Campfyre Stories

Monday was fine except that I was wiped out.  Had Spawn had any more time with me than what he already had, it would have been a fight.

Tuesday I was reminded exactly why I don’t tend to like people until they pass the age of 25 and go through the whole self-identity crisis.  Let me just say, anecdotal evidence is not a valid debate point, and frankly, I wasn’t talking to you when you determined that, whether or not children are losing their childhood at an earlier age, that’s not a bad thing, since you had it harder than anyone else in the rest of the world, and you turned out fine.

Yeah, ok, whatever gets you through the day.  Also?  Taking up an entire row of seats between two people just makes you self-absorbed.  Also?  I don’t care who you are, applauding and laughing at a rape scene makes you a bad person.  Fuck you all (except the one person whose company I seek out, you know who you are) and I want those two hours of my life back.

Wednesday had hardly even started when it went down the toilet.  A portion of the main road had flooded, so the bus decided to turn around, retrace the route for over a mile, take weird back roads that I’m not familiar with and lose 15 minutes in order to get about a block and a half around the closed portion of the MAIN FUCKING DRAG.  Which would have been more than enough to make this particular Wednesday a Wednesday, but no.  The bus also had to smell like funky garlic and the good bus driver in on vacation, so we’re stuck with this complete ASSHOLE who insists upon making us walk even further than the quarter mile we already have to walk.  So we hit the last stop (which we call the last stop because in order to get into my work site, you need to have an official badge) and there are 4 of us on the bus, 2 of whom I recognize (one of whom is me, who I do not need to recognize).

We get to the gate, and the security guy comes on and the 4th person is this old lady who doesn’t work there and, therefore, doesn’t have a badge.  So the bus driver starts flipping out and YELLING at her about how she should know better!  Wait…  No…  It’s the BUS DRIVER’S job to make sure his passengers know what’s going on with the route, not some old lady who is in town after having been gone for 15 years.

At this point, the bus driver, who is yelling at the little old lady (with all her luggage!) tells her that she needs to get off the bus and walk in the rain the mile or more back to the bus stop.  Now it seems to me that the non-asshole thing to do would be to have her get off the bus, stay there at the gate and offer to pick her back up when you left…  maybe it’s just because I’m not an asshole, but why make the little old lady (with luggage!) WALK over a mile when she doesn’t even really know where the hell she is?  It was the security guard who told the asshole bus driver to stop yelling at the lady and just make sure she didn’t get off the bus on site.

That got me into work a half hour late, which is fine, since I don’t actually have any plans today, at least not ones that are dependent on time, but it means staying late and still walking in the rain, only probably colder rain, and blah blah blah blah…  I really don’t need this many Wednesdays in a week.