DeadpanAnn (old blogger version)

Tonight I had somewhere important to be. Maybe it was because 8th graders are sent straight from hell with detailed instructions on how to prematurely age their teachers, or maybe it was because my day sucked herpes covered camel balls, but I spent most of the day looking forward to the something important I had to do at the someplace important I had to be at 8:00. I left the house at 7:00, having talked myself into getting a delicious Sonic burger in lieu of a real dinner. There wasn't any food in the house, after all, and I hadn't had an appetite all day, so I figured I could afford justify the calories. I ate my delicious Sonic burger and drove onward toward my destination.

Just as I pulled into the parking lot, my stomach felt funny. Within 10 minutes I was sweating and clenching my buttcheeks. I got back into the car and-- after a vital pit stop at the Chevron station-- I went back home and spent the next several hours wondering how much fluid could possibly be inside a human body at one time.

Ain't that a bitch? I survived what I assumed at the time would be the shittiest part of my day, made it right up to the edge of something that might have brought me pleasure, and was stricken with even shittier shittiness than the shit I had to endure earlier.

I hope it wasn't the Sonic. Sonic brings me such joy. Unless my condition changes dramatically in the next few hours, I'm calling in sick tomorrow.

Our bedroom and master bathroom are being painted. Not by us. You know how long it took me to de-uglify one bedroom, and after I finished it was still mildly ugly.

I think I'm high from the fumes.

Cool.

A local teacher was arrested for having sex with a 16 year old exchange student. (It wasn't me.) The student was living in her house, and her angry husband is the one who reported it, so who knows if it actually happened. I don't remember if I blogged about it at the time, but a 16 year old student tried pretty hard to get him some Miss Ann during my first year. He was sick in more ways than one, and every time I hear about a teacher being accused of this type of behavior, I have to wonder what reallllly happened. If the student I knew had accused me of something inappropriate to get revenge for being rejected, it wouldn't have surprised me. These children aren't all innocent little lambs. Some of them are truly deranged.

Speaking of sick, I was sick all weekend. My Saturday sucked-- or it would have if I had been awake for more than 2 hours of it. Yesterday was even worse, because I was awake. Now that it's time to go back to work? I feel fine.

Life's not fair.

I'm officially sick now. I don't have any fever or anything, but my head is completely filled with snot and I can't breathe and I feel like sheeeeeeeet.

I hate the cold. Yesterday it was the kind of cold that bites your bones. Recently I met a man who had driven down here on a motorcycle from Wisconsin. It was -3 when he left there, and he left on a motorcycle. Sixty degrees is almost too cold for motorcycle riding, if you ask me. He said the weather down here was nothing to him. I believe him, but how do people deal with -3? I can't even imagine that kind of cold. Twenty degrees is cold enough for me to stay inside. Yesterday it was in the 30's and I hated it. What does -3 feel like??

Maybe the cold is why I'm sick. It's 20 degrees one day and 65 the next. I think my body needs more gradual temperature changes.

My head feels like it's gonna explode.

BAH!

I think I'm getting a sinus infection. This morning I was nauseated, and even though it went away after I had a Sprite, it came and went for the rest of the day. Then this afternoon my throat and sinuses started to feel raw, so I think they are what's making my stomach hurt. A fellow teacher who came into my room to observe a student today noticed I was sick and asked me about it. Her first thought was that I'm pregnant. She didn't know that I want that to happen-- but it turns out she is trying to get pregnant too, so once she revealed that fact I felt comfortable responding with "I wish!" Anyway, I would love to think that, but even if that were the case it would be far too early for me to be sick or whatever. I've been a little cough-y and snotty and what not for a day or two. Hopefully it won't get me all the way down. I don't think I have many sick days left in my arsenal of slacker tools, and I've got a doctor's appointment coming up that I must not miss.

Our a/c and heater unit is about to crap out, I'm afraid. Every time it cuts on, you can hear it go through some unnatural sounding processes. It's like a 90 year old woman trying to get up out of her rocking chair. It's not just a one step thing; it's a process, and things creak and moan and threaten to give out. When it cuts off it rattles for about 15 seconds. It is as old as the house. I suppose 25-ish is pretty old for an a/c unit, isn't it? I dunno. How many human years is one a/c unit year?

Yesterday I did something foolish. I volunteered to play in the teachers vs. students basketball game. As soon as the student council came out of their meeting today, where they received the list of teachers who would be playing, word spread. "Oh, I'll pay to see that!"

I spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about what an ass I'm going to look like. Y'all, I'm fat. And I'm gonna run? RUN? Like, farther than to the refrigerator? What have I gotten myself into?

Well I may as well do it right. I think I'll get some tall knee socks and ridiculous sneakers and a headband and start talking smack about the other team.

I'm an idiot.

Labels: diary of a fat ass

A sperm reference brings y'all out of lurking mode, but nothing on the piss reference, eh?? I see. Y'all are all dirty minded. It's cool. I am too.

Yesterday was a pretty easy day because all we did was listen to a story on a cd, but I had to write two boys up. It was like they were on meth or something; they couldn't sit still or control themselves, and they ended up crossing the line.

In the same class, I noticed that another boy smelled like he'd been smoking weed in a car with the windows rolled up. He doesn't seem the type, though. I leaned down and noticed that his eyes were a little red. He looked at me. "What?" I whispered, "What'd you do before you came to class?" "Nothing. Why?" I just looked at him. "What?" "Why are your eyes red?" "I don't know, but I don't smoke." "Was someone around you doing it?" "My stepdad."

Well that's just fabulous, isn't it? Good thing stepdad's on the scene to provide a stable father figure. Asshole.

If you have the money to spend on weed and the time to sit on the couch staring at the tv and smiling for no reason, good for you. Go for it. But only an asshole would do it around a kid or a teenager. Give the kid a chance, for crying out loud. How long before stepdad and stepson are bonding over a blunt? If it's that accepted and open in their household, what is going to stop the kid from doing it as soon as they perceive him to be old enough? He's 16 now, and in the 8th grade if that tells you anything. He's not a bad kid-- he's actually pretty intelligent-- just obviously troubled. But God knows he doesn't need any help at not thinking.

It must be the school's fault the kids aren't learning. We'd better come up with some paperwork to fix it.

Labels: the kids are all right (but the parents need a good ass whuppin)

Today I'm only having one cup of coffee. Maybe I'll buy some decaf so I can have some of that after my regular cup, or maybe I'll just wean myself off completely. I don't want to be weaned off, to be honest. Morning coffee is good to me in more ways than one. It's so comforting, and it gives me a good reason to sit in front of the computer without doing anything productive for the first 30 minutes of my day. If I cut it out, I'll have to change my morning routine, and it has become my favorite part of the day. This is the only time of the day that I don't have someone demanding something of me.

A tragedy took place in my classroom yesterday. I'm almost afraid to blog about it, lest someone figure out who I am. You know, cause I've been so anonymous that I'm sure that's been impossible to do before now. Riiiiiiiiight. Anyway, let's just say a child had an unfortunate accident that you wouldn't expect to happen after first or second grade. This time it wasn't my fault. She was sitting there squirming and I told her she could go, but we were in groups and things were a little chaotic and she apparently didn't understand what I meant when I looked at her and said, "You can go ahead and go." I didn't mean RIGHT THERE. It was awful enough that this happened to her, but when the other kids saw it they were cruel-- especially one of them. I wrote her up and I hope they suspended her. If she had been my daughter, or if this was 1950 or something, I would've let her have it. Sometimes I can't believe how childish and ruthless they can be to each other.

The school year is almost over, right? Right?

First of all, let me just say that I can't believe I'm blogging about this.

Tim thinks the name Angus Malcolm is the coolest name he's ever heard for a kid. I gagged when I heard it. Okay, so I didn't gag when I heard the name-- I gagged when I realized he got it from the lead and rhythm guitarists of AC/DC. Wouldn't that be like child abuse-- to name your kid after members of AC/DC?? I mean, why don't we just name him White Trash McTimslastname and slap a rebel flag shirt on him and be done with it?

Angus is not that bad, except that it will doom a kid to certain playground torture. Malcolm is not bad at all. So I say if it must be-- MUST BE those two names, switch the order and make the hamburger sounding one the middle name. That's nonsense, says he, because Angus is the lead guitarist.

He also said he thinks he should be the one to name our kid (yes, our kid who hasn't been conceived yet and may never be) and wants me to surrender my rights and let him do it. I think that's a two person job in the first place, but after hearing Angus Malcolm McTimslastname, I couldn't agree, and I told him so.

If I surrender my naming rights, we might end up with a Fighter Pilot Rambo McTimslastname. And God forbid we should have a girl...

Anyway, Tim declared a sperm embargo until I agree that Angus Malcolm rocks.

I think I'll go have a third cup of coffee.

Labels: married life

I hate our dogs. They're like giant wildebeests on crack. Every morning, one of us has to let them out of the crate in the laundry room to take them out to their boundary inside the electric fence. I've been on dog duty this weekend because I'm off work and Tim's not.

The first step is to open the back door and then, from a safe place, open the door of the crates. Once they're out the back door, it's safe to come down from the top of the washing machine or let go of the ceiling fan. While they're busy emptying their bladders, I rush inside the shop to get some food for them. Hopefully I can empty it into their giant metal bowl while at least one of them is still busy. Ideally, I can get the electric collar onto one before the other arrives. When they're both on you, it's impossible. You're trying to snap the collar on and the one is wriggling and writhing and jumping and about to come unglued. Meanwhile, the other is jumping up on you and barking and scratching. And they're super big and tough and stupid, so this process puts you at risk of receiving a black eye or a broken nose.



(Did I mention that it snowed here Saturday? First time in years. It awakened the dogs' Malamute side.)

Getting them to come in at night isn't much easier. At first, they're afraid to cross the boundary because they think they'll get shocked. Bear has figured out that once the collar comes off, it's safe. Daisy requires more coaxing. Last night I unleashed Bear first, and he hauled ass inside through the back door, which I had left open. I was bent over trying to free Daisy when he came bounding out of nowhere and knocked me to the ground and tried to murder me with love. I really thought he had blacked my left eye. I did not feel loved. I felt violated. And wet and cold and pissed off. I started cussing and punched him to get him off me. He ran inside. Call the ASPCA if you want, but I kicked his ass. Self defense!

Daisy was still reluctant to cross the boundary, so I got a bowl of cat food that I had poured some hamburger grease into. I was going to use it to lure her over the boundary. Bear got a whiff of it and followed me. I used the food to lure Daisy over the wire, but Bear jumped up and knocked the food bowl out of my hand. I followed Daisy in through the door and put her in the crate. Now Bear was on the other side of the wire, licking the bowl. As soon as I called him, he picked up the entire bowl in his mouth and ran for the edge of the yard. If it hadn't been hilarious, I might've killed him, but the sight of him hauling ass with that bowl in his mouth cracked me up.

I still hate him though.

Insert transitional sentence here.

This morning I read that drinking 2 or more cups of coffee a day doubles a woman's chance of having a miscarriage, and that if you're trying to get pregnant you should stop drinking coffee. I'm not sure I can do that. I used to drink coffee only on cold mornings, but I could take it or leave it. Now, as with any addiction, it has become an absolutely necessary part of my routine. I require two cups before I'm awake enough to get into the shower without forgetting to get undressed first. If I happen to sleep late and, God forbid, I don't get any coffee, my morning is shot. I will still be dragging my ass at the end of second period. This happened to me about two weeks ago, and I literally walked up and down the hallways searching for a coffee pot. I thought surely someone had one in their room. Someone finally told me the social worker had one, but she wasn't there before 1st period started, so I didn't get to hit her up for a cup. It was traumatic. As not open as my eyes were that morning, it did open my eyes to the fact that I am literally addicted to my morning coffee. I'm afraid this could be a serious obstacle between me and my dreams of motherhood. If you've overcome a coffee addiction, I'd love to hear how you did it. I don't think I can do it while it's still cold. When it warms up, I might have a better chance.

-- Seventh graders get hormones for Christmas, but still find corny homonym jokes funnier than the oh-so-cool eighth graders.

-- A department meeting can be avoided if you just happen to call that long-winded overprotective parent five minutes before it's supposed to start. The only question is whether it's worth it. That can be answered by carefully considering what kind of mood the dept. chair is in that day. (It was worth it.)


-- Teaching causes infertility, but that's probably a good thing for teachers who work in districts like mine. It's not like I'd have time for a baby anyway.

-- If you point out mistakes on the tests, they'll make you write the next one.

-- If you're happy to be there, or can at least fake it for a couple of hours, the kids will have a harder time seeing you as an evil troll who diagrams sentences in her spare time.

-- The crack babies we heard about some years ago are now young adults who have spawned more crack babies, who are now in middle school.

-- Crack babies who have crack mammas like to be hugged, because nobody else ever does it. A compliment will go nearly as far.

-- Don't use too many sick days in the first semester, or you'll develop a bad case of carpal tunnel syndrome that will be about to kill you before the end of January.

-- The parent you imagine will be supportive may just be the one with conspiracy theories dancing in her head who runs to get the recorder when she realizes the phone call's coming from the school.

-- It doesn't matter how, how much, how long, or how often you teach something. If they don't care, you can't help them.

By Sea

Leaving Miami






On the Party Boat













(Room Service, anyone?)

By Land

In the Bahamas















At the Atlantis Hotel













By Air

Coming Home

I'm sorry, people. There's plenty going on, I suppose, but it all just seems so damn boring. Even the trip doesn't seem blog worthy right now. Imagine that. The things on my mind right now aren't that interesting. It seems like work is all I think about.

I've gotten 4 new students since returning from Christmas. That's one per day. New students have trickled in all year long, but I guess people think the new semester is a good time to make changes. You should see my gradebook! It started out as a neat alphabetical list; now it's a mess. Our student population moves around a lot. It'd be so much easier on everyone, including them, if they'd find a place to live and pay the bills long enough to stay there through a school year.

Three of the new students are guys, and the other is a mouthy little female with a tough-girl facade. I'm not sure if she needs a hug or an ass whuppin'. Yesterday I was tempted to give her the latter after she called me a bitch. I would tell you the story, but you've already heard it. Here. I'll give you the abridged version.

Student talks loudly out of turn.
Teacher gently instructs student to be quiet and that we'll talk later.
Student continues shouting.
Teacher becomes more firm, finally telling student to sit down.
Student calls teacher a bitch.
Teacher sends student on a three day vacation.

These kinds of things used to ruin my day, but now I just give them their vacation pass without missing a beat. The good thing is that this kind of stuff doesn't happen much anymore, especially with the students I've had a while. This girl just doesn't know Mrs. DeadpanAnn yet. She better recognize.

Tim's birthday was yesterday. He took off work and spent the day repairing the door to the shop. Remember this episode of Sweet Tea destruction?? A few days ago Bear and Daisy (the current mutts) finished the job by chewing all the way through the door. Once inside, they chewed the padding out of a motorcycle helmet or two (do you know what those cost, by the way?) and tore up some other not-exactly-cheap stuff.

I yelled. Not at the dogs. At Tim.

He tried to replace the door after Sweet Tea screwed it up a year ago, but couldn't find a door that would fit. You had to buy the frame and everything, and he didn't want to mess with that. After the most recent episode of Tim and Ann's Animals Hate Them was aired, I insisted that the door be replaced right away. Leave it to Tim to come up with a way to satisfy me without doing what I want. He used his new shop toys and covered the entire door with a layer of some thin piece of wood, then painted it. You can't tell.

Tim. Making things 47 to 53% less white trashy since 1973.

Labels: Musings on the Man, teacher life, this house is trying to kill me

Tim bought a table saw a few days ago, and has been itching to use it on something. Our doors were too long for the new carpet, so we've been needing to trim them. Tim decided we would be doing this today with the table saw, even though my handy-man friend told me not to do it with that blade, and that he has one he can bring over here.

The first door didn't go so well, and it looks a little rough at the bottom. Fortunately it's the door to the master bathroom, so nobody will see it unless they're in my bedroom, and only one man is allowed back there. I used painter's tape to prevent chipping on the rest of them, and it worked. They look good and we got them the right length. We still have three doors left to trim, but the saw cut itself off midway through the last one, so we're letting it cool down for a while before we finish.

The people who installed our new carpet did a shitty job. It's kinda hard to see their mistakes until you start focusing on the bottoms of the doors and realize how the carpet isn't quite even throughout the house, and how they didn't really pull it tight or tack it down well enough in a few spots. I'm halfway tempted to call the people we bought it from and tell them they should stop referring their customers to that guy for installation, but doing so would just piss me off more, so I'll just let it go.

Sweet Tea chewed halfway through the shop door a year or two ago, and the dogs we have now finished the job. They got all the way through it. :sigh: When you fix one door, someone tears up another one.

The first part of today was fine. The second part sucked. In a space of two hours, the following tragedies occured in my classroom:

1. Tornado warning. Warning. As in "a tornado is on the ground and headed your way-- cover your ass!" Imagine trying to keep 18 seventh graders in the fetal position against a wall for 45 minutes. Most of them weren't taking it seriously and continued to giggle and talk despite my attempts to focus them on the art of not dying, but one kid was really nervous. Poor nervous kid happened to land on the end of the row of bodies, closest to the window, so I sat next to him. I remember being scared out of my mind during storms when I was....wait. I'm still scared during storms. That kind of storm, anyway.

2. A kid lost his tooth during the tornado warning, and it bled profusely. He's a little short guy, a late-bloomer, and he was embarrassed when I asked incredulously, "Is that a baby tooth!?" Oops. My bad. I gave him a bottle of water and a wad of napkins and a garbage can. He risked his 12 year old life by abandoning the fetal position to stand in front of said garbage can for ten minutes, and spit out what looked like a gallon of blood into the trash.

3. A kid shit his pants during 7th period. Shit. His pants. The kids were in reading pairs when he sidled up to me and handed me a note that had been folded down to the size of a quarter. I get these on occasion from kids with various motives. It's usually a genuine case where a kid has a problem and is embarrassed and doesn't want anyone to know what's up, but sometimes it's just a ploy to get permission to go to the bathroom, which is almost always denied in my classroom, especially to 7th graders. They can't be trusted, and they're only in the class for 50 minutes. They can hold it. Anyway, because this particular folded up note was handed to me by this particularly mischievous child, I suspected it was b.s., and gave him the "I can't believe you think I'm going to buy this" look as I unfolded it. It said, Mrs. DPA, Can I please talk to you outside I have a problem and I'm not playing please I am serious and I am not playing!!! I gestured toward the door, and followed him out there while the others continued about their task of not reading.

What's up?
Um. I was sick last period. I think I have a stomach virus. Can I go call my mom?
It's 7th period. She'll be here in 20 minutes whether you call her or not. Just sit down and tough it out.
No I need to go to the bathroom or call my mom cause see I was sick and I tried to...uh...pass gas, but I think something else came out.
...
You know, came out.
[silently inside my head]: Don't laugh. Do not laugh. Be serious. Don't smile. Clench your jaw. There. Good. Now. Speak.
Just now?
Yeah.
Oh. Well. Go to the bathroom and do what you gotta do.

The kid came back from the bathroom a minute later and waved at me through the window of the door. I stepped back out.

I was right.
Okay. Well. I guess go to the office and tell them to let you stay in there until your mom gets here. I'll call her and I'll call and let them know you're coming.
You mean I gotta tell THEM what happened?
Well, they're gonna want to know why you're sitting..or, uh, standing in the office until the bell.
Awwww Mrs. DPA I can't tell them!
Just go back there baby, I'll take care of it.
Don't let nobody know.
Trust me. I'll take care of it.
Can we just keep this between us, cause this is kinda embarrassing.
My lips are sealed.

You know why teachers put up with what they put up with? Cause there's never a boring minute. Think about it. Is there anything that can't happen to me at work???? Would a person who doesn't savor that fact put up with this kind of crap? (Pun intended.)

I love my job.

Labels: teacher life

I got back home Monday night, exhausted. Yesterday I slept most of the day, and today I'm going back to work. A week ago, before I left, I was bored to death and missing my kids and I hate to admit it, but I was kinda ready to go back. Now? Now I just feel tired and puddin-headed and out of my groove. I did not get my groove back on the cruise or in the Bahamas.

Don't get me wrong, there was plenty of fun. I just felt like I spent way too much time on my way somewhere, and never got where ever I was going. The fact that I never really found that big piece of cheese at the end of the maze just made all the bullshit I endured seem that much worse, so the end of the trip was hard. Miami? I hated it. It's expensive and nobody speaks English. I felt like a foreigner, and was treated like one. Everyone we met on the ship totally reinforced the stereotype of northerners as fast-talking, snippy, and rude. By the time we got the hell out of Miami, I was longing to hear Southern accents. People in other places are not the same as us. We are really a tiny little piece of the world, and I have a new appreciation for it. God bless Mississippi.

Nassau was beautiful, but sketchy in parts. We spent too much time going and not enough time getting. We visited the Atlantis Hotel, ate at a local restaurant called Cafe Skans, went to a tattoo shop (that's another post in itself) and then the day was pretty much over.

I've got lots more to say and pictures to post, but I'm short on time. I have no clue what I'm doing in class today, so I've gotta get there early and get my bearings.

More later.

We were delayed in Memphis for three hours yesterday because the front tire on the airplane deflated and had to be replaced. Things were even more hectic once we got to Miami-- mostly because NOBODY SPEAKS ENGLISH! Everywhere you turn, there are little misunderstandings because NOBODY SPEAKS ENGLISH! This affects everything -- from what carousel to go to for your luggage to where to catch a shuttle to your hotel. You know why it's so easy to get confused and spend thirty minutes standing in front of the wrong luggage station? Because NOBODY SPEAKS ENGLISH! I had always heard that about Miami, but you would not believe how few people are English speakers. It's like being in a different country. I don't know that I've seen a single regular white bread English speaking American since we've been here. I saw some black people last night, and thought Ahhhh, Southerners! Then they opened their mouths, and guess what? ESPANOL! Amy said she met a blue-haired, blonde-eyed boy last night, and he was Cuban too. They've apparently got all the colors of the rainbow in Cuba. And Miami. Apparently, the snap judgments you make about people as soon as you see them just don't hold up here. Well, you can pretty much assume everyone's Cuban.

We've got to check out of our hotel at noon, but we can't get on the ship until 1:30. I don't know what we're going to do for 90 minutes. We could go to lunch somewhere, but we've got all this luggage. It'll work out.

Three hours from now, everything around me will look like a Corona commercial.

Today I packed a giant suitcase with way too many pairs of shoes and left Petal around 4:00. On the way, I had a 45 minute conversation with my mom. She's still one-legged, and therefore unable to go to the grocery store. I told her I'd stop at Wal Mart in Hernando and get whatever she needed.

When I got to the Debble's Playground I was amazed at how easy it was to find everything on my list. No thought went into the list. I had written it while driving down the road at 80 mph and simultaneously talking on a cell phone, after all, but almost every item was found in the store in the exact order that it was on the list. Perhaps my mother is such an experienced grocery shopper that she knew instinctively how the store would be laid out-- despite the fact that she does almost all of her grocery shopping at Kroger. Or maybe she's just a really, really frequent shopper at Mal Wart. Or maybe it was luck. I'm betting on luck.

Whatever it was, as I strolled up and down each aisle I couldn't help but think about how fortunate I was that every item was practically jumping into my basket for me. After all, I had been driving for about four and a half hours, and I was nervous about the fact that I was inside the Wal Mart while my suitcase, laptop, birth certificate, social security card, marriage license, and a bunch of cash were in the car. Within five minutes, I had all 16 items checked off the list. I made my merry way to the front of the store to check out.

Lo and be-freakin'-hold, there was one register open. One register with a human, that is. Every single "self-check" register was open.

Now I don't mind checking myself out. I've learned that it's faster to just let a cashier do it, but sometimes it's worth it when the other lines are too long. I do mind, however, being forced to check myself out. It's just shitty customer service, plain and simple. But faced with the decision to either check myself out or walk to the opposite end of the line of registers to stand in line to be checked out by a human, I decided to check myself out.

If you've ever attempted to do this, you know how pushy and persnickety these self-check registers can be. You have to scan an item, then immediately place it in the bag. If you don't place it in the bagging area immediately, the machine knows you didn't bag the item and it won't let you check the next item until it either feels the weight in the bagging area or you push "skip bagging" on the screen. Every time you make a non-mistake that the machine doesn't like, a loud computerized voice chastises you like a child.

Place item in bagging area! Place item in bagging area!
It's a forty eight pack of paper towels! It can't be bagged!
*skip bagging*
Place item in the bagging area! Place item in bagging area!
I AM, dammit! Give me two seconds!
Scan your next item!
I'm still placing an item in the bagging area!
Scan your next item!
*scan*
Please wait for assistance!

ARRRRGH!

This time I had to push "skip bagging" several times because it wasn't sensing that the item was already in the freakin' God forsaken bagging area. Apparently, if you push "skip bagging" more than two or three times, it freaks out on you. I'm just sayin'. Cause it freaked out on me. It started flashing threats at me and screaming at me to STOP! STOP! Wait for assistance!

The lady who was standing at the little monitoring station where they stand and watch you do their job didn't exactly come running. I had to go get her. Do you think she punched in a code to tell the machine that I'm not a crook and that it's okay to let me proceed? Nnnno. She would scan an item, then hand it to me and say, "Now place this one in the bag." Then she would scan another item and hand it to me and say, "Now place this one in the bag." Seriously, she was talking to me like I was some kind of 'tard. The machine would not deal with my bananas because she scale was being a bastard. So once all of my items were scanned and bagged, she told me to go ahead and pay while she went to ring up my bananas on another register. While I paid with a debit card the lady weighed my bananas on the register next to me, then she went back to her job of watching me do her job. I then had to move over to that register and pay in cash for the bananas.

Call me crazy, but I'm thinkin' it would have been easier, faster, and less RIDICULOUS to just have that woman open a damn register and check people out.

Labels: Bureaucratic Incompetence, stupid people, Wal Mart is The Debble

Tomorrow I have to meet the insurance adjuster about getting my car fixed. The damage isn't as bad as it could've been, but since I pay for insurance I may as well not drive around with two holes in the back bumper.

As for the fender bender itself, it was a very unexciting event. In fact, from the time it happened to the time we drove away only took 20 minutes. My sister and I were going down Goodman Road in Horn Lake, and we were behind an idiot. It was a teenager who kept stopping for too long at red lights because she was leaning over and talking to a guy in the car next to her. When I first saw what she was doing, I tried not to be too irritated, lest I become one of those grouchy ladies who bitches about teen drivers. After all, I distinctly remember stopping in the middle of the road near Bullfrog Corner when I was 15 or 16 to talk to some guys in another car. But that area wasn't nearly as busy then as it is now. Anyway, we were behind her for a while. When we got to the light near I-55, she stayed stopped again when the light turned green. I said, "What the hell is wrong with this stupid little----" BLAM! An old fart hit us from behind.

Of course the dildo who really caused it drove off unharmed, and probably never even knew she had helped cause an accident. Someone needs to grab that girl up and shake her and tell her that the intersection of I-55 and Goodman is not the place to screw around in traffic, if you must do it at all. The guy who hit us was nice about it, though a little nonchalant for my taste, considering that it was technically his fault, and his car was unharmed while mine was not unharmed. The cop was nice about it. My insurance is being nice about it so far. My sister and I both had headaches for a while afterwards because he hit us hard enough to bash our heads into the head rests, but that was to be expected.

I just hope it's not an omen. I got hit on Christmas Day, and the first thing that happened to me this morning? The dog peed on me.

(Thanks for reminding me to blog about this, DamnYank. I always forget the good stuff.)