I think it's now safe to announce that I have officially survived the first (and probably only) Seattle snowpocalypse of 2012. This one was a rather significant disappointment, as it got me out of only about 15 minutes of work, and then totally fucked up the city on my days off. (Look at me, pretending I have enough money to go out like a real adult... how cute.)
Mostly, Seattle snowpocalypse made me miss Vermont. Vermont may have been all kinds of goofy in any number of ways, but at least they could handle snow like a boss there. Eighteen inches in a day? Whatever, we'll just send out the plows for 36 hours straight, and salt the roads till they glitter.
(Seriously, sometimes I think they mistook roads for the fields of Carthage.)
Seattle? Five inches--and I feel I'm being generous--and shut the shit down. Hide your kids, hide your wives, stockpile food and water and euthanize your pets as gently as you can, so they don't have to suffer (and for the protein, of course). In fairness to the city gubmint, there are better things to spend tax dollars on than infrastructure for snowstorms that come once every few years, and I suppose it's a good thing they don't spray a bunch of salt or worse on the roads to fuck up the sound even more than its present state of fucked-uppedness. I'm not sure what all the sand is for, though. Does that really help? Mostly I feel like it just makes shit dirty after the fact.
Work continues to suck. As if this is news. I thought up some atrociously bitter thing to say about customers. It involved their premature deaths and their children forgetting their faces. I forget what all exactly. Seemed too harsh to me. The biggest problem is that, at the end of the day, I just don't care, and I'm not sure who could. We sell [redacted]. Who gives a shit? It's not insulin for diabetic orphans or antivirals for HIV sufferers in the Democratic Republic of Congo. [redacted] shit. [redacted], [redacted]--[redacted]! It's not important and it's not interesting and I just don't give a fuck, other than that I need the money because everyone needs money.
Ugh. I want to write about it to get it out, but when I write about it, I mostly just depress myself.
My bird is running around the table chewing on every cable she can find. I wonder if she can sense the electrical currents, and is somehow attracted to them? Either that, or she does it to piss me off, because it requires constant attention to prevent her from electrocuting herself. There, now she's chewing on a mouse pad. Yeah, bird, fuck up that mouse pad. Do it. Do it.
That is all.
You are fucking hilarious.
ReplyDeleteI know I'd probably be complaining about it if it happened, but MAN, I'd like some snow.
ReplyDeleteDon't you have to distance yourself from the job/customers to survive any job in customer service? It requires some dissociation to escape with part of your sanity intact. I wonder if too much would make anyone heartless? I don't know of anyone who stayed in CS their whole life.
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