No more ramblings or bitchings about people who work in parking garages or complaints that I don't feel well.
Today is starting out to be a good day, it's still early however, I'm keeping my hopes up it remains as such!
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
This one's for you, Lou.
I don't make a habit of calling people out directly on my blog. I'm not here to make people feel bad about themselves, generally no one needs help with that anyway, but today there blows the winds of change. Cause I'm feeling frisky, and Lou- you're the man who's wrinkled your fat ass under my skin. So this one's for you.
Now maybe it's because I walked through a gas leak on my way into the office, or maybe it's because I've been sick (see previous blog), or maybe it's that I'm just a few days shy of the 100 day mark so the universe is itching at me to just let this shit out. Either way, it's coming today and Lou, you are the victim... And I say that in the most passionate and unadulterated way.
I work for a fairly notable financial institution, which will forever remain nameless on this blog, whose office is located in a very busy section on my downtown area. I park in a city parking structure- they give me a little card that I begrudgingly swipe everyone morning. I plod along in my battered car down the rows to find a place, compact or otherwise to hide my car in until The Man let's me go home to rest just to get up and do it all over again. Here is my problem- the parking garage. This is not about parking etiquette or how people who drive Honda Minivans should not park in compact spots. I'm over that. Those people do not care about me or the fact they are fucking up my door or world order, for that matter. This is about human decency and each of us doing OUR BEST to make this world a little bit more goddamn livable. And Lou, you are fucking up the rotation, my friend.
Perhaps it's because, Lou, you're overweight and the mid-range belt you've decided to ever-so-sleekly slap on that barrel belly of yours, midway down (like we're even supposed to believe your waste would be) just isn't cutting it anymore. Perhap's you have additional health problems which has led to this unseemly weight of yours and all of this affects your brain in a way that means you cannot think or function like the rest of us- but LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING- YOU HAVE CROSSED THE LINE, LOU. And I just can't sit another day and say nothing.
We have a what? 6 story parking garage? Or is it 7? It's just so hard to count. But you have managed to cover up all but one handicap parking place on the first floor. You have then gone and put MORE handicap places on all other floors. And why did you do this? So that YOU and your coworkers can park closer to the "security (my ass) office." You have taken every reasonable parking place, even remotely convenient for handicap and non-handicap people alike and you have painted over them with reserved signs so that your fat ass doesn't have to take the elevator, but the cancer striken 89 yr old, church going, wheel chair-bond, foster mother has to wheel herself an extra 3 floors. THANK YOU, LOU. You've made your case as to what is wrong with the world. You are lazy, you are self-centered, and you are a bastard.
Every, single job I have had in a retail/service setting, employees have ALWAYS had to park the FURTHEST away from the store/shop/whatever. If there are 4 floors of parking, we employees are going to 4. It's not that we "shouldn't" park on 1-3. It's that IT IS AGAINST THE RULES. And it's bad customer service, it's poor form, and it's blatantly stupid. But you take the cake, Lou. Perhaps nobody's taken the time to give you the reach around recently, I'm sorry about that- everyone deserves to get laid. That is, everyone but you now. Instead of abiding by this well known courteousy, you have gone the EXACT opposite to make the customer get out of YOUR WAY. Sure, you're only 5 yds away from an office you won't leave all day. Sure, your domain is a downtown parking structure, but that and a silver Celica aren't enough for you, are they? You need to fuck with handicap people and the rest of the PAYING CUSTOMERS. Listen, Lou, you don't pay to park there- YOU GET PAID to park there, so take your happy ass to the top floor, my friend- that's where it belongs.
Even before you replaced the handicap spots with your employee parking you were telling patrons, like yours truly, to move their car or be at risk of tow because those were "your spots." On a particular day when I parked in a space with no marking at all and had a SLING ON MY ARM you came all the way out of your office to lie to me about reserved parking. You then took a plaque for your neighborhood parking out of your car and claimed that if I didn't have one in the space the City would tow me. Well Lou, I called the city, you dumb fuck. Yeah, you heard me. Dude, my life is not the exciting- I HAVE THE TIME. And they told me what I already knew- you were "not being completely forthcoming with information." So, you lie to the injured, you inconvenience the disabled and all of it so you don't have to walk as far from your car, which might even make sense IF YOU DIDN'T WORK IN THE FUCKING GARAGE. Listen, Lou, NO PARKING SPACE in that entire fucking structure is far from your office, dipshit.
So today, I ask everyone, pray for Lou. He needs it. He really does. Lou maybe needs to get in touch with the Lord, or needs to get in touch with another man... whatever. I'm not here to judge. But Lou, we gotta do something about this- I can't even think of the possiblities if we don't. Now most people don't know that's your name. You're the manager of the San Pedro parking garage, but today, Lou- TODAY YOUR NAME WILL LIVE IN INFAMY. And I can only say, I'm so glad I could help you live your dream. I really am. Cheers to you, buddy.
Now maybe it's because I walked through a gas leak on my way into the office, or maybe it's because I've been sick (see previous blog), or maybe it's that I'm just a few days shy of the 100 day mark so the universe is itching at me to just let this shit out. Either way, it's coming today and Lou, you are the victim... And I say that in the most passionate and unadulterated way.
I work for a fairly notable financial institution, which will forever remain nameless on this blog, whose office is located in a very busy section on my downtown area. I park in a city parking structure- they give me a little card that I begrudgingly swipe everyone morning. I plod along in my battered car down the rows to find a place, compact or otherwise to hide my car in until The Man let's me go home to rest just to get up and do it all over again. Here is my problem- the parking garage. This is not about parking etiquette or how people who drive Honda Minivans should not park in compact spots. I'm over that. Those people do not care about me or the fact they are fucking up my door or world order, for that matter. This is about human decency and each of us doing OUR BEST to make this world a little bit more goddamn livable. And Lou, you are fucking up the rotation, my friend.
Perhaps it's because, Lou, you're overweight and the mid-range belt you've decided to ever-so-sleekly slap on that barrel belly of yours, midway down (like we're even supposed to believe your waste would be) just isn't cutting it anymore. Perhap's you have additional health problems which has led to this unseemly weight of yours and all of this affects your brain in a way that means you cannot think or function like the rest of us- but LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING- YOU HAVE CROSSED THE LINE, LOU. And I just can't sit another day and say nothing.
We have a what? 6 story parking garage? Or is it 7? It's just so hard to count. But you have managed to cover up all but one handicap parking place on the first floor. You have then gone and put MORE handicap places on all other floors. And why did you do this? So that YOU and your coworkers can park closer to the "security (my ass) office." You have taken every reasonable parking place, even remotely convenient for handicap and non-handicap people alike and you have painted over them with reserved signs so that your fat ass doesn't have to take the elevator, but the cancer striken 89 yr old, church going, wheel chair-bond, foster mother has to wheel herself an extra 3 floors. THANK YOU, LOU. You've made your case as to what is wrong with the world. You are lazy, you are self-centered, and you are a bastard.
Every, single job I have had in a retail/service setting, employees have ALWAYS had to park the FURTHEST away from the store/shop/whatever. If there are 4 floors of parking, we employees are going to 4. It's not that we "shouldn't" park on 1-3. It's that IT IS AGAINST THE RULES. And it's bad customer service, it's poor form, and it's blatantly stupid. But you take the cake, Lou. Perhaps nobody's taken the time to give you the reach around recently, I'm sorry about that- everyone deserves to get laid. That is, everyone but you now. Instead of abiding by this well known courteousy, you have gone the EXACT opposite to make the customer get out of YOUR WAY. Sure, you're only 5 yds away from an office you won't leave all day. Sure, your domain is a downtown parking structure, but that and a silver Celica aren't enough for you, are they? You need to fuck with handicap people and the rest of the PAYING CUSTOMERS. Listen, Lou, you don't pay to park there- YOU GET PAID to park there, so take your happy ass to the top floor, my friend- that's where it belongs.
Even before you replaced the handicap spots with your employee parking you were telling patrons, like yours truly, to move their car or be at risk of tow because those were "your spots." On a particular day when I parked in a space with no marking at all and had a SLING ON MY ARM you came all the way out of your office to lie to me about reserved parking. You then took a plaque for your neighborhood parking out of your car and claimed that if I didn't have one in the space the City would tow me. Well Lou, I called the city, you dumb fuck. Yeah, you heard me. Dude, my life is not the exciting- I HAVE THE TIME. And they told me what I already knew- you were "not being completely forthcoming with information." So, you lie to the injured, you inconvenience the disabled and all of it so you don't have to walk as far from your car, which might even make sense IF YOU DIDN'T WORK IN THE FUCKING GARAGE. Listen, Lou, NO PARKING SPACE in that entire fucking structure is far from your office, dipshit.
So today, I ask everyone, pray for Lou. He needs it. He really does. Lou maybe needs to get in touch with the Lord, or needs to get in touch with another man... whatever. I'm not here to judge. But Lou, we gotta do something about this- I can't even think of the possiblities if we don't. Now most people don't know that's your name. You're the manager of the San Pedro parking garage, but today, Lou- TODAY YOUR NAME WILL LIVE IN INFAMY. And I can only say, I'm so glad I could help you live your dream. I really am. Cheers to you, buddy.
Bad Mood Blogging.
So I'm in a fairly poor mood today. No surprise on that account, however, as I was a dragon of vomit and illness for the last couple of days. Went to the world's most awkward going away party for a friend, and from the 15 people who were there, at least 11 of us got sick. Awesomeness...? Not so much.
But I am not bitter, noooooooooooo, that would be out of line. I am, however, in a foul mood. Not the kind of mood that makes me want to hit children, but the kind of mood that should tell other people to keep a safe 15' radius of clear space around me, should I choose to say something- which would no doubt be negative, cynical, and unnecessarily callus. Did I spell callus right? Do I care. Can I get a hell no? Thank you.
So a dear friend, one of true partners in crime, suggested I blog. So basically you can blame her for me perpetrating my nasty voice of recovering illness to like all 3 of you who read this.
Maybe I'll do a little shout out to the people who read this...
There's the person who read this to try to garner personal information about me because they are probably the nosiest human I have ever come across with an extreme case of poor self-esteem, one which the world may never know again. This person needs to get a life, but if they want to read what I write, hey- knock yourself out. Maybe you can make up a tidbit about my futile state which you can tell to like your one friend.
Then there are my best friends- I love you two. You read this because you feel compelled, either way- I love it.
There are the people who live far away and want to "keep up" with me- but really they just read this to get a slice of sarcasm to their daily dish and remind themselves that where it's at is here, is this fair dome of mine.
There are also the people from facebook who probably think they are slyly stalking me who check out the blog, hello folks whom I rarely talk to- hopefully my nasty note of "I'm not happy today" will make you feel more connected to me, like we just went out and had dinner- minus the food and conversation. By the way, you paid, so thanks.
But seriously, what is the point of this blog? To waste a little time at work? Perhaps. To vent of the illness that nearly brought down yours truly? A little. Or maybe this is just an avenue I cannot live without in some, fucked up little way. It's probably the latter. I read a quote recently, which I am paraphrasing, "a writer is a person for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people." -Thomas Mann. He's right. It's excruiating. In the best kind of way.
Perhaps instead of "The Word of Hil" I should call it "Daily Purge" but fuck it, we've come this far, all 21 postings and I, so we might as well hang onto our catchy little title. Someday you may look back and say, you know what, I'm the nosey bitch reading your blog- and damnit, I knew her when she was just sick and pissed about it.
Give yourself a little pat on the back for that, hot shot. You really made your own day.
But I am not bitter, noooooooooooo, that would be out of line. I am, however, in a foul mood. Not the kind of mood that makes me want to hit children, but the kind of mood that should tell other people to keep a safe 15' radius of clear space around me, should I choose to say something- which would no doubt be negative, cynical, and unnecessarily callus. Did I spell callus right? Do I care. Can I get a hell no? Thank you.
So a dear friend, one of true partners in crime, suggested I blog. So basically you can blame her for me perpetrating my nasty voice of recovering illness to like all 3 of you who read this.
Maybe I'll do a little shout out to the people who read this...
There's the person who read this to try to garner personal information about me because they are probably the nosiest human I have ever come across with an extreme case of poor self-esteem, one which the world may never know again. This person needs to get a life, but if they want to read what I write, hey- knock yourself out. Maybe you can make up a tidbit about my futile state which you can tell to like your one friend.
Then there are my best friends- I love you two. You read this because you feel compelled, either way- I love it.
There are the people who live far away and want to "keep up" with me- but really they just read this to get a slice of sarcasm to their daily dish and remind themselves that where it's at is here, is this fair dome of mine.
There are also the people from facebook who probably think they are slyly stalking me who check out the blog, hello folks whom I rarely talk to- hopefully my nasty note of "I'm not happy today" will make you feel more connected to me, like we just went out and had dinner- minus the food and conversation. By the way, you paid, so thanks.
But seriously, what is the point of this blog? To waste a little time at work? Perhaps. To vent of the illness that nearly brought down yours truly? A little. Or maybe this is just an avenue I cannot live without in some, fucked up little way. It's probably the latter. I read a quote recently, which I am paraphrasing, "a writer is a person for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people." -Thomas Mann. He's right. It's excruiating. In the best kind of way.
Perhaps instead of "The Word of Hil" I should call it "Daily Purge" but fuck it, we've come this far, all 21 postings and I, so we might as well hang onto our catchy little title. Someday you may look back and say, you know what, I'm the nosey bitch reading your blog- and damnit, I knew her when she was just sick and pissed about it.
Give yourself a little pat on the back for that, hot shot. You really made your own day.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
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