Sunday Morning, FleaMarkets & 18 Wheelers

I haven't worked or blogged much in the past couple of weeks. I actually can't tell you what the hell I've been doing for the past couple of weeks, as everything has been pretty uneventful and quiet.

Not that I'm complaining. I like my uneventful, drama-free exisitence. Boring and quiet is good. Drama and angst are of the devil. The only drama I was in tune to dealing with was the shit I was giving Big T for not giving me any Saturday night. The nerve.

This past weekend was full of driving around aimlessly and playin poker. Me and Big T woke up at the buttcrack of dawn on Sunday, way before the chickens even. He decided that we should go ridin. So... up, showered, made-up, dressed and out the door... turn-key job performed in like 35 minutes. Not bad considering I AM NOT a very enthusiastic morning person.

First stop. Breakfast. McDonald's. Clinton, TN.
Now I'm not sure if the manager bitch working the cash register and taking orders was pissed because:
A- it was Sunday morning before the chickens were up and her ass was at work...
B- she didn't get any Saturday night, but from all appearances she had been rode hard and put up wet...
C her district manager was combing through her files with a magnifying glass...
D-I was there at an ungodly hour, lookin like a million bucks...

Whatever the reason, she had a friggin corn-cob wedged up her ass and it was apparent that she didn't want to be there. Friendly McDonalds' greeting? I think not.

Now, I don't deny being a complete and total bitch. It's part of my genetic make-up. As a result, I do not have a job where it is required that I be friendly while on the clock. I can be pissed off and bitchy if I want to, but I'm not serving a Big Breakfast to the church crowd on Sunday morning either.

Second stop. TN's Largest Fleamarket, Crossville, TN. (1.5 hours west of home)
Largest, my ass. It might be the largest fleamarket spot, but there wasn't a damn thing to be seen. But, my Big T is a die hard fleamarket junkie. I'm not so much, especially the outside kind, but I can take one for the team when I have to.

It was cold, it was wet, it was NOT fleamarket friendly weather. There were, at best, 10 stalls of shit open for business. Ten. Out of 120 or more booths.
But it was ok. We were out riding and I found 3 pairs of cutsie foo-foo socks to add to my overflowing sock drawer.

So, we leave Crossville. Buh-bye. By this time it's nearly 10:30 EST, we decided to drive to Sevierville for the other big ass fleamarket.

On the way back we pass a huge convoy of 18-wheelers. That is a bad-ass sight when there's a line of semi's as far as you can see. I started talking about a friend of mine that calls them 16-wheelers. They are not, 16-wheelers, they are 18-wheelers for fuck sake, call them what they are.

Big T is amused by this chatter. "Count the wheels, baby. You do realize that the trailer only has 8 wheels and that the rig actually holds the others, right?"

*blink* "My argument, Big T, isn't where the damn wheels are or what they are attached to. My arguement is the total number of wheels under that bad-mama-jama."

Finally, we get to Sevierville (+/- 1 hour east of home)
This was fine with me. This fleamarket is is heated and indoors. My kind of fleamarket. Plus they have cute little dogs and those sinful roasted cashews, makes the place a winner in my book.

I fell in love a little shit-zoo immediately. Big T is a poop and wouldn't buy it for me. I'm still holding that against him and am not sure when I will let the whole thing drop. I think if I play it right, I can get maximum mileage out of my bitchin' about not getting the puppy and end up with the puppy at the same time.

In addition to the puppy fiasco. I found 10 MORE pairs of foo-foo socks, a wire scooper number for my FryDaddy and a cute little shot-glass measuring cup that you use instead of measuring spoons. Very nice.

What is life, but to make it interesting for my hubby?

Only at THE Waffle House

There are some things that you just expect when you are on a 3am-after-party-food expedition. Granted at 3am, choice are limited to few establishments.

After partaking in my fair share of cold brew and closing down Coyote Joe's on Wednesday night, the whole load of us decided food was in order as it was late & we were packing a cool buzz. Never mind that my ass had to get up at 7:00am to finish brocolli casserole. So, personally, I was in need of coffee.

Where else would ya go at 3am on Thanksgiving morning for a little sobriety effort? Why, Waffle House, of course.

We wandered in giggling and cackling about anything and everything. All it takes for me to get tickled is enough beer and somebody else starting to laugh. No shit, laughing & yawning are contagious around me.

We finally played musical chairs long enough, got seated and our waitress came over. She was obviously annoyed that she was working and she was obviously even more annoyed that she was dealing with us. If you have to work that shift, at least make an effort to enjoy it.

Whatevers. This poor chick had the personality of a wet-sweat-sock. She took 2 of our orders, not speaking between, just sort of grunting at whoever happened to be next.

Just as she grunted toward #3, her cellie rang. The fact that she had her cellie on her was no big deal. Even the fact that it rang while she was waiting on us was no really big deal even. But when the bitch cut me off mid-order to answer it, now that just pissed me off. Her side of the conversation went this-a-way.

"I gotta answer this." She grunted as she lowered her head, still facing our table(presumably so her boss wouldn't see).

"Hello? Who is this? Who is this?" She acted like she didn't know who HE was.

"Who the hell is this, I'm at work and I have customers." Why the hell would you tell somebody you don't even know that you are currently at work and are waiting on them?

"Jesus, Robert. No, I'm not talking to anyone else." She DID know his ass.

"How can I be cheating if I'm working?" Apparently, Robert didn't have any faith that she was truly working. I guess that Waffle House distinct waffle and bacon smell being emitted by her apron wasn't enough proof.

Taucha, my drunk monkey friend, decideds she wants to talk to Robert. So, the waitress obliges (and takes another little bit of our order). After only 2.7 minutes, Taucha hands her the phone back and says to our lovely server, "Lose him, girl. He's a dick."

Mario getting on the phone didn't help. It made Robert believe that she really was in the cubicle of a bathroom bangin' the customers.

We all figured Robert would show up waving a semi-automatic threatening to blow up the Waffle House and everyone in it because in his head he believes that his girl was fucking us all.

Get a grip, pal. Let the girl bring home the bacon in piece you loser.

Telemarketer - The Tables Are Turned

** The name of the company in question has been changed.

Ok, kids. I have been doing my bestest trying to be nicer to people. This has been going on for some time now. However, nothing gets the better of me than those annoying ass automated phone calls from Joe Solicitor. Or the calls you get from Sally Salesperson where they ask for you by first name and try to act like an acquaintance... Dayum. I thought that shit was borderline illegal on a harassment level.

Anyway, today I turned the tables. I got an automated call from "Kelly". She was offering us the moon and stars and possibly the sun too if we would "press one to stay on the line for a representitive".

So, I press one. I hold for a brief 20 seconds or so, expecting "Kelly" will pick up personally and explain to me this great pitch of hers. A pitch I intended to let her waste her time giving before asking to have all of our business numbers removed from her bullshit auto-dial system.

All that went out the window, when rather than "Kelly", some deep voiced, crankity, old british dude picked up.

"You're not Kelly." I say to him, agast that the wool was pulled over my eyes.

"No, that was a recording. Are you interested in learning more." He blurts out in harsh monotone.

"Uh. No. Actually. I'm really, really tired of you people calling us and would like you to remove our number from your database."

"Done." He said as he disconnects my call.

OH NO HE DIDN'T.

God bless *69. I annoy the shit out of many-a-telemarketer when I can actually get my hands on the number they called from.

So I dial *69 and get the number. I press each digit and the little british weasel that hung up on me answered.

**"First Asshat" He answers.

"Yah. I was connected to you to be removed from your call list and you hung up on me." I lament.

"Well, I didn't hang up, but you have been removed." He sneers.

"How the hell am I removed when you only called one of our numerous numbers, sir? Can you explain that? Do you have a list with every company that notes every number within that company?"

I'm ready to fight with him by this time.

"We have them." He hangs up again.

So, me (being me), I dial them up again.

"First Asshat" It was some uptight manly sounding british woman this time.

"I'm calling to be removed from your call list."

"Yes, that's why I answered, I heard the conversation with my employee." She says.

"It's pretty simple. Remove all of our numbers, now, or I will call you 500 times a day until Jesus comes back." I tell her.

"They will be removed." She retorts as SHE hangs up on me.


Needless to say, I have spent the last hour randomly picking up the phone, dialing the number and saying...

"Hi it's me. Only XXX number of the promised calls left today."

I kind of wonder if I can get in trouble for it. If anybody would like to have the same big ball of fun as I am, and help me annoy the shit out of these people, I'd be glad to share the phone number with ya.

Happy dialing!

Damn That Fortune Cookie Nazi

I am sad to say that my addiction to Chinese Food was abruptly halted as a result of the ongoing battle with the Fortune Cookie Nazi. He won, I lost; no MSG, salt loaded, sugary goodness for Diva. Dammit.

So, I come home from a business trip and OG tells me that while I was gone, she had went to said establishment to partake of take-out as her man had taken ill.

She went to the self serve bar, I remember so well. She filled her to-go boxes with treats of all kinds…

She went to the front to pay our friend the Fortune Cookie Nazi…

“You need-a any sauces today?” He asked.

“No. I don’t think so,” she politely replied.

“Well, you must-a take the fortune cookie,” he tells her.

A light bulb went off off over her head. She finds out first hand that I’m not kidding when I say he just won’t give me a fortune cookie. That he has an inner drive within his deep dark soul, which keeps him from simply dipping in and giving me my friggin cookie.

What’s wrong with a brother when he won’t even share a 5 cent cookie? He would give me a truck load of sauces, chop stix, but no damn cookie. All I want is my cookie!! Why can’t you just give me my cookie!!!

I’m going to go rock back and forth in the corner now.

Fortune Cookie Nazi Wins Battle... Game Over

I just hate craving that damned chinese food from that damned yummy place over here by the office.

I mean, I get a craving for it and I decided that, despite the fact I know that evil ass munch won't give me the fortune cookie without a square off in the middle of the parking lot, I was going to go have me some tastey morsels of saucy goodness.

So, as usual, I go in, get my little styrofoam container, proceed to the buffet of happiness, load up my choices and go to the register to pay. I set my container on the scale, as they charge for buffet to go by the pound. This is where it the ugly gets on.

So, everything seems to be going smooth. I'm mentally preparing for the fight for the fortune cookie. I intend to win this time.

"You need sauce or fork?" He asks me all smug like.

"Nope. But I want a Diet Pepsi." I tell him.

"Diet Pesi" He calls out to the chick at the waitress station.

She totes it over and sets it on the counter as he rings me up.

"That be $4.62." He tells me.

UH OH! Houston we have a problem. Diva don't carry cash. Just something I don't do. It's way too easy to use my debit card to have to fool around with dollars.
This ass munch only takey the credit cawd fo ova fi dolla. Hasn't he seen that VISA commercial that shows the world is officially going plastic???

Still yet, I try to slip it by him. I pull out my debit card with VISA logo and push it toward him.

"We only take cawd fo purchase ova fi dolla." He reminds me.

"Look guy, I don't have any cash. Well I have a handful of change in the bottom of my purse, but not enough." I tell him as show him my empty wallet.

"You always can get another drink take wif you." He tells me.

"Uh, no. You can run my card or I'll have to leave it." I tell him, now pissed.

"Well, I not running cawd. You get cash, come back." He tells me.

"OK, fine." So, I walk out the door. No lunch, no friggin fortune cookie, and definitely no balls to tell him what he could do with his no useless carton of to-go.

God Bless Taco Bell. They'll takey my debit card for a 89 cent bean burrito.

Comcast is Satan

If not of satan, then a spawn of said demon.
They are almost as bad as Wal-Mart, yet another corporate money-grubber I hate with a purple passion.

I went to pay my monthly Comcast bill online by check. Have technology, why not use it. Save a stamp, save a tree.
Well, when I clicked submit, it gave me an error message and number, which I’m glad I wrote down. So, I called and went through an seemingly endless barrage of the same automated questions being asked over and over by an annoying voiced robot. Then, as has been every other time I’ve called Comcast, I was put into the standard holding pattern like an Airbus 300 waiting to land at Los Angeles International Airport.

I was given clearance to land, and began my decent into the always fun world of call center customer service.

I spoke with girl this time who said she didn’t see any pending payments or anything and that I should just make my payment over the phone.

So, I did. With my debit card, which goes immediately. Come to find out 30 minutes later, the internet payment had went through and here is my confirmation.

So, I call them (Comcast) back, I go through the automated answering phone maze again and back into the standard holding pattern like an F16 circling Baghdad, only to talk to a not so pleasant or helpful fellow named Josh. They can’t stop either payment, he says.
“Hello.” Say I, Just reverse the charges on the debit card, pal!!??!!”

To which Josh says repeatedly, “I’m sorry, ma’am. Once payments are through, they are through and there is nothing we can do about it. I spent more than 45 minutes of my valuable time, not to mention all the hold time, fighting with Josh about how all of this is not my fault.
I would have never paid over the phone had I not received an error message up on the clicking of the submit button.

So, I get on my cell phone and call the bank whilst on hold . And, as the useless bloodsuckers they are, can’t stop any payments, as both are technically electronic payments.

Color me screwed. So two payments in the amount of $153.00 are going to be sucked out of my bank account because Comcast’s website sucks on severely proportionate levels

Now I’m on hold with them again, as they always have higher than normal call volume.

How Do I Hate Thee? Let me tell ya now!

I am an office manager for an small biomedical company in Oak Ridge, Tennessee. We are not a million dollar baby. We are not listed as one of the top companies in the Fortune 500. We are of no consequence to anyone, really. That is, anyone but those damn telemarketers, who seem to call more than our customers do. Until the past two days, the last statement was strictly a sarcastic theory.

I have made it my goal in life to give every telemarketer that calls our office so much shit, that they will beg the powers that be to take our multiple phone numbers off of the automated speedy dialer set up they utilize.

I have found out that the low level asshat that initiates this variety of phone call is generally a mega wuss. Scary Diva puts fear in them and they automatically put me through to a supervisor. Which is fine by me, that’s who I’d prefer to bitch at anyway.

The typical call is as follows:

Asshat: Hello, ma’am. I am calling today on behalf of BellSouth.

Me: You’re calling on behalf of BellSouth? Are you BellSouth or some poor schmuck hired by BellSouth to take this ass whipping?

Asshat: We are contracted by BellSouth to contact existing customers with this exciting..

Me: Let me guess, an exciting new plan?

Asshat: Yes, ma’am. We are…

Me: Stop right there. What is the name of your company?

Asshat: (will name off whatever company of the day is)

Me: And what is your name, please?

Asshat: I can not disclose my name.

Me: You can’t disclose your name? Where is your supervisor?

Asshat: I don’t understand, ma’am.

Me: Your supervisor, your boss. Please put them on the phone.

Asshat: One moment.

Asshat supervisor: I understand there is a problem here?

Me: You could call it that. When I get more calls a day from people like you bogging down my phone lines than I do from my customers, that is a major problem for me.

Assshat supervisor: Let me explain why…

Me: No! Let me explain to you. What is YOUR name. I have your company name.

Asshat supervisor: (rambles off a name)

Me: Okay. Now, I would like this to be recorded. Am I being recorded for quality and training purposes, pal?

Asshat supervisor: Yes, ma’am.

Me: Then understand this. I am keeping your name, the name of your company, the time and date that I spoke with you. I would like you to remove our phone numbers from your database. I would like to cease communication from your company. Do you understand?

Asshat supervisor: Yes. We will remove you immediately.

Me: Great. Because we report companies that do not remove us from their call lists/databases after we request it. I now have everything I need to report your company to the FCC for furthering communications after being asked to stop.

So, the story goes. Of course, the FCC doesn’t do shit for a body. You call, register a complaint, and nothing happens. But, it sure is alot of fun to harass the shit out of someone who’s job it is to harass the shit out of me.

The top of my “I HATE THESE GUYS” list is Bell South, followed ever so closely by Birch Telecom.

I also despise all of these shipping companies who try to out screw each other for the tidbit of business they might be able to get. Of which, my response is always, “If I’m gonna get screwed by a freight company, I’m sticking with UPS because our driver is freakin hot. But thank you for calling and trying to win my business! If you’d like to send some hot drivers over here for inspection, I might consider giving you my business, but I warn you. Our UPS guy will be hard to beat.”

Have a great dessert day, pal.