Tomorrow is Saturday, but I think of it as my Friday since I have one more day of work before two glorious days off. I need them more than usual!
I hate humans so much. I love stereotypes and being relentlessly un-PC about them but when I really think about it, I hate the entire human race. The number of times someone inspires to me to want to cohabitate on this planet with them is practically zero when I compare the number of times I can keep myself from imagining explicit murder scenarios.
Harsh and unsettling? Maybe. Am I crazy? Maybe. Think of me in the same vein of Louis C.K. I’m not going to kill anyone, but I’ve worked for the general public for over a decade and have been venturing out in public since birth! I’m a cynical misanthrope and it’s the only way I can prevent a stress induced aneurysm.
In no way am I using this blog to vent about customers. I appreciate customers so much at our small business and go the extra mile on that rare occasion someone treats me like I’m a person with a brain and feelings. This general disdain is felt when I go to the grocery store or read an online forum.
My worst nightmare is to be in an apocalyptic scenario where shit has gotten real and I’m stuck with a random sample from the population. I’d probably run away as fast as I could, grab my pups, and fend for myself.
Warning: graphic story about how bad people suck ahead.
This probably stems from an event that occurred when I worked at Wal-Mart in 2006. My supervisor had dated this crazy scumbag who would drag her out of bed just to beat her up. The other associates and I hated to deal with him. He was a hideous man with crazy hair, a giant alcoholic’s red nose, always tweaked out of his mind. She was an amazing woman with an awesome sense of humor that I appreciated. She always stuck up for her cashiers. I won’t exaggerate our relationship into anything much, but I loved working for her.
One insanely busy Saturday, I heard a loud pop. I thought some hillbilly dropped a cube of Pepsi and didn’t look up. I hear a man yelling, weaving through the snake line of customers and he’s screaming “I had to do it! I had to do it!”. In his hand was a tiny pistol. He ran out and I saw my supervisor, roughly ten feet away, lying on the ground. A pool of blood quickly grew around her swollen face. He had run up to her in the middle of Saturday Wal-Mart chaos and shot her in the head.
Growing up with a bipolar manic depressive can prepare you for some stuff. Whenever I experience anything intense, I turn into an emotionless robot and stay calm until I can get through to safety. In full android mode, I picked up the phone and called 911. The person working with me at the customer service desk was my supevisor’s close friend and she started howling and wailing and ran away. It was just me and probably 30 other people, eye fucking the shit out of me as I was explaining to the dispatcher what happened.
You’d think your average person would not want to see someone die a gruesome death. You’d imagine maybe they’d care, maybe they’d run away.
None of these people cared. None. They wanted to stare at me like mouth breathing disabled people in the documentaries you see of asylums in the early 1900’s, like that would make me work faster. They wanted me to finish their transactions and then they wanted to go home.
One especially useless creature ran passed everyone to the front of the line and demanded that I find someone to come get a tv out of his car so he could return it.
You gotta worry about #1.
I paged for a cart pusher to come but no one ever did and I had to deal with these entitled assholes until the managers started clearing people from the store. People were so mad about having shopped all day and leaving empty handed. What a waste of a Saturday, right?! Other associates grabbed towels from the shelf and mopped up her blood until the paramedics came and could push her body out on the stretcher. I had a dark red cloud in my peripheral vision as I tried to focus on the right buttons to push and numbers as I counted the money.
This is the image I have of large groups of people. Selfish, stupid, entitled, and if that’s not enough, really hard on the eyes idiots. The movie Idiocracy in full effect.
The funny thing is I have all these things I’ve experienced in life, besides that shit show I just described. I always try to remember every person has a story and has had catastrophic events affect them in some way. I can’t help it though, I have this chip on my shoulder that I’ve just got it figured out more than most. At least here in the first world, right?
My point is that I felt really impatient and self indulgent this afternoon when I left work. After being around hundreds of strangers, I just want to be left alone! It makes me so grouchy and stressed, and it feels like the slightest effort to accomplish anything other than involuntary body functions would just piss me off even more. My husband felt the brunt of this when I saw glorious boxes of cereal on the counter and they were empty. A literal mirage of convenience food for a pissed off hungry dieter that could be prepared in seconds. Not true, they were empty. He just didn’t throw them away. Turd.
I did what I normally do instead and ate some fruit while I made a late lunch. After strawberries for dessert and getting off my feet for a few minutes, I no longer felt like a maniac.
frazzled: past participle, past tense of fraz·zle (Verb)
Verb: Cause to feel completely exhausted; wear out.
Fray: “it’s enough to frazzle the nerves”.
I took a long nap and woke up to find a 90 pound Pit Bull and a 10 pound Chihuahua doing their best impression of Michael Vick’s pups all over my legs. Only without all the blood, death, and electrocution. Grouchy again! I walked around feeling like shit and finally collapsed on the couch in a pissed off daze. Did you know there is nothing on tv on Friday night to reward sober homebodies!?
After all these first world trials and tribulations, I just knew there’s no way I was going to cook anything. I totally ordered pizza and cheese sticks.
There. I said it. I, personally, without blaming anyone else, or making up excuses except for that whole feeling sorry for myself and hating the world, ordered pizza and cheese sticks. Gross! Why did I do that?!!?
I kicked my cheat day’s ass last Saturday, even coming in below my calorie goals, and I just let my frustration and endless love affair with convenience get the best of me. I only ate 2 pieces of pizza and 3 pieces of cheese bread. I say only in a hilarious way, but I used to stuff a whole lot more in my piehole.
So my stomach’s hating me, I got dat rumble, feel like a fat ass, and for one unbelievable second, my brain SERIOUSLY SUGGESTED I HAVE ICE CREAM! This is such a long journey.
As soon as my gastric distress passed, I started getting myself pumped up to work out. I found my old favorite workout dvd!
I tried to do this two days ago. It used to be my go-to workout and I used to blast through it with no problems. The last time I used it was once during my drunken summer of 2011 and I actually used a handle of vodka as a weight. The dvd spent the rest of the summer on my coffee table as a coaster. No surprise then that the first workout skipped too much. So I had to do the lower body one and gave it my best. Would it be crazy to order a new one? Only $5 on amazon.
What a reality check! I could barely finish it. The workout is 1 minute of cardio with 1 minute of strength stuff. Cindy Whitmarsh, the lady in the mesh crotch shorts that a 58 inch plasma tv shows way too much of, assures me “You can do anything for a minute!”. I proved her wrong several times. Although she’s unrealistic and a liar, I like her as an motivator better than Jillian Michaels or even my old fit flame Denise Austin. She’s encouraging without being obnoxious.
So yeah, I did that workout again and got weak by the end, but I’m feeling so much better. I was over on my calories by about 300, but with the workout, I guess I come close to even. Has there been anyone in the history of humans who said “Shoot, I feel like crap after a workout. Never doing that mess again!”? I don’t think so. In summary: some days you just can’t do it all and you give in but you can totally redeem yourself!
PS: I worked out in my new shoes! I promised myself when I lost my first ten pounds, I could get a new pair. My old (glow in the dark) Saucony’s fell apart just as I hit my goal, so everything worked out perfectly!
My husband crushes my cereal dreams but he gets me cool shoes!