The art of hate

The art of hate

A friend of mine on Facebook posted a call to arms on an image today. A group called Weda People LLC posted on their FB page a drawing , similar to Obama’s Hope poster, but depicting him being lynched, with the verbatim and grammatically incorrect comment, “hehehe string the basturd up from a tree”.

My friend has a page where he shares Pop culture images, and it’s skewed towards the homosexual population. It’s a quirky, retro, cheeky page. In the past week he had been threatened by FB for posting semi nude images of men, nothing full frontal mind you but  leaving a bit to the imagination. They threatened to kick him off Facebook for these images.  And yet today, because the  above image is offensive and incites hate, he reported this image… and was subsequently told, eh, nothing we can do about it.

And I know many people out there are saying, well it’s freedom of speech, a first amendment right, nothing can be done. They can do it.

But at what point does the first amendment blur into inciting hate and threatening the President’s life?

I am appalled at this art. It took a pop culture image of Obama asking for Hope., and turned into a Jim Crow propaganda image for the new millennium. So I guess we haven’t evolved as much as we would like to think. And it endorses the lynching of our Commander in Chief. I don’t care who you are, Republican or Green, Muslim or Christian, but hate is blatant hate. I can hear the outcry if this was an image showing W in a similar setting. Yes the political comics that are posted on a daily basis are quite partisan, but come no where close to out right hate.  And I do not seeing the Washington Post, or the New York Times, or any reputable publication running this in their op/ed section of their periodical.

But this got high profile release on Facebook. And suddenly I’m wondering has the social network become the social hate network. To believe in this is one thing. I still think you are despicable and need serious assistance. But to share and endorse murder, a hate crime, makes me wonder. Have we devolved so far? Are we so divided that a new civil war isn’t just some red neck judge making an observation, but a reality? Hey I joked that Arizona (with the most anti-woman woman politician ever), Texas, Utah and those wonderful anti immigrant gardeners of Alabama would make a great new United States of White Trash Bigot Red Necks.

Part of me is beginning to wonder if it’s not so far fetched image of the future to be.

 

note: I updated this post in January 2013

There goes the neighborhood

Being awaken in the middle of the night is not something I relish. It usually means something is amiss.

For example, the time I woke up to the sound of out kitchen door transom rattling and slamming, as it had been pushed open by the intense winter storm outside. Trying to get it shut at 3am, as snow is blowing in and I’m not quite coherent, it’s not fun.

Or the time the smoke alarm went off. Wow, talk about terror. Then it turns to annoyance when you realize its due to your oven cleaning process. It’s challenging to get back to sleep after that one.

But the recent cause of my 4 am awakening has not been either of those trivial issues. Instead it has to do with drunken neighbor kids raising hell at not so heavenly hours.

Last night was the second occurrence in the past week. Just before 4am, I hear loud talking and laughing, followed by some bass. When I can hear that in my bedroom, which is dead center of the building, and the window fan is running, you know it’s loud. Not loud enough to wake Rick, of course, but then again he wears earplugs; A bomb could go off and he wouldn’t react.

So naturally I amble out of bed to investigate. I throw on a pair of shorts, grab my glasses, and make for the front sun room that faces our street. It’s a group of four people, I realize, that have just emerged from the corner apartment building that is two doors down. Like the incident only the week before, they are drunk, rowdy, and belligerent. This time, instead of making the 1358 building stoop their perch, they hop in a dark SUV, and proceed to blast some unintelligible sound that is bass heavy and rhythm lacking.

I’m annoyed, and proceed to call 911. I then spend the next 10 minutes waiting for the police while these people hop in and out of the vehicle, throw beer cans on the ground, and watch as the driver, who looks like Hurley from Lost and is calling everyone bro, drops his drawers and (I’m pretty certain) throw his underwear at the girl is the back  seat. And then they hop back in the car, turn up the bass, and roar on down the street.

The police, naturally, arrive a minute later. I run out, point them in the direction of the escape vehicle, and run back in to bed.

This morning’s investigation to confirm last nights’ events prove fruitful. I do indeed find two beer cans, crushed and abandoned on the street. I also discover a CD or DVD that has been burnt, with a name and WOLFMAN scralwed on it. I leave it on the steps of the offending building, as if I’m flipping them the bird and making them aware that I know their part in all of this.

Then I discuss the situation with my neighbor Carl, who’s abode, while acting as a buffer for our house, is directly next to the offender’s lair. Last week’s shenanigans left a shattered beer bottle in his front garden. This week, he found beer cans, cigarette butts and a shingle from the building’s siding in his back yard. Yes, a shingle. He even confronted one of the suspects, and contacted the landlord to complain. He also noted that some of that building’s tenants are just as victimized as we are, and it appears that the problem is a small group of youngsters and their rowdy friends who choose to have late night gatherings up on the roof.

It just burns me that these drunken punks are allowed to rant and rave at all hours and, so far, have gotten away with it. I’ve personally called the police not once, but twice. I’m particularly pissed that it took them over 10 minutes to get a patrol vehicle in the area, particularly when I called in a similar disturbance not a week prior. Umm, what the fuck took you so long? What if these people were burning someone’s house down, or stabbing someone? Great officer, thanks for showing, but too late I’M DEAD! Unnacceptable.

What’s also unacceptable is the rest of the neighborhoods complacency over incidents like this. In the past several months, crime has increased in my neighborhood. It’s been isolated in spots, but from time to time it flairs up. Why aren’t more people like me waking up to disturbances like this, and reporting them? Why aren’t people taking a more firm stance on things? It’s perplexing and frustrating.

I’ll tell you this much: next time I’m woken up at 4am by the drunks, they better hope I don’t grab the poker from the fireplace. I might just come out swinging.

The angry social network

I’ve been a bit taken aback as of late of how people treat each other publicly on Facebook.

Take for example: a friend, a young guy with a great up front and passionate demeanor, which I find refreshing. One night he  wrote how glad he was that he was no longer in a relationship a certain person. This certain other person is also a friend of mine, and the two have many mutual friends. The statement was blunt, which I can appreciate. It was just a little cruel. I mean, it was his right to post how he felt, but it was such a public airing of a personal event. I responded that it appeared he was burning a bridge, to which he posted (and not necessarily in direct response to me) that regardless, it was the truth.

Ouch.

At least this was not as bad as what happened directly to me last evening, as I was out with a group of friends after my regular Saturday evening of euchre. I ‘checked in’ with some of my friends at the restaurant we were at. Then this guy who we all play cards with, and all are friends on FB, posted in response to my check in:

Needless to say I was stunned. This person and I saw each other a mere hour before hand, and nothing had transpired between us to suggest such a mean spirited reply. Everyone at the restaurant table were shocked and pissed by the comment, which in no way was to be taken as a joke. Not that the two of us are very close, and in fact we had disagreements in the past, but to take things to the public field and for no obvious reason? I’m flummoxed over his train of thought.

He could of simply done what my sister-in-law did after a recent family squabble, which was un-friend me. Oh yes, the pettiness of a family disagreement over how we treat others and shirking of familial responsibilities, and I get dropped as a friend. It’s mind blowing  to me, that because I acted and did something on behalf of another family member that they were not willing to do, and that fact was embarrassing to  her and my brother, and I get treated to a one two slap like that.

Oh, you can say I’m doing the same exact thing, airing dirty laundry and getting my digs back in at these people for how they treated me or someone else. But I’m not like them. I’m not a bully. I’m not being malicious, or hateful, or rude. I’m simply pointing out that these three incidents are not an isolated trend. They are happening all over Facebook, and MySpace, or Tweet. The consequences here aren’t as bad as what we see in the news. The girl who killed herself because of the abusive comments that girls at her school posted on her FB page. Kanye West’s tweets on any given day. Charlie Sheen vs Chuck Lorre. It’s happening more and more, and the results aren’t just hurt feelings any more.

So next time you’re angry and decide to call someone a nasty name, do it to yourself. Or in a text to a friend privately. It doesn’t always need to go viral.

Shopping oddities and ends

A few random and aggravating happenings as Rick and I took a shopping excursion today in Lakeview, aka Boystown:

– What has happened to the Gap? First of all, loved that it was Friends and Family (30% off!), but the service seems to have fallen into a gap. Items that are on the website are no where in the store. Really? Then why have a store at all? An associate ‘helpfully’ suggested that it may be at Michigan Avenue, then walked away. When I worked at the Gap (yes, I’m pulling that one), I would have stopped and offered to call another store or order it from online. Yeah I waited for that to happen… and I would probably would still be waiting now. I had to call on my cell to another store and discover that they didn’t have what I was looking for either. Then Rick needed a certain size in khakis, and while they searched in back for us, again there was no offer to call another store- we had to suggest it. So then they offered to call, but items would only be held until the end of day. Uh, what? I held items up to two days for a customer. And evidently, ordering in the store from online can’t happen anymore. It just seemed that overall they really didn’t care to have our business. It was dissapointing to say the least. And yet they think it’s exceptional service to be open on Thanksgiving day. Well, maybe if you tried a bit harder on the regular days, you wouldn’t need to be open on a holiday. Just saying.
– Caribou Coffee on Broadway had a better service experience, but this time I was repulsed by other customers. I needed to use the bathroom, and I walked in to urine on the toilet seat, on the floor, and the toilet unflushed. Foul. Now downtown, I might expect this, but we were in Boystown. Gay central. And this is how the gays treat a local hang out? What kind of bums are living here now? Disgusting.
– CTA, always a trip, was just as heinous as usual. First there was the woman who kept screaming, ‘Out of my way, I’m getting out here!’ as she knocked into every person crammed in the aisle. Come on, the bus is crowded, don’t get angry at people just because the CTA can’t keep buses running on schedule and cause over capacity buses. Then there was the guy talking on his phone and making sure everyone around him knew it. I don’t care if you think the girl was creaming her pants over you, I don’t want to hear it!
– The grocery store: did you know the elderly can not only not drive a car, evidently a shopping cart is problematic for them as well. I was run into at least three time without so much as an apology. Then while in line at the self checkout, we were trying to finish bagging our groceries, and this woman walks in front of us and starts ringing her stuff! Can people not wait their turn anymore??

To quote Cee Lo, fuck you and fuck her too.

Yard Sale Folly

This past Saturday we decided to host a yard sale. The yard sale is that time honored tradition of pulling out all of the junk and miscellaneous nicknacks that you no longer use, remove sentimental value from them, and pass it off as treasure to your neighbors. You never know what you consider junk is truly a thing of value to someone else.
Most of what we were parting with was objects that really were of no use to us, but were in good working order. For example, the DVD player that I sold was in great condition, but I had a new Blu-Ray player that can still play my regular DVDs, so why have two? Sell it. And the TV/VCR combo that we no longer used since I got the TiVo? Perfect for some kid’s bedroom use. The glass jars, great for decorative use, that sat in the basement? Move ’em on out of here. So Rick and I sorted through a bunch of random items, and some clothing that no longer fit but was wearable, and along with the upstairs neighbor set out a smorgasbord of trinkets and finds.
The day went pretty well, as well as one can expect when selling your old hand me downs for a few dollars; and most shoppers were friendly, chatty, good old neighborly people. But there was one woman who just didn’t know when to shut up.
This woman was definitely a piece of work. She was joined by her daughter and a friend visiting from New York, both of whom seemed very nice. This woman, however, was destined to share her opinions on everything with everyone, even if the information wasn’t solicited. Her demeanor was rather condescending towards everyone else; she gave the air that she was affluent, like Chicago North Shore, and that yard sales on Saturday were kind of slumming it to her. And while the friend and her daughter rummaged for treasures, she would turn up her nose and make snide comments.
For instance, there was a picnic basket that Rick and I had out for sale for the bargain basement price of $2; A little rough around the edges, but in pretty great condition otherwise. The New Yorker was intrigued by it, and seemed to hem and haw about taking it. Snobby Sally, on the other hand, was grilling her on the basket’s usefulness. ‘Do you really need it, or do you just want it?’ She implored repeatedly. ‘If I were selling these things here, I wouldn’t be putting this (pointing to the basket) out’. There was a book I had out for sale, on organization tactics at work. Again, she walked up, looked at the book, and sneered “Sure, waste more time reading a book about organization and prioritizing, why not just do it?’ Let’s put it this way, her disdain wasn’t very hidden.
It was obvious to Rick, myself and our neighbor that this woman was in no way a champion to our cause. In fact, she was trying to talk her friend out of buying anything. She actually started to break some of the frayed pieces off of the basket and littered them on the table, and yet refused to inquire to us anything about it, or even look or acknowledge us. It got to the point that I nearly walked up to her, removed the basket in question from her hands, and bluntly told her, ‘It’s no longer for sale, and perhaps it’s time for you to leave.’
In the end, the friend found our basket useful, and bought it. Snobby Sally, apparently disgusted, decided to walk down the street to another yard sale to ‘see if they have anything of worth.’ How ignorant can a person be? Yard sales are all about finding the hidden treasures, not a sidewalk venue for people to judge other people’s things. If she had opinions about our things, talk about it later in the privacy of your own home, but not in front of us. And acting superior is a sure fire way of getting shot in my neighborhood…although in this woman’s case, I don’t think I would have shed any tears. Regardless, word of advice to yard sale shoppers everywhere…leave the opinions at home, and when in doubt dial it down in public.

Shut UP!!!

I’ve been gone a while. I’ve had a bit to deal with and sort out, so sorry. But I have a small rant I must get off my chest.
I get on the bus on Monday to go to my friends house, and the woman who boarded right in front of me struck up a conversation with the driver. A loud conversation. About how great her 30 day CTA pass was. And why the $20 pass would leave her stranded. And that’s why the 30 day pass was so great. And that it expired at 2:44pm that afternoon. And how she was so glad her friend told her about the 30 day pass. And so on. It was riding with a loud, obnoxious and completely socially unaware Miss Daisy.
Okay, great you found some convenience in your sad life lady, but telling the bus driver and everyone else on the bus about it at the top of your lungs is not necessary, nor welcome. For that matter, you are not even supposed to talk to the driver protractedly, as it could risk an accident. On she went, from the moment she boarded at Elmdale all the way down Broadway. The best part: the driver was encouraging the conversation, and kept talking to the lady.
Finally as the bus approached Foster, and after a brief moment when we thought she had nothing more to say, she kicked right back in to the 30 day pass love fest. I had sat silent for 15 minutes, but frustrated and annoyed, I let loose a very loud ‘eeeeNOUGH! SHUT UP!’ And yet, the only acknowledgment I received from this woman was her outstretched hand, as if she was saying ‘oh no, I’m not done, be quiet now’. She gave me the hand. And she finished her ramble to the bus driver! The bitch!
After she finished, the bus driver asked if there was a problem, and Miss Daisy herself turned around and asked the same thing. I simply said that the loud conversation was distracting, inappropriate in volume and I didn’t like that it was interfering with my bus ride. Then the guy sitting one seat behind me, who was also quite annoyed at the woman and her loud talking, chimed in “And you’re not supposed to talk to the driver for safety reasons. So stop talking.”
The woman looks at both of us, and then simply stated, ‘I’m sorry you two are having a bad day, but I can talk to whomever I want.”
At this moment I was losing it. I blurted back, “Not when it’s distracting to the rest of the riders. I don’t care about your 30 day pass, I don’t want to listen to you go on about it anymore!”
“Are you done?” she haughtily remarked back.
“Are YOU done?” was my snappish retort.
“Are you done?” was her reply.
I was. I stood up, as we finally reached Foster and had stopped, spat sharply “Fuck you, I’ve had it, I’ll walk,” and stomped my way off the bus. As I looked to the driver, who seemed completely oblivious about why there may be some angry passengers, I stopped and asked “What is your number?”, pointing to her shoulder where her driver’s number was. She looked at me, turned her shoulder away from me, and pointed to the front of the bus with a curt ‘it’s there.’ All the while, Miss Daisy was now screeching unintelligibly, loud enough I could hear her half a block down as I walked away.
So to miss loud and obnoxious on the 36 Broadway bus on Monday, May 31 at 1:04pm heading southbound, with driver number R285 egging you on, I say shut the hell up. And to the CTA, who after I left a message to voice my complaint about this whole fiasco, and they never called back, I say fuck you. You don’t care that some screeching crazy was distracting one of your drivers, causing a commotion, and annoyed other passengers. The driver didn’t care that she was violating CTA safety guidelines designed to protect the rest of us. And you obviously can’t be bothered to contact a customer who voiced a concern and complaint because it would look too much like you actually cared about what the rider/customer thinks.
Oh yeah, and you owe me $30 for new sandals since I ruined mine having to walk in the rain because of this whole fiasco. I’ll be expecting the check in the mail.

An ode to Todd Stroger

Dear Todd,
We, the people of Cook County, IL, would like to thank you for ruining our lives over the past four years.
It was the usual Chicago machine antics that got you where you are today. You were appointed to a dead alderwoman’s spot. You couldn’t even get elected then. And it was nepotism that you exploited to take over for your incapacitated father, to employee your cousin and then give her a $17000 raise. Then you contradicted yourself, by arguing for county wide cuts to ensure fiscal responsibility: sure, cut at the sheriff’s and states attorney’s office, but give good ol’ cuz a raise.
But the blasphemy of blasphemies was when you insisted on raising sales tax to 10.25% in Chicago. To fill the coffers and kill the deficit, you said. Well, we still have a deficit, and the tax has only gone on to be a sore spot for anyone in Chicago. You cut us at the core, and tried to snub those who argued against it. You vetoed two attempts at repealing the tax, only to make us hate you more. And in a time of such economic struggle, you just ended up twisting the knife oh that much more.
Then you had the nerve to say you’d run again, and when you won, would thank, first and foremost, your self. Are you fucking kidding me? Are you for real? The gall! The absolute insanity! It was the last straw.
Thankfully, it took all of this and a bit of ringing from the clue phone for those blinded by your father’s name to see you for the idiot you are. And while I’m amazed that 13% of Cook county still voted for you, I’m glad a majority spoke, and you will no longer be in office come the end of 2010. Many of those running for your office have already said the first thing they are going to do is undo everything you screwed up. Too little, too late, sadly, but at least someone is going to try to clean up the mess.
So Todd, I am here to say congrats on the loss. It could not have happened to a bigger douche. May you rot in hell, and be glad you didn’t end up at the bottom of the Chicago River. More fun for the rest of us, but hey, if you can’t burn the witch, well then, be happy with being able to tell said witch to get the fuck out of dodge. And please, at least let the door hit you in the ass on the way out. We could all use the laugh.
With much disdain and loathing, your pal,
Jon

New year, new look, new rants, same old stupid people

For those who haven’t noticed, it’s 2010 (That’s Twenty-ten, not two thousand and ten). So I’m trying a new look for the page. Trendy? Unnecessary? Unsightly? Perhaps. But then again, it’s my page, so why not.

Some things will not change. Like Pat Robertson and Rush Limbaugh… yep, they are still douche bags, particularly since they blame the people of Haiti for the earthquake devastation that befell them. That’s right, all of those devil worshipers from Haiti two centuries ago made a deal with Satan… to live in an impoverish third world country just so it all can be destroyed by mother nature and plate tectonics today, kill thousands, make people suffer even more and have the rest of the world rush to their aid to help.

Yep, that sounds like a real win/win for the people there, right?

If this was really a deal with the devil, Pat, maybe I’m dense but I don’t see where Haiti ever got the advantage in all of this. Oh, wait, maybe because that line of thinking is completely insane? Needless to say, Rush and Pat are heartless morons that need to die. And bonus to Keith Olbermann for telling them where to go and how far.

And in Chicago… we still have Todd Stroger, Cook County Board President, who vows to thank himself if he wins reelection to the board. For what, managing to stay alive and not get his ass beaten down for being a crook? Or for hypnotizing the poor of Chicago into believing that raising taxes and paying his family six figures to do nothing is good for the city? And Blago… when did being a crooked governor with the worst hair this side of Trump permit him celebrity status? The hair…aha… that’s how he managed a spot on Celebrity Apprentice. At least we have the Olympics… oooh, too soon? Whatever. But we still have great reliable public transit…just kidding again, it’s still the CTA. And they are cutting back yet again. Pay more for less service, that sounds reasonable to me. And if you have to travel after midnight, good luck after February 7. And be glad I don’t have a car to park at one of those $4.25 an hour meters.

Ooh, let’s go back to celebrities for a moment. Jay Leno and NBC… yeah, that’s a big old mess. Yeah to Conan for escaping with $45 million and his dignity, it’s way past time to escape that sinking ship. And way to go Law & Order: SVU’s Mariska Hargitay for calling out Leno and his prime time foray for bringing everyone else down. Don’t mess with Olivia Benson, Jay you half moon chinny chin chin wonder-mess, she’ll cut a bitch! And speaking of cutting bitches, who told MTV that NY trash was worth watching? That’s why they send it all to the Jersey Shore. I mean, come on, Snooki? She’s the Pillsbury doughgirl with Princess Leia’s cinnabun on top of her head. This is not entertainment. If I wanted to watch that kind of train-wreck, I’ll just ride the 36 Broadway bus on a given day.

Yep, out with the old, in with the same old. And smile like you mean it.

Crazy people at Trader Joe's and the lunatic at Starbucks

Two great stories for a busy weekend…

Rick and I spent this past Saturday running around with our rented iGo car to take care of a few condo gardening needs. Since finishing the back patio this past summer, we never had the opportunity to get some of the plants that Rick wanted to add to enhance the ambiance. When our neighbors told us of the screaming discounts at the Fertile Garden center on Diversey, Rick decided we couldn’t wait any longer, talked to our condo neighbors, and got approval for some plants.
The Fertile Garden had some great deals for certain. While Rick explored and chose just the right hydrangeas for the back yard (“I’m thinking all white flowers to brighten it up,” he trilled, while I just looked around and said “yeah okay, whatever”), I had my fun and picked out two wonderfully pumpkins for Halloween. All told, the plants ranged from 30 to 70% off, and we saved a total of 60% on our yard. It was a great deal.
After a brief stop for food at the Art of Pizza on Ashland (so good!), we decided to venture to Trader Joe’s for some quick groceries for dinner. We had the car, we never had been, so why not?
We entered the store, and within seconds I had flashbacks to retail holiday havoc. The place was a mob scene. No discernible rhyme or reason to the traffic patterns of the place. What made it a tad more challenging was that Rick, having his eyes dialated earlier in the day, still had to wear sunglasses. It’s not like he was blind, he just was sensitive to the light still.
But what turned me so sour was the pushing, shoving and careless passing of fellow shoppers. We tried to manuever and weave, and I think I said excuse me at least 5 times in 2 minutes. But we had barely picked up lemons and strawberries when a young woman charged past Rick, even as he tried to back out of the way, and she only could snark out a terse ‘Pardon me’ with the complete sincerity of Bill O’Riley. Rick and I glanced at each other, and he immediately picked the two items in our basket back out and tossed them onto the vegetable gondola. ‘Forget the rest of this, I just want to check for one thing,’ he commented, quite frazzled.
He navigated himself around to the next aisle, to where a beleaguered clerk was shelving a item. Rick asked politely if they had the item (some dark Belgian chocolate) he was looking for, only to have a snappish reply: “we only carry that at Christmas.” With that, Rick turned to me, and announced, “and NOW we can get the hell out of here!”
After nearly being run over two more times and swearing I just saw a Viking woman (complete with Helga’s horns and braided hair) and her elf friend in the checkout line, I barely emerged from the exit doors only to be knocked over a final time by a mother and her three children, who were all clambering and screeching for attention. I couldn’t even look back at the place, as if it were Sodom and Gomorrah (ironic, right?), and disgustedly blurted in full earshot of the family and several other patrons, “I will NEVER go into that place again! That was the worst bunch of assholes ever!” Classy, right? I was aggravated, and disappointed. I had heard so much about this place, but this visit left the taste of bile on my tongue.
What surprised me was Rick, who is normally very even keel. He nodded, and shook his head in disdain. “Saturday afternoon does not entitle people to be complete ignorant jerks. Terrible, terrible idea.” And with that, we hopped in the car and sped away, wishing for the place to burn down so we could salt the earth and never let it rise again.
Granted, a Saturday probably isn’t the best time to go into a grocery store. That being said, the next stop, at our local Dominicks, was less traumatic. We were in and out in moments. No muss, no fuss. That’s the way a shopping experience should go!
—————————————————————-
The next morning, however, was a tale for the ages. We were hosting brunch at our place for my friends Rick M, Peter, Brian and Bennett, and of course the coffee maker is on the fritz. Solution A was Rick trying an ad hoc version of campfire coffee. Uh, no. So back to the Dominicks I went so i could stop at the in store Starbucks and get a traveler of coffee.
The scene couldn’t have unfolded better than it did. I stood in line patiently, and this erratic Gaysian huffed and puffed at the waiting window as the barista asked him several questions to ensure his satisfaction. As the server handed up his two orders, the outburst was immediate:” I told you, I wanted a VANILLA BEAN LATTE, not this frozen shit!!”
The barista quickly yet politely replied back, ‘Sir, I clarified if you wanted it with coffee, or not, and with whipped cream or not, and you said no coffee and with…”
“NO I DID NOT! CAN’T YOU PEOPLE GET THIS FUCKING ORDER RIGHT?? I’M HERE EVERY DAY!” he screeched. It was like watching Glenn Beck throwing one of his classic and infantile bigoted temper tantrums.
“Sir, please calm down..”
“I DON’T LIKE THAT ATTITUDE! WHERE’S THE MANAGER? YOUR ATTITUDE SUCKS! THIS IS THE WORST STARBUCKS EVER!”
“Sir, calm down, or do I need to call security…”
“SCREW THIS WHERE IS THE MANAGER?” And with that, the high strung queen threw the frappuccino to the ground, splattering it all over the floor.
The barista and he coworker were visibly shaken, but managed to keep on trying to serve us why having to go and clean up the splattered slushy on the floor (since a call for clean up went unheeded). I politely placed my order, and the barista went to get the travel box for my coffee. When she came back, she sighed aloud to her colleague, “and now he’s over at customer service complaining about me. He did this to a cashier last week. This has got to end!”
As she started to fill my order, I stepped away and walked over to the customer service counter, where Pinocchio was fibbing up a storm. “She was just so rude, and knocked my drink over, and the attitude she copped was disgusting, blah blah blah,” (s)he practically sobbed. The manager stood and nodded in understanding, and then out of the corner of his eye caught me standing there, and turned his full attention on me.
I was not about to let this psycho ruin some nice employees’ job with his/her irrationality. “Um, yeah, that’s not what happened. The barista was very polite and handled herself well. This one” – I pointed at the befuddled bitch- “This one not only lost control, but threw his drink on the floor and caused a terrible scene. He was rude and completely unnecessary.”
Stunned at first, then narrowing her eyes at me with a hateful glare, Gaysian girl snapped defensively, “No, I was throwing it out…”
I cut her off. “Yeah, trashcan was here” – I pointed to my left- “and the drink was over here” – and I swung my hand to my far right. “No way you were aiming for the can.” I turned my attention back to the manager, who had a look in his eye that said he was getting the real picture now. “All I’m saying is that your associate was polite and tried to be nice, and this one was a complete nut job.” And with that, I walked away.
I walked back to Starbucks, left my name and number with the very grateful barista in case the manager had any more questions about what I witnessed, took my coffee and went home. Arggh, the nerve of that bitch treating the Starbucks girl so rudely! I wanted to slap her silly! But I took the high road, stood up for my fellow customer service agent, and did a good deed for the day.

Intentionally Rude

I don’t enjoy working Sunday mornings, which thankfully will not be an issue in about a week. But it’s my last week at my current job, and I need to review a bunch of admin stuff with the team before I leave. So Sunday is a necessity.

The commute was quite for the most part. A strange and creepy mix of people are out at 9
am Sunday morning. There’s the church goers,the random couple making out on the platform (Get a room!), the drunks stumbling home from last night, and the working class like me.

And then there are just some rude people.

As I departed from the Davis Street station this morning, I headed for the south door. As I approached, I saw an older guy approaching as well. But as pushed to open the door, the guy, after watching me for a beat, ripped the same door open, pushed his way past me, and stepped on my foot, all in a way that really looked and felt deliberate.

I, naturally, was pissed. ‘Uh, excuse me, what the fuck is your problem?’ I exclaimed.

His reaction? ‘Oh, nice language, I hope you are proud of yourself,’ he smirked.

But I wasn’t done. I was wronged here, and my foot is throbbing. ‘Umm, you saw me opening the door, you pushed through, and stepped on my foot. What’s the problem??!’

No reply, just a smirk.

In a moment of fantasy, I imagined taking my grocery bag with my lunch in it and swinging it, clocking him across the smug looking face. But restraint took over. So I just issued a terse ‘Go fuck yourself’ and headed to work.

Yeah, my Sunday best language wasn’t appropriate, but neither was stepping on my foot and shoving your way past me when you see I’m exiting a building. Not to mention, these are double doors, but he chose to yank open the exact door I was pushing open to exit through. He was deliberately being rude. And of course, tried to act superior by reprimanding me for my obscenities.

Should have let my fantasy take over. The thought of food splattered all over that smug face is so fulfilling. I guess I hope karma does the job for me.