Days Off

There are so many little things irritating me right now that I simply must get a couple of them out.

This morning I made a trip to a local bead store to pick up copper crimp beads, and while the clerk was ringing me up, her phone rang. Obviously, I could only hear her side of the conversation, but I was getting quite ticked-off on her behalf. What I heard went something like this.

We do allow children at the classes. Anyone eight and over.

Eight. Eight is the age minimum.

No, they’re very stern about that. It’s a hard and fast rule – no exceptions.

Well, maybe, but most kids that age just don’t have –

Uh-huh, but –

No. I’m sorry. She’d have to be eight years old.

Yes, that’s the bottom line. It’s a very strict rule.

Okaaaaaaaay…

No, they won’t tell you any different. We all teach and we all have agreed on the age of eight. It’s non-negotiable.

Well, that’s your right.

Goodb—

She then looked at me with wide eyes, holding the phone away, and clearly the caller hung up on her. I fully expected her to tell me that the mother (because only a mother would do that shit) was trying to get the rules bent for a 7-year-old, or maybe a really, really dexterous and obedient 6-year-old (is that an oxymoron?), but it turns out, the demanding mother wanted to enroll her 4-year-old in beading classes.

My reaction was far more goaded than the clerk’s was, and I hit her with some automatic spray of rhetorical questions and comments like this.

Four-year-olds can’t even color inside the lines!

They can’t sit still at a table for more than a few minutes!

What are you supposed to do with this kid?

They can’t even play with the little Legos yet! They still have the big blocks! How are they supposed to handle tiny, little beads? And needles! And wire!

Don’t they eat everything they play with at that age still?

I mean, how miserable would that class be for everyone else?!

Then I calmed down. You know, I’m starting to get a chip on my shoulder when it comes to moms. What is it about them that makes them think they can inflict their spawn on everyone else now that the country doesn’t believe in using discipline anymore? I really miss the days of being able to whack your kid, because I don’t remember this shit happening when I was little. Some parents really make the world a worse place.



Last night I had to make an emergency trip to a local department store to pick up an emergency replacement of my favorite casserole dish, which was killed by someone in my household, and I had nothing to cook my emergency spinach and artichoke dip in. When I was leaving the store, there was a man at a podium-like stand, harassing passersby about registering to vote. While I’m all for registering people, the last thing I want is someone using car-salesman tactics on the public for this. It’s off-putting and obnoxious, and I seem to be uber sensitive to obnoxiousness right now. However, I thought I’d be nice to him and ask how things were going, which he just kind of shrugged off.

Though there were no people coming in or going out of the doors, he didn’t seem to want to talk to me at all, and he didn’t look me in the eye when I spoke to him or when he gave me his aloof answers. When he succeeded in giving me the hint that he wasn’t up for chatting, I started to walk away, and then he started talking to my back. I turned around to face him from 15 feet away, and he kept talking, like suddenly he was in the mood. What the fuck?

So we chatted. Or, I should say, he did.

This explains things. He’s one of those people who doesn’t like to listen, but really likes to be heard. Blah.

It went something like this:

Him: We’ve had about 22 people today, so I guess that’s okay. You practically have to hit people over the head to get them to register.

Me: I’m all in favor of hitting people over the head at any opportunity.

Him: Pshaw! They should be begging me to register them! They shouldn’t have to be forced to do this.

I was wondering why he forces people, but I think this is just his super aggressive personality exaggerating. And maybe it’s easier to behave this way with strangers when you won’t look them in the eye. He was still constantly scanning the parking lot for people coming in rather than dealing with the person in front of him. I think this was indicative of his main personality flaw – unable to deal with what’s in front of him and constantly gauging the future.

Me: We are lucky if we do two a day at the library.

Him: What library do you work at?

I told him and he said “Pshaw” again, as if he wouldn’t deign to grace us with his presence. He uses a neighboring library. That’s probably better for us.

Him: So, how is your library, really?

Me: It’s nice. I’m pretty proud of it.

Him: No, honestly. Tell me. What’s it really like?

Has he heard about my blog? What’s up with this?

Me: Honestly, I think it’s a great little library.

And that’s the truth, folks. Because there are some people working there who make it truly priceless. Unappreciated universally, but priceless nonetheless. And I’m particularly fond of my little library right now because someone had the brilliant idea to use actual toilet paper in the bathrooms, instead of the pathetic membranous tissue that replaced the butcher paper. My hoo-hoo is happy again, particularly now that the steroids have me dehydrated, so I drink nonstop and pee about once every 90 minutes. As long as there’s real toilet paper, my love of my library will be true. (See what a cheap date I am?) (And I do realize that now that I’ve pointed this out, someone will take the expensive toilet paper away from us and I’ll be back to paper-cutting my labia with butcher paper five times a day, but until then… happy!)

Him: Well, I’ve never been there because I just figure you won’t have much. Like, do you have movies?

Me: Um, yeah, thousands.

Him: Really? But I mean DVDs. Newer ones.

Me: Yeah! We have a ton. We have for as long as they’ve been available for people to buy. We also have a new collection of video games coming out, which most libraries don’t have, and we –

Him (condescendingly): I don’t care about that. What’s your history and biography section like?

Me: Um, what are you looking for?

Him (annoyed): Just… whatever, history.

Me: Well, it’s two full aisles long, and the aisles are two-sided and the length of half the building. Give or take.

Him: Hmmm…

Me: I can’t really explain it to you. You’d have to come and –

Him: I go to another library.

Me: Okay. I’m sure that’s just fine for your needs. Keep going there.

Was that too overt? GOD, I wanna say this to people at the library all the damn time. I figured it was okay to say this to him outside of work because I’d already talked up my cool little library, and the truth was I didn’t want this self-centered asshole fouling up my workplace. There are enough self-centered people in the world. I don’t have room for any more right now. I’m at critical-fucking-mass!

Him: Maybe I’ll stop by.

Oh, you fucking fuckface! That’s what sells you? Telling you NOT to do something? Piece of shit! How about I tell you not to look at me when you talk to me? Oh, wait! I’ll just retrace my steps.

Me: Good, you should stop by!

Him: Yeah, since I’ll be mayor in April.

Me: Oh you will?

Him: Yeah, I’m going to be the next mayor.

Me: Where?

So I can start the campaign against you, you miserable, eye-avoiding, pompous burro.

Him: Here.

Me: Right here? My town?

Him: Yep. I’ll be taking over in April.

Me: Ah. Good luck with that.

Him: Don’t need luck.

Me: Uh-huh. Okay, well, see ya.

Him: Nice talking with you.

Me: Uh-huh.

SONOFABITCH! Doesn’t it figure? He’s a small-time, wannabe, local politician, who isn’t even elected to anything right now. No wonder he was so full of himself and incapable of listening to or looking at people. What can you possibly see and hear if you don’t look and listen? And how do you expect to lead the people if you can’t even look at them? Fucking asswipe.

And I should point out that registrars are supposed to be completely impartial and should not be campaigning while registering. Some might argue that he wasn’t trying to win my vote, just stating that he had the election in the bag, but it takes a real dickhead to handle himself in this way, while doing this particular job. In fact, I think he succeeded in campaigning against himself just by being himself. Nice work, butthead. I don’t care what ticket you run on or what ideals you purport. I’m voting for whomever your opponent is.

And yeah, I’ve gotten to that point after living in Blagojevich’s Illinois for a few years. I’ve come to realize that just because I’m a Democrat and he’s a Democrat, doesn’t mean I will ever vote a straight ticket again. OH HELLS NO! I’ve had enough of the assholes who happen to be on the same side of the fence as me. Not that Illinois has a history of honorable politicians, red or blue, but if he cuts one more social program and raises tolls one more time, I’m going to lose my goddamn mind. And then I won’t be able to get professional help because he cut it all, which is just as well because I can’t afford to travel to see anyone on the malignantly dilapidated and fucked-up roadways that never, ever improve, but just continue to cost us more to use. Sigh.


This is what happens when I have days off work. I run into people. I don’t like people. I need to spend more time without people.

Vacation starts October 3. My vacationitis is acting up. Maybe I’ll have to install a countdown timer again, just to give myself peace of mind.