Wednesday, June 01, 2005

Things that make you want to say...

What the fuck!

I notice stuff.

Most would say it's just stupid stuff.

And this stupid stuff always seems to happen to me.

Stuff that most people tend to chalk up as every day occurrences, but to me these events follow me around like a black cloud of desolation, bent on destroying whatever thin, tenuous thread of sanity I have left.

It leaves me feeling a little like Michael Douglas' character in the movie "Falling Down".

No, I'm not going to go on a murderous rampage though southern West Virginia, it just has me wondering if anyone else notices this shit too, or am I the only sane person left on the planet.

Shit that seems to always happen to me.

Like this for instance.

Every stinking time I go to a fast food place, I can never get a fresh order of fries. I'll order a number three from McDonald's, get my order, go and sit down to eat and the damn fries will be stone cold.

Every time.

I could understand if I had ordered my meal close to closing, but when I order at say 10:05 AM right after they've stop serving breakfast and started serving lunch or right at 5:00 PM, and my fries are cold and hard as a rock that I begin to wonder.

Three times this weekend I went to McDonald's for dinner and all three times my fries were hard, cold and stale. I even varied my times I'd go, as to ensure I had fresh food.

Still, the fuckers were as cold as a frozen walleye in Minnesota in February.

So the last time it happened, I complained to the manager, a pimple-faced seventeen year-old. I was told he'd bring me out a fresh order. So after about five minutes the manager comes over to my table and gives me a fresh order of fries, full of apologies.

You know what?

They were stone fucking cold too.

I just can't win.

It's like some great karmic aura is surrounding me ensuring I don't get hot and fresh fries with my order.

What the fuck...

Here's another one.

I find myself in the grocery store checkout line.

I'm in the express lane as I only have a few items. The person in front of me always has a problem. It's either his debit card won't work. There's a problem with his check. Or if miracles of miracles he actually has cash, he insists on finding the exact change, down to taking off his shoe to get the "lucky penny" he's been keeping there since 1973 all while he banters with the checkout chick about cousin Bobby or aunt Janis' run-in with the law... Then they decide to pull out the pictures of their yard apes to show each other. Then there's a problem with the register. Or the scanner wont work. Price check! Manager needed!

All this as the porcine housewife who would have been behind me if I had just gone to the regular checkout lane looks over with her smart-assed grin, pushing her two overloaded carts out of the store.

What the fuck!

Or I'm on the Turnpike.

It's a busy day. Just let me try to get though the toll lanes in a timely manner. The bastard in front of me will always have a problem he just has to complain about, or has to ask directions... Or it's that guy who just has to give the toll-taker the exact change...

In pennies.

That are in the trunk.

Under the spare tire.

What the fuck!

Or I'm late for work.

I'm tooling along down the road, doing the speed limit and I come upon someone who insists on going twenty miles an hour under the speed limit.

In a twelve-mile long no-passing zone.

This, by the way is the same person who just has to race you out of the turnpike toll lane to get in front of you in heavy traffic, cutting off several tractor-trailers in the process, only to slow immediately to the speed of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade.

These are the same assholes that appointed themselves private speed-control enforcers. They have the mindset that everyone on the road is driving far to fast so they've decided to take it upon themselves to go on some self-righteous crusade to slow down all the reckless speeders. They look at you in contempt in their rear-view mirrors and wag their finger at you like you're a bad dog who's pissed on the couch.

I just want to weld a huge piece of steel diamond plate to the front bumper of my truck to ram these assholes off the road, break that little wagging finger off and shove it right up their prissy little ass.

You are not a fucking cop, and I don't want to speed.

Mind your own damn business and let me drive the damn speed limit already.

What the fuck!

This next one is the biggest fucking Karmic Joke on the planet.

Is this just me, or does this happen to other guys too?

Now that I'm single, I can't get a date to save my life.

The minute I do meet someone and start to seriously date them, women will be crawling out of the damn woodwork hitting on me. When I was married I was literally tripping over women slipping me their numbers...

Know what I think? God has a warped sense of humor and loves irony. He also has impeccable timing. He's also laughing his ass off at me, along with that other jokester, Murphy.

Copyright 2005 Thomas J Wolfenden

1 comment:

Becky said...

I've long held to the theory that God has a sense of humor. Enter the evidence --

Exhibit a) Monkeys and hyenas: the comic relief of the animal world.

Exhibit b) If you say something like "I'll never do _____ again... ", it's a given you'll be doing whatever it was in very short order.

You know God and Jesus and the holy ghost are hanging out in heaven right now having a good chuckle over the traffic thing.