You Taking Advantage of Somebody Willing to Help You Doesn't Make that Person Weak. It Makes You an Asshole.

My intention for today's entry is to bitch about assholes who "borrow" money and how they need to be removed from our lives. I feel like it's going to get away from me and turn into a whole rant about bullshit "friend" behavior.

I used to work with this girl, who we'll call CeeCee. CeeCee was awkward, but a nice enough person. We spoke on the phone outside of work a few times, but never once did we hang out socially. Ultimately, I left that job, taking a different job from which I essentially brought home no paycheck but secured health insurance for myself and my partner. Everybody knew this was why I was leaving. To reiterate, I was essentially taking our two income home down to a one income home. I was personally banking about $10 a week after the cost of insurance.

So I left the first job. I heard nothing from anybody from the old job for a while. Nothing on Facebook. No phone calls. No big deal. I accepted that this likely meant they were just not going to be a part of my life anymore. That happens with workmates sometimes. Well, after about two months, I got out of work and found I had a voicemail. CeeCee, from the old job, had called to ask me to loan her $40. Now, I'll admit, I was kind of a jerk this time and didn't return her call. Fast forward a few years, and I receive another voicemail from her. I can't discuss too many details without revealing who she is, but in vague terms, she told me about something bad that had happened and that she needed some help, financially. I expressly told her I was working two jobs and could barely make ends meet, so I personally couldn't help much, but I did organize some fundraising efforts for her in this difficult situation. I offered all sorts of friendship and emotional support. I offered to be with her at the "event" for which she needed this financial assistance. She wound up not telling me when the "event" was to occur and never having a conversation with me about it after. In fact, I didn't hear from her again until about a week ago. When she called to ask me to loan her money. Because she got a second a job. And was getting paid that very day. But needed to borrow money for gas to get to work? Um, no. Needless to say, this phone call was not returned and I have made no attempts to contact her since.

I also had this friend who we'll call Jerk Ass Man, or simply JAM. A little less than a year ago, while I was working two jobs IN ADDITION TO my freelance work and pet-sitting gigs and was having a hard time making ends meet, JAM fucked up, caused a minor auto accident, didn't report it, was arrested, blah blah blah. Well, JAM has some issues with depression, and so has a hard time in difficult situations. I was afraid JAM would harm himself if left in jail, so I bailed him out. He was considered a flight risk, so it cost over $750 to get him released. I told him at the time that I understood he wouldn't be able to pay me back in cash, but I absolutely needed restitution for this amount of money - chores, cash here and there, food when it was left over, etc. He reimbursed me for about $20 and spent about 10 minutes helping my mother with a task. After that, he told me he had no intention of paying me back any further. I've considered taking him to small claims court. I'm still thinking about taking him to small claims court. Is $700 going to be the difference between me having a home or not? No. Is that an acceptable fucking thing to do? HELL NO. He recently sent me a text message saying that he was sorry for comments he had made about my weight. My response was basically "You don't have the type of power over me that would make me feel badly about myself because you can't accept my appearance. But if you truly feel badly about it GIVE ME MY MONEY BACK!" Was I perhaps harsh with this? Yeah, maybe. But it shouldn't need to be said! If I can barely make ends meet, you shouldn't be taking three weeks' pay from me and running away! JAM's response, btw, was the unfriend me on Facebook. Yep. My feelings are really hurt. I see the error of my ways in asking for my money back. I'm clearly in the wrong. Oh, wait. The opposite of that.

So, basically, this gets me thinking about the nature of friendships. If I only hear from you when you need money, you really just need to get the fuck out of my life. I mean, way, way, far out of my life. This is not at all the same as me saying if somebody I love who is beneficial to my life hits a roadbump, I won't help. If my best friend, who lives on the other side of the country now, called and said there was a family emergency and she needed to fly home, but couldn't afford the ticket, I would absolutely help her get home. But she also does stupid/awesome shit with me like talking to me on the phone when I'm really tired and have a long drive. And I wouldn't expect her to pay me back the cost of the ticket, because I know she'll be there for me in the future. Can you, dear readers, spot the major differences in these scenarios? (Also, love you, Jocelyn!)

So, some basic tips for interacting with people, even if they are being expressed a little incoherently because I'm tired, in pain, and distracted by the delightful horror movie marathon on my television, are:

• If you want to keep somebody in your life, keep them in your life. Don't just call them when you need something. If you choose to be that type of person, don't expect to have people that want you around.
• Everybody needs something from somebody at some point. Good people understand that. If somebody helps you with something big, acknowledge it. You may not be able to reciprocate in the exact form of the help, but do something. Did somebody pay $700 to bail you out of jail? At least say "thank you." Collect cans on the side of the road and give them the change you receive from turning them in. Give them the JoAnn's Fabrics coupons you get in the mail. Don't fucking hack their Netflix account, rate the bullshit movies you watch to fuck up their taste profile, ask them to buy you lunch, and then clearly express you have no intention of paying them back.
• You taking advantage of somebody who is willing to help you doesn't make that person stupid or weak. It makes you an asshole. 
• Fuck this nonsense, I'm calling my attorney and taking the bastard to small claims court.

Public Restroom Decorum

I can think of nothing that tempts to punch strangers in the face harder than encounters in a public restroom. I mean, goddamn, people are disgusting and obnoxious.

First off, I think it should be illegal to not wash your hands after using the restroom. I think this should be regarded an act of bioterrorism. Because seriously, what do you call it when someone rubs biohazardous substances with a thin sheet of paper with their bare hands then walks around touching common surfaces, spreading the biohazard all over? Seriously, Mandy Patinkin, get on this shit.

A lot of people realize that things in the loo are disgusting. The paper towel dispenser is not an exception to this. Different people have different tactics for getting their paper towel without resoiling their freshly washed hands. I, for example, use the lever on the dispenser to roll about two inches of towel out, wash my hands, rip off that short bit of towel, use it to dispense some more towel, throw out the first bit, dry my hands on the second portion of towel, turn off the sink with the towel, use said towel to open the door, then throw the towel in the trash. Sound pedantic? I'm actually skipping steps. I should dispense, wash, dispense, dry, dispense, turn off sink, dispense, open door.

So, here's the silly set up in the ladies room at work. There are two sinks. One sink has these lovely, long handles that you turn on and then, gasp, turn off when you're done. We'll call this Good Sink. The other is one of those monstrosities that you push the handle down on and it pops up whenever it damn well feels like it, so you have to keep turning the water on. And if you're OCD like me, that's fucking horrible, because you can't adequately wash your hands when you have to keep touching a dirty sink handle. Good Sink is on the right. Horrible Bacteria Time Loop Disaster in on the right. Next to the paper towel dispenser. So, here's a common scenario. I pop into the washroom to wash my hands, roll down the two inches of towel, start washing my hands. Some nasty, dirty person comes out of the stall, goes to HBTLD, splashes some cold water on her hands, takes my towel, and leaves without rolling more down for me. Or nasty, dirty person comes out, splashes cold water on her hands, then stands directly in front of the paper towel dispenser, poking at her eye makeup with her unclean hands, essentially just rubbing her ass all over the clean bit of towel I have hanging down. Incorrect Behavior. Correct Behavior: Step out of the stall, see somebody washing her hands, with a bit of paper towel hanging down from the dispenser. Common sense dictates that she's going to use that bit of paper towel to dispense more towel in a quasi-sanitary method. The woman in front of you was already washing her hands, so logic dictates she's probably almost done. Stand the fuck back, wait your goddamn turn, and don't touch her stuff. It's already awkward enough that you and this stranger were likely peeing at the same time, four feet apart. Don't impede her hand washing. Or, say she is particularly obsessive-compulsive and is taking five minutes to wash her hands instead of one. Hop onto HBTLD, wash your hands, use the towel, and ADVANCE MORE FUCKING TOWEL.

If you happen to be the person washing your hands whilst somebody is behind you waiting, leave the water running for them. It saves you having to figure out how to touch that disgusting faucet and acknowledges the other person's welcomeness to join in the fun that is handwashing.

Sometimes, people accidentally get some urine on the seat. There is a quite simple solution to this problem. Take a piece of toilet paper, and wipe the seat! When you piss all over the place and don't bother to clean up, you're basically just screaming "I'm disgusting!" And seriously, fuck you, disgusting people. I would hate to step foot in your home if you're so lazy and gross you can't even wipe up something that came out of your body. How fucking dare you suggest that somebody else clean up your bodily fluids? Pig bitch.

Ladies, your period sucks. I've been there; I get it. However, the situation sucking does not make it okay for you not to dispose of crap covered in your blood in an improper fashion. Yes, I'm not a moron. I do know it's not really blood. But I don't want to repeatedly type "Discharged uterine lining" so fucking deal. So, let's go over a list of gross stuff nobody should ever see in a public restroom:
-A tampon on the floor
- A pad that somebody has attempted to flush down the toilet
-A pad on the floor
-A pad/tampon sitting ON TOP of the trash can in the stall
-Blood. Anywhere. Ever.
-A pad/tampon sitting on top of the toilet paper dispenser
-A bloody pad/tampon in the trashcan, but unwrapped and at the top of the trashcan, so there's no possible way to put anything else in it or even change the liner without an extreme likelihood of touching some strange cunt's blood.
The proper response to the unfortunate situation of having to change your feminine hygiene materials in a public restroom are to remove it, wrap it in either toilet paper or a wrapper, and place it in the trashcan. Assuming the trash can has a hinged lid, close the trash can. Then wash your hands.

It's like kindergarten. Pick up after yourself, be considerate of others, and wash your fucking hands.

Some Commercials That Need to Be Punched in the Colon

Fucking commercials. Seriously, fucking commercials.

There's a series of commercials about dental products designed to reduce acid erosion. There's a pretty women with a drinking vessel, usually with a group of people. She's pretty, she's smiling, she's laughing. Then the narrator pops in with something moronic like "Jillian loves soda. But she doesn't know that it contains acid. Blah blah blah. Acid erosion of dentin. Blah blah blah. Protective mouthwash!"

If you don't know that soda contains acid, you don't deserve your fucking teeth. Not saying "Don't drink soda." Soda's awesome. Drink all the soda you want, because I sure as Hell am going to. But seriously. SERIOUSLY. You gotta know that shit contains acid. There's another advert in this series, "Becky loves coffee. But she doesn't know it contains damaging acid." Really?! Really, Captain Obvious Commercial Whore?! Does it contain acid?! Is it slippery? Does it smell like fucking bleach? Hmm, must not be a base! Does it have a neutral PH, no taste, and no smell? Must not be water! Does it produce carbon dioxide when it has MOTHER FUCKING CARBONATION added to it?! BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Acid, bitches!

The other commercial I want to punch in the cunt is a diaper commercial. It's kind of a before and after scenario of a mother with a young child. Part One: First time mother is breast-feeding her new baby in a restaurant. She's hiding in the corner, has a breast-feeding tent, looks all ashamed and nervous. Narrator says something like "You want to do everything right for your baby as a first time parent." Part Two: Same mother has a second baby; the first one is about three. In this scenario, the woman is sitting in the same restaurant, this time at a table in the middle of the dining room. She has her breast pulled out the neck of her shirt and is openly feeding her baby. The waiter comes over, looks surprised by what's going on, but doesn't say anything. Bitch mother snaps her fingers at him, points at her face, and says "Up here." Narrator says, "By the second  one, you have things figured out. Live and learn and get our brand of diapers."

Okay, first off, I have nothing against breast feeding. At all. It's awesome that mothers breast feed. I mean, all the biological coolness of it aside, there are so many studies and so much evidence proving how beneficial breast feeding is to your child, developmentally and emotionally. This is a beautiful, natural thing, and there shouldn't be any shame about it, because it's not a shameful thing. I think it is indeed a damn disgrace that women feel they should have to hide in a corner or under a drape or, worst of all, in the restroom, to feed their child. You don't tell the three year old to sit in the corner in the bathroom and eat his grapes or whatever children eat. Babies deserve to eat in a clean environment, too.

My problem with this horrible fucking commercial is what a rude, nasty bitch this woman is. She shouldn't be ashamed of breast-feeding, but it's not out of line for somebody to have a moment of surprise when seeing a breast out. The waiter in the commercial wasn't going "Ewww! Gross!", "That's inappropriate!", or even "Whooooo! Titties!" Just a brief moment of surprise, and apparent contemplation of "Should I stay and ask for her order or should I leave her alone?" And the woman's response to this moment of surprise is to snap her fucking fingers in his face and snap "Up here." "By the second child, you have things figured out." What do you have figured out? How to be disrespectful to waiters? How to be rude in general? How to teach your children that you don't need to be polite to strangers? "It's okay, Johnny, he's just the waiter. You can always snap your fingers in the waiter's face." Hope that baby bites your nipple off, fictional bitch.

Rene Descartes Walks Into a Bar...

Last night I posted on my private Facebook account that I felt unsafe in my home at that particular moment. Not that anything was seriously going on, just one of those uncomfortable feelings and some weird sounds down the hall. Then somebody I knew if fucking middle school commented on that status, essentially saying "That's stupid and invalid, because I willingly went someplace unsafe and there are actual things to be scared of here."

Okay. You know nothing about what's going on in my life. You know nothing about what has gone on in my life. You don't know if I'm up at 5:00  in the morning freaking out because:

- I have acute intermittent porphyria and am having an attack

- I have a really severe anxiety disorder that goes out of control when it's silent and my mind can wander

- I'm slowly turning into a cricket

- I was sexually assaulted in my bedroom at night as a child

- My dog is barking at a strange orb outside the window

- I consume too much caffeine to live

- I was raped in my own bed in this very apartment

- There are gunshots outside

- Two years ago, I abruptly lost my partner, my family, and my home in the middle of the night and I sometimes panic about the aspect of abruptly losing everything else that is important to me

- Shit's going on at work and I'm terrified I'm going to get fired

- I watched somebody climb up the outside balconies and into my neighbor's apartment the other day

- My neighbor has a history of setting her kitchen on fire

- I can see a demon sitting on top of my bookcase staring at me

- I have a tendency to wear my mind on my sleeve

- I have a history of losing my shirt

- Oops, those last two were Barenaked Ladies lyrics.

You don't know if some of these are true, all of these are true, or none of these are true. You don't know a single damn thing about my situation. Because I haven't had an actual conversation with you in five years because every conversation we had in the five years before that you've been increasingly condescending? And not in a "Haha, that was a dumb thing to do" way, but in an "I don't think your feelings are valid, so watch me belittle you as a person" way. And the stupid thing about this is, I care. I care what you think about me. I mean, if you don't agree with everything I do, whatever, nobody will ever agree with everything anybody does. If you see I've made a mistake and call me on it, okay. Disagree with me on politics or religion? Neat, tell me your thoughts, I want to know why you feel the way you do. You won't sway me, but I care about your point of view. But when you suggest my feelings aren't valid, that's not cool. That's tantamount to you thinking I'm just a worthless excuse for a human being.

I'm now just going to go off in a tangent. If you understand how I've come to this point, I will totally give a cookie.

Rene Descartes walks into a gin bar. Bartender says, "Hey, want a martini?"

Descartes says, "I don't think--" and disappears.

No. Just No. So Very Fucking No.

So, my ex-boyfriend called me last night. He told me he wants me back. I'm going to call this guy Dwight.

Dwight's sweet, he's just a child. No, not literally. He's, like, three months younger than me. He just doesn't have or want adult responsibilities. And he tends to be a little narcissistic. I don't know, read old entries if you want to hear about it. One thing never mentioned is that I paid for something really expensive to help him out of a bad situation, because I'm stupid, and he had no intention of paying me back and made no attempts to pay me back. And yes, that was a major part my decision to end things. So when we broke up, I thought it was really the most mutual break up ever. I went to his house (well, the house his friend owns that he's renting a room in) to end it, and he greeted me with "So, this is hard..."

I cut him off. "Nope. It's not." We hugged, I took my stuff back, the end, yay!

So last night he calls me, saying horrible, stupid shit like "I made a mistake. I changed my mind."

You changed your mind? That's nice. It's so fucking nice to know that I'm a passing fancy for you. "Eh, I thought I wanted you to go away, but I changed my mind. Come back now." Um, no. I'm not a book that you posted for sale on Amazon.com but decided, no, you didn't really want to sell it and have the ability to unlist. I'm a person and so very not your property.

"I made a mistake." Yes. Yes, you did. Several of them. However, darling, our break up was not entirely your decision. I was on my way to break up with you. Remember how I told you the night before I wanted my keys back? Was that your decision? No.

Now that we have the "Here's why you treating me like property is offensive" out of the way, let's move onto why I wouldn't take you back if you paid me.
1) You owe me so much money, Bill Gates couldn't afford to dupe me back in after paying me back.
2) We broke up for a reason. You. You were the reason. Can you provide me an itemized list of the things about you that you have changed about yourself? Can you show me proof? Do you have character references?
3) I want to get married. Not to you. To an adult. Who can function in reality. And isn't a narcissistic asshole.
4) That time you were mean to my dog.
5) That time you were mean to my dog. Yeah, I know I just said that. Really, really not okay.

I Would Have Bit Her in the Face, Too

Several years ago, I worked as a bather in the grooming salon at an inexplicably popular pet supply store. My first day there, the idiot girl training me told me that she will never work on pit bulls. Ever. I asked her why, and she told me that she had been attacked by a pit bull at work. I asked, "Well, what did you do to the dog?" half-joking. Holy shit, did she fuck up.

This girl, who I'll call Megan, was a bather. She took a pit bull into the back to bathe it. As will happen when you tie up a dog and spray water at it, the dog got scared. This dog broke the grooming loop (it's like a short leash that exists for the purpose of keeping the dog tethered to the grooming station), and, being scared, ran and hid under one of the elevated tubs that small dogs are bathed in. This stupid bitch got down on her hands and knees, stuck her face in the dog's face, then grabbed the dog's front legs and pulled it out from under the sink. Of fucking course it bit her. It doesn't have shit to do with what type of dog it was. I would have bit her if I'd been in the dog's place. When she told me this, I literally looked her in the face and said "You're a fucking moron; I want a different trainer."

I hope I don't need to explain to anybody why this was so stupid and why this girl was absolutely, one hundred percent at fault for this dog attacking her. If anybody needs clarification, leave me a note in the comments and I can elaborate. Basically what it boils down to is a small creature was scared, escaped from one form of perceived attack, then was pursued and attacked again and OF COURSE it defended itself.

The cherry on top of the idiot sundae? The moron was off from work on medical leave after she attacked this scared dog (which is fair, I suppose). Not only was she not terminated for attacking this dog and exhibiting overall poor judgment, when she returned from medical leave, she was promoted. The company promoted her because they were afraid she would sue for her own pathetic lack of judgment and stupid actions.

Not related to Megan's particular brand of stupid, but this also infuriates me, so I'll tag it on. One of the managers was believed to be homosexual. He was fired. The overall environment became extremely hostile against me when a good friend - who is flamboyantly gay - popped in to say hello one day. I thought this was just the store I worked at and that the individual store manager was an intolerant, discriminatory asshole. I have since met somebody who worked at another store, several hours away from where I worked. She was fired when it was discovered she was in a romantic relationship with another woman. She successfully sued. They did not reinstate her or promote her to make that lawsuit go away. That type of special treatment was reserved for dumb bitches who assault the dogs in the salon.

I won't name this particular company, but I will say I will not take my dog there for any grooming services. I will not allow them to cut his nails. They will not bathe him. No ear cleaning. No teeth cleaning. We go to PetCo for his nails (I do everything else at home). Shortly after I left that company, I went in to buy my dog a brush while it was on a super sale. The managers were rude to me, in my capacity as a customer. I did not buy the brush and have not purchased anything from that company since.

*EDIT* For some reason, I'm having difficulties replying to comments. So I wanted to address El Zacho's comment and point out that it's a "Simpsons" quote, not a true story. :-)

Fat Shaming, Part Two!

How fucking sad is it that this has a Part Two?

Just to recap, in case there are any new readers, Hi, I'm Roz, and I have a bit of extra girth. Quite a bit of extra girth. Yes, kids, I'm a fatty. And I'm so very cool with it. I do not feel limited in my activities or my movements, just in what clothes I can wear. I do not have weight-related health problems. I have a tremendous sex life. And I'm cute as Hell.

Yet, I frequently deal with stupid people and their fat-shaming. As you all may know from previous entries, I am required to suggestive sell junk food as a part of my job. I frequently get in response to this "Oh, no I'm watching my weight" or "That's really bad for you," while the customer glares at me. Really? Then I'll pretend I don't see your cart full of beer, cigarettes, and all of that cat food made by that company that refuses to do quality inspections and is well known for poisoning animals yet somehow damn near has a monopoly on pet food, oh, wait, it's because of assholes like you who think my weight (my choice) is a problem but don't care enough about the living creatures you're responsible for to make sure you're not poisoning them (not their choice). Yeah, how's that for a rant?!

The story that I meant to tell, however, is one that some of you may have heard already.

I was recently at the store where I work, and happened be showing somebody an old photo. A coworker, who we'll call Gita, walked by and saw this old photo of me from high school, posing with my sister. Now, in high school, I was a size six (still had some awesome hips, though). My non-American readers, this is what is frequently presented as the ideal size for a woman. Not the practical, most common, or realistic size. That's a twelve, which is really only 3 sizes larger (8, 10, 12). American sizes are stupid. I look at photos of me in high school and I think I looked kind of gross. You could see my individual ribs. I don't mean you could see my ribcage when I was topless. I mean, wearing a low cut shirt, you could count my ribs from my clavicle down. My bra size was 34B. I found an old bra the other day and laughed for about twenty minutes. Today, I don't look like a walking skeleton. I'm not going to share my dress size, but my bra size is 40DDD. So, notable difference. Gita looks at this photo of my sister and me, and asks "Is that you?" "Yep, about ten years ago." I'm not at all exaggerating about this. Her exact words were "What happened? That much of a difference in just ten years?!" and shook her head.

Why in the Hell would anybody think that okay to say to me? Why would anybody think that's okay to say to anybody?!

So, I bitched on Facebook about this, without mentioning Gita's name, just saying "a co-worker." I work two jobs, so I figured nobody would really be completely sure of who I meant. The next day, my workmate, let's call him Shawn, greeted me with, "So, I came into work today, and I saw Gita. And I asked her 'What happened to your face?' She got confused and went to look in the mirror, then I just smashed her face into the mirror. And I said 'What happened to your face? That much of a difference in just ten seconds?!' " Obviously, this didn't actually happen, but damn, did I get a laugh out of it. The kicker is, folks, that Gita's pretty chunky herself (I still think she's very pretty though).

Fat shaming: It gets dumber every day.

You Can All Skip This One

Just don't even bother to read this one. It is 100% me bitching in vague terms. After all, it's my blog and if I want to scream incoherently, guess what I'm going to do?

I asked a friend for advice the other day. About what, you ask? It doesn't matter. It was something deeply personal that I've been struggling very hard with. Basically, in my broad, general, vague explanation, I've been involved in something that is requiring a lot of time and effort. It's something I want to be involved in, but I sometimes worry that it may not be worth it. So, I asked my friend, let's call her Emma, for advice on how to continue my involvement in this. Emma's advice? Bail.

So, let's talk about giving somebody advice to "Bail" on something they're not wanting to bail on.

The answer to "This is important to me, how do I make it work?" is not "bail." What is the answer? Fuck if I know. It definitely depends on what the issue is. But "How do I stay involved in something really important to me?" is not to be answered with "Don't."

The other reason "Bail" isn't a cool answer in this case, is Emma lives quite a ways away from me. It's a solid twelve hours drive time, if you cut through Canada. 14 if you don't. "Bail" is an easy answer if you don't have to stick around to see the fall out. When you contact me every three weeks or so because you're bored at the time and have no idea what I'm dealing with during the time in between, "bail" is really easy to say. However, I have to sit here and deal with the soul-crushing depression of failing at this. And the worthless feelings that come from giving up. And the fact that nobody is fucking here to help me through it.

The moral of this endless bitching? No, it's not "don't give shitty advice." It's don't bother asking for the advice of somebody who consistently gives you shitty advice and doesn't stick around to help you deal with the fallout.

The Responsibility of All People

I live in an apartment building. Based on other buildings I've lived in and/or visited, I'd say it's a pretty normal set up. Multiple floors, four units on each floor. So, on the top floor, each unit has a unit next door and a unit below, then a unit across the hall and one kitty-corner. Like I said, pretty normal.

My neighbor across the hall, who we'll call Garrett, likes to beat his girlfriend, who I'll call Lori. And Lori is a screamer. A very loud, very obvious screamer. I'm not shaming Lori for screaming when her boyfriend beats her. I'm merely pointing out that she is loud and it's very apparent when she's being beaten.

It's not uncommon for me to come home around midnight, and hear Lori screaming. From the entrance. I live on the top floor. As I climb the stairs, Lori's screaming becomes more coherent. "No! Stop! Don't! Please don't hit me!"

Yep. From two floors down, I can hear my neighbor screaming "Please don't hit me!" I usually can't hear the blows landing until I reach at least the second floor. By the time I reach the floor they and I live on, I'm debating if I should break the door down and pound this asshole myself or just call the police. So I go into my apartment, lock the door, and call the police. The police usually show up pretty quickly. Lori is usually still screaming when I buzz the police into the building.

By now, I figure you're all expecting a rant about this dick hole who beats his girlfriend. That's not what's going to happen. I trust you all know why it's not okay to beat your partner. The rant that's about to happen is about the other neighbors in the building. Specifically the neighbors who share common walls (or ceiling/floor in one case). If I can hear this shit from across the hall, you know the downstairs neighbors hear what's going on. You know the next-door neighbor hears what's happening. There's no way in Hell I'm the only person in the building who hears Lori screaming "Don't hit me!" followed by the sound of Garrett hitting her. Yet I'm the only person who has ever called the police.

It's so very rare that I'll bust out religion in any way, especially since I don't practice any religion, but here it comes. The Talmud states that it is the responsibility of all Jewish people to take care of all other Jewish people. My personal philosophy is to remove the word "Jewish" from that sentence. I know, I rage about silly things a lot. Mostly it's for the sake of humor. But if you look closely, most of my raging is about people mistreating other people (that and grammar. And maybe a little bit about Michael Buble, but I readily admit my contempt for him is unfounded and that he seems lovely in interviews). So, let's make that edit.

IT IS THE RESPONSIBILITY OF ALL PEOPLE TO TAKE CARE OF ALL OTHER PEOPLE.

That's it. That's all everyone needs to know about social interaction. So if you hear your neighbor in a dangerous situation, DO SOMETHING! You don't need to charge over there with a baseball bat and physically defend her, but call the police. I can't force Lori to leave Garrett. The police can't force Lori to leave Garrett (though they can press charges on her behalf in my state). But every time I hear him beating her, I'm calling the police so that she has documentation if she ever does decide to leave and press charges. And when the people who in one way or another witness this abuse, how could she possibly feel safe leaving? Nothing says "Nobody will support you" like NOBODY SUPPORTING YOU! Refusal to report abuse is tantamount to saying "You're not worth defending." I find it tremendously upsetting that my other neighbors are okay with ignoring what goes on. Lori is a human being. No human being, no living creature, deserves that. Nobody deserves to be beaten, at all, ever, but sure as Hell not in their own home.

A few more anecdotes about people not giving a fuck about those around them.

I heard a commotion outside a few weeks ago. I got up, went to the window, and saw several fire trucks pulling into the apartment complex, to the building across the lot from mine. I stayed upstairs and out of the way until I saw the firefighters coming back outside and kind of milling around the parking lot. With the crisis under control, I ran downstairs and to the nearest slack-jawed gawker. "What's going on? Do you know if everyone's all right?"

"There's a fire."

"Yeah, I figured that much, given there are five fire trucks. Is everyone all right?"

"It's in that building."

"Yeah, dude, I have eyes. IS EVERYONE ALL RIGHT?!"

"Oh, I don't know. I didn't ask that."

Repeat with three more bystanders.  Okay, at this point, we're not looking at "Ooh, somewhere down the road, Garrett might end up killing Lori. Let's make sure her body doesn't end up in the dumpster." We're looking at "Oh, Hell, somebody we know could be dead right now." Having the information wouldn't change anything. But if our neighbor had passed away, we could be helping her family. I finally found out after talking to the rental office that the fire occurred in the kitchen of an elderly woman and was started by improper use of her microwave and that she was fine.

Another example. My mother is terrified of snakes. Like seriously terrified. I lived about 25 minutes away from her when I received a 2 a.m. phone call of just incoherent screaming. Not even knowing what was wrong, my then boyfriend and I ran out the door and drove over to my mother's. When we pulled into the driveway and opened the car doors, we could hear my mother screaming, and heard the words, "No! No! No, Molly! Molly! Molly, no!" Molly is my mother's cat. We ran into the house and found my mother standing in the door to the bathroom screaming. Then we saw the small snake in her bathroom (the cat had tried to go into the bathroom, and my mother had been screaming to stop her from getting near the snake). I grabbed my mother and led her outside while my then-boyfriend grabbed the tiny snake and took it outside and far, far away from my mother's house. In the driveway, my mother continued to panic and scream, insisting Tom kill the snake. None of the neighbors called the police, or even bothered to look outside. True, most of them were likely asleep when this incident started, but there is no way she didn't wake up somebody. I definitely feel more strongly about this than I do about other incidents of unconcerned neighbors because, y'know, it's my mom. But seriously? Your neighbor's outside screaming for at least thirty minutes and you do NOTHING? NOTHING?! At least be narcissistic enough to be concerned for your own safety and call the police to say "My neighbor is screaming like she's being murdered. Can somebody go check and make sure we're all safe?"

It is the responsibility of all people to take care of all other people. All the time. Any time. Not just when it benefits you to do so.

The Saga of Gulp-N-Blow

Heads up, folks. This one probably isn't going to be super funny. I understand if you bail now.

So, I currently have two jobs. I really like one of those jobs (which I'm just going to call DrugStore USA). DrugStore USA's is a really good company to work for. They treat their employees very well, they care about their customers, my insurance is amazeballs, I love my co-workers, there's a lot of opportunity for career growth, blah blah blah, I really like it there. Unfortunately, I can't quite survive on my current hourly wage. So I work a second job, as a keyholder for a women's specialty clothing shop. In an outlet mall. As I grow more and more disgruntled, I call this company more and more ridiculous names. It has a three syllable name, which is lends itself to mockery quite well. In the past three months, I've gone from calling it its actual name, to an identifiable variant with "barf" replacing one syllable, to Barf-N-Blah, to Herp-N-Derp, and finally Gulp-N-Blow. I am extremely mature and this is perfectly reasonable behavior for somebody about to hit 30.

Oh, man, where to start with how ridiculous this place is? I'm going to just start by telling about the exit of my former boss, who I'll call Marie. Marie was always a little spacey and difficult to talk to, but around November she started getting a lot worse. By Black Friday, she was completely bonkers. She was showing up to work hours late for her shifts. I normally close at DrugStore USA, so I was opening at Gulp-N-Blow a few days a week. Marie would show up late with such frequency that she was making me late to DrugStore USA. Again, I love DrugStore USA and am not willing to risk my job there for a shitty part-time job with no advancement opportunities, so I quit. Then I promptly panicked about bills, called Marie, and told her I'd stay on the condition that I only worked Wednesday mornings (Wednesday being my regularly scheduled day off at DrugStore USA). It worked out well, because the other keyholder is in school all day Wednesdays and we needed somebody to open on Wednesdays. So yea! With this arrangement, my cable bill's paid, plus it's some extra money for groceries!

So Marie kept getting crazier. It came to a head on a Saturday night in February. Marie went out for a cigarette around 3:00, leaving two associates in the store alone (this itself is a violation of company policy and common sense - there should always be a member of management staff in the store). She just didn't bother to come back. The associates ran out of small bills and couldn't access the safe to get change, so they began turning away customers who could only pay in non-exact cash. They took turns calling Marie's cell phone, to no avail. Six hours after Marie left for a cigarette, it was time for the store to close, so the associates locked the door from the inside and left. They were unable to make a deposit because they weren't trained and didn't have access codes to complete end of day functions in the computer. The next day, the keyholders decided it was time to notify the district manager. Now, the districts for the company are insane, and the district manager was based over 800 miles away. So the district manager, who I'll call Jenna, hopped on plane and arrived at my store Monday morning to terminate Marie. Marie showed up three hours late, stoned off her ass. Couldn't hold her head up, couldn't speak in complete sentences, was just completely incoherent. So Jenna sent her home and told her to come back on Tuesday morning so they could finish their conversation. Marie never returned. Never signed her termination papers, never turned in her keys, nothing. And because this is a terrible joke of a company, the locks weren't changed and the safe code wasn't changed. So brilliant.

Our assistant manager, Renee, has been out on medical leave since November. So a 19 year old keyholder was acting as de facto manager until corporate started sending visiting managers out. Having management experience, I applied for the store manager job, as did the 19 year old, who I'll call Katy. We had two co-managers (Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Bitch) fly out from the other side of the country to conduct the search for our new manager. They rushed through my interview, wouldn't allow me to answer questions, and kept talking through the interview about how they were going to go a large department store and all of the things they wanted to get. Katy's interview was scheduled shortly after mine. They just completely forgot about her interview. The next day, I went in to Gulp N Blow before work at DrugStore USA, because we were short staffed and I was helping out. I was supposed to work 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. so I could get to my real job that I care about. 10 a.m., Tweedle Dumb called to say she and Tweedle Bitch were running a little late (yep, already an hour late). The two of them came flouncing in at 12:30p.m. with a bunch of shopping bags from stores in the mall. That night, I e-mailed the regional manager and withdrew my name from consideration for the store manager position. It was obvious to me that this ridiculous crap was deemed acceptable in this company's corporate culture, and I want nothing more to do with this company.

While Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Bitch were in town, I badly injured my ankle. I called off from work the day after they decided to show up three and a half hours late so I could go to urgent care and get my ankle X-Rayed. When I returned a few days later with my note to be off from work for a week, Tweedle Bitch said she had called me several times over the recent days. I did, indeed, receive a call from her the day before, but no others. So I said "I never received the other calls." To which she nastily said "Well, we have voicemail confirmations, so obviously you did." Seriously? Seriously, Bitch? Did you just accuse me of lying? About something as stupid as a voicemail? A) I don't fucking lie. B) Yeah, that's the way to treat your employees. It's a proven fact that being extremely disrespectful and calling your employees liars is the best way to achieve productivity. Oh, wait. Sorry, had that wrong. The exact opposite of that.

So, new manager comes in (we'll call her Andrea). She keeps asking me about my availability, which I'm holding firm on. I can work 9 to 5 on Wednesdays through Memorial Day, and then I'm not sure what will happen, because Wednesdays will become mandatory for me at DrugStore USA. This was not a condition of my being hired, but it was a condition of me not quitting six months ago. I've been stating to this company for six months that I am available Wednesday mornings until Memorial Day. Fucking period. This has stopped now, but for a while Andrea was calling me every day "What's your availability this week?" Same as it has been. Pay the Hell attention. So I'll go to work and there will be piles of clothes in various places in the store. Boxes torn open and half emptied. Rolling racks with tons of merchandise on them. And absolutely no notes or attempts at explanation as to what the Hell this stuff is there for. Oh, there's clothes on a rolling rack? Are these being marked down? Back stocked? Just put out on the floor? Set on fire? So I find things to do throughout the day, trying not to mess up the unexplained projects that were left in progress. Basically, what I'm getting at is that the store manager is making absolutely no attempt at communicating with me, despite my requests for her to do so.

Now Katy, the other keyholder, is on break from school, so she has totally open availability. Andrea is scheduling Katy to open on Wednesdays. So I didn't work at all last week and I'm not on the schedule for this week. Trust me, I don't want to be there, but I do want to not starve to death.

Basically, it's obvious to me they don't want me there. Cool. I don't want to be there either.

I'm about to get promoted at DrugStore USA. That promotion will come with a 45% raise. So obviously I'll be quitting Gulp-N-Blow the minute it's official and I have it in writing that the promotion is actually happening. We expect that info to be made official this week. So here's my thing. I don't think I need to give notice. I haven't been scheduled for two weeks, so obviously, Gulp-N-Blow can function without me just fine. They clearly don't want me there. They've shown no respect for me, and I really have no desire to show respect for them. I'm about to be promoted at the company I intend to retire from. I have a lot of really good references from DrugStore USA and from past employers, so I don't need Gulp-N-Blow as a reference. With as unprofessional and rude as they are, I don't even want them as reference. I think if I offered two weeks' notice, Andrea would just refuse and tell me to be done. And I don't really want that particular slap in the face. I think I'd rather just turn in my keys and announce that I won't be coming back, then insist on having a photocopy of the key log for proof that I turned my keys back in (Yeah, there's no trust here). So, folks, what are your thoughts? Give notice? Don't give notice? Sell the keys on eBay?

No, Really, Boundaries

So, here's my thing. I don't like children. I had a long ramble to justify my not liking kids, but fuck that. I don't need to justify it. If you have kids, that's awesome. I hope you love them, because they're living beings and they deserve love. I hope they have lots of people in their lives who love them. I'm sure you're proud of them, because everybody's children accomplish amazing things and they deserve encouragement. I, however, don't like children. 

One of the most common, and frankly dumbest, responses I get to this is "Oh, sure, but you'd love my kids." No. I may love you and am happy for you that you love your kids. Still don't want them around me. It's not like "I don't like green vegetables." "But try edamame! It's different. You might like it!" "Okay...om nom nom...Holy shit, this is amazing!" It's more like "I don't like being stabbed. I love you, but that doesn't mean I want to be stabbed by you." Loving the person who is stabbing me will not make being stabbed enjoyable. I may very well love you and am happy you have children that you love and are proud of, but I don't want children around me. Of course I'm not totally horrible. I'll visit my friends who have children. I'll even play with their children. My friend, who I'll call Peri, has a seven year old daughter. She's a pretty neat kid. She's really sweet, nice to her friends, kind to strangers, very smart, very creative. She likes giraffes. I love hearing stories about the neat things she's doing. I still don't want to spend more than five minutes with her in one go.

So, now that we've established I'm a horrible person and a nasty bitch to boot:

My co-workers all know that I don't like kids. I don't know what the Hell to do with them when they come into the store. And this may be most of my problem with kids. I don't want to overstep boundaries and discipline other people's kids (because it's not respectful to the parent and it's not my fucking responsibility). I'm not being paid to entertain your children. Don't let your children break my stuff. I have a thousand things to do, and people not watching their children makes it impossible for me to finish my work, because despite not liking kids, I value children and am not going to walk away while they're trying to knock a shelf of chemicals over on themselves. When they're very young and try to talk to me, I don't know what in the Hell they're trying to say. So I just nod and say "Oh, yeah? Yeah? Neat! Cool!" while thinking "Where the shit is this thing's parent?!"

Where are you going with this, Roz?! Get to the point already!

So, co-worker came in to work today. As usual, I had a floppity jillion things to do, with the extra fun bonus of a workmate having had broken the machines I use all day last night. So, co-worker, let's call her Pearl, comes in while I'm on the phone with tech support, trying to get a technician to come out on a Sunday, because my department was losing hundreds of dollars what with Mother's Day being one of the busiest days for my department. So Pearl's got her daughter in tow (6, maybe? I have no idea about the age). At this point, I'm on the phone with tech support, halfway under the machines trying to troubleshoot. And Pearl walks up with her daughter and I hear her say "You can stay here with Roz while Mommy works." From under the machinery, I just called back, "Nope! Roz is busy playing with electricity and caustic chemicals" and kept working. Fortunately, she got the not-so-subtle hint on that one and took her child with her.

In my current position, I get a 15 minute break and a 30 minute break. Since my department is fairly autonomous, I can take my breaks whenever I want without having to have somebody cover for me, but I try to take them at about the same time every day. When I open the store, I frequently don't eat before I go in because I know I have that 15 minute break, which I use to eat a muffin or a yoghurt, consume some caffeine, and read a bit of a book. With everything that was FUBAR today, I finally took my 15 minute break 2 and a half hours after I normally do. I go into the break room, unwrap my muffin, and here comes Pearl and her daughter. "I'm going to go do something on the computer in the office. Sit here with Roz." NO! DON'T FUCKING SIT HERE WITH ROZ! Dammit, Pearl, you're not a single parent. Your husband is so damn wealthy that you have a "just for fun" job. Leave your kid at home with Daddy and Big Brother or get a babysitter if you're not going to watch her at work. But of course, I won't actually say that out loud, so I just keep reading, hoping she'll get the point that I'm not there to be her baby-sitter, especially when I'm on a break. Nope. Her child kept asking me questions. "What's that paper?" "Bookmark." "What're you reading?" "Book." I wound up only taking five minutes of my earned fifteen minute break because I wanted out of the situation. 

Again, the part of this that is so ridiculous is, everybody there knows I don't like children. I'm very good at my job and I don't mind doing the really difficult stuff or moving the heavy shit around, but I tag other people in when children need things because they stress me the Hell out and irritate me.

I feel extremely disrespected when things like this happen. First of all, Pearl was completely disrespectful of the fact that I have a job to do and it's not watching her kid. She is well aware that I'm trying like Hell to get promoted and need to be getting about 16 hours worth of work done in my 8 hour shift. She knows that nobody else in my department gives a fuck, so I have to do their work, too. And, here's the biggie, she knows I don't like kids. So logic would dictate, get the Hell out of my way, let me do my job, and keep your child away from me!

Here's a Rant about Subtle Fat Shaming

We've established that I'm a fatty, right? And I don't care. I'm pretty, and I have fantastic boobs. The sporadic health problems I have aren't related to the weight. My activity is in no way limited by it. So recap, I'm fat and I'm cool with it. But that doesn't mean it's okay for people to say rude shit about it. And thus begins this rant about rude shit people say.

Where to start? Let's go with the most recent. The guy I've been seeing was keeping me company while I was running errands over the weekend. So we're waiting at the bank to go talk to a banker, surrounded by people, and he says "You look really good." Aww. That's nice. Thanks, Honey. "Yeah, you're really slimming down. You look a lot better." Aww. FUCK YOU, DICK. I have been working on my core, but not to lose weight. I actually enjoy exercising and my job is highly physical with a lot of lifting, so I have been working on strengthening my core. And that is slimming me down a bit as a result. Which I don't mind, but it's not the reason. But first, it's not cool to tell me loudly, in front of people that "Oh, here, I'm calling attention to an aspect of your physicality that a lot of people find unattractive," but I still understand that's coming from a good place and is meant a compliment. "You look a lot better" is where we're getting into "Fuck off" territory. "Oh you didn't look good enough while being happy with yourself, but now that you're a little less fat, and are becoming more traditionally attractive, you look better." Look, the only time it's not rude to say "You look a lot better" is when talking to somebody recovering from a major illness. Even then, not really cool. "Hey, remember when you were on chemo? You looked gross, but you look a lot better now." No. A compliment is "You look good." When you add an insult about somebody's appearance before, it stops being a compliment. "Wow, you look really good as a redhead. You looked kinda fucked up as a blonde." "Hey, your eyes look really good today. Thank God you found that eyeshadow, because your lids were just kind of crazy and horrible before!" "The new uniform looks great on you. That orange one made you look like a washed out zombie." Would anyone say that shit? No. So why do you think it's okay to say "You've slimmed down. You look better." Leave me comments. Let me know if this makes sense. I may need to elaborate. I told the boyfriend how he turned a comment that he may have meant in a sincere fashion into a back-handed, really offensive comment. He then got mad at me. "God, why can't you just accept and appreciate my back-handed compliment?" Because in a relationship, giving back-handed compliments, or "negging", is an act of emotional abuse. Oh, and again, fucking rude.

Another fairly recurrent thing. I genuinely don't know what to do about this one. I have a co-worker who always feels it's necessary to comment on what I eat. This woman is so skinny that her doctor has been telling her she needs to gain weight. She has all sorts of health problems that are directly related to how intensely underweight she is. Now, I have a few friends who are quite underweight. I can think of two off the top of my head who have been told by their doctors they need to gain weight. And neither of those people (one is male, one is female) are trying to be so thin. The male has been forcing himself to eat more and to eat things with higher fat content. But his genetic make up is to be extremely small. And he's comfortable in his body and so he looks great. The female is a little more self conscious about it, which is sad because she's beautiful. She has told me before that the term "skinny bitch" always makes her cry, because she tries so hard to not be so intensely underweight. She has Marfan Syndrome, which some scholars believe Abraham Lincoln had. This would account for his abnormal facial features and his long, extremely thin body. I don't believe in "skinny shaming" anymore than I believe in fat shaming. Your body's your body. And it's awesome. So back to this coworker of mine. She is extremely skinny by choice. And okay, good for her. That's a choice she has made, it makes her happy, so go for it. But every time I eat anything at work, she has a comment about it. If I'm eating pizza, "Ohh, you're eating pizza" in a really judgmental way. "That's bad for you." Yep. Sure is. Om nom fucking nom. But it's the same judgement when she says "Oh, you're eating yogurt." With a strong overtone of "That's stupid, what's the point, fatty?" It's just rude and unnecessary. Same when any cashier feels it's necessary to comment on the items in your grocery cart. "Oh, man, that ice cream looks really good" is fine. "Oh, my. Ice cream, cookies, frozen pizza. Someone's hungry!" Yep. And maybe someone has teenagers having a sleepover. And someone is definitely also buying a ton of yogurt, tofu, bananas, and snap peas. Would you like to comment on that part of it?

Filing Customer Complaints

While there are countless examples and stories to tell with those examples, tonight's bitching is inspired by a comment from a Facebook group I belong to. If you have a complaint about a policy, about management, about corporate TELL CORPORATE! Don't scream at a cashier or a floor associate because you don't like a store policy. What the fuck do you expect that under-appreciated, under-paid person trapped behind a cash register who you are berating to do? "That company policy is stupid! It's fucking ridiculous that your register physically locks up if you try to do what I'm telling you to do! Fix it!" "Oh, okay! I forgot that I'm magic! Thanks for reminding me with your kind words!"

You have a problem with a policy? Send a constructive e-mail to customer service. Don't scream at a cashier. That wastes her time, your time, the time of everybody in line behind you, makes you look like an asshole, and honestly makes it less likely for you to get what you want. If you're polite to the store staff, they may be able to do something for you. They probably can't change the policy that's making you unhappy, but they might be able to give you a discount for your inconvenience. Maybe. Don't get pissed off if they can't. Customer service usually can send you a gift card. If they don't, guess whose fucking fault it's not?

There's another thing that completely baffles me about the way people make complaints. I've been working in retail for 13 years and have only had two complaints ever made about me to a higher up. Both were pretty stupid. One complained to my store manager because I was helping another customer instead of her. Well, suck it, you arrogant bitch, I got promoted anyway. The other complaint given about me was just overwhelmingly stupid. No lies, I cried about it. I had quit smoking a year prior and when I got home, I bummed a cigarette from a neighbor and cried (it was also the first customer complaint I had ever received about myself). A customer called the store wanting to make a return. Over the phone. Wanted an immediate refund for merchandise that was in her home. Um, no. Even if I *could* issue a refund for merchandise that you're not actually returning to me, I don't have that type of access to your credit card. And why the fuck would you trust a company that would just up and change the amount they had charged you? If they can lower the amount they're charging you, they can sure as Hell raise the amount they're charging you. "I drove 20 minutes to get your store; I don't want to turn around and drive back." Oh, no! You drove 20 minutes? I drive 45 minutes one way to get to work. Also, you dumb bitch, I've told you five times I can extend the time frame of your return beyond our usual 30 days so you don't have to make a special trip. So, bitch gets super verbally abusive and begins threatening me over the phone. I invite her to contact our customer service department, because clearly I can't make her happy and, here's the important part, I know customer service's policy is to send gift cards to unhappy customers, and that would provide some compensation for the difficulty of having to drive 20 minutes. Nope. She doesn't want to talk to customer service, she wants me to hack into her bank account, apparently. After I tell her "no" several more times, she says fine, she'll contact customer service, and she wants my last name. Really? You've spent the last thirty-five minutes threatening me and you expect me to give you more information so that you can find me? Not a chance. (For my readers who don't personally know me, I once had a customer seriously threaten to kill me. Flat out said he was going to be waiting for me in the parking lot when the bank closed. My branch manager was standing five feet away from me and wouldn't help me, even though she was known for throwing people out of the bank over virtually anything. Since that, I don't fuck around when I feel threatened by customers, which thankfully isn't often.) I told the customer "My name is Rosalind. My employee number 5555555. You can find that on the top of your receipt, left hand corner. My store number is 1234, that is the number next to my employee number." "Not good enough! Give me your last name." "Absolutely not. I assure you, customer service will know who I am based on the information on your receipt. That's why it's on your receipt." Why? Why would anybody think they can threaten a person and then ask for further personal information about them?

I think that one kinda got away from me there.

Things to take away from this: Lodge your complaints to appropriate people; be respectful when complaining; and don't ask for further identifying information from a person you've been threatening.