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The cranky thread


Hermit

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Re: The cranky thread

 

Okay, Mr. Backyard Neighbor, you like to hunt. Not my thing, but hey, it's a free country ... but could you please find something to do with the bodies besides hanging them upside down from a tree in plain sight? I don't like stifling the urge to throw up every time I look out the kitchen window.

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Re: The cranky thread

 

My November so far:

 

1. Last Thursday (11/6), I find out a good friend of mine, my old boss from VA who has been fighting ovarian cancer for 3 1/2 years, was going into hospice. Lovely.

2. The next day I call my dad to get advice on how to talk to a dying person. He, being a minister and an actual former hospice minister, gives me advice. So I call her, we have ten minutes of conversation where I feel like a babbling idiot.

3. I spend the weekend being depressed about this and trying not to notice how small one of our cats has gotten.

4. Last Monday (11/10), the wife forces me to notice how small the cat has gotten.

5. Veteran's day Tuesday (11/11), both have it off. We have a nice lunch and try not to discuss #6.

6. We take Tootie, 16 years old, into the vet and put her to sleep. Our five cats are now two, and the two remaining ones are 15 and 17. There's nothing like the "our pet died, please don't ask me about death, please please please please please" conversation with the six-year-old.

7. I mean to call my friend again, but just can't face it for a day or two after we lose the cat. Decide I'll call her later. Call her Thursday (11/14), no answer. Call another friend, find out she was moved into inpatient hospice that morning.

8. Phone rings at 8 a.m. on Friday (11/15). Debbie died early that morning. I spend my dad collecting email addresses for about 50 friends and former coworkers, badgering people to get the emails of people they may have and I don't. Write "Debbie died today" email. Get about 20 responses, including plenty of "I didn't even know she was sick" emails, several of them rather unpleasantly accusatory. As if I was supposed to rent a billboard and not respect her wishes or something.

9. Help family write obituary, discover time of service, send out updated email. Book frequent flyer ticket. Fly out Monday morning, get in at 2:30, service is at 7:30 that night, will stay until Wednesday morning to actually physically go into my office for the first time in a year and a half.

10. Last night I spend half an hour comforting my son, who's sobbing because daddy's going on a trip. Daddy's pretty boring, he never goes anywhere. I have been there every morning to drop him off at the bus and I have been there every afternoon when he gets off it. I feel like crap because I made a six-year-old cry. My stomach is feeling a bit weird, I chalk it up to stress.

11. Yesterday (11/17), I get up at 5:45 in the morning. I shower, eat dry toast and take a banana along; my stomach still doesn't feel quite right. Get to the airport in plenty of time. Park, go in. Eat my banana. Things are not . . . right. I ignore it. Stand in security line. Not right. My peripheral vision gets a bit dark, I squat down, try to clear my head. I realize I need to go. Immediately. Grab bag, spring to bathroom. Vomit profusely. Finish vomiting. Flush, turn around, sit, and have explosive diarrhea. Have dry heaves in process of having diarrhea. Sit in agony. Sit on floor when done because I think I'm going to faint. Stare at cell phone, realize . . .

12. My flight just left without me. No checked bags, at least. I guess. The nice lady at the counter said because it was a frequent flyer ticket my options were more limited. They would get me to D.C., sure, but the first chance I had of getting there due to connecting flights was to land at, of course, 7:30. Right when the funeral started.

13. Go home and hope to be able to eat something at some point.

 

November has utterly sucked @#$@$!!!!! Hey, but at least I can actually eat today.

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Re: The cranky thread

 

Grr. The diseased sodomizers of underage reptiles who cause policy in IT, may they receive molten potassium enemas, have replaced all the old Word instances on the public machines with the new Word 2007, with all its glorious new misfeatures intended purely to force people to ditch their old software and buy the new, and invest in new training and "Word for Dummies" books (and we won't even mention the new docx format being incompatible with old Word versions). Baal knows that we have to train all the students here restore the economy by slavishly purchasing whatever new crap our pals in Redmond feel like slopping at us. The new default control interface in Word 2007, of course, bears no resemblance to the old one, and I can't find where to get to the two-sided printing option.

 

Of course, the machine on my desk is locked down so I can't install software on it (oh no, that would be Too Useful), and I certainly can't link to any printers (that would assume I actually did something work-related and useful with my machine). So my OpenOffice at home can make PDFs, but in order to perform the work-related tasks I need to do, I have to take it home and do the work there.

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Re: The cranky thread

 

Nothing. I work in a restaurant. They just go "Gimme a f**king (this), a f**king (that)," and if I double-check something I may not have heard right (I'm half-deaf in my left ear), they shout "I said (this), you stupid motherf**ker." Specific words vary, but I usually get one of these every day or two. I attribute it to the general attitude around this redneck of the woods.

 

I'm just a restaurant grunt, so I have no feelings and don't deserve to be treated like a human being, apparently.

 

I'm sad that I'm getting to the point where I can no longer work due to my condition, but dealing with the public is not something I'm going to miss.

 

I have no idea what it is about restaurants that make half the people patronizing them turn into worst-behaving human-shaped pieces of s***, but I've observed it before, and not just in "that redneck of the woods." (I like the phrase, by the way.) I've never been a waitress, and never could be, because of such people. But when I see people treating my waitress that way, I make sure to leave an extra-large tip, or tell the manager the customers don't deserve to eat off the floor in the bathroom because of their behavior and what the waitress has gone through because of them.

 

Someone has to.

I always look at them, and think "That's right, annoy the person who's going to be alone with your food. That's a real Stephen Hawkings move!"

 

I've never waited tables, and those with the patience to do so have my admiration. I have a number of dietary sensitivites, so my orders can sometimes be complicated. But I try to be polite, say "please" and "thank-you," and tip. I tend to get good service, and I think saying please goes along way toward that.

 

(My mother gave me three rules about money: Always pay your taxes. If you can't afford to tip your waitperson, you can't afford to eat out. And always help out the less fortunate, no matter how long and hard you have to look to find someone less fortunate.)

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Re: The cranky thread

 

Well... you could have had the profuse vomiting and explosive diarrhea on the plane. During the takeoff roll.

 

That was how my wife tried to comfort me once I got home. I will admit that the cloud does have a silver lining.

 

Funny thing is, it's the second time I've had massive intestinal distress in an airport. About 12 years ago I was on a business trip in Lawrence, KS, and was flying back to Iowa City. My manager and I wound up eating at an Applebee's in Kansas City, KS, where I had to go to the bathroom and barf. Then, we get in the car and go to the airport (which is in Kansas City, MO), and I have the whole front-and-back intestinal explosion. I think this means I should avoid airports.

 

I am really glad it didn't happen, say, in O'Hare at my connection. THAT would have utterly sucked.

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Re: The cranky thread

 

I always look at them, and think "That's right, annoy the person who's going to be alone with your food. That's a real Stephen Hawkings move!"

 

I've never waited tables, and those with the patience to do so have my admiration. I have a number of dietary sensitivites, so my orders can sometimes be complicated. But I try to be polite, say "please" and "thank-you," and tip. I tend to get good service, and I think saying please goes along way toward that.

 

(My mother gave me three rules about money: Always pay your taxes. If you can't afford to tip your waitperson, you can't afford to eat out. And always help out the less fortunate, no matter how long and hard you have to look to find someone less fortunate.)

Rule #2 sounds quite familiar, though I don't remember rule #3. Rule #1 was pretty much implied. They grumbled a lot, but my parents paid their taxes on time and in full.

 

They substituted rule #3 for an alternate: Never loan out money you can't afford to see again. I've had some well-timed repayments, that way.

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