This week has been a particularly astounding display of obscenities uttered, both loudly and under breath, by yours truly. Most irritating is the lack of a job in a few weeks time, and current lack of monetary assets, espite having a job. Tonight, I have compiled a list of situations that deserve a good shouting or mumbling of:
"Fuck:"
Craigslist Job postings:
-Requiring "3-5 years experience."
-"Must be in school, CREDIT ONLY" (Esp. when listed in CAPS).
-Unpaid
-Bogus credit checks
-Need for a background in Medical/Science writing (I want to injure any Engligh major this is being asked of who actually meets this).
-Columbia University in general, all of their posts are sand in my swim suit bottoms (I didn't go to Columbia and I can still create a metaphor, tres shocking).
Christmas:
-Everyone secretly hates it, I know it.
-I have no money for presents, thus I will choose gift giving over:
-Drinks at a bar, eating out (this includes fast food), pleasurable activities like driving, going to the
movies, ice skating, going to a zoo, museums, train rides, trips to see friends, walking in parks that charge, etc.
Yesterday I may have had a small seizure that has somehow altered my ability to like the human race in any form or fashion due to a wealthy woman. Why, of course I'll elaborate.
At approximately 9am, one of the kids (residing temporarily in the shelter for homeless teens that I work at) calls from school claiming vomiting and a need to be picked up. I wrap myself in a thousand layers of the cheap, worn crap I call clothing, and face the cold and quite smelly minivan I drive at work to pick said child up. When I get to the highschool, I am affronted with the same attendant and security guard that I want to physically harm every time I need their assistance. I get crap about not properly placing my "badge," which is a "my name is" sticker that yeilds such earth shattering importance that he needs to yell at me about it, to actually friggin yell. The other woman snaps her gum and says the child is not in the nurse's office. Work calls, the kid decided that he wants to stay in school because if he comes home he will not be able to go out with the other kids later in the evening. I go outside and kick a brick wall for a brief moment. My co-worker says not to come back, but hang around while she reaches my boss to find out the destination of a charity pick up for the house. I walk in the cold, find everything closed, and kick another brick wall just before work calls again and gives me a local. Said local is 30 minutes away. Great. I slightly vomit in my mouth due to syrupy heavy hangover, 2 hours sleeps, and the dizziness that my pent up rage is causing. When I get to the town I need to be in, the directions are wrong, so after circling one particular park for 20 minutes and yelling at the radio, I pull over at an ambulance station thinking that they know where things are because they have to. Nice man tells me where, I nearly hug him but hold back. Pull into golf course like estate thinking it is a suburban loop of homes overlooking the hudson. It is one home, just very large. I pull up to the enormous mansion/northern plantation home, get out of the dirty, dented mini-van wearing hiking boots, a tattered pea coat, and fingerless gloves, and I am greeted by a dog. The dog is small, and something a rich person would choose, but instensely friendly, so I make nice and we're friends. I walk up to the steps to find a 5th Ave bred, tightly wound, would be wrinkle bound older woman forming a smile out of her obvious distaste for me. A man, older, and of some southern american descent, wearing clothes that belong in my closet, silently beams at me, showing an array of gold teeth. He stays this way the whole time, and at first I wonder if he's there to translate her lock jaw WASP into a more "urban" dialect for me. I explain that I'm from "---" and I'm here to pick up the donation. Oh, she says, the owner of the whole damn company that you work for was upset that someone else was asked to pick up those items, so he came and got them, and you should really talk to your supervisor. She says this in that damn tone the wealthy, not rich, always have when they find the person they're speaking to inferior. I know it, I grew up with these people. At this moment, I wish I could show her my liscense address, which is still my parents' house, kick her in the shins, and light a cigarette in her mansion that is bigger than the town I live in. I continue to pet the dog, as I thank her through closed teeth for considering to let me do this pick up and use this fluffy white poof of a dog to distract my annoyance. Nice dog, I say. Oh, she says, he's really stupid. Also, you don't have to back out, this road will take you back. This is code for don't hit my nice cars with your crap-mobile homeless transportation, and don't steal anything on your way out. Then, she seals my hatred for her nice and tight when she says, oh, yes, that dog is stupid, you'll probably hit him on your way out because he'll follow you. Um, okay, I say ligically, then I guess you can hold him while I pull out. Oh, no, just drive slowly, she says. I have no more words. Apparently stupid dog follows me out the door. I consider taking him with me. My hatred for her is hermeticly sealed and my love for him exponentially growing. I say, dog with no name, sit. He sits. I say stay, I back up, walk to my tin skateboard with seven seats, start it, and drive away. He stays the whole time, probably thinking, take me, I can live a little bo-ho. I get a cup of coffee, drive the forty minutes back to work, with neither child nor charitable donations, trying to focus on the nice ambulance man and the poor dog, not all the other jack wagons roaming the planet.
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