So, sometimes when I go out into public, I occasionally have to avail myself of a public washroom. I don't like it; I don't really think taking a crap is a spectator sport, but sometimes you just have to. One of my pet peeves, aside from water everywhere or a filthy bathroom or no toilet paper, is this new trend of people talking on their cellphones while in the public washroom.
I always wonder, do the people on the other end of the phone call KNOW that their friend is talking to them while they're on the crapper? What would they think if they did know? Is there something I can do to make them more aware?
So the other day on my way home from the job interview I mentioned previously, I stopped at a Tim's on my way home because I wanted a bagel, I was horrifically thirsty, and I REALLY needed to pee. So I go into the washroom, pick a stall, sit down and am doing my business when I realise the person in the stall next to me is on the phone. I was a little thrown right at first, I thought she was talking to me, which seemed weird. Who strikes up a conversation in the bathroom with a complete stranger in the stall beside them, really? I could tell she was trying to be quiet in what she was doing so the person on the other end of the phone wouldn't know she was in the bathroom, so I decided to make it clear beyond a shadow of a doubt that someone was being subjected to a bathroom conversation.
I waited for a brief lull in the conversation, put my hands over my mouth (like when you were a kid. Don't deny it, we all did it) and let rip with the loudest, lengthiest fart noise I could possibly produce. I had exhaled so hard and so long to make this fart noise that I was actually starting to see spots by the time I stopped. I followed that with a series of loud, quick, staccato fart noises, punctuated with the occasional groan or sigh.
Then I really started to get into it, partly because I was enjoying myself and partly because I knew if I stopped, I would start laughing. So I upped the ante, making longer and louder fart noises, mixing in some groans and moans and the occasional plea to God, sometimes banging on the walls of the stall or stamping my feet on the floor like I was taking the longest, loudest, biggest, most hellacious dump in the history of ever. From the stall next to me, there was a sudden, shocked silence. I could tell she was still there though; I could see her feet. On to the grand finale!
I took a big, deep breath, and made the loudest, longest fart noise I think I have ever produced in my lifetime, pressing my hands over my mouth harder to vary the pitch from a deep rumbler to a high squeal. I stamped my feet on the floor, and banged my elbows (my hands were busy) on the wall of the stall, then I cried out, "Oh god. Oh god, there's BLOOD!" I think that's what did it. I heard a rattle of TP roll, the bang of a stall door and retreating footsteps. She didn't even stop to wash her hands.
Yeah. I can be like that sometimes.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
This is why I don't leave my house!!
I'm pretty well-known for being kind of a shut-in. There are a lot of reasons for this. I don't like cold weather. I hate people. I don't like crowds, or really loud places. I don't really drink or dance so I totally don't belong in a bar. But the biggest reason, and I'm honestly not kidding, is laziness. I don't like to go places because going places puts me in a position where I have to do one of my must hated activites: Getting out of my chair.
I can almost hear you rolling your eyes at me. Knock it off. If you don't understand why I hate getting out of my chair, then clearly you have never felt the seductive power of a good sit.
However, because I've grown accustomed to certain luxuries, like living indoors and eating regularly, I HAD to go out today, because I had a job interview. I got offered the job on the spot, by the way. And so to get to this interview, I had to brave something I haven't had to deal with all summer: The bus.
Now, there are many people who, like me, are (reasonably) sane, normal, functional members of society. Our failing is that, for whatever reason, we do not drive and therefore need to avail ourselves of public transit. I despise taking the bus, in spite of the fact that for years, I've had to do it almost every day. This summer I was (dubiously) lucky enough to be working close to home, so I walked back and forth to work every day, but this new job means I'll be taking the bus every day again. Nngh. The bus is full of CRAZY PEOPLE.
I once saw a guy on the bus having a very animated argument with his own reflection in the window. I once also saw a very large drunken woman's over-taxed Yoga pants fall off, completely and indisputably solving an argument my friend and I were having over whether or not she was wearing underwear. In case you're curious, she wasn't. I once had my hand closed in the door of a bus, which then started pulling away from the curb. I lost a nice bracelet that day, but am glad that I did at least get my hand back. The drivers of our local transit are....special.
Today, because it's the Friday before Halloween, and I happened to be headed home from my interview about the time that the large high school across the street was letting out for the day, I couldn't even tell the difference between the crazies and the sane people anymore. When you see some dude on Halloween, wearing a large pink bunny suit, it's easy to think, "Hey, that guy is just getting into the spirit of things, nice costume!" When you see some dude wearing a large pink bunny suit on, say, September fourth, you can be fairly sure that his saddle is starting to slip, and you'll know to steer clear. Before I left my first inspection job with National Oilwell, on my way home one day in like...July...I saw some guy dressed head to toe in an outfit that made him look like Jigsaw, from the Saw movies. I decided it'd be better to just wait for the next bus, because I really didn't feel like getting stabbed that night.
In conclusion, public transit is full of crazy people. If you're lucky, they'll identify themselves by wearing some kind of totally out of place costume, like a pink bunny, or Jigsaw, or the Jolly Green Giant, or whatever the fuck. Or, you could end up sitting next to some whacko who looks like everyone else. Just like me....
I can almost hear you rolling your eyes at me. Knock it off. If you don't understand why I hate getting out of my chair, then clearly you have never felt the seductive power of a good sit.
However, because I've grown accustomed to certain luxuries, like living indoors and eating regularly, I HAD to go out today, because I had a job interview. I got offered the job on the spot, by the way. And so to get to this interview, I had to brave something I haven't had to deal with all summer: The bus.
Now, there are many people who, like me, are (reasonably) sane, normal, functional members of society. Our failing is that, for whatever reason, we do not drive and therefore need to avail ourselves of public transit. I despise taking the bus, in spite of the fact that for years, I've had to do it almost every day. This summer I was (dubiously) lucky enough to be working close to home, so I walked back and forth to work every day, but this new job means I'll be taking the bus every day again. Nngh. The bus is full of CRAZY PEOPLE.
I once saw a guy on the bus having a very animated argument with his own reflection in the window. I once also saw a very large drunken woman's over-taxed Yoga pants fall off, completely and indisputably solving an argument my friend and I were having over whether or not she was wearing underwear. In case you're curious, she wasn't. I once had my hand closed in the door of a bus, which then started pulling away from the curb. I lost a nice bracelet that day, but am glad that I did at least get my hand back. The drivers of our local transit are....special.
Today, because it's the Friday before Halloween, and I happened to be headed home from my interview about the time that the large high school across the street was letting out for the day, I couldn't even tell the difference between the crazies and the sane people anymore. When you see some dude on Halloween, wearing a large pink bunny suit, it's easy to think, "Hey, that guy is just getting into the spirit of things, nice costume!" When you see some dude wearing a large pink bunny suit on, say, September fourth, you can be fairly sure that his saddle is starting to slip, and you'll know to steer clear. Before I left my first inspection job with National Oilwell, on my way home one day in like...July...I saw some guy dressed head to toe in an outfit that made him look like Jigsaw, from the Saw movies. I decided it'd be better to just wait for the next bus, because I really didn't feel like getting stabbed that night.
In conclusion, public transit is full of crazy people. If you're lucky, they'll identify themselves by wearing some kind of totally out of place costume, like a pink bunny, or Jigsaw, or the Jolly Green Giant, or whatever the fuck. Or, you could end up sitting next to some whacko who looks like everyone else. Just like me....
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
No coffee at the Macs!!! NO NO NO NO!
I walked up to the Macs today to buy a carton of eggs, because, hey, eggs. I was browsing around to see if there was anything else I needed when the door chimes and three guys who look like industrial or construction guys walk in. They head straight for the counter that every convenience store in the history of ever has, usually near the back. You know what I'm talking about. The coffee counter.
All is going well until I hear, "Hey! There's no coffee!" As a former retail peon myself, my first instinct is to dive behind a rack of Doritos until the storm passes. I know what coffeeless customers are capable of.
Fortunately, these gents seem to be fairly reasonable, which any customer service person knows is a rarity. The guys working in the store, however, seem to be a little less so. They are both Indian (as in, from India) and the first one replies, "No, no, coffee is there!"
These construction guys, however, beg to differ, and they inform the guys behind the counter that there is, in fact, no coffee left in the urn. They turn to leave, since the store does not have what they want. This does NOT sit well with the clerk.
"No no no no no!" He exclaims. "One second, one second!" He shoves the other guy out from behind the counter and says something in a language I don't speak. (I assume Hindi, since the Indian guy I worked with when I worked industrial spoke it, but I couldn't say for sure.) I assume he is telling the other guy to get his ass over there and make some damn coffee. In this town, a convenience store without coffee is pretty much an affront against God.
"One second, one second!" The second guy exclaims as he rushes toward the counter to start a new pot of coffee. "Sorry buddy," one of the construction guys says. "We don't have time to wait." I glance at my watch and judging by the time, I guess that it's about their break time and they just wanted to grab a quick cup of coffee before getting back at it. They're doing some kind of road work in the street just outside the door, these guys are probably part of the road crew, which makes the lack of coffee that much more inexcusable. There are dozens of guys out there, and this particular Macs is the nearest and most convenient place for them to buy coffee, smokes, gum, newspapers and whatever else it is road crew guys buy.
The construction guys turn to leave, and the first clerk...I swear...runs to the door and gets between it and them. He does NOT want them to leave. They came in for coffee and by God, he is going to sell it to them if he has to chain them to the Slushy machine to do it. The clerk holds up his hands and lets off another volley of "No no no no no no no!" Once again, my Customer Service Sense is tingling. This clerk must be new to the game or something.
Once again, I'm shocked by the customers' reasonable...ness...as the lead one (also the biggest one. My eyes are about on level with his chest) says again, firmly but politely, "We don't have time to wait, buddy." ("No no no no no no no! One second, one second!") The clerk, finally at least partially accepting defeat, allows them to leave, though not without one final wave of "No no no no no no no!"
Maybe next time they'll just keep a closer eye on the coffee pot.
All is going well until I hear, "Hey! There's no coffee!" As a former retail peon myself, my first instinct is to dive behind a rack of Doritos until the storm passes. I know what coffeeless customers are capable of.
Fortunately, these gents seem to be fairly reasonable, which any customer service person knows is a rarity. The guys working in the store, however, seem to be a little less so. They are both Indian (as in, from India) and the first one replies, "No, no, coffee is there!"
These construction guys, however, beg to differ, and they inform the guys behind the counter that there is, in fact, no coffee left in the urn. They turn to leave, since the store does not have what they want. This does NOT sit well with the clerk.
"No no no no no!" He exclaims. "One second, one second!" He shoves the other guy out from behind the counter and says something in a language I don't speak. (I assume Hindi, since the Indian guy I worked with when I worked industrial spoke it, but I couldn't say for sure.) I assume he is telling the other guy to get his ass over there and make some damn coffee. In this town, a convenience store without coffee is pretty much an affront against God.
"One second, one second!" The second guy exclaims as he rushes toward the counter to start a new pot of coffee. "Sorry buddy," one of the construction guys says. "We don't have time to wait." I glance at my watch and judging by the time, I guess that it's about their break time and they just wanted to grab a quick cup of coffee before getting back at it. They're doing some kind of road work in the street just outside the door, these guys are probably part of the road crew, which makes the lack of coffee that much more inexcusable. There are dozens of guys out there, and this particular Macs is the nearest and most convenient place for them to buy coffee, smokes, gum, newspapers and whatever else it is road crew guys buy.
The construction guys turn to leave, and the first clerk...I swear...runs to the door and gets between it and them. He does NOT want them to leave. They came in for coffee and by God, he is going to sell it to them if he has to chain them to the Slushy machine to do it. The clerk holds up his hands and lets off another volley of "No no no no no no no!" Once again, my Customer Service Sense is tingling. This clerk must be new to the game or something.
Once again, I'm shocked by the customers' reasonable...ness...as the lead one (also the biggest one. My eyes are about on level with his chest) says again, firmly but politely, "We don't have time to wait, buddy." ("No no no no no no no! One second, one second!") The clerk, finally at least partially accepting defeat, allows them to leave, though not without one final wave of "No no no no no no no!"
Maybe next time they'll just keep a closer eye on the coffee pot.
The first post ever!
So, this is my first post on this blog. I'm currently unemployed and therefore have a LOT of free time on my hands, and this seems to be what happens when I have too much free time.
I guess I can start by telling you a little bit about myself. I'm 29 years old (I can feel 30 hovering over me like a vulture. A vulture.) I live in a city that's frozen solid pretty much 8 months of the year. I'm sure there will be at least one or two following posts about how much I hate the cold, because I really, really do. I hate the cold with the fury of a thousand suns. In fact, I'd rather be in the middle of the fury of a thousand suns, because at least then I wouldn't be so freaking cold. My landlord is a cheapskate and refuses to turn the furnaces on until November 1st every year, so in the meantime we are all left to our own devices if it gets cold before then, like it always does.
I have two dogs, Jagger and Radar. They are shelties, and are grandson and grandfather. Jagger is 10 months old. Radar is 10 years old. Radar is a pretty normal dog. Jagger is a weirdo. He likes to sleep splayed out on his back, which is weird if you're a dog, I guess. I once came home to him with his nose inextricably trapped in one of my dirty socks.
I also have two cats, Tango and Samba. They are about 3 months apart in age, both are orange. Tango is, again, a pretty normal cat. Samba is...yeah. He's a special snowflake. He's too smart for his own good and is the most efficient stuff-wrecker I have ever come across. He's also madly nosy, and right now he has half his whiskers singed off because he doesn't seem to have the instinct that normal, non-retarded animals have to stay away from fire. He stuck his face in a candle and burned off some of his whiskers. Don't worry, he's fine. A little crispy, but fine.
I started this blog because, as I said, I have a LOT of free time on my hands just now. Also, I'm a total freak magnet. Crazy people seem to just appear out of the woodwork when I leave my apartment and venture out into public, so I thought this might be a nice place to share some of those stories, too.
I guess I can start by telling you a little bit about myself. I'm 29 years old (I can feel 30 hovering over me like a vulture. A vulture.) I live in a city that's frozen solid pretty much 8 months of the year. I'm sure there will be at least one or two following posts about how much I hate the cold, because I really, really do. I hate the cold with the fury of a thousand suns. In fact, I'd rather be in the middle of the fury of a thousand suns, because at least then I wouldn't be so freaking cold. My landlord is a cheapskate and refuses to turn the furnaces on until November 1st every year, so in the meantime we are all left to our own devices if it gets cold before then, like it always does.
I have two dogs, Jagger and Radar. They are shelties, and are grandson and grandfather. Jagger is 10 months old. Radar is 10 years old. Radar is a pretty normal dog. Jagger is a weirdo. He likes to sleep splayed out on his back, which is weird if you're a dog, I guess. I once came home to him with his nose inextricably trapped in one of my dirty socks.
I also have two cats, Tango and Samba. They are about 3 months apart in age, both are orange. Tango is, again, a pretty normal cat. Samba is...yeah. He's a special snowflake. He's too smart for his own good and is the most efficient stuff-wrecker I have ever come across. He's also madly nosy, and right now he has half his whiskers singed off because he doesn't seem to have the instinct that normal, non-retarded animals have to stay away from fire. He stuck his face in a candle and burned off some of his whiskers. Don't worry, he's fine. A little crispy, but fine.
I started this blog because, as I said, I have a LOT of free time on my hands just now. Also, I'm a total freak magnet. Crazy people seem to just appear out of the woodwork when I leave my apartment and venture out into public, so I thought this might be a nice place to share some of those stories, too.
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