OrganiSed Chaos » FFS!

Burden

anonymum — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 11:41:59 +0000

Has anyone noticed the older they get, the more of a burden they become on young people.
That’s maybe a little obscure so allow me to elaborate with an example?
Mark and I have just been down to the supermarket to grab a few things so I can do the slow cooker thing before I go to work in the morning {yes, in 2 days we’ve become absolutely besotted with the damn thing, but I digress…sorry!}
We grab the odds and sods we need, then head to the checkout.
One girl is at her register, light on, cleaning.
Looking like I might be going to put my things from the basket onto the belt she says “Sorry, I’m closed”
I look up, yep, the light is on, I’m not seeing things.
“Perhaps you might like to turn your light off then so people know?”
**exaggerated sigh** turns the light off and continues to clean all while giving me a “silly old woman” look.
Down to the express checkout.
3 of them here, all having a nice little chat.
Yep, good start!
Items on the bench.
All 5 of them mind you.
Looks at me, looks at Mark, looks at the items, and at a snails pace picks up the first one.
Still chatting.
Not even hello mind you.
Scans one item, puts it down.
Still chatting.
Scans 2nd item, puts it down.
Still chatting.
We go through this painful little exercise for all items, all put back on the bench, no bag.
Doesn’t even look at me and says “$6.90″
Not please.
Nothing other than “$6.90″
Me, being me, says “Sorry, how much??”
**exaggerated sigh** {seems this is part of the key selection criteria to work in a supermarket these days!!}
“$6.90……………………………………please?”
Very good thinks I.
She got it.
So I give her $10.00 and am duly given $3.10 change.
All this while she’s still chatting {and giggling} with the other 2.
So I wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Items are still on the bench, not in a bag and not showing any signs of getting in one any time soon.
Chatting.
Giggling.
Finally, she gets it, they’re put in a bag and we can get out of there, away from what was a quite painful experience, yet should have been an easily accomplished task.
Buying 5 damned things in the supermarket.
Yes, seemingly we, as customers, are burdens to young ones, and do little other than interrupt the social life which seems to go hand in hand with working in a supermarket these days.
Fuckwits!

An invisible neon sign

anonymum — Sat, 28 Aug 2010 03:04:20 +0000

It would seem I have an invisible neon sign on my head.
Problem here is I’m the only one it’s invisible to.
I say that because apparently it’s quite clear to almost every one of the following people:

Froot loops who travel on any form of public transport.
Those who eye you off from a distance with a decided look of distrust for around 30 seconds,then…….BAM!
They’re sitting beside you sprouting forth garbage which would make no sense to anyone, in a low, guttural tone designed to make every hair on your body stand up, and will have you checking the bed for a horses head before you get in at night.

Those who have no friends {in Oz we refer to this type as a Neville Nobody}
These are the people who smell like socks or jocks that have never been changed, or how I imagine a camels arse would smell {should I ever have any desire to get close to one that is!}
Wonder if it ever occurs to them this is why they have no friends??
I seriously doubt it.

God botherers.
Now, I’m not an overly religious person, but neither am I an atheist. Having said that, it amuses me no end how there are many who would accost you in the street to assure you the end is nigh, Jesus is on their left shoulder, and that if I don’t repent right now, my soul will be lost forever {I generally give them a heads up that sometimes the thought of eternal rest appeals to me, my soul was lost many years ago, and the devil on my right shoulder is gonna kick their Jesus’s arse!}
I don’t need to be lectured by some holier than thou twerp on my spiritual beliefs, but they seemingly think I need guidance

Even in supermarkets I seem to attract people who have no desire to do anything other than whinge about grocery prices, the lack of customer service, and have an apparent need to impart stories of days gone by where they could not only shop but enjoy it, and how their very last chook keeled over and now they have need to buy eggs for the first time in 20 years.

I’m not entirely sure why they think I could give 2 hoots or a rats arse, but I’ll tell you this.
As soon as I can get my hands on that damned neon sign, I’m going to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine on the next moron who decides my face is one that welcomes any drop kick, loser or mealy mouthed twerp I come across!

Nowhere to go

anonymum — Tue, 01 Jun 2010 11:42:56 +0000

I decided to go over to the shopping centre across the road to get lunch today.
It’s end of month and getting out of the madness that generally prevails is good for the mind and the soul I find, plus the exercise is good for me, right?
Win, win situation for me.
Off I go.
Across the main road, down into the car park of the centre.
I get to the entry doors and just going in are 3 little old ladies, and they’re not moving fast.
One has a walker as well.
These dear old souls are spread out just enough so as there is not chance in hell of getting around them, as is normally the case.
Never mind, I’m not in a hurry, I can wait.
Behind me is the a man of the same vintage and walking at about the same snails pace the women are.
So.
In we all go.
Not fast mind you, but in all the same.
Enter the instrument of my downfall.
The escalator, travelator, moving walkway, whatever you want to call it.
It goes from the car park up into the shopping centre itself.
The 3 little old ducks get on, me behind them, the little old man behind me.
The lady with the walker stands to the left, the others to the right, so there’s no way I’m getting around them there either, so once again I decide it’s fine, no hurry.
I’ll wait.
Now, there is little room between them and me, and not a lot between me and the guy behind me as well.
It’s a wee bit squishy, and I feel a little like a sheep in a crush, but meh! I can live with it.
We’re getting close to the top and I’m looking around, just day dreaming, as you do.
We get to the top.
The woman in front of me steps off the escalator.
And stops!!
Picture this if you will.
Me, trying to go backwards on a forward travelling escalator, a little old man behind me wanting to get off and getting closer by the second and granny in front of me is just standing there gazing around like she has nowhere to go at all.
She did not move one fricking inch.
Suddenly, I have grandpa getting closer by the second because he can’t go backwards either, he has someone behind him, so he ends up pushing against me, and I in turn run into the little old lady in front of me!
Until now I’m still reasonably calm, but when this woman turns around and says to me:
“Don’t push me young lady!!!”?
I lost it!
By this time I have what seems to be a 95 year old man almost climbing up my back, and let me say, he tried to cop a feel while he was there, so my humor wasn’t the best by now!!
My response went something like this:
“This is a moving thing we’re on lady! Just because you get to the top and get off, regardless of your lard arse being off, it ain’t fucking stopping lady, so maybe if you fucking moved out of the way so others could get off, I wouldn’t be having my arse felt up by grandpa fucking gripe behind me and I wouldn’t have fucking pushed you, so move your butt you silly old bat, because I have nowhere to go other than off this thing and you’re blocking the exit!!!”
You would never guess I have the utmost respect for old people now would you???
Before you say it, yes, I do know I’m going to hell on the express bus!

WTF moment #485

anonymum — Thu, 14 Jan 2010 20:26:36 +0000

Every week Stumble Upon sends me an email with sites they recommend based on my likes and dislikes.
This morning I received the current weeks email from them, and included is a site that captured human ovulation on camera.
After going through my likes and dislikes, I see no indication of my interest in reproduction at all, let alone looking at the insides of some woman who had a camera stuck up, or in, her!
WTF???

Hey you – dick!

anonymum — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 21:07:16 +0000

ETA: When I called one of the applicants to advise they weren’t successful with their application, the first words he said were “Why the fuck not!!??”

Explains a lot about the person doesn’t it??

At work we currently have a vacancy.
It’s not the worst job in the place.
Yes, it’s hot, dirty and physical, but it pays a reasonable wage, plus penalty rates.
Now given the nature of the job, we don’t need a brain surgeon, just someone prepared to work hard and have some semblance of common sense.
Not too hard to fill the position you would think?
Hmmm….my thoughts exactly.
Apparently it’s not quite that simple.
I appreciate the economy here in NQ is a little slow, and there are many out of work, but I certainly didn’t think I would need to wade through 86 applications, however we do what we need to do.
Here are a few little hints and tips for aspiring applicants.
If your email says please find my resume attached, then attach it! I know there could be times when you did attach it and something may have gone wrong, but let me assure you, when I call you to ask if you could resend in order for you to have as good a chance as the next person, it’s not in your best interests to suggest I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to reading an email.
Strike 1!
If you apply for a job, you could perhaps forgive the person receiving said application, assuming you actually want the job.
When the person making the decision regarding who gets an interview rings to suggest a mutually acceptable time for that interview, it does not go down well to start the conversation by rattling off the times you can and can’t make it because of your social life.
I know it’s Christmas, but if you’re unemployed and want that to change, it’s in your interest to fit in with me, not the other way around.
If you’re not prepared to make an effort to get to an interview, you would perhaps forgive me for being concerned about the effort you would make to not only get to work, but actually do your job once you got there.
Strike 2!
The best is yet to come though, my friends.
This is the best piece of advise I can give you when applying for any job.
DO NOT address the person receiving your application as “Hey you”
My name was on the advert, use it dickwad!
I got not one word further than those 2 words on your cover letter, because your application hit the recycle bin with a resounding thud the minute I saw the words in question.
Strike 3, you’re out!
WTF were these 3 dicks thinking when they did the above mentioned things?
Clearly they weren’t thinking at all.
Maybe applicants should think about this?
For every job advertised, there are at least 50 people who apply, giving employers quite a good choice.
Yes, I need to fill the position, but I don’t need you when there are people smart enough to know how to speak to, and act, towards a prospective employer.

Strike out

anonymum — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 21:09:55 +0000

I’m a mad keen baseball fan, as is Mark.
When in Boston this year we went to see the Boston Red Sox at Fenway Park, and had THE best night, and can’t wait to do it again, which we will.
Now, the World Series is the pinnacle of things to win in baseball.
The Holy Grail if you like.
Ticket prices are insane, yet still people pay for them without a second thought, and I will admit nothing would please me more than to see a World Series game {preferably with the Sox playing, of course}
My problem is that I have an issue with the amount I would need to pay, in order to achieve this goal.
Pay?
Hmmm.
In this case I’m not sure pay is the right word.
Perhaps barter would be a more appropriate word do you think?
Whilst I admire this woman’s loyalty to her team, I do need to ask what the hell she was thinking when she tried this little stunt.
The biggest problem it created for her is she tried to “barter” with a cop.
Maybe someone needs to tell her that in order to hit a home run, one must hit the ball right on the sweet spot of the bat, not let it go through to the catcher!!!

High drama

anonymum — Sat, 26 Sep 2009 03:41:49 +0000

I’m not much into dramatics.
Not seriously anyway.
Yeah, I can do the whole “over the top” shit, but it’s very tongue in cheek.
I don’t get drama queens, be they male or females.
What is it about drama that so many people almost aspire to be embroiled in the middle of whatever the perceived “drama” is?
There are many I know who actually look for it, and when they find it, revel in it!
WTF is with that?
Why would you try to surround yourself with that type of shit?
I don’t get it.
Can someone enlighten me?
Please?
Help me understand why some want to turn something small into an event bigger than the cast of Ben fucking Hur, then go on, and on, and on, and on about it?

Surely it’s easier to shrug and get on with life?

The error of my ways

anonymum — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 20:59:04 +0000

Of late I’ve had some interesting situations at work, to say the least.
I’m a manager.
This, naturally, involves staff who report to me.
As it transpires, the staff in question have several “issues” with me.
These are many and varied, and some are the usual issues most of us have with their boss, but others have been quite bemusing.
One of the various grievances aired in recent days is the tone I use when I ask them to do something.
Please note I said ASK, not tell.
I don’t like being TOLD to do anything, thus I refuse to tell anyone else, so if I need something done, I ask.
Now, my interpretation of a manager is someone who does what needs to be done in order to do their job, picks up the slack should we have someone out sick or on leave, is first in, last out, and if needs be, delegates what would be considered smaller, less important tasks to others when pressed for time.
I’ve been working this way for well over 10 years, and until now it’s always worked, for myself and my staff.
How lucky am I, to now have people who are willing to point out where I’ve been going wrong???
It seems these are the errors of my ways.
I need to speak in a tone that is not short, demeaning, intimidating, nor am I to sound as if I’m becoming impatient should I need to ask for something to be done more than once before it happens.
Quote “We’ll get to it when we have time…”
Apparently I should use a more “gentle” tone.
Under no circumstances am I to take any notice of when they come and go from the office, how long they take for lunch, nor query what they do with their time.
Seems they know what their jobs and times are, and I should be content these things happen as a matter of course.
Having said that, what prompted this raft of grievances was me voicing my dissatisfaction over an incident where one of them stood in the store talking to a former staff member for 40 minutes, so you could forgive me for not taking any comfort in their assurances I have no need to take note of their times.
The best is yet to come however.
I was given a list, yes a list, of the things they think need to happen, in order to make the workplace a warm, fuzzy place.
This list included, but was not limited to, supplying morning tea once or twice a week, where they can down tools and take around 45 mins to an hour, so we could have a group session and air our problems.
I should give them a copy of my job description so as they have a better understanding of why there are times I need to work on weekends. Surely my job can’t be that difficult? {I need to add here, my job description runs to 28 pages!!! You could forgive me for saying it’s something of a complicated position. Please?}
I should let them know where I’m going, what I’m doing and when I’ll be back, should I ever have need to leave the office, because they need to know in case someone rings for me.
There were other little bits and pieces, mainly relating to me, basically, not managing them in any way, shape or form, because {apparently} they know exactly what they need to do, and feel they’ve been there long enough that they should be allowed that freedom.
I shit you not.
This has been my week, and people wonder why I drink?
Wonder no more my friends.
Wonder. no. fucking. more!

Do you remember when…

anonymum — Sat, 27 Jun 2009 02:27:34 +0000

Milk came in a real glass bottle rather than feral plastic or waxed cartons they come in these days, and you could actually have it delivered?
When bread was made of what it’s meant to be made of and didn’t have 99 different preservatives, colourings and flavourings added to it?
Being politically correct was NOT the first consideration on your mind before you opened your mouth to speak?
Gay was a word used when you were happy, not as an intended reference to someone’s sexuality? Really, who gives a damn? People need to do what makes them happy regardless of what it is, and that others feel the need to put a label on every damned thing gets clean up my nose!
Sorry, I digress, that’s a post all of it’s own!
People had respect for those older than them, and didn’t see them as objects of amusement or a source of quick, easy income because they tend to be easier to mug?
Going for a walk at night was something you could do without being concerned for your welfare and health?
Going about your employment was something you could do without worrying about getting shot?
A story such as the one above made more headlines than the death of someone who whilst brilliant in a musical sense, had quite lost his grip on reality {assuming he ever really had it}
In relation to the above, I feel for MJ’s family, but mostly I feel for those poor little kids who really have no idea of the world that awaits them, and the way the media will drag their father through the mill for the rest of their days, and the fact that they will never be able to have any privacy, and if some have their way, dignity either
More kids went outside to play in the sunshine and make mud pies and daisy chains than those were inside with the latest gaming console?
Teachers were allowed to comfort kids when they hurt themselves instead of needing to just look as they do now, because they fear allegations of inappropriate behaviour regardless of the circumstances?
A doctor would come to your house to see someone because they were too ill to get out of bed?
Fresh fruit and vegetables looked and tasted just like what they were meant to?
Fast food was fish and chips as a treat on Friday night rather than the whole fucking menu plan?
People held doors open for others when they were but a few steps behind them?
People would stand for a pregnant woman to have a seat?
Young people would help elderly people rather than poke fun and laugh at them?
People wore their pants above their arse crack?
When you could understand what the singers words were, and they played actual music as opposed to doof doof doof!
I remember all of the above, and damn, how nice it would be should we have the ability to get them back.
I’m tired, I’m cranky, I need a holiday and I’m just fucking over it.
I guess it shows huh?

Get over it

anonymum — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 10:47:27 +0000

There are some people in this world need to get a life.

Do they have so little to be worried about that they can make something of this?

Apparently, once you’ve been a kids performer, you’re not allowed to act the same as any other consensual adult and do with your life, what you will.

When you do have the audacity to try doing just that, the morality police stick their 2c worth in.

This has been discussed from one end of Australia to another today.

My opinion?

Go for it girl!

If I had a body like that I’d be flaunting it to all and sundry on the front of a magazine too, make no mistake.

In closing, I do have a question though.

What the hell would kids who like Hi 5 be doing reading a fucking magazine like Ralph anyway?

I repeat, some people need to get a life.

Quickly!