The Mop Bucket

I have a problem with lazy people. The problem I have with lazy people is that they are LAZY. You know the type. They see something that needs to be done, they don’t do it, pawn it off on someone else, hope someone else will do it if they ignore it, or do it and half-ass. Just enough to keep their job, but not enough to actually have to do any work.

Seems that some people at my place of employment weren’t aware of the problem I’m writing about. One person knows now. Because that person, let’s call her Alexa, is now no longer employed by my company, on account of me firing her lazy ass.

At the end of every shift, housekeeping type chores need to be done. No one wants to work in a dirty environment. So, of course, they need to sweep, mop, dust, wipe things down, and keep a generally tidy area. All of that gets done daily and is carefully managed. The issue is is not being able to put things back where they go, or having common sense.

For a week and a half, someone was mopping, washing the mop out, and leaning it up against the wall with the wet mop on the ground with the mop bucket next to it. UNDERNEATH THE HOOK THAT IS THERE SPECIFICALLY TO HANG A MOP ON. I know what you’re thinking. Alexa probably wan’t aware that it was there for that. It’s an odd-looking hook, she had been doing it the she did it since she started working for us, and most likely didn’t realize that the large label above the mop hook that says “MOP” is there to make sure the mop gets hung on the hook. The hook for the mop. The hook with a label on it, FOR A DAMNED MOP.

So I approached Alexa about the problem, let her know how mop hooks work, and told her why we do things a certain way. We don’t want puddles of water seeping through a crack where the floor and wall meet and creating mold or any other issue. Alexa apologized and told me she understood.

The next day the mop was on the hook! Unfortunately, the bucket was nowhere near the mop and a large puddle had formed overnight. Again, I confronted Alexa and tried to find the root of the problem.

“I didn’t know I had to put the bucket under the mop.”

I guess that’s my bad. I should have mentioned that too. Why would anyone think to just put the mop bucket underneath the wet hanging mop, or anywhere in the vicinity of the mop, especially after having a conversation about proper mop storage the afternoon before. So I gave her an in-depth training on how mops and buckets work and told her not to let it happen again. Because I have sooooooo much time for doing that kind of thing.

Another day passed.

The mop was on the floor. The bucket was closer to the mop. Next to it, actually.

Alexa will not be returning to work.

Don’t be lazy, use your brain, and try to think things through. No one has time for dumbassery. Noone wants to lose a job over dumbassery. And I don’t want it to affect my day so much that I write a blog post about your dumbassery. I even had to call it “The Mop Bucket.” Now, that’s lazy.

Fire me.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.

The Quitter

There are many reasons to quit your job. Maybe you aren’t being treated fairly. Perhaps you aren’t making enough. There’s a chance you just aren’t the right for for the job.

There are also many ways to quit your job. Throw things around and slam doors. Yell at the parties you feel have wronged you. Just don’t show up.

Today I had the opportunity to deal with a quitter. Not only did this person quit, she quit on the worst day of the worst week of the worst month. Oh, at the worst time of the day.

Around lunchtime I was pulled into a meeting with a shipping supplier our company uses. After my meeting I checked the time, noticed the quitter was missing, and wrote it off to her being gone for lunch. After all she was clocked out.

An hour went by, I waited for her to clock back in shortly. We have a ton of orders and a ton of wholesale that needs to be done on top of that. So I was swamped. I lost track of time when the owner/founder called me from his office.

Turns out the quitter lived up to her moniker. She clocked out for lunch and decided to just never go back to work again. She also took it upon herself to TEXT the owner/founder and let him know there were no hard feelings. Because she has such good morals and even better work ethics.

I’m sorry. I don’t care why you quit a job. If you don’t want to do the work then I don’t want you there anyway. I hold myself and my employees to a very high standard and I have zero tolerance for anything less than what I expect.

Now, I know exactly why the quitter quit and what her thoughts and feelings were. I read the text she sent. By the way, the quitter’s text was only sent to one person. I, the one person she should have texted, was not that person.

So the quitter left in the middle of the day, left all of her current work half-finished and all over the place, did not say a word until long after the fact, and left the entire department in a pretty bad bind on the worst day possible. The worst part of all of this is that the whole situation pissed me off and put me in a pretty bad mood, because I don’t have enough to deal with on a daily basis.

I’m basically just venting here, so don’t take any of this to heart. Interviews have been done, more of them will take place tomorrow and Friday, and I will have two new people in the department first thing Monday morning. So it all works out for the best, especially since I had plans to terminate the quitter at the end of this month anyway.

Oh, as a side note, if you are going to quit your job, please inform the appropriate parties. Be an adult. Tell someone. Even finish out the day, get those extra few hours on your last paycheck. The one you have to come in to pick up in person since it’s your last one. Hell, I don’t know, maybe even put in and honor your two weeks notice since you care so much about the company and those of us that run it.

Such is life, we all move on, the world keeps turning, and now it’s bedtime. I quit.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.

The Breatharian

I’ve been very good in the past about not calling out individuals by name. Especially when it comes to my rants about morons. I at least try to stick to a group of people and just use the name of the group (we all remember my flat-earth rant). My other half and I have a fake Instagram account that we use to make fun of basic bitches doing all the stereotypical basic bitch things, to the point of us creating our own basic bitch moments and hashtags. We don’t post often and we think it’s hilarious.

One lovely afternoon, as we lounged around on our couch, we came across the Instagram account of a young woman claiming to be a breatharian. This is where I’m going to lose a lot of patience and start my rant and call out an individual by name. Please forgive any typos or run-ons in my tirade.

AUDRA BEAR. This, person, is the idiot who runs the village entirely filled by village idiots. Many of you can come back and tell me that if they are all idiots, then none of them are idiots. Keep your logical “if, then” trash to yourself, you’ll agree with me by the end of this.

Again, AUDRA BEAR IS AN IDIOT.

Let’s start with what being a breatharian is all about.

A breatharian is a person who has no common sense and has lost all ability to think clearly due to a lack of nutrition. No, that’s not right…

A breatharian is defined as an individual who has no idea what it means to be a healthy human being and is dumb enough to think their ideology is the only way to… No, that’s not it either…

A breatharian thinks it’s possible to reach a level of consciousness where one can obtain all sustenance from the air or sunlight. Damn it, that’s not it either…

Wait… actually that IS the definition. Turns out I was right on all 3 counts.

These people are under the impression that they don’t need to eat. Or drink. Like, at all. Just breathe. And be in the sun. THAT’S IT. Oh! These people also think it’s super healthy to live that way. For a very long extended period of time. And by that, I mean several days, until they die. Which is exactly what has happened to EVERY ONE that has tried to live by breatharian lifestyle.

By now, many of you may have looked up Audra Bear, the heroine of our story. She seems to be alive and “well” and living her best life, despite being a breatharian and living a pranic lifestyle for several years. This is because she is NOT a true breatharian, which is unfortunate because I’d be okay if the lifeguard of natural selection kicked her ass out of the public domain that is the human gene pool.

Audra Bear has many posts, videos, pictures, and stories claiming she is a steadfast breatharian. She has actually claimed, recently, that she has fasted for 97 days on nothing but the sun and breathing techniques.

She’s also a dumbass who goes on to claim that she does her breathing techniques and takes in sunlight while sustaining nutrition through juices and smoothies. What? I’m sorry, I thought I was writing about a breatharian. My bad, turns out she’s a liar who doesn’t know what being a breatharian actually is.

Now, I don’t care if you want to be a breatharian and do whatever fasts and breathing techniques and sun-soaking that make you feel better about yourself. But if you’re going to do it, then fucking do it. Don’t say you’re going to do it and then do some sneaky shit to make it sound good.

So now we have a breatharian who also juices and makes #liquidarian posts.

After a little more digging, meaning more hours of making fun of idiots on Instagram, my lovely partner and I discover that she is also a vegan. That’s right, folks. A breatharian, who only takes in juices and smoothies. And plants and shit.

Okay, why not dig a little more, right? We now have a breatharian-liquidarian-vegan, who only takes in sunlight and air. Today, I found a picture of her drinking Starbucks, at a Starbucks. It wasn’t a juice. Or a smoothie. Or a plant. Or air. She was outside though, so I guess she gets points for the sun part of it. But you see where I’m going with this.

This is my favorite part of the story. In the midst of our sleuthing, we discovered a post where our main character dissected her name. Mind you, this was on the internet for the whole world to see. Let me draw this out the best I can.

AUDRA BEAR

AU=Gold

RA=Sun (cuz of the Egyptians and whatnot)

BEAR-Bearer

Audra Bear is a golden light-bearer.

She wrote all of that on her account. I did NOT make any of that up.

I know, I know. You guys are super smart and probably noticed that nothing was put in for the letter “D.” I noticed that as well. Maybe she forgot it was there. Maybe her lack of nutrition has gotten the better of her and she’s gone loopy. Maybe it’s a silent “D” and it stands for “DUMBFUCKERY.” I’ll let you decide, I’ve already made my decision.

My laptop battery is dying, and I’m struggling to keep all of this rant flowing in a semi-organized structure, so I’m going to put a pin in it for tonight.

Hopefully all of you are on my side on this. It isn’t often that I’m going to call out someone specifically for doing dumb stuff, but this had to happen. I mean, living off air and sunlight alone? Even the guy who founded the whole breatharian ideology said it’s a healthy way to live, IF YOU DO IT RIGHT WITH PROPER FASTING WHILE SUSTAINING THE NUTRITION YOUR BODY NEEDS. Seriously, if that dude said it then get your head out of your ass and stop doing moronic things for likes. Take your anorexic ass home. Get out of the sun, eat a pizza, and read a book. Get off the internet.

I’m all about living a clean and healthy lifestyle. I promote it and want everyone to live their best lives. That doesn’t mean starve your body of everything until your head goes crazy and then get on one of the biggest social media outlets in the world and influence others to live the way you do. all you will die. And to be honest, we will read the article, or maybe only the headline, and shake our heads at your brief, but fatal, insanity.

I’m going to go make a smoothie.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.

The Comeback

It’s been way too long, a couple of months at least. Consider this the first post in my renewed attempt at writing at least once a day. A lot has changed, some has stayed the same, and all of it has been for the better.

The format is the same you know and love: dry sense of humor, jokes you may or may not get, observations and experiences in my work and personal life, and the uncanny ability to come off as a general asshole, major dick, private douche (more bad jokes) regardless of the point I’m making or the fact that you agree with me.

First off, I have a new job. I get to work with a ton of people. It’s great, I think. You know how people are. I also get to be in charge of them, so we’ll see how that goes. On the bright side, I’m home every night, I get to cook every night, I get to see the old lady every night. On the other hand, no daily cross-country travel. Not that I don’t have a million complaints on my 10 minute commute to and from work every day (I’m talking to you silver 2003 Malibu that takes up 3 lanes on a 2 lane road in rush hour traffic). But all that other stuff makes up for it.

Next, I’ve more or less settled down and gotten used to the home and work life without the nuisances of a different hotel every night, fast food for every meal, and the insane hours that drive lesser people mad. On top of all that, there’s a cat next to me on the armrest of this couch so I’m going to type a bunch of nonsense to appeal to the cat lovers out there that think it’s adorable when cats walk all over keyboards: adjklfhdsakjabs;dca n sd lj lasdflkjkdf s dfh;ks ;k jsdkf;j sadkf. Gotta get those likes. Definitely wasn’t the cause of a very brief writer’s block and a poor excuse to take up space in this post.

Now that all of that is out of the way, I’ll just say that I’m sorry I haven’t written in a couple months, like I’m the only interesting person on the entire internet and you could figure out anything else in the world to do.

So begins my daily posting. Look out for tomorrow’s post where I rant for quite a while about the idiocy that is being a breatharian. You’re really going to enjoy it.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.

The Blob

There exists a particular chain of convenience stores in the western part of Texas that makes a beef and bean burrito that I can’t get enough of. That and their own taco sauce to top off the wonderful burrito. I know, I know. Gas station food is awful. But I live on gas station food and I’ve learned what’s good and bad. So stuff it.

I was standing in line patiently waiting for the chance to pay for my two beef and bean burritos, that’s right, two, and then and incident occurred.

I felt something brush against my back. That’s a lie, something pushed up against my back hard enough to force me to take a step forward. I turned around to see what it was and was shocked.

A man of epic proportions had “nudged” his way past me. Allow me to paint a picture.

This man was extremely obese. Gym shorts. Flip flops. A very large shirt that still didn’t cover his stomach hanging below it. Long, greasy hair. Some kind of body odor that I’ve never had the misfortune of introducing to my nostrils before.

Now, I don’t have a problem with people based on their size. A lot of people have thyroid issues, addictions, maybe something passed down through the family, or any one of a myriad of perfectly legitimate reasons for being the size of Moby Dick.

What I DO have a problem with is people who are the size of Moby Dick, don’t keep up with basic hygiene, and push people out of their way with their stomach without at least a short apology.

Adding to my frustration, this guy shows up in line with a 3-liter of Coke, 2 family-sized bags of chips, several different kinds of candy, and a bag of beef jerky. The part that really got me was that he paid for all of this with food stamps. (I know this because I stayed in the store to eat since I was working on their pumps). The food stamps thing is a whole topic for another time.

I don’t really have any way to end this. Or any kind of moral to add to the story. But it frustrated me and caught me off guard and I needed to get it off my chest. So there you have it. I was attacked by the blob, and I’m a victim/survivor.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.

The Karen: Evolution

I’ve recently posted about a certain type of woman. The name I gave this woman is Karen. The name is a catchall for the women who think they are better than the average person and treat those people as such, for absolutely no reason. Karen has an average job, an average car, ill-behaved children, a let-me-speak-to-your-manager haircut, can’t get through the day without Starbucks before work and at lunch, and goes to church every Sunday just to show everyone there that she showed up. Karen is no better than anyone else, but likes to pretend she is even though she is the same as your average human being. This is a story about an evolved form of Karen: Sharon.

Sharon is a name we are going to give to the Karens of the world who, instead of treating people like garbage for no reason, do so because they actually are of a higher stature than the rest of us. Sharon has the let-me-speak-to-your-manager-so-I-can-get-you-fired haircut, drives a luxury SUV that is way too big for her, has very spoiled children who get everything they want, doesn’t have a real job but makes turquoise jewelry to sell at local markets, gives back to the community by writing a check, knows all the local politicians but doesn’t actually know anything about politics, and wouldn’t be caught dead in a Starbucks even if her cappuccino machine at home was broken.

The easiest way to spot a Sharon is by her bracelets. All of them are shiny, all of them are too big, none of them actually go together, and they are the loudest bracelets on the face of the planet.

I had the misfortune of meeting a Sharon around 4 o’clock this morning. I was just wrapping up a site and was inside the store when Sharon walked in.

Gas stations that are open 24/7 are not usually the kind of please you want to be. Sharon is the last person who wants to be there.

Sharon had been driving her Audi Q7 for the last few hours on her way to a Mary Kay sales convention and needed to use the restroom. The clerk directed her to the restroom in the corner of the store. About 2 seconds after the restroom door closed it opened right back up again and Sharon stormed to the counter.

How could that clerk expect her to use such a terrible facility?! Not only is it unisex, but it was filthy. Clearly some man has sprayed his DNA all over the place and she would be calling the district manager to let him know how she was being treated.

I was the last person in that restroom, it was spotless before and after I used it. Very clean, smelled good, and was fairly spacious. So I don’t know what the hell Sharon was talking about, and seeing as how the clerk was the one who cleaned it, he was as perplexed as I.

Not only did Sharon display her disgust at such treatment, but she exclaimed that she will never visit one of these gas stations again. As she walked out the door she could be heard muttering that she should have just flown to her conference.

Good riddance.

Karens are awful people to deal with. Sharons are worse. I have dealt with many Karens and Sharons in my day. This particular Sharon was on the tame side. I’m sure it won’t be long before I get to experience another. Can’t wait.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.

The Tourists

Traveling for work means dealing with tourists on the road. Sooooo many tourists. Young and old, every time of day or night, every day of the week. It’s as if no one goes to school, has a job, a life. Or everyone I come across is super rich and has no need for any of that.

I end up traveling down a lot of 2-lane roads when I drive. Lots of curves, no room to pass, low speed limits, and tourists. There is no frustration greater than being stuck behind a tourist going 5 or 10 miles under the speed limit when you can’t pass them. The reason they drive so slow seems to be so they can look out every window except the windshield to take in the scenery, completely unaware of anyone around them. Or they don’t care.

This is something that happens several times a day. This is something that happens regardless of location. This is something that happens no matter what time it is. This is something that happens even if I beg God to run either me or the tourists off the road.

These same tourists don’t appear to have ever eaten in any restaurant anywhere, ever. They don’t understand pictures, lines, how to order food, how to be polite to those in front of or behind them, or that they are the only ones who are not under a time-constraint.

My favorite tourists are the ones who stop in doorways to chat to the other tourists whether they know them or not. These same tourists also don’t know how to park, but I don’t have to patience to get into that right this second.

I love traveling and looking at the scenery of new places I’ve never explored. I do the speed limit, or more, I use the mirrors in the vehicle, I pull over safely to allow others to pass me so I can stop and look around. I order quickly when in a line and I don’t stand in doorways to talk about the fucking roadrunner I saw run across the road last week. We get it. It was a roadrunner. It ran. It ran across the road. Get out of my way, Dr. Seuss, I have things to do.

If you’re reading this and you are not a tourist, I’m sure you know exactly what I’m talking about. If you’re reading this and you ARE a tourist, I absolutely mean no disrespect. But that means you should be respectful as well. Be mindful of those around you on the road, in restaurants, in doorways, and in parking lots instead of parking so close to my vehicle that you don’t know how to get out of your car so you stare at me until I move because you screwed up and don’t understand how to back up and park again without taking 20 minutes to get the car in gear.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.