As I was speaking with my mother this afternoon, I came to the realization that I had a really shit month last week. And the week before that, too, actually. I crammed two month�s worth of shit into a fourteen-day span, which is really pretty remarkable when you think about it. But don�t think about it, or you might cry like I did.
Anyway, my mother casually (and foolishly, as it turned out) inquired as to how I was doing, and so I trotted out the latest confrontation I had with the bureaucratic fucksticks of the world, as detailed below. And then I had to explain about the last time it happened, and the time before that (and the time immediately after that), and pretty quickly I realized why this latest escapade has pushed me into Crazy Man Letter Writing territory (also detailed below).
The fact is, I seem to store up frustration like some kind of fucked up Stress Camel. I�m still pissed off about those dickweeds who never took care of their end of the extremely complicated situation from work the other week (which they continue to blame me for, I should point out), and I�m still irate over getting followed around by Ilsa like I was an inmate on a bathroom break during a cross-country transfer to a maximum security penitentiary, when all I wanted to do was buy a fucking sweater. And so, when I was accosted on Saturday night, for the second time this month, by the evil hell-god of Parking, I just about lost my marbles.
I went to go see Cold Creek Manor, which I suffered through so badly that the Purple Heart committee actually awarded me a medal this afternoon (seriously, you guys; it�s like The Hand That Rocks the Cradle meets The Money Pit, only much longer, less suspenseful, more boring, and much more poorly developed than either of those films [plus, no one got attacked by a raccoon, which is comedy gold]), and my parking ticket fell out of my pocket in the theater. Somewhere. I couldn�t find it, but I figured I�d show them my ticket stub and whatever else I could and how could they resist the power of logic?
I don�t even have to tell you how that worked. We all know logic is a visitor to this earth whose stopovers are infrequent at best, and rarely, if ever, does he grace anyone other than ourselves with his fair presence. Basically, it was a repeat of my previous encounter with the Parking Gestapo, in which I endeavored an explanation and inquired to know what my options were, and some creepy woman with a bouffant and, apparently, severe damage to the nerves that make one�s face mobile, refused to listen or so much as acknowledge my voice and instead pointed repeatedly to the shoutrageously high number I was expected to fork over in order to release my car from purgatory. If I�d had my wits about me, I�d have done the same thing right back -- you know, carried on in an unremitting monotone, repeating my story over and over and over, and essentially ignoring everything she muttered and indicated until she finally had no other choice but to give in. Unfortunately, I don�t know that I have that much gumption when there�s a line of cars behind me. But wouldn�t that have been great?
So anyway, I allowed myself to be blackmailed for the obnoxious sum of $19 (and I realize it�s only $19, but that�s like lunch for a week, y�all), but the demon at the gate informed me that I could call her boss the next day to see about a refund. Well, I did, but his secretary answered, and after I explained my situation very calmly and politely (no, for real), he snapped at me that Satan wouldn�t be in until Tuesday, and then hung up on me. WHAT IS THAT??? Seriously! He acted like I was child murderer and was asking him to direct me to the nearest playground, when all I wanted to know was when the general manager would be in so I could see about getting a refund.
Thing is, I know the general manager will give me the same treatment as all the rest of these assholes, and I�m really having trouble deciding if it�s worth it. On principle, sure, but is it really worth the aggravation? And I know that�s the point -- they want to make it so unpleasant for me that I just give up and they keep my money -- but I�ve reached the point where one single thirty second phone conversation with one of these dicksmacks was enough to completely ruin my afternoon! So I�m going to do the Crazy thing. I�m going to write strongly worded letters, and include a made-up petition with seventy-five made-up names of �people� promising to boycott, based on my recommendation. Betcha a dollar I get my money back.
Actually, scratch that. I can�t afford a dollar. Sigh.
Someone Got Here By Searching For: he's stupid for dumping me And: �twelve greek gods� I�m Watching: The Alias Season One finale. I�m so nervous! I�m Eating: Beforehands -- I made chicken salad for lunch this week, but I can�t seem to stop eating it. I won�t have any left for sandwiches, at this rate.