Splenda, teen moms and other things that piss me off
In light of the fact that the last few weeks I have been pretty vicious with my attacks (and rightfully so) on that idiot down in DC named Dubya, I decided to poll some people on what their pet peeves were or what drove them a little crazy. Some of them were serious, but some quite funny, so I decided to make a column about them for you to enjoy, no holds barred. Fasten your seatbelts, it's gonna be a bumpy ride!
When a movie is supposed to start at 7:15, start it at 7:15. Play your 16 minutes of commercials starting at 6:59 and start the movie on time. Oh, and for all of you talkers, you can do it for free in the food court. Shut the hell up; I paid either $8.18 (Cineplex) or $9.95 (Famous Players) and I don't want to listen to you talk!
Hospital gowns — who are you kidding? If I wanted to hang my ass out in public I would wear jeans and thong underwear like 90 per cent of Fanshawe students. You are x-raying my lungs, why do you want the gown on? And while we are at it, let's talk about urine samples. There is nothing worse than a bitchy nurse banging on the door saying, “Miss Pole, aren't you done YET?”
Waiting in line — I know that there is often nothing you can do about it, but it bugs me. My mom hates it when they open a new till and she has been in line at Wal-Mart for 15 minutes and the person at the back of the line (who has usually just arrived) jumps to that line. There should be a protocol where the cashier says and points to the first person in the LONG line and says, “I can help you now ma'am.” Screw the line jumpers. And while we're on that subject: people with full carts of groceries going through the express lane annoy me. Key word: EXPRESS. I don't give a shit if you are in a hurry; I have one carton of soy milk and I don't want to wait for you and your 137 items to be rung through. (Thank the Lord for Loblaws, RCSS and the self-serve check out!)
Voice Jail. The wonderful system where you have to press this number then this number or say something out loud to get to where you want to be. Emily, the bitch from Bell Canada, is the worst — and I know because she did not respond to, “Emily you are a bitch and a pain in the ass and I want to talk to someone with a pulse!” Whatever happened to customer service from a live person?
Every week I receive dozens of envelopes for the London Health Sciences Corporation begging for money for some new project they have on the go. Why? Because every test, treatment and service done to me triggers off a reason to mail me an envelope. I figure by the time I am done my treatments (or am dead) they will have spent hundreds of dollars of postage trying to get money from me. I am taking it they are not getting the hint (nor are the telemarketers who call back when I tell them not to. But I now have a new system; I give them, “Miss Pole's new phone number,” which is off a list of phone numbers of all of the cemeteries (totally gross and morbid), correctional facilities, nursing homes, hospitals and Dial-a-Prayer. Eventually they get the point. (I didn't think it was fair to foist them on Dr. Death at St. Joe's; I am sure he gets enough weird phone calls on his own!)
Scent Free Work Places. GIVE ME A BREAK —- if you want a scent-free work place, then ensure that it is an “Everyone here has bathed in the last month or year” work place. One of my doctors had a group of patients in there that were so rank (and it was not even one of those really hot and humid days) that I had to leave and vomit from the smell. Scent is better than stench.
I hate snow plows that plow your car into your spot. It is not always convenient to be out there to move your car when the plow from your cheap-ass landlord finally shows up. And it is doubly inconvenient to spend an extra 30 or 45 minutes digging myself out as you have now stacked snow on my car over the roof. How about next time I park in the middle of the open space on the lot and let you have fun with that?
Another pet peeve — teenage moms who think it is cute to have a baby at age 14 or so. Grow up and give the baby up for adoption; it is a better chance at a normal life for you AND for the baby. You made one “oooops” but you don't have to make another. Motherhood is never easy, but doing it at age 14 is 10 times as hard. Kiss any chance of having a normal life goodbye! (Speaking as an adopted child, JUST DO IT! Yes, you will miss your baby, but if you love that child so much to take it to term and give birth to it, love it enough to give it to a stable and secure family life.)
Harvey's is switching to Pepsi. Bub-bye. I used to drink anything brown and diet until Splenda hit the market — Splenda and I are not good friends. Splenda is now in Diet Pepsi, so now I am going to have to drive all the way out to Wendy's for some half-decent fast food. No salmon burger, but at least there is Diet Coke.
Kids who scream for treats and parents who give in just to shut them up. Explain to me why you are rewarding your child with a treat for being a malicious, spiteful, horrid, nasty little brat?
Respect is a big word to me. I once assisted at a gala I did not want to and a certain instructor showed up, drunk as hell, in the kitchen where I was in the dish pit saying he could not find something. I cracked that it must be age — I am not a spring chicken myself. He delivered a tirade for a full 15 minutes along the lines of, “Young lady, I am your professor (he was not at the time) and I deserve your respect!” (Which he didn't — he was about to fall over drunk on free drinks at a college-wide fundraiser.) I don't have to respect him. You want my respect; earn it!
Think about when they are taking attendance in class every day, as they love to do in my department, remember one thing — I paid tuition to be here, and frankly, you work for me! I can come to class if I want to or not. Basically you are nothing but a professorial babysitter who might teach me some facts that you think are important to my “education.” In some classes I was lucky to even get some help, since one particular babysitter in question was too busy discussing hairstyles, nails, clothes, shoes, etc. with all of the “cool chicks”. Did she ever earn any of my respect? No. But if she wants to stay in the tourism/hospitality field, I think a job as a personal shopper at a large hotel might be right up her alley!
Janet is a second year student in the hospitality department on a very extended sick leave. So far all she has learned is how to slice off parts of her fingers in cooking and some great Trivial Pursuit answers. She can be reached at djembejanet@hotmail.com
Editorial opinions or comments expressed in this online edition of Interrobang newspaper reflect the views of the writer and are not those of the Interrobang or the Fanshawe Student Union. The Interrobang is published weekly by the Fanshawe Student Union at 1001 Fanshawe College Blvd., P.O. Box 7005, London, Ontario, N5Y 5R6 and distributed through the Fanshawe College community. Letters to the editor are welcome. All letters are subject to editing and should be emailed. All letters must be accompanied by contact information. Letters can also be submitted online by clicking here.
When a movie is supposed to start at 7:15, start it at 7:15. Play your 16 minutes of commercials starting at 6:59 and start the movie on time. Oh, and for all of you talkers, you can do it for free in the food court. Shut the hell up; I paid either $8.18 (Cineplex) or $9.95 (Famous Players) and I don't want to listen to you talk!
Hospital gowns — who are you kidding? If I wanted to hang my ass out in public I would wear jeans and thong underwear like 90 per cent of Fanshawe students. You are x-raying my lungs, why do you want the gown on? And while we are at it, let's talk about urine samples. There is nothing worse than a bitchy nurse banging on the door saying, “Miss Pole, aren't you done YET?”
Waiting in line — I know that there is often nothing you can do about it, but it bugs me. My mom hates it when they open a new till and she has been in line at Wal-Mart for 15 minutes and the person at the back of the line (who has usually just arrived) jumps to that line. There should be a protocol where the cashier says and points to the first person in the LONG line and says, “I can help you now ma'am.” Screw the line jumpers. And while we're on that subject: people with full carts of groceries going through the express lane annoy me. Key word: EXPRESS. I don't give a shit if you are in a hurry; I have one carton of soy milk and I don't want to wait for you and your 137 items to be rung through. (Thank the Lord for Loblaws, RCSS and the self-serve check out!)
Voice Jail. The wonderful system where you have to press this number then this number or say something out loud to get to where you want to be. Emily, the bitch from Bell Canada, is the worst — and I know because she did not respond to, “Emily you are a bitch and a pain in the ass and I want to talk to someone with a pulse!” Whatever happened to customer service from a live person?
Every week I receive dozens of envelopes for the London Health Sciences Corporation begging for money for some new project they have on the go. Why? Because every test, treatment and service done to me triggers off a reason to mail me an envelope. I figure by the time I am done my treatments (or am dead) they will have spent hundreds of dollars of postage trying to get money from me. I am taking it they are not getting the hint (nor are the telemarketers who call back when I tell them not to. But I now have a new system; I give them, “Miss Pole's new phone number,” which is off a list of phone numbers of all of the cemeteries (totally gross and morbid), correctional facilities, nursing homes, hospitals and Dial-a-Prayer. Eventually they get the point. (I didn't think it was fair to foist them on Dr. Death at St. Joe's; I am sure he gets enough weird phone calls on his own!)
Scent Free Work Places. GIVE ME A BREAK —- if you want a scent-free work place, then ensure that it is an “Everyone here has bathed in the last month or year” work place. One of my doctors had a group of patients in there that were so rank (and it was not even one of those really hot and humid days) that I had to leave and vomit from the smell. Scent is better than stench.
I hate snow plows that plow your car into your spot. It is not always convenient to be out there to move your car when the plow from your cheap-ass landlord finally shows up. And it is doubly inconvenient to spend an extra 30 or 45 minutes digging myself out as you have now stacked snow on my car over the roof. How about next time I park in the middle of the open space on the lot and let you have fun with that?
Another pet peeve — teenage moms who think it is cute to have a baby at age 14 or so. Grow up and give the baby up for adoption; it is a better chance at a normal life for you AND for the baby. You made one “oooops” but you don't have to make another. Motherhood is never easy, but doing it at age 14 is 10 times as hard. Kiss any chance of having a normal life goodbye! (Speaking as an adopted child, JUST DO IT! Yes, you will miss your baby, but if you love that child so much to take it to term and give birth to it, love it enough to give it to a stable and secure family life.)
Harvey's is switching to Pepsi. Bub-bye. I used to drink anything brown and diet until Splenda hit the market — Splenda and I are not good friends. Splenda is now in Diet Pepsi, so now I am going to have to drive all the way out to Wendy's for some half-decent fast food. No salmon burger, but at least there is Diet Coke.
Kids who scream for treats and parents who give in just to shut them up. Explain to me why you are rewarding your child with a treat for being a malicious, spiteful, horrid, nasty little brat?
Respect is a big word to me. I once assisted at a gala I did not want to and a certain instructor showed up, drunk as hell, in the kitchen where I was in the dish pit saying he could not find something. I cracked that it must be age — I am not a spring chicken myself. He delivered a tirade for a full 15 minutes along the lines of, “Young lady, I am your professor (he was not at the time) and I deserve your respect!” (Which he didn't — he was about to fall over drunk on free drinks at a college-wide fundraiser.) I don't have to respect him. You want my respect; earn it!
Think about when they are taking attendance in class every day, as they love to do in my department, remember one thing — I paid tuition to be here, and frankly, you work for me! I can come to class if I want to or not. Basically you are nothing but a professorial babysitter who might teach me some facts that you think are important to my “education.” In some classes I was lucky to even get some help, since one particular babysitter in question was too busy discussing hairstyles, nails, clothes, shoes, etc. with all of the “cool chicks”. Did she ever earn any of my respect? No. But if she wants to stay in the tourism/hospitality field, I think a job as a personal shopper at a large hotel might be right up her alley!
Janet is a second year student in the hospitality department on a very extended sick leave. So far all she has learned is how to slice off parts of her fingers in cooking and some great Trivial Pursuit answers. She can be reached at djembejanet@hotmail.com
Editorial opinions or comments expressed in this online edition of Interrobang newspaper reflect the views of the writer and are not those of the Interrobang or the Fanshawe Student Union. The Interrobang is published weekly by the Fanshawe Student Union at 1001 Fanshawe College Blvd., P.O. Box 7005, London, Ontario, N5Y 5R6 and distributed through the Fanshawe College community. Letters to the editor are welcome. All letters are subject to editing and should be emailed. All letters must be accompanied by contact information. Letters can also be submitted online by clicking here.
