I Really Mean It

Kill me.

Phone rings. (God help me) it's the Gator.

She's on a rip roaring search for a fight (and she's gonna get one, if she's not careful.)

G: Is your Sweetie around?

M: Yes. He's outside.

G: Give him a message for me, will ya?

M: Ohhhhhhh-Kay.

G: These improvements on the garage are not all tax write-offs, you know. Neither property has a garage with it. Thanks. *click*

WTF does that mean? And, which properties, exactly? This a freaking DUPLEX. It's ONE lot, unfortunately with two houses on it. They've been working on the garage for 4 months--and NOW she says this?

Oh, yeah. I'm gonna need bail money.

Kill Me. Kill Me RIGHT. NOW.

Yet again, I'm on vacation...and in Hell.

Why am I in Hell? I am apparently not doing enough (read: everything that needs done) to see to it that the 19-year-old Toad begins college classes next week. How it works out to be MY responsibility is anyone's guess.

No. Really. I want to hear others' guesses on how it is the mother's job to do everything annoying and inconveniencing the Toad doesn't want to do?

Lately, I'm getting this crap from two fronts: my mother, of course (because only she really truly sincerely loves him) and my aunt (who is, just now, totally insane.)

Neither of these women seems to understand these basic facts:

For years now, I have been unable to motivate, threaten into motivation, cajole, coerce, demand, pout (not that I actually pout, mind you, but apparently, I'm supposed to), guilt, or otherwise force the Toad into having some ambition and work ethic.

Nevermind that for longer than the years of unmotivated unmodifiable behavior, my mother has been undermining my decisions, my goals, and my ability to threaten, etc., the Toad. She's encouraged him to lie to me...and is majorly pissed off since he's now using that particular avoidance mechanism on her.

My aunt, on the other hand, thinks that I should call (or go) to his workplace and "talk with his manager yourself about them working around his class schedule."

Is it just me or are these people beyond "lost touch with reality"? Am I the crazy one to think that when I announced, four years ago, that I cannot and will not make myself physically (or mentally) ill in order to give THEM what they demand from the Toad (read: if he won't do it, I should for him)?

And now, on top of this insanity, it's my job to figure out how to get extra 15% off coupons for this aunt. Who can't drive. Who seems to live and die for the $1.00 she'll save on a clearanced blouse for a 5 year old next week.

I'm not making this up. I saw her Monday night, when she called and demanded that I bring her up the used and void coupon of that day to her. RIGHT. NOW.

At that time I informed her that we would be leaving on Tuesday, and we'd be home on Thursday. She called yesterday, an hour and a half after we got home, and wanted to know if I got those coupons yet. She wanted me to get online RIGHT. NOW. to get them.

She called this morning, at 10am, to ask if I had them yet. She wanted me to get online RIGHT. NOW. and get them.

I'm about to blow up at the woman, recuperating from surgery or not. I'm about to tell her that I think it's stealing to print off more than one coupon after taking that stupid survey. I want to tell her that I'd rather *gasp* pay full price for everything I ever buy again rather than listen to her incessant demands for more coupons that will save her, at most, $5 per purchase--purchases that aren't for her, and aren't needed, not by me, not by the dozen other people she's buying them for.

Oh, and with the price of gas (even if it is under $4/gal locally right now) is costing her every blessed penny she's saving with these coupons.

I want to call her up and tell her I'll bring her my unusable receipt and she can fold it three corners and stuff it...RIGHT. NOW.

Where Are My Pennies?

First, being around people greatly increases my chances of seeing asses. I'm not talking about people behaving like asses--I'm talking about actually getting an eyeful of someone's naked ass.

The usual jokes aside, it's getting old.

I don't want to see the Original ButtCrack's crack. I don't want to see the Princess's crack. I don't want to see ANY.ONE's. ASS. Period. Not even the asses of people I like (and those, we all agree, ain't many.)

There. Is. Simply. No. Ass. I. Want. Or. Need. To. See.

And I'm running out of jokes to make about them. Full Moon, Say No To Crack...they're old. I need new material.

My husband suggests I keep a pocket full of pennies while at work. That, my friends, would probably be considered offensive.

My favorite part of this? The most recent time I got to see the Princess's ass, and I mentioned it to Frodo, he commented, "What? She bent over again?" (emphasis mine).

My point is this: Why the hell is my supervisor's supervisor using the word AGAIN when I mention having a view of her nekkid ass? There's something seriously wrong in the Land where I work--they demand that I tuck my shirts in and mind my manners, yet, this woman's pasty white ass can hang out and she needs told AGAIN to wear a pair of pants that covers it?

My attitude is a problem but a full view of her moon isn't? How TF does that work?

Am I the last rational person on the planet? Or is this one of those *man* things--you know, where as long as you're young and relatively cute, you can wear and do as you please...and those of us who aren't getting a woody looking at this view need to just pretend not to notice?

Is that what I need to do? Show off my ass or my tits, and make sure they're stuck in these men's faces?

They're crapping in their pants worrying about sexual harassment/discrimination, yet I have to look at woman-ass crack daily? Somehow, I think they missed part of the seminar--an important part.

And then they wonder why I'm so pissed off all the time. I'm counting the days until I get told I have "Penis Envy" again--but I'll tell you this much: even if I had a penis, I'd still not find the pasty white ass hanging out at work attractive.

I am seriously considering the pocketful of pennies thing--even if I don't toss them at the coin slots I see, perhaps I could just hand them out with a suggestion of where to put them.

Little Buggers

Before I begin, if you're of the Old School Opinion that head lice is a *dirty* thing--skip this. I don't need to hear it.





This is apparently the Summer of the Bugs.





First, the Howler and her friends were collecting them. Creepy, and the only thing that saved me from having the house infested with some of them was the many-uttered edict "NOT IN MY HOUSE!" and violent heaving out the door of anything bug-like.





Second, there's head lice going around. Joy. As if that's not ewwww enough, I have to know people whose children have gotten them. Those people whose children have played with mine in the preceding three days before discovery. Double Joy.





Like I want the stress and inconvenience of it all.





But this rant is more about the absolute dysfunction of some of the people around me. I've ranted enough about OPK, now let me explain about OPKP (Other People's Kids' Parents).





It sucks to be a sane, rational person in a neighborhood with a Village Idiot. Seriously.





These people, who respectively, have one daughter each, are morons, and prove, yet again, that most people should be tested and approved before conceiving.





In the past 3 months, Loser Boy/Village Idiot #1 has, for no reason whatsoever, called me a "slut." My responses (as no one else has heard him) kept to the *sweet smile* "Like your loser opinion matters to me." It's not snappy, but there were children around, and I was not going to have him thinking that HE has any power in my life-I also knew that no one else could hear him, and making a big deal of it would make ME look like some sort of nutjob. Ignoring everything he has to say thereafter seemed to drive the point home. I can tell you that if it happens again, he's getting the full Mumple treatment--and I guarantee you, he's not gonna like it.





Village Idiot #2, his *wife*--she's not much better, parenting wise, than Loser Boy. Lazy about it. Counts on the compassion of others to help her take care of her children. She's hauled her daughter, or his, to work with her, and had them duck down behind the counter or into the back room because neither of them could figure out how to get a freaking babysitter. I ended up with HIS daughter one afternoon because my husband stopped in, felt bad for the little girl, and called me to help out. I said, "OK" but made sure that I repeated, many times, what time I had to leave for work that day. I would not be late, nor would I call off--not to cover their asses. They tried, though--I ended up taking their child back to work on my way to work. I also told my husband that I would NEVER AGAIN agree.





I don't like kids, and, rude as it sounds, this wasn't MY daughter. I make sure MY daughter has supervision and care when I need to go to work, and it doesn't involve locking her out of the house and hoping that the neighbors cover for me. (Yeah, they've done this one, too.)





Considering that Loser Boy's Squirrel Bait mother lives right next door and refuses to babysit these little girls for them, it's most definitely NOT my problem.





But on with my rant: One neighbor & friend calls us last night to tell us that Village Idiot #2's daughter has head lice. They called HER, wanting HER to do something about it. She called to warn us.





Next thing I know, I get a call from Village Idiot #2, not to tell me to check my daughter and be prepared, but to mention repeatedly how she was at work, Squirrel Bait has the victim, and Loser Boy is at home. Between these geniuses, they have 2 cars and all 3 are capable of driving. NONE of them can go get the RID to treat this little girl's head. VI#2 says she's a work and *can't* on top of the fact that she has no money with her besides.





Loser Boy and Squirrel Bait can't go either. I assume they're both using the "It's not my daughter" excuse. Never mind that there's a little girl, who is part of their chosen family, infested with the buggers.





None of them can "figure out" where she got them, either. My Sweetie knows--Loser Boy's Psycho Sister's kids had them two weeks ago--and they spent a few days visiting Squirrel Bait. Psycho Sister is a vindictive, selfish wench, and she's sent the kids to school and babysitter with infectious things before, so I would guess that head lice and MY neighborhood wouldn't be that much of a problem for her.





So, they drop hints at me--like I'm going to ensure my family's vermin exposure to be the grown up they need. These people are supposedly adults. And they're calling me to come play "Mommy" for them, and to them. He was in the Marines. She was in the service also--Army, I believe. Squirrel Bait raised children. Like I said, supposedly adults. She even dropped hints that she needed someone she could trust to wash the girl's hair for her.





I am astounded that these people think that I'm going to drop everything and rescue them. I apparently strike these people as a *mother hen* type--or a rescuer. Or something along the lines of a doormat, who will do whatever it takes to help them out. They're obviously not paying attention.





I'm so hoping they ASK me about it...oooo. Yes, I am.

Vindication

The biggest problem I have is that no matter what my behavior is, managers at work still do not take me seriously. They don't get that I don't operate on the same level as most women, let alone most people. They also don't take into consideration that the difference between my blowing off steam and my being righteously pissed off is easily discerned and if it's a state of high piss off, they best be MOVING in the direction of a fix. (To brag on myself, if I get to "High" on the Piss-Off-O-Meter, there's definitely a problem. Enraged is a different matter--that's just me making an ass of myself.)

Anyway, I finally had reason to go to the Head Cheese about the Asshat.

First, a few weeks ago, he left me standing in the garden center with a locked gate (not really a problem for me, btw, if he wants to pay me to stand around and do nothing, I'll take it) until 35 minutes after the store opened--40 minutes after my first call to let them know that I was out there.

He sent another key-carrying manager out only when I called and told him "I have a customer at the gate." And that phone call was my 3rd phone call in 40 minutes.

He has consistantly let my customers wait up to 30 minutes (one day, I found a way to take care of what I needed without a manager, otherwise, we'd have still been waiting an hour later.)

Finally, he did something I can't NOT speak up about: One of the newer cashiers (a very sweet, quiet girl) wait 20 minutes for an override--and even with that, we had to call and dig up someone else for it--because I called him.

How do I know? Simple. If I call, my customer and I wait. If someone else calls, he scurries like there's nothing better he wants to do. Earlier in the morning, a different new cashier (the mouthy, loungewearing one) was outside withe me. She called and he RAN to get to her. She waited, I kid you not, less than 5 minutes. While she was at lunch, her coverage was the sweet girl, and she had a problem I tried to help her with--hoping there was a way to not need a manager. No-Can-Do. Had to call. So I called, identified myself, where I was, and that I was calling on her behalf. SHE and HER customer waited that obligatory 20 minutes.

So, now, instead of simply hanging ME out (along with his rude, condescending, unprofessional, and pissy attitude) he's hanging out anyone in association with me. I'm mad on her behalf. It's uncalled for. I don't call and say it's for someone else, unless it is. (My rep is one of blunt honesty--and no games. I don't lie, I don't hedge, and I don't use others as a means to my ends. And he's worked with me long enough to know that.)

Way-Back in April, he let a customer wait for 30+ minutes to get an assembled wheelbarrow unlocked. I had to dig up someone else for that, too.

So, when released for my lunch, I ran into the Head Cheese, and while obviously mad about this, I explained. H.C. hadn't even heard about the October incident; since he was on his honeymoon, I guess it was none of his business.

So, he said he'd look into it. He must have--Asshat's attitude is greatly improved, and if I call, I get what I need.

Although, in Asshat's defense, he was being a total buttwipe to everyone in the store, not just me--he just seemed to have a special hardon for me.

Frustration

I come from a long line of bitter and angry women. I work hard to not be bitter.

My problem, recently, has been too much unresolved and unfocused anger. Mostly about work. And some about the Toad.

I should be used to the work thing, but I'm not.

This is how work is:

If the temps are 95+ degrees, intense humidity, gallons of water unleashed from the skies, cool to cold temps, I am outside. On gorgeous sunny-but-not-too-hot-or-humid days, I am inside the store, battling lumber or returns. If it's a holiday weekend, I'm guaranteed to be inside, usually in lumber, by myself on a register with no one to run a second register when needed. Why? Because they have 3 cashiers standing outside saying things like, "I don't know." and "No, we don't carry it." (Much of what they "don't know" and "don't sell" are easily remedied by either picking up one of the phones--mostly because they do work now--and/or having a clue.) I end up with people who have wandered the legnth of the building to bump into me, and then having them tell me, "Those girls out there said you don't have it." And when I explain that we do, indeed, stock the stuff, the customer is put out with ME. As if I have any control over where I'm told to be. It kills me that I can't have the help I would need, because the people who should be available to help are busy bumping into each other a la Keystone Kops. Instead of an ASK ME button, I want one that says, "Go tell management. They don't listen to me."

The other criteria for where I will be for my shifts seems to be whether or not I've criticized the Princess. She's a thin little thing, who is, apparently, worshipped by management. Management actual expects the rest of us to cover for her by doing the things she refuses to do. She SITS during her shift, hiding behind the customer service desk. She flat out ignores any requests for things that you need to do your job. Case in point: Last weekend, I had a register lock up. Or slow down to the point of being immobile, if you prefer that description. I was running the return desk, checking on the snail's pace of one register, while running transactions off the other. The Princess was at customer service, alone, with nothing to do but look pretty. I asked her to find and send someone to help--I was going to have to call to get one register unlocked, and I couldn't do both--call to get it working AND do returns for the 6 people in the line. She nodded, then called to get a second person behind customer service with HER. So they could BOTH help each customer as he or she approached the desk. There was never more than one actual customer there at a time (if there were two, they were together.) Ended up that a manager had to come run the other register at returns for the deluge of customers I had. And then, when I pointed out to them what happened, I was informed, "She probably meant to call people over to her." Well, I'm (not) sorry to say, if that's what she intended, she made NO ATTEMPT at all to do so. I told him, "I don't think so--she never came near here, never said anything, and YOU ended up being here."

I pissed them off in my critique of the Princess. Too freaking bad. If I wasn't right, I wouldn't be dragged inside and made miserable. And then they wonder why I get so pissed off.