Update on Garbage Cans and Gardenhosers
This morning, the ol' dirty bastard garbage can flipped over and vomitted its contents down the alley and onto the next block. "Thank God, we're gettin' a new one!" I blurted. "Maybe no one will know where all this came from. Maybe I can shove all the disgusting evidence back in the can before anyone gets a positive ID on us..."
But the kitty litter, complete with clods of cat crap and (ironically enough) kitty-urine cakes, stayed nice and perfectly heaped in place, X-marking the spot of whose garbage can exploded in the gumdrop community.
You godless, lying customer service woman from Southern Disposal, worst waste management company ever. Yet again, I didn't get a new garbage can today, did I.
Ron: "Not only did we not get a new garbage can, but the lid blew off down the street and I had to go find it."
me: "How incredibly sad is this, that those @#$%er @#$%ers have ruined my entire god@#$%ed @#$%er @#$%in' day over a @#$%er @#$%in' garbage can?"
Why this is important:
I used to wonder why some people just snap one day, pick up an axe and bust up someone's desk until they were finally stunned to the ground by a gaggle of cops. Nevermind, where's my B B Gun...
And I was so close to finishing the day without any pain in my butt. That's what really twists the ole panties in a bunch. Speaking of panties...
And then, the health club calls. (Sounds better than "stinky gym," doesn't it?) Not my number, even though I gave them my new number. No, they call a friend of mine. For the third time. Even after they've got my work number now, which no one has but my mother and those meatheads. So I call them yet again to ask them kindly what this is all about (all the while thinking, how much money do they want to leave me alone for awhile). And customer-service Kurt got, basically, curt with me. WwwwwwWELL. And like a hormone-stricken little girl trapped in a man's body, he waited for me to say thanks at the end and then hung up in my ear.
So before my eyes started to bleed, I called him back and with that luxury you have only with a desk phone, I slammed the phone down in his ear.
I see a pattern.
I hate everyone today. Except anyone reading this.
And I'm confused because is this really over a garbage can? What? We drank 6-packs and ran our cars through the yards of people who cared whether or not they got a new garbage can. We toilet papered the trees of the people who cared about their yards and their garbage cans and their garden hoses.
Ok, so maybe I sat in the car while they papered the yards, but I was there, man.
But I had a point somewhere... oh yeah...
How can I get my dignity back even though I have become domestically-focused and mundane:
I wish that I could get, oh say, around one million dollars to stay home for good and take these customer-service people on full-time. Or anyone who needs a good smack. First I'd try by phone. Then I'd like to go around with a ruler and slap rude and/or inane people on the forehead for making other people's lives mundane. My new reality show: "Ruler of Justice. Gardenhose of Doom."
Only two more things that will make me feel better:
One more time, with feeling, slam the phone down on Kurt. Then go home and have a beer. Domestic, of course. Gimme a 6-pack, and I'll run ruts in my own yard.