Jun 1, 2018
I love barbecue, but when my apartment stinks of yours, it’s too hot to close the windows and I’m planning on having fish for dinner, I would like to kill you. Slowly. With one of those spikey meat tenderizer hammers.
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Australia
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from Japan
I love barbecue, but when my apartment stinks of yours, it’s too hot to close the windows and I’m planning on having fish for dinner, I would like to kill you. Slowly. With one of those spikey meat tenderizer hammers.
Here We Go Again
Another nor’easter is waiting in the wings. This time it won’t be “just” wind and rain, it’ll be a foot of snow. Apparently winter, which has already worn out its welcome, isn’t going to go away quietly.
All you winter wonderland types can be the first ones out there with shovels. You can start at my house.
Yep! Where's the rain & snow? It's February, dammit! #weather #complaintdept #whereiswinter #nothere
Dear Person in North Carolina Who Thinks They’re Going to See “Murder On the Orient Express” Tonight,
You’re not.
The reason is that after you spent $25 for two tickets, you somehow entered an email address of mine as the contact to send your confirmation to. My guess is that you were too busy going Weeeeee! to pay attention to what the autofill on your phone was doing and you just pressed Send. I could be wrong, though.
Being the helpful Spiral that I am *cough*, I sat online for a good twenty minutes waiting to chat with a customer service rep about this. I started out #13 in the queue and watched the number tick down. It got to 2, then 1. Then went back to 2. Changed to 1 again. And back to 2. This went on four or five times. I’ve never seen a queue do that and can only conclude that some prompt kept flashing CHOPPED LIVER when my case came up as next, and the rep kept taking other people until there was no one else left. I could be wrong about that, too.
In any event, the rep was singularly unhelpful. One of these chunks of wood who you have to be really fucking literal with. They didn’t seem to understand why I was bothering, since the credit card number the tickets were charged to has nothing to do with me. I said, “The person who did buy the tickets is going to be annoyed when they get to the theater and can’t get in because their confirmation number went to the wrong person.” Reply: “Yes.” Long stretch of dead air. Me: “So there’s nothing you can do, then.” Another long stretch of dead air, until I finally added, “Correct?” to which they replied, “Correct.”
At which point, I just closed the window. I don’t think I was even chatting with a person, so there won’t be any hurt feelings if I just rudely vanish.
Anyway, person in North Carolina, that’s why you’re going to have trouble at the movieplex tonight.
By the way, I hear the movie isn’t that good anyway.
Dear Android-In-Law,
Fine. Don’t listen to me. I’ve flown all over the world and the closest you’ve ever been to a plane is dropping somebody off at the airport. I know you hate taking advice from me, because you think I’m a know-it-all show off, but if I tell you that you’re going to be physically uncomfortable on your 9 hour flight and you should consider upgrading to the “comfort” section with the wider seats and more legroom, it’s because there’s a reason. That reason, which politeness prevents me from being blunt about, is the thought of you trying to wedge your 300-lb ass into a skinny airline seat for nine hours. But that’s OK. It’s your ass and your nine hours. You don’t want to listen? No problem. Just don’t come back complaining about how uncomfortable you were because I’ll have my fingers in my ears, going LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU!!!
As Long As It’s An Emergency
I keep vampire hours. I know the rest of the world doesn’t. I accept this.
Mostly.
9:00am somebody raps on my window (doorbells are broken), waking me up. Like an idiot, I get out of bed and go see what it is. It will have nothing to do with me, but I forgot this, being pretty foggy in the head. I open the front door and this guy hands me a tall slim package weighing a couple of pounds. I have to sign for it. I notice that he’s wearing a teeshirt for a liquor store. I check the delivery label and sure enough, not for me. It’s for the landlady, who lives upstairs and (so far as I can tell) isn’t home. I dump the package on her stairs and go back inside my own apartment. Then I figure it out:
Wine. I got rattled out of bed in the middle of my night for a bottle of fucking wine. Thanks for ordering this over the internet and having it delivered, when there’s a hipster-dipster liquor store two blocks away. Cuz you never know when you might be dying for some of the ol’ vino to pour over your cheerios.
I smell a dinner party in the near future, to which I will not be invited, but will get to listen to.
OTOH, I got my glasses fixed. For nothing. =)
#eastsidemags New Hire. #hardtofindgoodhelp #complaintdept #montclairnj (at East Side Mags)
i haven't publicly complained about much recently, so here's something:
i wish i could wear a "i ride motorcycles for the sheer enjoyment and meditative bliss it brings me, not the bullshit tough-guy machismo historically associated with their culture" shirt without getting my scrawny ass beat.
thank you good night and god bless america