Did you know that traffic citations are only given to Drunk Drivers and Drug Addicts? by sTeeTo

This blog is dedicated to Mary, whose last name I have subconsciously blocked from my brain. I'm fairly certain she would gladly go by Mary of Nazareth. Who is Mary you ask? No no not the virgin who birthed Jesus without ever having sex. I'll save this ridiculous story for a different day. 

 Mary is a psychotic woman who I had the privilege of speaking to on the phone for nearly fifteen minutes. Mary received a Photo Radar ticket for speeding. Allegedly 45 in a 30. Her opening question, which took an eternity to spit out was "The ONLY people who receive Traffic Citations are Drunk Drivers and Drug Addicts, so I'm wondering why I received this, because I am neither of these." 

Keep in mind that this question sounds completely rational to her. She was extremely articulate with her words. I could tell that she had a difficult time organizing her thoughts, which is fine, I am the same way. I also choose my words carefully. But why in the hell after filtering out what you were originally thinking would you come up with this ludicrous question? My only reaction to this insane thought was to laugh. I so wish I could control this part of me, but I honestly cannot. Of course this outburst infuriated Mary. She interrupted my little surge of laughs with "this is NOT funny". Oh shit, this is when I realized just how crazy this woman was. Now I must go into ultra sarcastic tone. Ah something else I cannot control. So I respond with an "OoooKAY". Just great, can I make this any worse? The answer? No matter what you say, Staci it's GOING to get worse. So fuck it, here are my inappropriate outbursts Mary. Loud and clear for you. 

Mary begins to tell me how she is a teacher (is there anything fucking more terrifying than that?!). She then explains how she presents photographs to her students of children killed in drunk driving accidents. She is using her Mary of Nazareth tone at this point. If we had any actual proof of Mary of Nazareth's existence, I'm sure she would have this tone,  I'm sure of it. Anyhow, I believe I was supposed to be impressed here and say "WOW, you are an amazing individual and I hope that if I ever have children that you will be their mentor because apparently you have your shit together, Mary". But you know what? I didn't say that. All I could do was put my phone on mute and say loudly "this woman is fucking nuts!!" while covering my face in utter disgust. Everyone knows that the only way to educate people is to instill fear into them, am I right? It definitely earns you a good ol' dose of respect. It worked wonders for the Bush Administration, didn't it Mary? 

Now Mary is asking about the process for her ticket. Can you believe we haven't even discussed this yet?! So I give her my spiel in the most monotone voice I can muster up. She has gained so much respect from me that I have gone into my apathetic traffic court clerk robot voice. She then asks me how she can get a hold of the officer in charge of her citation. First, I tell her that it is nearly impossible to reach an officer, in fact we are told to tell Drunk Drivers and Drug Addicts that they are not to contact the officer. She once again interrupts me with "OH I KNOW how to get in touch with an officer". So I respond with "Great, so you don't need my assistance here since you obviously know how to contact the officer". Once again I cannot control my sarcastic tone. I'm not sure if Mary even picks up on this though. She probably took this as a compliment. 

Sadly, this is where Mary and I part our ways. We say our farewells, I put my phone on "not ready" for a few seconds to take a deep cleansing breath and rid myself of insanity from this psycho bitch. On to the next Drunk Driver or will it be a Drug Addict this time? Fucking Traffic Citations. 

Gym Etiquette 101. By Brooke (Guest BitchBlogger).

After reading Jeeto’s latest bitchfest entry I was inspired to contribute my own story in hopes to get at least one of my issues off my chest. As an avid runner and occasional “bodypumper” I have been an active and loyal member of a local gym since moving to Boise two years ago. Any of you who are active gym goers can understand that there is a whole set of rules and etiquette that come with working-out; the majority of which is unspoken but understood by most. Unfortunately not everyone is blessed with common sense, which brings me to my story. This particular Wednesday, I arrived at the gym just before 6pm which was my first mistake as this is the busiest time of the day. As I circled the premises looking for an open treadmill, I silently cursed all of the “New Year’s Resolution” patrons who have inflexed the gym since January and usually linger around until March – that’s a whole separate bitchfest entry. Anyway, after a couple of circles and no treadmill to be found, I finally settled on an elliptical in the “exclusive” women’s workout section of the gym. While I hate the elliptical, I figured I would squeeze in a bit of extra cardio until a treadmill became available. Sure enough, five minutes later one opened up. I promptly grabbed my belongings and started towards the vacant machine. Just as I was stepping on, I heard this extremely rude “Excuse Me!” I looked over to see that the culprit was an extremely thin older woman with big bushy curls, standing on the elliptical next to my treadmill. “Oh,” I stammered shocked and surprised, “were you getting on this treadmill?” She looked at me accusingly and rudely snarled “uh yeah!” Again, shocked by her tone and malicious looks I slinked away like a scorned dog and let the bitch have the treadmill. I then retreated back to my elliptical, fighting tears the whole way. I know, a bit dramatic but I was in shock that a stranger would speak to me that way and upset that I let her get away with it! I spent the next 20 minutes fuming and shooting glares in her direction whenever possible…though I don’t think she noticed. While I have been known to be slightly obsessive with my workouts I vowed then and there to never let myself get to the point that the obviously anorexic woman had gotten to. To the old skinny woman with the big curly hair – get over yourself and realize that you are so thin that you should give your poor body a break. Also, since you go to a PUBLIC gym, note that you do not have any prior claim on any workout equipment. I know it may be difficult for you but try to show a little bit of common courtesy to those around you.

Someone at Starbucks is Annoying. By Jeeto.

Ok, so my debit card is a little messed up. My dog, Charles, took it out of my pocket one day and chewed on it a little and the resulting teeth marks occasionally make it difficult to swipe during sales transactions. The key word here being, “occasionally.” And in the unlikely event that the swipe doesn’t read, the cashier will key in the number manually and I will be on my way—a happy, satisfied customer. This is the same sort of “method” I was accustomed to, having worked in customer service for the last 11 years of my life. If the swipe didn’t take (because of card or machine), I kindly entered in the number. No big deal. No fuss. I get my money and the customer moves on.

Does it work that way at the Starbucks in downtown Boise? Let's see...

The last two times that I’ve decided to waste my hard earned money on non-local coffee I’ve been rather annoyed at a particular attractive blonde woman, in her 40s, who’s made it her mission to lecture me about “getting a new debit card” when the first swipe doesn’t take. The first time I was caught off guard and stood there, rather perplexed, when she turned proctor on me and decided to school me in the process of getting a new debit card from my bank.

She told me:

1.) That it’s easy to get a new debit card from my bank. I would just need to request one at my main branch.

2.) That since I’m just requesting a replacement card, that I wouldn’t even have to change my pin number!!!

3.) All about other customers who have screwed up cards (way more so than mine) that she tells to get new cards, too.

I really wanted to tell her that:

1.) I’m not an idiot and I know how to request a new debit card from my bank.

2.) I don’t give a shit that she has to swipe more than once because:
a.) My debit card works just fine with the exception of like 2 places.
b.) She’s the only person who has a problem swiping it at that EXACT same Starbucks.
c.) That I’ve dealt with unfortunate cards for years and never once thought to tell people to get a new debit card—that just comes with the territory of accepting cards.

3.) Sometimes, maybe unbeknownst to her, that requesting a debit card can result in years of torture and dismay when the bank can’t seem to get it right. (When I was with WaMu (now Chase!) I received TWO debit cards that would decline me at every transaction and would only work as an ATM card, even though the bank could never find a problem with them. I eventually stopped using my debit card for like an entire year and then finally when I decided that I wanted to try again, they sent me a card for the wrong account… Needless to say, I’m not banking with them any longer.)

4.) It’s not her business to tell me what I need to do. It’s her business to smile, work through any problems, and serve me a hot/cold beverage.

I didn’t say anything. I just smiled and walked away, confused and bewildered… Like, “Did that really happen?” And I thought that maybe I was just being insensitive to her rights as a public servant and that my debit card delay might have somehow made her day a few seconds off… But the more that I thought about it and the more that I recounted my years in customer service and my years of training OTHERS in customer service, that this is probably a discussion I wouldn’t recommend for my employees to engage in. I guess I have the mind set of, if you’re taking someone’s money, you should do so with a smile and be happy to swipe several times, punch numbers in if you have to, call those authorization lines, swim to the bottom of the ocean… Whatever. But don’t lecture them or make them feel like idiots because YOUR machine has trouble reading THEIR card. Because YOUR machine is not EVERY machine and THEIR card may work at MILLIONS of other locations.

Today, when I went in today with a co-worker I had this same Starbucks associate. And guess what happened again? Yes. But this time I just simply said, “Well it works everywhere else.” And she didn’t seem to care about that… Because she still lectured me like I was five and went into detail about how people come in and give her cards that are split in half… bla bla bla bla… And seriously… Her bitching about my card that took her 3 or 4 swipes took longer than the swiping itself, so obviously she's not concerned about hurrying up.

Needless to say, I will continue to support Java—which I like better anyway. It’s locally owned and my card works there like a charm. The employees remember my name and what I like to drink and they’re always friendly, talkative, and tend to make me feel good. So in some ways, I should thank stupid Starbucks babe for making me see that I shouldn’t bother from straying my usual, local taste. “Thanks!”

Is that a Vagina You're Zapping in the Microwave? By sTeeTo

Oh, it's not? That's odd, because it smells EXACTLY like a vagina. 

Okay, so I know I am not alone here, but this is an obvious one people. This is simple etiquette in the work place. It's not even etiquette, it's more of a logical thought process. Let me lay it out for you. If something that you consume has the reputation of smelling like genitalia, DO NOT heat it up at WORK in the microwave. Period.

Do you remember the first time you made that brilliant decision to be selfish and force everyone to smell a steaming hot vagina during the lunch hour? Yes? Okay, so do you remember everyone around you commenting about how fucking disgusting it smelled? Not ONE person complimented on how succulent the aroma was that permeated from your lunch that day, not ONE. Okay, so with that in mind, why in the fuck would you do this again? Why? 

Please, do us all a favor and eat your fish at home. 

If I had the means to replicate the odor of a sweaty ball sac in liquid form, I would do so in a heart beat. Then, do you know what I would do? I would pour it in my Vegetable Soup and heat that shit up on "Supafly TNT Muthafuckin' HIGH" for twenty-five minutes,  JUST to spite you. Luckily (for all of us),  I do not have the resources to achieve this repulsive endeavor. I do know that even if I was capable of such things that the logical thought process that I mentioned earlier would kick in and I would be reminded that YOU are not the ONLY one in the work place. I would never put the rest of my co-workers through something so horrifying. This may come as a shock, but it's not all about you.