are REALLY loud and annoying as you're trying to eat in the dining room. Landscapers who charge for two more months of service after you call to cancel. People who hold loud conversations, involving six people, in their cubicle. People who sit in nearby cubes and listen in on, and comment about, the telephone conversation you just had. People who don't say "please" and "thank you". People who don't hold the door when you're right behind them.
ORTHODONTISTS who take the opportunity to LECTURE you while you're waiting for your daughter in the waiting room. Hey, bub, it's not my fault that you only work three days a week, and I had to schedule her six-week appointment at nine weeks. It's not MY fault that you misjudged how her teeth would move and so now have this big-ass gap in her back teeth that need to be dealt with. And yes, I believe fifteen is old enough for my daughter to be responsible for ensuring that she wears her rubber bands, so don't tell ME that, "Most parents pay closer attention to their kids." You raging asshole.
Oh. OH. And the neighbors and their incessantly barking shithead of a dog. We can't go out into our back yard, can't even MOVE or have a WHISPERED conversation, without setting that damned dog off. It's not like he fires of a series of yaps that say, "Hey, I know you're out there, don't mess with my territory." No, that's not the trait of this springer spaniel. He just keeps up a single-syllable rhythm. And he'll bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. bark. For eternity. And the neighbors will even be in their back yard and do NOTHING to shut it up. And yes, Heather, before you call me or e-mail me, I KNOW it's the owner that's a shithead, and not the dog.
So, yeah. I was going to make this a blog entry, but it turned out that I had more to say than I thought. Nothing about the concept of respect, no, just the fact that I don't feel particularly respected. It seems like the more people I'm exposed to, the more the asshole-ratio climbs. So apparently, I'm angry about that. Sorry for the rant.
This entry brought to you by the letter "R".
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