Deaf Mutes.

Am I speaking clearly enough for you?

Taken as a whole people speak and don't listen. This is a conclusion I reached along time ago but thought it necessary to reiterate. If you really don't want or need my input on something, don't fucking open up your yap and ask me what I think. I'm growing weary of the constant verbal diahrea spewing from everyone I meet. You know I'm a condescending prick and if you continue to cut me off as I am responding to your previous statement or don't even have the decency to listen to what I have to say, it's only going to get worse for you.

I am well aware that at times I speak rather quietly. I do this for a reason, when I have something to say, I get to the point and move on. I don't feel it necessary to make a big goddamn production out of it. "Hey look at me, I'm talking and not saying anything important, but pay attention to me because I have self-esteem issues and you really need to pay attention to me." If this is you then I have no time for you, crawl into a corner and whimper like the useless bitch that you are, I have more important things to attend to.

I've found that more often than not, when I instruct people as to how I want something done I need to write a fucking thousand word essay outlining EXACTLY how I want things done every fucking step of the way. I wasn't aware that I had to write a manual on how to do your fucking job you useless sack of shit. If you have ANY experience then there are some things that "should" go without saying, but day after day I'm left answering calls because some numb-fuck, dipshit couldn't think ahead and see past the explict instructions I have layed out. Apparently I am a baby-sitter, yet this particular aspect of my job isn't reflected on my paystub.

The sad part is that it isn't relegated to just staff. My customers are some of the most insipid, retarded, spastic, half-wit, moronic, fuck-wits I've ever come across in my life. Apparently when I tell them something is going to be done, doing it yesterday was WAY to fucking late. As well, they lose their goddamn marbles about the most inconsequential bullshit day two into the job. Jesus Aytch Fucking Christ, give me more than ONE fucking day before you start picking apart the job you stupid, stunned, useless, cunt.

I think I might need to start handing out deaf aids with a note attached. "Turn the volume WAY up stupid. I'm talking but you're not fucking listening."

The first person to receive this wonderful gift would likely be my boss.

To sleep, perchance to dream, ay, there's the rub.

In this case the rub is the fact that Rob Zombie and Ozzy Osbourne are playing at Rexall tomorrow and I have fucking wicked-ass tickets. Just to make it more difficult, the new Soilwork album is in stores the day after. This has to be a sign of the apocalypse, one of the unwritten ones like the tenth or eleventh. There is no way I could experience this much music love without something horrible just around the corner. Maybe I'm due to lose a testicle in some horrible industrial accident (unlikely), guaranteed I won't be contracting an STD anytime soon, so I guess we'll just have to wait and see what sort of horrible gotcha life has in store for me. I'll keep you posted.

Of Mangling Projects and People

This is not the job I signed up for.

Having said that (which is my newest favorite phrase), I knew I was walking blindly into a shitstorm. What I didn't realize is how little knowledge I truly have and that bullshit only goes so fucking far.

Dealing with the day to day vagaries of people is awfully fucking frustrating. When I say do something I mean do it NOW, not when you feel like it. When you feel like it, it's going to be awfully uncomfortable with a saw-z-all jambed up your ass with the trigger lock on. The other side of the coin is dealing with the customers. What part of "we'll start rebuilding your shithole in three months" don't they understand? It's as if I've stopped speaking English and started speaking Swahili.

BTW, I'm not gonna fucking paint all of the walls in your house and change all of the fucking carpet just because you think you hit the fucking 6-49, and if you keep aggravating me I might just blow up your house with you and your stupid family in it.

I really wish that both my staff and the witless retards that are the insured's had to spend a week in my shoes, if only so they could understand what it's like dealing with 100 or so people all acting like spoiled little shitheads wanting everything handed to them on a silver fucking platter.

This job has really put things in perspective for me. I learned a long time ago that taken as a whole people are self-centered morons. In the position that I'm in, it's as if that has all been put under a magnifying glass and amplified to 11.

I no longer live life wearing the altruistic rose-coloured glasses that I used to. I used to believe in a certain base human decency. Those illusions are long gone, only to be replace with bitterness and anger. It is a constant struggle to reign in my dark half, which only a select few can truly appreciate. For those at work that get to see me in fine form, all I can say is enjoy it while it lasts (Cory you'd love it).

Later.

-It's better to burn out than fade away.