Thanks for Keeping It Trashy, Spokompton

12 May

Three kids are playing outside on what used to be my road.  It’s been torn up (and blocked off) for construction for the last 2-ish weeks.  And there are heavy sewer casings laying out on the sidewalk. And various machinery.  Not to mention random holes and dirt piles.  Some dummy thought it would be a superior idea to allow their children to play on all of that.  Oh, and I think I’ve mentioned someone was just Stabbed.  To.  Death!  A mere week and a half ago on that same road.  And police haven’t caught the murderer.  Good idea, parents.  Well done.

In other super-annoying news, the pinnacle of my work day yesterday was when typical “rescue” client comes in with herp kitten.  a.k.a.  contagious upper respiratory signs.  “Rescue” meaning a well-intention-ed person with not enough money or common sense to handle the huge quantity of bad-off cats she has in her possession.  First thing this gal does upon entering the hospital is pull the little sneezer OUT of the carrier.  So it can contaminate a wider range, I guess.  Bleaching, bleaching. . .

Then, simultaneously, another client comes in with two really UNruly boys.  “Rescue” client leaves the exam room and immediately removes herpy kitten from the carrier.  Again.  Pointlessly.  AND our receptionist comes to the back in a frenzy about broken glass on the floor.  Apparently one of the clinic cats jumped (fell?) through a window.  And of course, instead of getting the glass picked up or at the very least putting the father and UNruly boys in an exam room, she found the most helpful course of action to run around telling everyone about it (and doing nothing about it).

So I go out, both UNrulys standing IN the glass, and proceed to sweep up the jagged pieces.  But the pane has a hole with jagged glass shards where the cat went through.  I thought clinic cat might be cut so I’m lying flat on my belly trying to coax him out of his hiding place under the deck.  When he was almost within reach– stomping above our heads scared him all the way back under.  Our receptionist and one of the little boys had tromped out asking if I had caught clinic cat.  SUPER, SUPER-annoyed, I said “Almost, but your footsteps scared him.”  I glanced up at them, and saw–the second UNruly, sticking his God-damned little head through the shard-hole in the window!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  In sight of the father, and our receptionist. . .  Seeing terrifying mental images of horrible facial scars, cut jugulars, and law-suits, I jumped up to get cardboard to put over the hole.

And a story from Cool’s work:  She is working as checker and some dude with about 30 cards–that he likely stood and picked out for various occasions–comes through her line.  She rings up each card.  Then, he tries to swipe his debit card in the pin-pad thingy.  Cool’s store is really obnoxious and requires people to either fill out a survey or indicate they want to skip it, before the pin-pad will process any transaction.  The guy said he was unable to scan his card, and Cool told him there was a survey.  And before she could tell him to press skip, he stormed away saying, “I guess I won’t be getting any cards!”  Then muttering about the survey.  Who DOES that?  Why would you park, walk around a store, pick out items, have them rung up–then abort mission because of a survey???  I’m as irritated as the next person when stores program their pin-pads to ask a gazillion questions, but puh-leeze–what a waste of time.

So there you have it.  This is why I’m an introvert that likes to keep communication on the web–where it belongs.

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