In which the point is lost and, by the end, I implicate myself

When I was driving to work this morning, some guy on the radio was interviewing a Seahawk fan. (Lest you have been living under a rock (and oh, how I envy you), the Seahawks are in the Super Bowl for the very first time in the history of stupid games that require helmets, and all that water you see on the roads, that's not a month's worth of rain, that's the result of the entire city collectively wetting its pants in delight.) So anyway, this Seahawk fan wasn't able to get tickets to the Super Bowl and, good people of the World, this was a TRAVESTY of the HIGHEST ORDER. This Seahawks fan was distraught, nay, unglued, at the fact that some of the people who did get tickets, those people are probably aren't even FANS. Most definitely they haven't been fans as long as he (27 years!) AND they were probably selling their tickets on EBAY! FOR SHAME! And he, a loyal longtime fan, will be forced to spend $10,000 to take himself and his wife to watch their beloved team lose the Super Bowl. (No, I did not add any extra zeroes onto that sum and yes, I know I typed "lose" and my brothers are now sending out the lynching squad.)

My response to this, as I'm sure you'll be surprised to note, was: "Oh, boo hoo."

Then I get to work and not five minutes after I sit down to catch up on my blog reading, I get a phone call from a distraught customer. I'm not sure I have described, exactly, who my customers are and I'm not about to start now (especially now that someone recently found my website by googling my maiden name and YES I know this is the most un-anonymous blog ever and YES I should have thought more about that, but holy crap what undesirable high school phantom is tracking me down and reading about my mental instabilities because OH MY GOD.) I will tell you that I have a rather special customer base, made up mostly of older blue collar men who have done this particular blue collar job their entire lives, who know nothing except this job and who lambaste you mercilessly when you don't know what that acronym stands for because, well shit, sweetheart, don't you work for a [industry] newspaper? Don't they teach you nuthin? And after berating my lack of industry knowledge, they then feel the need to share about their terminal illnesses, the miserable economical outlook for their industry, how long they've been doing this job and shouldn't they get a free subscription? And I'm all, for what? For having a crappy job?

Now. If they were sending me flowers and chocolates, things could be arranged.

So anyway, this guy calls me up and is simply outraged- OUTRAGED!- that he has to SIGN A PIECE OF PAPER. "I got my renewal papers right here and you're sayin' I have to SIGN THE PAPER. I've been subscribin' to your paper for forty some years and what now, I have to SIGN something? You know how that makes me feel? Why do I have to SIGN ANYTHING? I've been doing this for FORTY YEARS." Instead of screeching at him for accusing me of being the [industry] newspaper CIA, I put on my best Official Young Lady voice and quietly explained that that signature proves he is indeed a member of the [industry], which proves to our auditors that we are not lying about our readership to our advertisers. (Got that? I have to use a few more sentences when I explain it to my customers, natch.)

Oh, he said. Oh. Well then. He'll sign it. He's just never seen it before.

To which I say: Of course. It's MY fault you don't pay attention. WHATEVER. (only with more swear words.)

GOD. I am really- REALLY- tired of listening to people who think they are ENTITLED to EVERYTHING. I mean, I get it. I GET IT. I get that you are the loyalest most Seahawkingest fan in the entire universe, but the stadium only holds so many people. They can't give a ticket to every season ticket holder. They just can't. It's a lottery. It's as fair as it's going to get. And does it suck that some kid who's probably only been a fan, like, FIVE years is probably auctioning off his tickets for thousands of dollars on Ebay? When you, O Loyal Fan, would actually BE there and be ROOTING FOR THE TEAM and participating in that 12th man crap? YES. It sucks. But that doesn't mean you should call up your local country radio station and assassinate the characters of those horrible people selling YOUR tickets on Ebay, and it CERTAINLY doesn't mean you should couch your argument in boo-hoo-I'm-more-deserving-crap because mean people like me will blog about how you are a whiny, petulant, passive-aggressive crybaby.

And attention Customers O' Mine: GET OVER IT. I work for a business. We charge money. I am sorry your equipment ate four of your fingers; that does not authorize me to give you a free lifetime subscription or a free ad or your picture on the front page with the caption The World's Best [Industry]man Forever And Ever Amen. And I do not care how long you've been doing whatever you've been doing- you still have to follow the damn rules. GOD.

Maybe I am just a big fat utterly-bored-by-football meanie and only someone with a heart of stone would roll her eyes at the big dude wearing the Hasselbeck jersey and ruining his blue pancake makeup because he's crying over no more Super Bowl tickets. And I totally admit that my job has made me a cynic and if you tell me that you've only got four months left to live anyway, why don't I just comp the rest of your newspapers, I will totally think you are lying. And I know that makes me horrible.

And I am not immune to feeling entitled. I am actually thinking of all the stuff I do for which I deserve palaces and jewels and many many cabana boys, but I can't share any of them on the wide open Internet where former employers and Strange People From The Past are lurking. (This fear, it is irrational yet paralyzing!) I don't want to get into some big discussion about how we all think we're pretty decent human beings and shouldn't have to work hard or have anything bad happen to us. Which is fairly universal, don't you think? WHY ME. We've all said it.

No, today's rant is a bit more base than that. For instance, I shouldn't have to keep going into the friggin HTML because the stupid paragraph break is weirding out on me. I AM ENTITLED TO WYSIWYG THAT ACTUALLY WORKS, PLEASE!

BUT! You don't see me calling up a RADIO STATION to whine about it, DO YOU? You don't see me griping at some poor innocent girl who happened to get stuck answering your stupid phone call!

I AM ENTITLED TO NOT HAVE TO LISTEN TO YOU PEOPLE. NOW GO AWAY.

(And now Phillip is instant messaging me about "The Great Firewall of China" which is making me absolutely furious and I'm going to stop now before I start ranting about an entirely new topic.)

 

Comments

[lee]

awesome.

i'm looking forward to the firewall rant, btw.

i am angry because was sunny outside all day and i had to stay at work and run computers. grr! rar!