Pandora Is The Greatest Thing Ever

To those of you who have been living under a rock or in the state of North Dakota where the internet isn't allowed, there's an amazing, awesome, epic, sexy, fanfreakingtastic website called Pandora. It's basically the greatest thing ever made, because it's radio with less commercials that you can play on your computer while you're pretending to do your papers for class but you're really alt-tabbed to watch videos on YouTube of cats running into walls or jumping in boxes.

Pandora is also free. Did I mention that? If you're a cheap bastard like me, and let's face it, you probably are, this means a LOT cuz most things above a 6 on Christian's Awesome Scale require money to use. Pandora is a notable exception, ranking in at a whopping 8.2 Awesos. That's roughly ten times the awesomeness of bottomless steak fries at Red Robin and only slightly less awesome than surfing on a Harley down Highway 67 while on fire flipping the bird at passersby before inevitably going out in a blaze of glory once hitting El Cajon in an inferno that will not be forgotten for years to come.

Still only .6 Awesos above Pandora.

Pandora KNOWS WHAT YOU LIKE. I know, this sounds like a program Isaac Asimov would write about, but in his story it would totally go batshit insane and try to kill all of mankind with Hannah Montana and Target ads (I HATE THAT COMMERCIAL. BLARGH). But seriously, all you do is put in a band, song, or genre you like and Pandora is all like "ALRIGHT DUDE I GOT THIS" and continuously rocks out with songs very much like the one you put in that you can rate to further refine your search. THE THING ADAPTS based on you whining or worshipping various songs and artists. That's pretty goddamn legit. If Pandora was a woman... well, a HUMAN woman, I would totally have dibs on her and make her my own.

Pandora probably looks something like this, but without the vodka tattoo.

What's the best Pandora station, you might ask? Well, if you like what I do (and if you don't, get the hell out of my blog), that would be the channel Someday I Suppose - The Mighty Mighty Bosstones. Don't ask me why, but this one channel in particular has the greatest, most random music in it, from RBF and Mighty Mighty Bosstones to Blink 182 and Nena and Dexy's Midnight Runner's covers. Greatest channel ever.

"Spontaneous combustion is a myth. If you burst into flames it's because someone wanted you to."
-Chandra Nalaar

Things That Piss Me Off

I'm an angry person. I really am. LOTS of things piss me off, from politics to the game of Monopoly. If I were to list EVERYTHING that pissed me off, I'd be here until Armageddon, so instead I'm gonna start a multi part series to be updated whenever I'm feeling lazier than normal titled

THE ULTIMATE LIST OF ENRAGING, AGGRAVATING, AND/ OR STUPID THINGS THAT DRIVE ME INTO A MURDEROUS FRENZY®

1) Crying Children: Especially in public settings. Seriously, I will kick your goddamn baby in the mouth if you don't shut it up or take it outside. ESPECIALLY in restaurants, stores with good acoustics, and places babies don't even really belong, like Spencer's Gifts. You know, the stores with the shot glasses, beer pong tables, dildos and old people birthday shit. I guarantee you I'm not alone in this sentiment, but I am a rarity in that I will tell the stupid skank who forgot to take her birth control and still decided to get it on with her probably oblivious boyfriend/ husband/ brother/ landlord/ guy who works at the 7-11 to get her kid the fuck out before I give her the choice of whether I assault her or her child with a two by four with a single nail sticking out of the end. Remember, Mrs. Mommy: We will kill you. We have a van. The way I see it, I'd be doing natural selection a favor: I'd be removing a lesser being and her garbagespawn from the gene pool, purifying it ever so slightly for the production of higher creatures. Yeah, science justifies my violent tendencies.

I Google image searched "Punch Baby" and this came up. Frankly I like it better than anything else I might find.

 

2) Songs as Text Message Alerts: Now, I for one think a text or message alert on a phone should be a tone or jingle no longer than 2 or 3 seconds. Mine is the sound of Sonic the Hedgehog picking up a ring.  Short, sweet, straight to the point. I have no idea why, but there are people who decide to put a full 30 second song as their text alerts. This really shines as enraging when the person receives texts frequently enough to the point the song starts over several times before they even pick up the first one. CUT THAT SHIT OUT, no one wants to hear some shitty acoustic guitar version of "One" by Metallica as your ringtone, but as a text alert it's simply unforgivable. Plus, Metallica sucks ass in general. Sorry, but it's true. I had someone tell me "They revolutionized rock back in the day!", to which I responded "I wasn't there, I don't care, they suck now. The guillotine revolutionized capital punishment in the late 1700s, should I give a damn? No, it still sucks."

3) Implied Messages to people you care about in important situations: Now, I love implying things. Seriously, it's great fun to say one thing while strongly implying something else via your tone of voice, body language, and other nonverbal signs. That being said, implying shit in important situations with people you care about is bullshit. Seriously. Women, I'm almost only looking at YOU on this one. It's adorable that you're afraid to tell us what you want, what you feel, what you think. Really, it's good to know I evoke such terror. BUT CUT THAT SHIT OUT. If you want something, ask for it. Don't imply it, then get mad when we don't pick up on your fucking signals, because most men won't. And guys, if you're doing this shit, I can at least punch you in the face. I have just enough Southern Gentleman in me to rule out doing that to a woman.

4) Pandora Commercials: MOSTLY THE GODDAMN TARGET ONE, OH MY FUCKING GOD. I think this is close to the top of things that drive me into a rage the likes of which would make my berserker viking ancestors proud to have me as a descendant. To those of you who don't know, this fucking commercial is an exchange of short quips between a dude and some annoying ass bitch about some goddamn groceries at Target. 

Fucking Jackass: Think quick!

Stupid Dumbass Whore: Kay!

FJ: Target.

SDW: Target.

FJ: Only fresher!

SDW: Fresher?

FJ: Fresh groceries!

SDW: Veggies?

FJ: Yes!

SDW: What else?

There's more, but I can never listen past this point because I have jammed my pen into my ears. And they play it damn near every fucking commercial, the repetition makes me wanna kick a baby in the face, which would work well for number 1 I s'pose.

This isn't what I actually look like, of course. In reality I'm like a 15/15 with Trample and Indestructible.

5) People who you hate but are good friends with your good friends and you have to tolerate: Ok, to all the people out there who are friends, please keep this in mind. Chances are fairly good that, other than your main group of friends, most of your friends don't get along. I know 90% of my friends all hate each other. No exaggeration, all my female friends hate each other, they've all dated and broken up with my male friends, who also all hate each other. My group of friends is an incestuous, hateful bunch. That's fine though, they're MY friends, I don't expect them to like each other, but I know better to NOT make them comingle if they don't want to. Now, some of my friends are blissfully unaware of this fact and invite me to hang out, only revealing after I've arrived they've always invited another one of their friends whom I LOATHE with a passion, but I can't really say that because someone who IS my good friend likes them for some reason. I don't wanna lose them as a friend, but now I have to tolerate this stupid jackass for the duration of the hanging out because my friend assumed his friends all got along great. I do suppose there's an upside, like if Mephistopheles appears and demands we sacrifice one of our number on the Altar of Blood to escape his eternal burning wrath and deletion of our Facebook accounts, we can throw the extra jackass on the altar and not lose any sleep whatsoever. Or if we get on a boat that gets overloaded with weight, we can throw him overboard. WIN FREAKING WIN BABY 

That's me with the blue sword. This is what I do on the weekends.

5 seems like a good number to stop at. Later days, my children.

"It is better to be hated for who you are than to be loved for who you are not."

-Andre Gide  

Why Vons Sucks

I hate Vons. Some of you may know it as Safeway or whatever, but Vons SUCKS. Few stores combine the factors of super stupid customers with numerous children and lots of money who have massive inferiority complexes and an undeserved sense of entitlement with the world's shittiest managerial staff who fall prey to laziness, nepotism, un-funness, douchebaggery, and middle management. This store sucks major balls and, in my usual manner, I'm gonna tell you exactly HOW Vons sucks ass in a well thought out, carefully constructed, English paper quality list.

The Management are Dumbasses
And we're not talking your normal "I hate my boss" dumbass. I'm talking like "I don't have any fucking clue what I'm doing and somehow I'm in charge" dumbass. These people couldn't run the store if they didn't have the lowly worker peons to ask questions to about the runnings of the store. They have no fucking clue what they're doing, they mostly just fill out paperwork, get yelled at by THEIR boss, and return the favor to the entire staff. These people couldn't manage to get their head out of their ass, let alone managing an entire store. It really goes to show that underachieving doesn't have to stop at the lower positions, it can get you ANYWHERE. That being said, Vons goes through managers and supervisors like Bruce Lee on steroids would go through a damp paper towel, so that's something. The only managerial position that doesn't change hands every 30 seconds is the assistant manager for some reason. It's weird.

Typical store manager

All The Employees are Slackers
Ok, not ALL of them, some of them do fit into the aforementioned "dumbass" category, but 95% of the employees simply do not give a shit. I can respect that, seeing as I'm definitely one of them. These poor souls hate their jobs, hate their pay, hate their coworkers, hate their customers, hate the music they play over the radio 24/7, and hate the fact that no one can ever figure out where to find the goddamn popcorn by themselves. These slacker employees really run the show here, which says something. These people simply do not give a shit about their job, they're just here for the money. There's no satisfaction of a job well done here, there's only meaningless repetitious bullshit and annoying customers you constantly want to impale on the end of a halberd to cast into the bakery ovens and set the temperature to "FUCKING NUKE" and watch their charred husks explode. Everything is half assed and slowly done, just as god intended. You'd think this is the type of place a slacker like myself would fit right in, but you'd be wrong because of one very important thing. 

THE GODDAMN MUSIC
Vons plays the same songs in the same order every day. That doesn't sound too terrible at first, but when you can literally tell time by the songs playing over the speakers, you know something is horribly wrong. Not only that, but they're not even GOOD songs, they're mostly rejected crap from the 80s and 90s that nobody EVER liked. When the highlight of your day consists of "London Calling" by The Clash and "Walk of Life" by Dire Straits, you know something is terribly amiss with the choice of music by the higher ups. There's no commercials or anything, I'm not even sure what the hell it is, whether it's a CD or satellite radio permanently set to "SHIT FM" or if my manager plugged in her iPod and let it run amok. I'm pretty sure they're playing this shitty music as a method of weeding out the weak minded employees and make them quit. Seriously, listening to one song each from Alanis Morisette, David Lee Roth and Hanson day after day after day after day, will take a mental toll on people and drive some to homicide.

Well Scooby, we solved the mystery of who has control of the music.

  

THEY MAKE ME SHAVE MY BEARD
That's right, they make me shave the source of my magical powers, charisma, and general sex appeal. Now, I'm the cute little bagger bitch up front who bags groceries, helps little old ladies out to their car, and contemplates suicide on an hourly basis because of my poor choice in career. Despite the fact I'm not making food or anything like that where facial hair would make a difference (even if I were I'd wear a hair net over it. I totally would), they make me shave my beard. I don't know if you know me, and you probably don't, but I love my beard. Not like "I love chocolate!" love, but like full on "Til Death Do Us Part" love. My beard has always been there for me, it's never said a bad word about me, it never calls me an asshole or a douche or any other admittedly true names. Most importantly, it makes me look not-12. Clean shaven I get carded for everything, from liquor to cigarettes to a Double Gulp at 7-11. Plus it's blatantly apparent I have a double chin without my beard to run interference. I have no idea why they make me shave, but it's militantly enforced. Nazi Germany had more lax security measures about control of Jews than my manager does regarding facial hair. She actually MADE ME GO HOME AND SHAVE AFTER I GOT TO WORK once because I had a tiny bit of blonde stubble. Bear in mind, my facial hair IS blonde, so it's really fucking hard to see unless you're looking for it through a goddamn microscope until it really grows out. I hate my boss and I hope her uterus explodes randomly while she's at work.

Please refer to this diagram.

You Have To Join A Union
Unions suck. They're a corporation that even OTHER corporations hate. Granted, they had their place back in the 20s when labor was a crying shame and they brought about radical reform and good works in favor of their constituents, but nowadays they really only serve to take your money and try and push political agendas and struggle for power with employers. They view their members as a beef rancher views his cattle: to be carefully nurtured until they're ripe for slaughter, than to take everything they're ever had. And as a Vons (or any grocery store) employee, you're forced to join one of these monstrosities, which I still don't get why. Why the fuck should they care if I'm in a union or not? I don't wanna pay a monthly fucking fee for some bullshit I don't agree with. Sure, they give you benefits or whatever, but only if you're a lifer at this shithole, which I am certainly not. My attention span is WAY to short to stick around this joint for very long, I mean it's a wonder I've gotten through all these paragraphs without going onto a completely other subject. Seriously, unless you plan on staying with Vons for 10+ years, you won't really gain any major benefits. The job fucking SUCKS in every way, shape, and form. Oh, and the pay sucks. 8.10 an hour is not worth tolerating the customers.

Typical Union meeting

You'll notice "Stupid Customers" aren't on this list. I figure that's a given, and I'm always talking about how stupid customers are. I figure I won't beat the dead horse on THIS particular post.

The next one I probably will though.

"When a man tells you he got rich through hard work, ask him 'Whose?'"

-Don Marquis

Community College

I'm currently enrolled in Miramar Community College in San Diego. Ah, community college, the haven for middle aged people who inexplicably decided to go back to school, the poor kids, and the slacker kids who didn't really put forth the effort to get in to a 4 year university and so are getting their GE and 60 units to transfer. Don't let my rampant pessimism disguise the joy I feel of being at this place: it's awesome. The classes are all super easy, the teachers are chill, but most important if I don't want to talk to people I don't have to. I don't live here, I'm not obligated to work with anyone outside of class if I don't want to, and most people seem to be terrified to talk in a public space, like someone will strike them down where they stand if they open their mouths. There's really only three places to ever see a soul on campus: the library, the cafeteria, or in class.

The library is where the people with some intention to graduate hang out from time to time. It's full of "books", which I'm told used to hold text before they invented Internets. There's also the obligatory 15 year old computers that can barely run Notepad, and they all seem to always be occupied by the same three people. It's weird, I suspect if I broke in at like 2am, the same asian guy, white chick with a billion hairclips in her hair, and super tall black guy would be diligently sitting at the computers, working on whatever assignment it is that keeps them on the computers every damn time I'm in the library. The good thing about the library is that there's actually some OUTLETS around! I don't know whose bright idea it was, but this school's outlets have almost all been replaced with solid covers that don't allow plugging in. It's terrible! My phone sucks up more juice than that computer from the episode of "Psych" with all the spies and it needs to be recharged every 30 seconds or so. Since I'm at this damn school for 12 hours I spend quite a bit of time searching for an open outlet. Oh, there are only like two or three of them, so more often than not the back area of the library where they're all located deteriorates into a gladiator deathmatch with people hacking each other up to tiny pieces trying to claim the Fabled Outlet for themselves! But don't worry, I've located a well hidden outlet in the cafeteria for myself. Let the lessers fight amongst themselves, I'm staying the hell away.

IS YOUR PHONE NOT CHARGED??

Ah, the cafeteria. Despite the fact it's a school cafeteria, the food is actually legitimately good. Well, some of it. They make some bon-diggity Philly Cheesesteaks and pizzas, but their french fries and random ethnic food I've never actually seen anyone order look like someone already ate them then puked them out and they served it to us. And by "they" I mean the 5 people who work here: The moderately hot woman in her late twenties with an accent (accents are sexy, just saying), the random guy who I assume was hired as a result of affirmative action, and the three old filipino/ chinese/ I have no idea lunch ladies. Now, the old ladies seem to be pretty cool, I've never really had a problem with em. But they have that habit that every group of people who speak two languages has: they like to have conversations in whatever other language they speak in front of me and I have no idea what the hell they're saying. It's especially disconcerting when they start busting up laughing because I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THE HELL THEY'RE LAUGHING ABOUT! It's really fucking aggravating not knowing if you're the joke or if they're telling the world's dirtiest jokes and you can't participate despite knowing the best of the best dirty jokes. Some day I feel like bringing an interpreter with me just so I can understand what the hell they're saying, but knowing my luck my interpreter will leave me and get in on it with them.

My one weakness... I am helpless against the meaty-cheesey goodness of Philadelphia.

There's also classrooms at this school, for whatever reason. I guess they needed SOMETHING to justify building the cafeteria and library. The classrooms are some of the most modern rooms on the planet. They have magical retracting shades, screens that fold out, superprojectors, things that put a sheet of paper through the projector, awesome sound systems, and DOORS. That being said, due to the state's amazing ability to allocate money, 80% of them are empty. It's awesome, there's a billion of these super classrooms with like 15 teachers manning them all. But don't worry, unlike high school or a 4 year university or online dating, the chances of you getting a legitimately cool professor are really high. I'm not sure why they seem to be here, but they are. Maybe the 4 year universities kicked them out for not having boring enough lectures, or as I'd like to tell myself they gave the dean the bird after being put on double-secret probation with the rest of Robot House, put on a leather jacket and aviators and rolled out of his office on a Harley to begin their teaching career anew. But, I digress, the teachers are friggin AWESOME. Most of them are probably fucked up in the head one way or another, but insanity is a necessary part of fun. My administration of justice professor keeps telling us to drop the class because he's sick of us already. He handed out a sheet of paper that only had the words "REALLY BORING" printed on it and asked us to hold it up if he ever lectures too long so he knows to move on. He constantly singles out and belittles random people in the class for the enjoyment and learning of the rest of us. My interpersonal communiations teacher? She's some sort of state admin office employee slash teacher slash construction supplies seller slash mother slash robot slash crackhead slash Wonder Woman. I get tired just listening to her talk, she's got so much energy and shares so much of her personal life it's scary. I'm not really sure how she does it, but I assume crack is involved.

Most teachers have one or two perks that make them hilarious and fun, but the best ones are the ones who look like someone famous, like my old Public Speaking professor who looks EXACTLY LIKE GEORGE CARLIN, like EXACTLY. Down to the hair and clothing. However, I can safely say he was not George reincarnated, much to my dismay, because he was the most soft spoken guy ever and every other word wasn't an F bomb. I also had Morgan Freeman With a Shave Head for a Psych course, which was pretty cool. This guy actually sounded like him too, I felt like it was March of the Penguins, just with Psych 101 instead of stupidass birds that no one cares about. Plus, the teachers can't actually drop you I'm told, so if you wanna be a dickhead you can and no one can stop you. Granted, I'm sure they can find a way around that and get your ass dropped faster than you can say "I'm Rick James, bitch", so it's probably not a good idea to try that crap.

"Good advice is something a man gives when he is too old to be a bad example." -Francois de La Rouchfoucauld

Concession Stands

I help run a concession stand as part of a fundraiser for a youth group I used to be in. Now, as anyone who has ever run any sort of food service customer service job knows, people either  have no idea what the hell they want to eat or they know EXACTLY what they want, down to the ingredients, cooking style, molecular composition, feng shui, and religion of the animal the food is made up of. I'm dead tired as a result of eight plus hours of dealing with people's stupid bullshit, so the following is simply a summary of who these people are and why they should be crucified on live television during the commercial breaks of Glee to ensure the highest chance someone that cares about them will see it and witness their agony in a humiliating yet hilarious way that will be the talk of the next day, then immediately forgotten.

The Indecisive Prick
This guy. THIS GUY, OH MY GOD. This guy will get in line, stand in line for 5-30 minutes (depending on my mood and how fast I'm allowing customers to move through the line), get to the front of the line, look at the menu which has all of 6 items on it, AND HAVE NO IDEA WHAT HE WANTS TO EAT. He had all the time in the world to even glance up and even randomly choose something from our overpriced menu which incorporates some of the world's most exotic food, such as a chicken sandwich and a cheeseburger. Seriously, it's not like our menu includes Qabli Pulao or Husmanskost. IT'S A GODDAMN CHEESEBURGER. He will undoubtedly sit in front of you, a tendril of drool hanging from his lower lip, as he mutters "Ummm... I think I'll... hmmm... I need a minute..." as you sit there trying to do everything in your power to not haymaker the bastard right in his face and bludgeon him to a bloody pulp. If you even IMPLY he should sit off to the side for a minute until he decides so you can help the less retarded people who DO know what they want, he'll go on a tirade about how terrible a job you have and how you exist to serve him because he's a paying customer and you have no soul and blah friggin blah blah.

Hmmm... a cheeseburger, or a hamburger with cheese...?

The Connoisseur of Crap
Quite the opposite of the Indecisive Prick, this guy knows EXACTLY what he wants, and will tolerate nothing less than perfection. He knows he wants a cheeseburger cooked medium well (despite the fact all burgers have one cooking setting: charred) with no tomato, double onions, two slices of cheese placed so that there's a 45 degree are that no cheese touches on the burger. He wants YOU to put ketchup on the patty in the shape of the Venus de Milo, the wrapper to be a double half-fold letter style, and the container to be facing east-west. If any ONE of these inane, retarded demands are not met he will hold YOU personally responsible, claiming that he very clearly told you his list of stupid crap to be done and you simply aren't intelligent enough to remember the complicated directions that he, your superior, gave you. Now, I say this guy, but more often than not this one is a woman who has little to no power in her relationships and seeks to fuck with someone who she can make feel inferior, which for this little exercise would be... you. Don't get me wrong, a lot of guys are this way too, but this particular group I've found to be more middle aged women. CUT THAT SHIT OUT, LADIES. SERIOUSLY.

I said .3 inches thick, not .45 you PLEBIAN!

The Duggars
You know who the Duggars are? They're not that little red circle guy with the goggles form Dig Dig, despite what I originally thought. Apparently, according to the interwebs, the Duggars are a family of hardcore conservative Mormons (a shock that those two be paired, I know) who have like a bajillion kids. These people, unfortunately, also need to eat when they attend baseball games. Familys like this suck major ass, not just because of the volume of their order, but every damn member of the family has to have something their own way or their of unique item. It gets really confusing trying to make sure you get two hot dogs, a hamburger with onions, a cheeseburger, french fries, garlic fries, two regular cokes, a large diet coke, a large beer, three pygmys, a Mexican, two metal rods and a SuperStar from Mario Brothers to these people without forgetting anything. The bright side? If they're really stupid, you can forget something, not notice until later when you go over the books, and then you're up like 5 or 6 bucks on your register. Nothing beats the feeling of having too much money.

Someone get that man a vasectomy already.

Hot Chick With Loser Boyfriend
This one just bugs me more than pisses me off, mostly because I guess a baseball game is a great place to bring your girlfriend who has an easy +5 on you just to show her off. I guess it must be romantic or something, but I dunno, the appeal of paying 8 dollars a beer to sit and watch a bunch of grown men play a game doesn't really scream to be a good location for a date, unless she's really into that sort of thing. But, I digress. WHAT THE HELL? This place seems to be a nexus for ugly and/ or stupid guys with inexplicable hot girlfriends. Do these guys have their families hostage or something? Did they make these girls in a lab somewhere? Is the chick's self-worth THAT low? I understand a 2 or 3 point difference, but we're talking like Catherine Zeta-Jones dating Urkel here, folks. Emma Stone and Michael Cera. Abby from NCIS dating basically anyone. SENSE IS NOT TO BE FOUND HERE!

Basically this, except Tommy Lee would be even less attractive. Somehow.

The Foreigners
Another thing I never really understood is all the foreigners at baseball games. And I'm not talking out-of-staters, though they too are present in strangely large numbers. No, I'm talking another freakin country. Every game I see probably 5 or 6 people from Ireland, 3 or 4 from Australia, and if I'm lucky one or two hot japanese schoolgirls. What possesses these people who pay out the ass for an airplane ticket to come to this country to waste precious time at a freaking baseball game? Is it the fact we call it Amercia's passtime and they're pretending to like it? Are they too being blackmailed by the unattractive boyfriend from the last paragraph? CAN THEY SEE WHY KIDS LOVE CINNAMON TOAST CRUNCH? Don't get me wrong, I'm not really complaining here. I like these people. There's never unattractive foreign people for some reason. They're either rugged Irishmen, sexy, big busted Aussie chicks who tip like 10 bucks if you can pour beer perfectly (which I can by the way), or japanese girls who giggle at everything like they're constantly breathing nitrous oxide. I like these people more than I like the jackass in the jersey of a team not even playing today with a trucker cap on, facial hair that doesn't match his face and a beer belly so big that it'll make Buddha blush. I really wish I got paid for alliteration, that last one would have made me like a million bucks. 

Crikey, mate.

The "Hot and Attainable BUT..." Chick
Ah, the hot and attainable BUT... chick. There's at least one every game. The chick who's clearly flirting with you while you take her order, and she comes back every time she wants something to eat or drink and will wait for you to become available, letting others cut in front of her. The one who strikes up a conversation after ordering a single drink, which I don't mind because I hate customers and don't care if they wait forever, I'd rather talk with the hot chick. You begin to consider giving this girl your number and seeing if something could happen. But then... you notice something. Something you wish you hadn't. Something so gamechanging it changes everything forever. Like the fact she's got Psalm 37:4 tattooed on her forearm, or the fact that she's wearing a Babylon 5 t-shirt, or talks with a cockney accent. One fatal flaw that completely kills any sort of inclination you had to have any involvement with this person. You can lie to yourself and say I'm a terrible person for saying this, that you would NEVER feel this way about anyone, but you're only lying to yourself. And me I guess, I mean you're still lying to me, I'm just not believing it. 


God, I just realized what a masochist I am for willingly putting myself in situations where I have to deal with people I loathe. MMMMM HURTS SO GOOOOOOD

"Fate chooses your relations, you choose your friends."

Jacques DeLille

 
 

Christian's Mall Job Hunt

I worked at Vons for a whopping 4 months before I got in a fight with the union and got taken of the schedule. I'm still not sure if I was ever officially fired or not. But that's a story for another time, point is I'm job hunting.

Now, as anyone who was unlucky enough to be born to parents who aren't multibillionaires with severe retardation who are more than content to let us do cocaine off hookers' asses between bouts of dropping a couple grand betting on the horse races and buying lavish 35,000 room mansions with indoor casinos, hookah lounges, and Pokemon battle arenas on their dime, this means a grueling few weeks with the most idiotic, brain-dead, heartless, soulless, uninteresting people you will ever meet. I speak of course of your potential future managers and coworkers. I'm shocked by the level of functioning some of these people seem to possess, lacking skills that would seem to be required for surviving past age 3, much less into adulthood. In honor of my day job hunting at the North County Fair (which is the mall in Escondido, to those of you who have no idea WTF I'm talking about), I feel like sharing my list of the questions that need to be asked, and the proper response, just in case, god forbid, YOU become the employee people ask for information regarding hiring.

This soundtrack is an hour and a half of people saying "Can I help you with anything?"

1) "Are you hiring?"
I know, difficult to fathom. Even a simple question such as this, which merits a simple "Yes", "No", "Yes, but..." or "GET THE HELL OUT OF MY STORE!" seems to confuse the ever living shit out of all but the most battle-hardened worker ants. The standard response seems to be staring at you, slightly off center just enough to avoid eye contact, drool a little bit, then slowly utter "Umm... I don't... ummm... let me ask my manager." Asking their manager. Fine, this guy has proven he's the cream of the crop since he's in charge, right? He couldn't possibly give you a runaround without giving you a simple answer, there's no way the evil faceless suits in Corporateland would allow such insolence from one they entrust with the wellbeing of one of their many, many money teats. Apparently not. This man is at the very least bold enough to make eye contact and didn't drool on himself, but he differs very little in his response. Something has these people absolutely terrified to say YES or NO, as though those words are the names of the dark wizards who killed their brethern and led a reign of death and misery, only to be stopped while trying to kill a baby. I'm sorely tempted to dropkick one of these assholes in the chest, just to see if I can get any sort of response at all other than doubletalking
uncertainty.

At least be honest about it and warn us with this t-shirt

2) "May I have an application?"
Eventually you get sick of asking if they're hiring and just take a more direct approach and simply ask for the application. Sadly, even this simple exchange of a damn piece of paper is complicated by the brainless peons that are the retail world's entire employee pool. (I do understand I fit into this pool. I stand by it.) I understand the world as we know it is going digital. Hell, I don't remember life without a cell phone. I don't remember life without my precious, lifegiving god, Internets the All-Father. But apparently there was a time, back in the era of the Flintstones and Turok when there was no internet or phones or Cuisinarts or metronomes or techno music or flying laser death turkeys or talking cars with British accents or Daleks. I respect that, though I can't imagine life in such a festering craphole as anything but a tortuous experience. However, life does not to be complicated by the addition of online applications. Simply give me the goddamn URL that leads to the application. That's it. Don't tell me to go to the website (which has a different name than the company, by the way), look in the right column, select 'Careers' from the 5th dropdown box, navigate 10 minutes of links and questions, only to THEN begin the application, which consists of normal information and loads of stupidass questions about whether I'd steal from my employer or set shit on fire or let al Qaeda use the stockroom as a base of operations. Even if I were going to do any of those things, and if you hire me after making jump through all these hoops I goddamn well might, do you really think I'm gonna tell you that? Really? Like a thief will admit, IN ADVANCE, that he's gonna rob someone? You know who does that? Cocky assholes who are lifelong thieves and make millions of dollars, like Danny Ocean or Lupin the Third, not Joe Asshole who's applying at the freakin Nordstrom for a 9 dollar an hour job. That guy's not telling you SHIT.

 

Anyone else remember Lupin...? No? Just me?

3) "Do you have any openings in [department name]?"
This one is for the bigger stores like Target, Nordstrom, or Wal-mart. Don't ask this question. Just don't, nobody will ever give you a straight answer you wanna hear, they'll all say the same exact thing: "We're always accepting applications." Fuck that response, I hope it dies of cancer that's on fire with shards of broken glass growing out of it. 

Keep at it!
Though each store I try to apply at grates on my very soul and causes me to die just a little each more, I must trudge on. Why? Money, bitches. No matter how much stupid crap these people can dole out, I require money for sustenance and, more importantly, for my unhealthy addiction to Magic cards and exploding toys. Perseverance is key. Just remember, the next place will be just as stupid as the last one, no less and no more. Unless of course you apply at like a Hot Topic or Hollister, in which case there is no helping you, I'm sorry.

God, I need a job already. CHRISTIAN NEEDS A NEW WHITE DECK AND AMMONIA NITRATE!

I had no part in this, I assure you.

"You talk to God, you're religious. God talks to you, you're psychotic."
-Doris Egan, "House, M.D.", House vs. God

Episode IV: A New Beginning

 Welcome to Non Sequitr, the blog where some stuff may or may not be made up and nothing really matters!

I've been told by quite a few people I should make a blog, despite the fact I know few people read them. I finally acquiesced to their demands only to meet a freaking gauntlet of stupid, ineffective websites before finally coming here. Even then, I kept screwing things up until I finally got it to work. At least I think I have, to be honest I didn't put forth that much effort into making sure it works. But, I digress.

I need to find a job. Sadly, all that seems to be available is a career in the Armed Forces or going back to being a bagger boy at Vons, neither option is particularly enthralling. I think I'd rather be gored by fiery minotaurs geeked on PCP carrying boltcutters than to have to talk to another goddamn old lady and ask her if she needs help to her car, only to discover that she not only doesn't remember where she parked, she doesn't even remember what her car is so I have to spend 20 minutes searching every damn car in the whole lot until I find the one with the "World's Greatest Grandma" license plate rim that she bought from a swap meet, a story she recounted to me over a dozen times while we were searching. OH MY GOD, Run-on sentences aimed at degrading and hating on other people feel practically ORGASMIC, this must be what it feels like to be Dr. Cox, or Ben Thompson. This is the beginning of a beautiful relationship, Internets. One that will inevitably fall into either domestic abuse or neglect, depending on my mood at the time.

"Wisdom is what's left when we run out of personal opinions."
-Cullen Hightower