Stranger's Shit

When I went to Mariucci Friday afternoon I needed to pee.  Like the arena, but they still have fucking troughs, and I'll be goddamned if I ever have to use one.  Luckily there weren't too many people there, so I just went into one of the open stalls and FUCKING GODDAMMIT, there was floating piece of feces in the toilet.  And it was yellow and brown and everything.  Some motherfucker just didn't care to flush, Jesus fucking Christ.

I'll be honest: It kind of ruined the rest of my day.  I was watching the hockey Games, and I got obsessed with what I wanted to buy there.  But FUCKING GODDAMMIT, I flashed back to that piece of shit in the toilet.  The last time I saw something like that was at Lafayette Coney Island in Detroit when I was there the last weekend Tiger Stadium was open, and my pure OCD makes me flash back to that piece of shit I saw from time to time (even though the water was clear, for some fucking reason).  Goddammit, people are just fucking gross and rude!!!

Ah, Men Who Aren't

So Saturday night, after working the Gopher football Game, I was hanging out with a couple dudes downtown who saw our alma mater's football Game.  They left, but I wanted to hang out a little while longer.

I was standing up scrolling through my phone.  I was the only one of this table that had three chairs; although it was busy, there were other tables around me.  One that was occupied was occupied by a lot of people.  I didn't notice that another person joined them.  He apparently wanted a chair.  He saw the one that was next to me.  And he just took it, and used it to sit down with his friends.

No, he didn't ask me.  And he should've.  Sure, I wasn't using it.  But it was obvious that it was a chair that was at a table I was at, so a quick, "Hey, you using this?" would have sufficed.  That was too much to ask of this guy, who sat his incel ass down and, I think, began scrolling through his phone.

---

It was a bear to drive down the Megamall Black Friday.  The on-ramp to the first highway I hit was backed up, the drive into The Lowry Tunnel was backed up, and my God, the traffic to park at MOA was backed up for half a mile.

I finally parked.  I'm walking in, and I hear these clomping footsteps behind me.  There's this tall White dude who has this IDGAF attitude coming up behind me.  I fling the first door open for him; he keeps it open while not saying thanks.  At this point he's about to clip my heel with his toe, so I open the second door for him.  He doesn't say thanks; he just keeps striding, almost leaving what looks to be his kids in his dust.  I sarcastically give him the thumb's up; it's only comeback I can think of to let him know what I feel about his fast, intrusive walking.

---

There has been a school of thought that video games cause violence.  That idea has been debunked by researched a long time ago, even though I think a lot of people still cling to the notion.  But there has been very small evidence that video games cause aggression.  There are some studies that note a correlation, especially in the short term.

I'm going to be so bold as to believe that video games do cause aggression, and not just in the short term.  I think that the advent of video games coincide with societal coarseness.  I believe that more people have become dicks since video games became popular.  I will go out on a limb that these two arrested development motherfuckers play them, and as a result have no manners and go about life thinking everything's about them, they don't have to wait their turn, and they do whatever they want, fuck everybody else.  A lot of people are like that now, in this country and around the world.  And that's also partially why Trump's in office -- well, that and Russian interference (which Trump asked for, which is illegal) and Musk and social media (also illegal).  And while aggression isn't the same as violence, the former can easily bleed into and beget the latter.  That would be a correlation, wouldn't it?

People scoff at calls to ban or limit video games from the youth until their brains are more fully developed.  Those calls have been proposed to curb violence.  I'm going to say it: Maybe video games should be limited as a way to curb aggression, and then that curb on aggression can lead to a curb in violence.  All things are connected to each other, and in a world that is going mad and is hellbent on screwing the little guy, maybe we need to think about doing that.  Then, maybe these supposedly "frustrated" boys will actually grow the fuck up.

Passive-Aggressive Confrontation At The Ice Cream Place

OK, so a few weeks ago I was enjoying a final Sunday before my folks came home, and I decided to go to this ice cream parlor kind of close to me -- not for ice cream (I think I've gotten more lactose intolerant, if that's possible), but for their burger, which is consistently lauded around town.  I think they're good, but I have had a few in the area that have blown me away.

Anyway, I was going to sit down to eat my burger and fries.  There is an outside deck and it was fairly crowded, but there were a couple seats available.  So I promptly lay on the counter my food right above a seat that was next to this couple.  And the male of the couple says, "Aup -- my son's sitting here," and he quickly jerked the stool right next to him.

I did the polite Minnesota thing.  No, I only did a blend of the polite Minnesota thing.  See, my old age has given me repeated instances of honing my passive-aggressiveness -- come to think of it, that's a Minnesota thing too -- to the point where I am getting better at shooting off comebacks that are nice on the surface but is delivered with a side of bile and bite.  Maybe it's not good in a polite society to be so on-edge that you have such a witticism at the ready, but we are no longer in a polite society.  So, as I picked up my food to move down to another open seat, I said, "Ope, sorry about that," and I know I had an unmistakable tone I said that with.  Heh-heh.

It's not as if the old guy was lying; his son came out from the bathroom and starting eating with his parents.  I could've just left it there ... but that's not me.  From that point onward, I was thinking of one more shot, one more dig whereby I could taunt or bait him, maybe even pick a fight with him if he is as prone to anger as I am.  Hell, my parents were coming home -- why not fight?

(Aside: This place is great if car-cruising was a thing.  The place is fronted by a three-lane road, with one lane in the middle for cars taking lefts.  It's speed-controlled, too, which is a good thing for pedestrians.  It's also good for drive-bys.  All guys who are strapped need to do is roll by at 15 miles per hours and light up the place, and me.  Glad I didn't have any enemies out to get me then -- well, besides this dude.  Anyway, back to my story:)

I finally decided I would look at him, and I mean stare at him until I got his attention, then say goodbye to him.  Not say anything, but acknowledge his leaving in a way that would make him notice.  That would assume a few things.  For one, he would have to leave before I do.  For another, he would have to walk my way in order for me to flag his attention.  And, for finally, he would have to see me.  But if all those conditions were met, bam!  I got his ass!

So he and his family got done before me.  Then, they walked on the sidewalk in front of me.  See, this is my chance.  They were walking slow, so I just stopped eating and looked at him, intently.  He glanced at me -- and I just gave him a wink, a "See ya around, pal!" type of thing.  And he ... gave me a smile.

Uh, what was that?  He didn't seem triggered or put off.  In fact, he didn't seem, uh, mad at all.  Now, he could've been cursing me up and down by the time those three got into their car -- "What the hell was that?" type of thing.  Or -- um, he just honestly said that stool was for his son, and that's all he meant by it.  Which means I overreacted to something that just happens.  And there's nothing more to it than that.

Shit, was that all that it was?

Addendum To: Assholes At Work Keep Cropping Up

More assholes at work, and I don't care if this sounds dick-ish: Whenever I hold the door open for someone, I think it's customary to say, "Thank you" to the person holding the door open for them.  This piece of shit did not.  And I opened the door twice -- no thanks either time.  Fuck you and your lack of manners.

By the way, I'm not sure the gender of this asshole (and yes, I am trying to make "asshole" an all-gender insult).  This person is tall, but he or she or they ... who knows?  All I know is that person is a rude asshole, and I am not going to open the door for that person ever again.  Prick.

Sorry I Didn't Say Goodbye To You!

So after work last/Thursday night I thought I would treat myself to a visit to the speakeasy I like to go to.  I want to remain familiar with the people who serve me cocktails, and it was great.  There's this one bartender who's great.  Just like before, we talked about stuff while she whipped me up some killer drinks.  She's a cool chick.

But as I was winding down my visit, which was about 105 minutes long, I guess I started to space out from having a couple drinks.  I was soaking the atmosphere in, people watching, seeing the now two bartenders sling cocktails.  Didn't even look at my phone once while I was there, which is almost an impossibility.  But I guess I was too busy soaking it all in, because I heard a faint, "Bye!" and I continued to space out, not knowing that the server I was talking to was cut and left at 8.

Now I feel bad.  We have a rapport, and we chatted it up.  I just didn't know that she was leaving, else I would have totally said goodbye back.  Instead I was just ... I don't know, looking around and stuff.  Not saying goodbye back isn't very mannerly of me.  Does she think I'm a dick?  I hope not.  I just wasn't, you know, paying attention.

She must think I'm a dick.

Got Fired From An Experiment

If I have been rejected for research studies before, I haven't been "fired" like this.  This particular research study comes from a group affiliated with the University of Minnesota for whom I had been a guinea pig for another of their experiments previously.  Moreover, I have struck a rapport with these guys.  They invited me to their office and brought me in for a discussion group.  I'm not saying we were going to have beers together or anything, but as far as research studies go, we had a, well, guess you would say a "relationship."  And it was neat.

But then came last/Wednesday night.  The head researcher, someone I have never met, is a gruff personality, which I chalk up to him being, I believe with evidence, to be a native of China by his accent and directness.  From my previous interactions with him, we were never buddy-buddy, but he never led me to think that I would be rejected for the experiment he is spearheading as I went through screening after screening, progressing like nothing was wrong.  But there was, apparently.  I was at home waiting for last/Wednesday night to conduct another phone screening that could last an hour.  I was kind of surprised when the head researcher called me; an obligatory screening is something one of his subordinates would usually do.  Turns out he wasn't doing a screening either; he told me that, based on the answers I gave on the online surveys I had to do before this screening, I was ineligible.  What I thought would take at least 30 minutes took only five.  He said goodbye; I think I beat him to hanging up the call.

I don't know what the fuck I did.  The research study had to do with pain, and boy, I have a lot of it right now.  Eventually, I would be enrolled -- and get paid to -- take part in classes that deal with rehabilitating the places where I hurt.  These classes would take a few months, and the surveys from those classes would last into the summer.  I have done these intermediate-term experiments before, and I enjoy them ... and the money that goes along with it.  But there would be no money beyond the $20 the head researcher paid me for the privilege of telling me over the phone, "Nope."

Have to look on the bright side.  It frees up time I would have had to devote to these classes.  And for last night, I could get to what I wanted to do after the call -- go out to my storage unit, bin my garbage at a gas station trash can, and eat at Taco Bell -- earlier than I planned.  But shit, man, I could've used the money, not gonna lie.

Customer Service Sucks And I Don't Mind Saying So

Man, I think I'm entitled to basic manners like eye contact and saying goodbye.  And yet last week while working the Twins Game I was telling the press box concession lazyass he's run out of coffee lids and he tells me he already told his supervisors about it while scrolling through his phone, probably looking at TikTok while on the clock.  And just now, when I made an appointment for my check-up (which is fucking December, for crissake), she confirms the appointment, I say thank you, and she just hangs up.

I don't think I'm an entitled douchebag to expect decency when it comes to customer service, or any interaction between strangers.  Is that so difficult?  And I really don't get people who don't care about customer service, who think just getting what you want matters.  How transactional of a prick are you to think like that?  Does being kind mean nothing to you?  Am I the asshole for wanting that?

Bad Driver: JMW 486

This Mediocre White Dude in a silver Toyota sedan wouldn't move his ass in the parking lot of the Chipotle close to me.  I was going to around him to drive off when he started driving.  I honked my horn because he was annoying the shit out of me.  And he stuck his hand out the window and gave me the finger lol.  I gave him the finger back out of reflex; I shouldn't have done that because that comeback bullshit is weak.  But to make sure I wasn't stuck behind some asshole with a gun, I waited until he turned right and I turned left to lean on my horn again.

Prick, if you don't want to get honked, move your ass!  And don't flick me off, you slow motherfucker. ...

Low-Key Rudeness, Or Is It Me?

So it's been a perfect weather day for me -- around 65 degrees, overcast.  Sure, it drizzled a bit in the morning, and so my ass was wet from eating al fresco at the second taco place.  And sure, I scalded my tongue from the two hot sauces I was given at the first taco place.  But how can I complain when we have such gorgeous (to me anyway) weather, when I have the day off, when I started the day going to ******e's (latest) place and getting a handjob from her, when I get to go to not one, not two, but three taco places today (the third one's tonight), when I get to see a women's college volleyball Match between two schools I am not rooting for and therefore I won't have my heart broken because I don't have a team that could lose, and I was treated warmly enough at that Republican fast food bastion called Chick-Fil-A?

Well, not to say my day's ruined, but I can complain when I run into assholes.

So at the first taco place the parking behind the restaurant is real tight.  Thank Buddha I have a backup camera so I didn't hit anything, but my compact was squeezed in there pretty good.  After enduring the hot sauce and finishing up my two tacos, I go to my car.  I was there half an hour, maybe 35 minutes.  I was using hand sanitizer when I saw one dude, then another, walk up to and into the car parked right, and I mean right, up against me.  The second dude, who for some reason was walking several yards behind the first dude, was the passenger, and my car was next to the passenger side of this car.  We locked eyes -- maybe.  I had started my car, so I thought that I would just drive off to give him space to open his door and get in.  But I had sanitizer in my hand, so I was giving him hand gestures to tell him, basically, "Hey, you want me to move out of the way for you?"  But he just stared back.  He opened the door without hitting my car, shimmied in, and as the first dude (who was the driver) had already started the car by the time his passenger got in, they drove off immediately.

The amount of time from when I noticed the first dude to when they drove off was, oh, 20 seconds.  And I was still there, car turned on and sanitizer in my hand.  So it may not be rude ... but damn, it seems weird as hell to me.

---

So the second run-in with assholes came at the second taco place.  I was planning on lunch at this place today, but then I saw that the first taco place was very close to where ******e now lives, so I was going to go eat just at that first taco place.  But then I thought, "Hmmm, YOLO, why can't I go to both?"  And enduring the tacos from the first taco place, which were otherwise fantastic, because I didn't want to be (there's that word again) rude about not using their hot sauces, convinced me to basically cleanse my palate by going to the second taco place.  Got it?  Good.

So anyway ... this second taco place is one where you order online while at your table.  I usually sit outside at this place because 1) COVID's got my scared and 2) I like the vibe of outdoor dining when I eat here.  I dried my ass once I got home.  So I ordered and then, as I usually do, I go in to wash my hands in their restroom.  I go out and wait.  The guy comes out with my drink and says, "I had your drink!  I didn't know where you were!"  And I was telling him, "Yeah, sorry, I went in to wash my hands ..." he just walked away.  Didn't acknowledge what I was saying, didn't break stride, nothing.  He sat my drink down, said his bitch talk, and walked away.  Like I can't wash my hands.  Like I have to be sitting in a fucking chair in order for this prick to give me my drink.  Man, I will not apologize for asking for good customer service when I'm eating out.  That doesn't make me entitled.  And I'm not entitled for wondering what the fuck is wrong with this rude little bitch boy.

---

No-no -- if I run into assholes all day ... I run into assholes all day.  It is not me.  I am not the asshole.

Must not give in to negative thoughts ... must not spiral ... good day, good day. ...

Vexed By The Pushy And By The Slow

Alright, another instance where I hate myself.

So I was at the United FC Match Saturday night.  And goddammit, like last time, I had lost my temper by some skeetering prick pushing and slaloming his way past me and everybody else on his way to God knows where.  And just like last time, I took it upon myself to catch up to him in order to ... well, just like last time, I don't know, I don't fucking know.  So armed with pissed-off energy, I slalomed and pushed my way past people in order to catchup to this short motherfucker, who, thankfully, was going into the MNUFC store, just like me.  I finally caught up to him on the line going into the store.  And now that I was the dog who finally caught the car, the only thing I thought to do let this asshole know I got him was ... fan him with my program.  That's all I could come up with.  Now I was smart enough to stop after we got in to the store.  Well, maybe I stopped after we walked in a few steps.  Or several.

Affter I "accomplished my mission," and went to grab a beer, however, there was another goddamn pissant pushing his way past the crowd.  This is a tall (and probably Mediocre) White Guy who didn't have manners because he didn't he had to mind his.  So this red fucking mist descended on me again.  This piece of shit I failed to catch; he was too tall before he dove into the men's room.  But in trying to catch up with this pushy fucker, I got held back by a few slowpokes, and this time around, they really, really pissed me off.  In particular there were these two big dudes, one of whom I remember being dressed in a Portland Timbers jersey.  They were taking their time, talking to each other and walking very, very slowly -- slowly enough where I would have gone around them if I weren't fucking hellbent on revenge.  I was able to look around them, however, and I saw no one.  There was space in front of these two dudes for at least 15 feet.  And that angered me to no end.  Couldn't they see they're blocking up the concourse for everyone else?!  Again, if I weren't trying to catch up to that pissfuck, I might have taken a more calm approach to getting around them.  But I was, so I literally shoved my way past them.  Rudely.  And frankly, for at least those two, I'm glad I did.

Saturday night was a reminder that I'm no good around crowds.  People walk too slowly, so I push my way past them.  People walk too fast, and I take it upon myself to passive-aggressively extract my vengeance upon them.  Later on my walk to grab a beer, I ran into a group of people, all talking to each other, who may or may not have been in line, and I fucking hate those people too.  And like before, I would have dealt with that situation better if I weren't so pissed off in the first place.  I probably went around them, but it was possible I cut in front of them, if they were in line.

Looking back, I don't like how I acted.  But I lose my temper when I see unmannered people like that.  So maybe I should just get to the stadium, get food, get my beer, and then just go up to my seat.  But there are just so many people coming out to the Match that I'll still see asshole pushing his way through, and I'll just have to be a sheepdog and try and fucking hunt him down because I can't help myself.

Smart People Can Be Real, Real Dumb

I endeavor to participate in more of this club's events.  This particular sub-group goes out for dinner once a month, and I'm down.  I went to a local Mexican restaurant chain, and it was fantastic.  Well, I got full really quick because I ate my fill of their free chips and salsa, and I kind of regret doing that because I felt full ever since I made myself two cocktails Thursday night.

The company was ... good.  I don't know them well, but we were united in our objective smartness.  But once again I am reminded that just because we're smart doesn't mean we're, like, smart in other areas, if you know what I mean.  If you don't, let's just say that the guy sitting across from me, a very mild-mannered, conservatively-dressed man who was very nice to me, kept spouting Republican talking points about how there should be no minimum wage, there should be fewer regulations when it comes to creating housing (he was joined in agreement by the guy sitting beside me, another person who, when not talking about these issues, was also really nice), and the perils of socialism.  While MAGAts in polos, khakis and masks are terrifying, it's the quiet ones, the men and women who look so normal they will blend into the scenery, that probably hold the most insidious opinions on politics and life.

This club holds a massive worldwide convention every year.  In one convention (probably one just before the pandemic), organizers apologized to attendees after some made allegations of sexual harassment and unwanted touching.  There was a Facebook group with club members who solely told racist, sexist and anti-Semitic jokes; the global board knew about this group but did nothing about them because ... uh, they believed in free speech or something.  That group finally got shut down after some members made a lot more noise about it.  Finally, I remember going out for beers one night with another sub-group, and one of the people there consistently wanted to tell jokes that always included oral sex.  Consistently.

We might be book smart.  We could be intense in our passions, and very probing with our curiosities.  That doesn't mean, at all, that we put the knowledge we have gathered to good use, or draw reasonable conclusions from what we learn.  And it sure as hell doesn't mean we won't say or do stupid things, or that we'll even behave like grown-ups.  I keep falling into the trap that because we are smart when it comes to one thing, we know what to do -- we are "smart" -- when it comes to all things.  You can't be further from the truth, and last night's dinner is a prime reminder of that.

I Can't Resist The Soup. I Can Resist Workers Who Give Me The Silent Treatment

I decided I wanted to hang out at a coffeeshop and work on both alumni club stuff and my receipts last/Tuesday night.  The main thing in the evening -- well, besides LeBron James passing Kareem for the NBA's all-time scoring record -- was The State Of The Union address, and while it's important and while I am on the side of Dark Brandon, I do not want to be anywhere near a television set when a president has to make that boring speech.

On my drive there, I saw that my car was at a quarter tank.  It was possible I could have gone a day without filling up, and today/Wednesday is a no-spending, eat-at-home day for me.  But I didn't want to risk needing gasoline and not having the time for it when I had time after getting coffee and doing some work on my computer.  So I went to a particular gas station to fill up ... and to get some soup.  This particular gas station has a bevy of soups, but I regularly go for the macaroni in meat sauce.  I went to the gas brand to see if they had it, and tonight they had it.  So, even though I wasn't hungry, and in fact ate dessert at the coffeeshop (along with tea) which to me signifies that that's it when it comes to eating, I ate soup.  And by the way, it's the second cup of soup I've had at this kind of gas station; after work, along with putting air on one of my tires, I decided to get another cup of soup -- different station although it's the same brand.  Not the same soup; there was no macaroni in meat sauce, but I got a mac 'n' cheese instead.

As a result, I feel fat.  I guess I could have gone without the soup.  But I didn't.

---

Oh, by the way, when I was getting the soup, I was "helped" by a worker there who didn't speak at all to me.  I ladled the soup into my cup, but I needed a lid.  The worker was walking by; I asked her if she had any lids.  She went into the cabinet, took out a plastics sleeve of lids, opened it, and gave one to me.  It slipped out of my hands and onto the counter, but thankfully it didn't reach the floor.  I grabbed it and said thanks to this worker.  She said nothing.  Nothing at all throughout this encounter.  Yeah, I got what I wanted, but her silent treatment was disturbing at best and offensive at worst.  I don't know if I want to go to this station anymore. ...

Yeah, Back To Hating My Co-Workers

You know, I keep making the mistake at work of checking the number of forms in a folder and then not closing down the software system in which I check those out.  It's a very basic Graphic User Interface and yet only one person can look at that particular folder at a time.

I keep making this mistake in my Main Department, when I'm scanning in the forms.  There is a certain number of these per folder.  If there isn't, you are asked to go onto this system and check if the list of forms include (and it's hard to describe so I'm going to be vague about it) forms that don't need to be there for one reason or another.  If you subtract those already-accounted-for forms and that difference is the number of forms you scanned in, you're OK.  If not, it's time to manually count the forms to see if this problem needs to be passed along to a supervisor.

Anyway, my problem is that the count of scanned forms is not what I expect, I go onto the system to make sure they're all supposed to be there ... and then I forget to shut down that software because someone in the lab usually is looking at the same folder at the same time.  That means that people on the lab side of our department have to go up to a pass-through window and shout for the someone who has opened up that folder to get out of it so they can do whatever important work they have to do.

That someone, by the way, usually is me.  And this fucking happened again fucking yesterday/Monday.  I see this person who, uh, warned me to get out of the software, but it's not like I have ever spoken to her, let alone struck up small talk with her.  But I can't get over this particular incident not because I did it again, although that's bad enough, but I say "Sorry!" (like I always do when I stay on the screen) and she didn't fucking goddamn acknowledge me.  None of the lab people ever do, to be honest, but this one irks me, not gonna lie.  And by the way, I had to look up the number of forms in this particular folder because she fucked up.  I scanned one fewer than the number the software says I should have had, and I had to double-check to make sure I wasn't seeing things incorrectly.  If that lab worker hadn't screwed up the count in the first place (and I think she eventually had to delete a form that was listed there but wasn't supposed to be there), I wouldn't have panicked when seeing the wrong count again, frantically counted all the papers and totally forget I was still on that screen.

So this means I'm back to hating my co-workers.  Well, she might not be a co-worker per se, but we work for the same company and in the same building, so, yeah, technically she's my co-worker.  You want to be that, uh, brusque with me at work, I see no good coming out of socializing with you at all away from it.  And like I said, IT'S YOUR DAMN FAULT!!!!

This Is Going To Come To A Head

Got another pissy e-mail from someone who I asked for some information last week.  "You know, it really bothers me that you can't look this up by the company name written on the form!"  Bitch, first of all, it's my job to document the information you give me.  It ain't my right to just fill in numbers for you.  And also, she mentions the name of the company and wondered why I couldn't look it up.  The name of the company she typed in is a different name from the one written on the form from which I politely asked her for information.  The name on our system is the one she so rudely gave me on her e-mail, not on the form ... in which case, how in the fuck could I look up the name if it's written wrong?

This is the third time I've had a run-in with some mannerless prick.  This time around, I took a couple deep breaths before I passed this e-mail to my boss.  He said to document it in our system and shake it off like water off a duck's back.  I appreciate him helping -- he did say that in future run-ins with her or anybody who's being an asshole to tell him -- but shaking it off is easier said than done.  Immediately after reading that e-mail I could feel the twinge come up my left leg and into the left side of my hip.  Both areas have been problem areas since New Year's Day.  I've noticed that stress seems to pool in both places.  I've looked it up; there's such a thing called "fascia flossing," and it's a massage technique using the theory that stress gravitates and sticks to the fascia, which is connective tissue that is everywhere in your body.  I need to do more of that (assuming it works), but then again, I wouldn't have to do that if I didn't get triggered by unprofessional goddamn e-mails like the one sent to me by this arrogant buffoon yesterday.

Like I knew was going to happen, I'm going to continue to be confronted with such rude people.  And it's going to come to a head.  One day, I'll see another shitpost from some unqualified, uneducated hack just because I'm doing my job and I'll have to defend myself by basically telling that person, in a certain way, that he or she can go fuck him- or herself if he or she doesn't like what I asked.  And then I'll be fired, and I'll know that, so I'll make goddamn sure I get my insults in.

But I can't do that.  But I don't know if I will stop myself in the moment, or if I even would want to.

Addendum To: Well, Excuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuse Me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So, later that week I was walking by, and I saw the person whose station I "took" working next to the person who actually did saunter through a security door.  They resemble each other, but they are not the same person, obviously, so it turns out I did "take" the station of someone with whom I have not had a weird, unmannered encounter.  Want to set that straight that I initially mistook this person for someone else.

Bad Energy

Something I remembered at work from a couple weeks ago. ...

Afternoon break is when I usually don't go to my car to rest my eyes.  Instead, it's the time I eat the stuff Father gives me to eat in the break room.  Our break rooms are too small as they are (we need bigger break rooms), and in the winter, when no one wants to eat outside (pandemic be damned), sometimes they're all filled.  I sometimes have gone outside to eat -- when it's cold and windy, such as a couple days ago, when I thought my mask was blown off my face, I saw it on some rocks, I touched it, then realized my mask was still attached to my neck with a cord that was given to me in the middle of the pandemic.  Anyway ... I've also just stood up next to the sink and ate my snacks.  In a situation like this I just prefer not to eat because I don't want to be put in that situation.  I've told Father many, many times that I don't need to bring food with me to eat.  And still he goddamn insists on giving me food -- and he expects me to eat it before I come home.  It's been almost a quarter-century of this bullshit.

I'm going off on a tangent.  So sometimes I do find a chair and a table all to myself so I can eat in peace, glory be.  And sometimes there is a spot open in this small row of three chairs arranged, desk-like, right up against the wall.  Each is partitioned so that you're eating by yourself even and eating next to someone, know what I mean?

So a couple days ago I wasn't having a good day at work for whatever reason.  I grab one of these solitary-but-not-solitary desk chairs, on the right end.  The left one is occupied, but the middle one is empty, so it's good for social distancing.  Just as I begin eating, this girl stomps up to this middle chair, I think kicks the chair out so she can sit, throws her food on the desk, and starts to eat.  And she doesn't pull in her chair while she's eating; she's balancing on the front legs and shaking it back-and-forth, like she has a nervous tick, or whenever you are working but you're either nervous or bored, or you're trying to do anything you can to stay awake, like bouncing your leg up and down, you know?

Add that she was eating both quickly and loudly, and my mood turned back dark.  I don't know what her deal was, but I wanted no part of it -- fuck, I didn't want to even be next to her.  Thank Buddha there was an open table, because I got the fuck up out of that chair and sat at the table for the rest of my break time.  But I went back to wipe down the desk chair I was at, the one right next to her, because we've been asked to quickly disinfect any surfaces on which we eat.  I'm not a rude philistine.  She, on the other hand ... man, her bad energy bugged the fuck outta me. ...

I Flew The Unfriendly Skies

I can finally get around to blog posting about this.

I decided to fly out to Las Vegas to see my parents last month knowing the risks I was taking.  Most pervasive of all of these was contracting the coronavirus, of course, but I was particularly scared of was any bullshit that could have happened from belligerent anti-masker pricks being on the same plane as I.  I have read and heard the horror stories of these assholes arguing, coughing, and hitting flight attendants because they refused to wear their masks like they were told.  I swore that my bad juju was going to attract these motherfuckers on the planes I would be flying on, and since I had to make a stop going to and flying from Vegas, that increased the possibility manifold that I would see or even have at least one run-in like this.

OK, that didn't happen.  But oh, God, there were fucking pricks on my flights, specifically the second segment both going there and coming back.

Knowing the dangers of being a captive citizen needing to breathe the possibly dirty-ass breath of strangers, I double-masked with an N95 over my surgical.  I love eating and drinking while flying, but I refused all offers for complimentary food and drink from the attendants while I was on the planes.  First time ever, but I think I made the right decision.

No, there weren't anti-maskers on the plane.  But there were rude asswipes.  On my Denver-to-Vegas segment, I made the (possible) mistake of taking off my masks because I brought coffee on board with me.  While I was sipping it, some Asian (guessing mainland Chinese) fucker decided to take the seat right behind me and began chowing down on what sounded like a large bag of chips he brought on board with him.  He was crunching loud enough I have to believe he was eating with his mouth open, and not only did that mean bits of chips were flying out of his goddamn mouth, he was spewing his filthy (and possibly COVID-ridden) breath all over me and the entire plane.  On top of all that, who in the hell scarfs down a whole bag of chips before taking off on a flight?

Worse than that, though, was this old biddy on the Austin-to-MSP flight home.  I was really tired and lucked out on having a whole row of seats on which I could lie as flat as I could and sleep.  But I heard this extremely loud movie going on all throughout this 2 1/2 hour trip, and I couldn't for the life of me figure out where the hell it was coming from, I just knew it was so goddamn loud I couldn't fucking fall asleep.  I finally figured out that a couple rows behind me, this rude bitch was watching a movie on her laptop without any headphones.  She just fuckin' cranked up the sound so she could hear above the noise of the airplane.  It was so bad that I did something else I don't think I have ever done before: I surreptitiously complained to a flight attendant about her.  She got on the speaker to, in so many words, ask that this fucking woman turn that shit down.  But she didn't.  Goddamn her; couldn't fall asleep because of her bullshit.

I was too anxious to commit violence on her; I had to use public transportation for an hour and a half to get home to a house that I had abandoned under half a foot of snow for three days.  I could have been high-stepping in snow only to find that the basement was flooded, for all I knew.  Having that in my mind kind of distracted me from exacting revenge on this unmannered woman.  But it nonetheless reinforced my fear and disdain for flying.  And I wonder whether dealing with people like those two is a phase and a reaction some insecure people have to our pandemic-stricken world right now, or a sign of the further deterioration of our civilized society.

And Work Went Back To Sucking

I may have a more nuanced assessment of how The Fourth Department went for me on Monday, or a week from now.  But the good vibes early in the week curdled into a sudden mass of suck yesterday.

Things felt really good yesterday morning.  Like I said, what I thought was key to managing The Fourth Department was the amount of workload I had to deal with.  Amazingly, it was not as much as it had been my previous sub stints.  And it wasn't in the morning.  There are stages of work I group the papers I have to work on into, and there is an order I need to do them.  My benchmark in how my day is going to go depends on how early or late I get to each stage.  The big one for me is the new work I have coming in.  Those are important because no one knows about the problems with these yet.  But it's been dictated to me that forms that are already in the system need to be dealt with first because these involve samples whose results people have been waiting on, and the longer the results aren't known, the antsier our clients get.

Anyway, the old stuff I got out of the way early, earlier than the previous three days.  That meant I started on the new stuff way earlier than I had even compared to the rest of the week.  Once I crossed that benchmark those previous days, I felt like I had a leg up, so yesterday I felt even moreso.  I actually thought I could get out on time.

Boy, was I wrong.

I don't know what happened, exactly.  The new stuff wasn't voluminous.  In fact, the number of forms I had to deal with were smaller than in previous days.  Now, a co-worker has to give me some work once it gets so many days old, so those forms folded into my work, but still, it wasn't enough for me to think that I have to stay late.  It's just that ... well, at some point in the afternoon, going up to scan in a form for the umpteenth time, I thought to myself, "Geez, there are more of these than I thought."  When I got done with all that stuff, the new stuff and the stuff given to me by my co-worker, I had an hour before I was supposed to leave.  And the replies from all the people giving me the answers I need were waiting for me in my inbox.  And I needed to take my break.

Getting answers is something I have been told I need to stay late for.  No worries; one of the things that has slowed down for me in this position is processing the replies for the numbers I need.  That doesn't overwhelm me anymore.  Unfortunately, it felt as though that a lot of people replied to me last night.  Guess that's a product of finishing up work before the weekend.  Again, I wasn't bent out of shape about about that because I at least knew what to do.  But, and I'll be damned, I had, like, three or four questions that were all, "Hey, can you do this?" and I have no idea what the hell that person wanted.  So I had to stop what I was doing and figure out what the hell to do with this problem.  And for these curveballs, I had to bother my supervisor, who was out working overtime in a different part of the building and company.  I'm not sure how much of a time suck dealing with these weird issues were yesterday, but it took me over the edge stress-wise.

By the time I got done with everything, including the end-of-day stuff, I clocked out of work 75 minutes after my shift.  That is as late as I have ever stayed after work working The Fourth Department.  That is incredibly frustrating after staying late only 20 minutes the previous two days and only ten minutes Tuesday, and that was only because my supervisor chatted with me about a problem I was willing to leave until the following morning.  One of the eventual outcomes of understanding how this job works is getting to leave when you're supposed to.  Seventy-five minutes is bleeping insane, and it feels as if everything I worked on and tried to improve upon completely unraveled yesterday.  I hate it.  I absolutely hate it.  Oh, and I couldn't get myself tested for COVID because I got out of work too late.

I bought minibar-sized bottles of whiskey and bourbon.  I bought them as a treat for myself for this particular job; if it was a long, bad day, I would come home and, to reward myself, take a swig from both bottles before going to bed.

I actually didn't need either bottle Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday because I thought things went relatively well.  That wasn't the case on Friday.  I took a nip from both, and then I went to bed early.  Because I needed and deserved it.

---

Two other things I noticed/had happened to me during my time in The Fourth Department this week that I don't like.

First, back to the end-of-day stuff.  I need to do that to check that I have crossed my t's and dotted my i's.  There is a series of things I need to do in our software that eventually leads to the testing of urine and blood samples.  It's a lot of documentation that lets the relevant people know that these samples are here or there, if you know what I mean.  Well, in checking, I saw that I didn't one step at least, oh, half a dozen times.  It involves attaching e-mails to a piece of software we all use to let people know these samples are being tested.  That's not as bad as stopping samples from being tested, but my greater concern is how many times I failed to do this.  This is a step that I understand has to be done, but I just flat-out forgot to do them so many times yesterday.  I forgot a few times each of the previous three days, too.  I'm scared that this is going to continue to happen because of the blizzard of tasks I need to do in this job.

Second, and more worrying, is the run-ins with rude people I will eventually have to deal with.  I was concerned that at some point I would get a call from either someone with the company or a client who wasn't going to be, uh, mannerly.  That happened, or appeared to happen, with this bitch of a nurse who called me about a report of who she only had a social security number.  I rarely use SSNs because we are told not to unless that's the only information upon which we can search.  Well, that happened.

Also, this was the first time I ever got an inquiry about results from someone on the outside.  By law and by policy, I am to never release results.  I can tell them when the report is released, but not the details of it.  And so I was thinking of what to say to her when I finally got around to bringing up the report, and she then said she'll call me back and hung up.    Not a fan of hemming and hawing?

Goddamn, if that woman ever deigns to call me again. ...

Oh yeah, so about the alumni event ... so it turns out that we didn't have too many volunteers, but in fact exactly enough.  There were enough people saying they had to cancel that everybody who wanted to come in and volunteer.  God bless 'em, because at least they told me they weren't coming, because a few people no-showed.  Not a huge deal, but just telling people you can't make it is just an act of consideration.

So everything else went fine.  I did not ask the screening questions like I should have; I instead just asked them to fill out all contact information on the sheet while telling them I assumed they didn't have any symptoms of COVID-19, wasn't exposed to anyone who has COVID-19 in the past 14 days, etc.  I'm glad they all understood, especially the ones whose names weren't on the sheet and to whom I asked to put all their contact info down.  Now, I saddled that one guy with a half-dozen pens that didn't work.  I had a fleeting thought before I left to use those because I didn't want to lose any of the ones that did work.  I hope he doesn't think I was making fun of him, and I hope he doesn't think I'm a schmuck.

Now, posting social media and a post-event report, and I'm all good.

Push Your Chairs In, Goddammit!!!

Oh, another thing I've noticed this week working second shift, even though it is not endemic only to second shift.  No one pushes in their chairs in the break rooms.  I noticed only this week that, pretty much since I started working there, I have been dodging chairs nowhere near the tables they belong to like my life depended on it.  People get up and just leave, and they don't push their chairs in.  And because these two break rooms aren't that big, my path for, say, getting coffee or getting back from break is fraught with peril.  There literally are chairs right in the middle of my way, equidistant from two or more tables.  Half of my damn break time seems to be kicking chairs to the table I think it belongs to.  It's fucking ridiculous.

Manners is a rumor -- everywhere, but especially at work.  Sheesh, man.