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10:10 a.m. - 2004-08-06
And You're Telling Me This Because....
And You're Telling Me This Because….

For some reason, I seem to have "I care" tattooed on my forehead in some kind of ink only visible to those who work in menial jobs. Case in point: at work, we park in a valet-parking garage. (It sounds really posh, but you wouldn't want these people driving your car, nor would you want to wait for them to bring it downstairs at 5:00 with the rest of the planet.) The attendant who hands out tickets in the morning feels the need to show me pictures of her child, discuss her new job prospects, and tell me about her new dining room set that her best friend has too. Why? She doesn't tell other people this shit. It's not that I don't like her, but really, my ass is running late every morning, and I don't have the time to listen.

It goes further. Every single time I go to a convenience store for cigarettes or gas or a soda, the clerk feels the need to tell me about their medical problems, the evil manager, how hard it is to keep the bathroom clean, how difficult it is to operate the credit card machine, and how rude most of their customers are. In the meantime, while attempting to figure out the credit card machine, the clerk manages to charge me twice for my gas….and this wastes even more of my time calling the bank to get the charge reversed.

Waiters and waitresses somehow think it's okay to bitch about their evening while they are serving me dinner. The cashier at Wal-Mart tells me about her asshole husband. The trainer at the gym tries to make me see that Jesus is Lord. The kid next to me on the airplane wants me to play a game with him and tell me how much he likes raspberries. Even my therapist broke down and told me about her personal problems once or twice.

WHAT IS IT? WHY CAN I NOT GO ANYWHERE WITHOUT SOMEONE TELLING ME THEIR FRIGGING SOB STORY?? I realize your jobs suck, and you're probably poor, so your lives suck. However, all I want to do is eat dinner, purchase my items, work out, park my car, or get to my destination. So please, buy a diary, buy a dog, buy a friend….but don't confuse me with someone who cares.



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