Today, my first day of my mini staycation, I was required by necessity and compelled by availability to spend some "quality" time milling about for a few hours among the multitude of smelly, vile blood bags called humans (Of course, pronounced, in a disjointed, subtly-derogatory way as "HOO-manz")
6:10 AM: I leave the comfort and security of my apartment and as I walk toward my car across the parking lot, I hear a slight cough from some hooman sitting, in the pre-dawn dark of their porch. I feel like I'm being watched.
6:40 AM: I arrive at the Chevy dealership 20 minutes early for my scheduled oil change appointment. I enter the almost empty building and, having been here a few times before, knowingly pick a comfy chair in a quiet corner of the customer waiting area to hang out while waiting for the service advisers to open up shop, so to speak. The few hoomanz there pay me no mind. They won't acknowledge my presence until they're on the clock.
7:00 AM: A hooman employee approaches me and asks if I am the Spark owner. I validate his assumption as being correct. He introduces me to another hooman named Domenic, my service adviser for today. Domenic, though having my account information on his computer, never once addresses me by my name. He tries to up-sell me on some fuel additive, oil additive (er, more likely, commission additive) but I politely decline. I do state that my tires need attention though as they have repeatedly lost air to the point of tripping the tire pressure gauge on the dash more than four times since I bought it BRAND NEW only two years ago.
Domenic is a millennial hooman and as such hears only Charlie Brown's teacher-speak noises as I explain this to him. I turn over my key to him and skulk back to the waiting area where I discover the only other customer in the place, out of the 50 or 60 chair options in the vast waiting area, has chosen to take the seat I was sitting in. I humbly select another seat and obligatorily watch the TV playing the CBS This Morning Show.
7:30 AM: More hoomanz join the masses of those waiting to have their motor vehicles repaired as slowly and ineptly as hoomanly possible. They seem to take it all in stride. Now there are several around me and I think they can tell I'm not quite like them.
8:06 AM: Charlie Rose's face looks like it is fucking melting and what is with Gayle King? It looks like the make-up crew from the latest vampire flick has been hired to give her a demonic, undead blood-sucker look. Eh, maybe it's natural. I don't watch TV that often.
8:40 AM: Commercial after commercial after commercial! Oh, how I don't miss network television. Hear me now, hooman! I don't have any fucks to give about the crap you're trying to sell!
9:20 AM: Almost three hours after I arrived for my pre-scheduled and confirmed appointment, I am told I'm all set. The invoice is handed to the cashier clerk and she tells me some figure WAY above what I'd assumed. I review the invoice. The evil hooman Domenic has charged me three times what I was promised by the appointment setting telemarketer that called me to get me to agree to this day's transaction. Plus he added shit he merely mentioned he'd have his crew do and didn't indicate to me it would be an added cost. I complain earnestly to him that I was called to set this appointment, not the other way around. I get a reduction to the amount agreed upon on the phone, but I would have had to argue with this hooman to get the slippery added costs like a $20 tire rotation removed from the bill. Deciding I was too tired and frustrated to deal with it, I opted to pay the remainder and leave ASAP.
10:06 AM: I drive to Longwood via I-4, which I rarely use so it was kinda surprising to see a sign that informed motorists that construction would be commencing on the highway soon and would be projected to be completed in the year 2021. The other hoomanz on the road tire of my little car's slow speed and all angrily zoom past me.
10:11 AM: Needing to return the unwanted video card back to Amazon due to my new computer purchase, I arrive at the UPS distribution center with the prepared package in hand. What a dump! The Post Office distribution center a bit down the road is like ten times more upscale if you can believe it. Some burly black hooman, feeling perhaps over worked by the six of us in the room, rudely commands those of us waiting to drop off a package for delivery to just do so. I was waiting because the website said they need a photo ID of each shipper (Perhaps to have evidence incase someone is sending a fucking bomb or something? Sounds logical to me.) So my package, perhaps large enough to carry a dirty bomb, is left for her and her flunky hooman idiots to haplessly deliver to my destination designated on the package without any knowledge of my identity. And this dump didn't have any video surveillance either, that's for sure. Oh, to be a terrorist dealing with the ambivalent and irresponsible UPS! ALLAH ACKBAR!!
10:50 AM: I felt like shopping so I made my way to Best Buy in Altamonte to see if they had any good deals on LED gaming keyboards. As I entered the store, the millennial employee at the front kiosk (watchtower?) greeted me with a hearty (yet fake sounding) good morning. And as I browsed the aisles, another millennial employee approached me to "assist" me.
What's with this, what I consider, "old fashioned" devotion to sales pressure that the newer generation has adopted? I figure the generation before them scoffed recruitment into the capitalist slave labor techniques, the so-called Gen Xers. So throughout the late 90s and early 2000s, shoppers antagonistic to the hard sell approach got a reprieve.
But sometime in the past five to seven years or so, the Millennial Generation took over in front-end retail. Now, we hear their mouth mindlessly emit the words of their Master's sales pitch, but if you look into their eyes...they clearly have surrendered their souls. They are without hoomanity.
11:22 AM: Naturally I find my trip to Best Buy has been a waste of time and as I head home, I near Target. I have a $5 gift card for them that I've had for months so I decide to pop in. But not before some female, ponytail sporting perky cunt hooman in her snooty Toyota Prius decides that I am a pesky irritant in her way on the road. She abruptly passes me when she apparently perceives I'm driving too slow, she muscles her way to a spot closer to the entrance in the parking lot before me and deprives me of the immense joy I'd received if I would have caught up to her and let her know that she "won the race."
11:45 AM: For some reason it seems that every tiny hooman (I guess they're called "children") and their parent was in the place. It was very noisy with the air being filled with the same admonishment from mother to child as another..."No, I said NO! I am shutting you out. You will no longer be heard!" Great, can't wait to see what freaks this generation will bring forth,.
12:12 PM: At the checkout counter, the cashier is all "ooh-ing and ah-ing" my item selections but her poor acting skills inform me that the Kristin Whig Target cashier character is not really over the top. She bags my items while undeterred in delivering her pitch to apply for a Target Red Card. I decline by sharing that I had too many credit cards as it was. I guess to a minimum wage 19-year-old, this sounds cunty. I indicate to her I'd like my 12-pack selection bagged and I actually congratulated her bagging technique (though it was actually inferior) with a slightly mocking exclamation of "Super!" I was tiring of the hoomans and she was unfortunately bearing the brunt of my almost unconscious and really unwarranted derisiveness. She repeated "Super!" directly afterward and I could discern from her tone, she was subtly mocking me. Good for her. I deserved it.
6:10 AM: I leave the comfort and security of my apartment and as I walk toward my car across the parking lot, I hear a slight cough from some hooman sitting, in the pre-dawn dark of their porch. I feel like I'm being watched.
6:40 AM: I arrive at the Chevy dealership 20 minutes early for my scheduled oil change appointment. I enter the almost empty building and, having been here a few times before, knowingly pick a comfy chair in a quiet corner of the customer waiting area to hang out while waiting for the service advisers to open up shop, so to speak. The few hoomanz there pay me no mind. They won't acknowledge my presence until they're on the clock.
7:00 AM: A hooman employee approaches me and asks if I am the Spark owner. I validate his assumption as being correct. He introduces me to another hooman named Domenic, my service adviser for today. Domenic, though having my account information on his computer, never once addresses me by my name. He tries to up-sell me on some fuel additive, oil additive (er, more likely, commission additive) but I politely decline. I do state that my tires need attention though as they have repeatedly lost air to the point of tripping the tire pressure gauge on the dash more than four times since I bought it BRAND NEW only two years ago.
Domenic is a millennial hooman and as such hears only Charlie Brown's teacher-speak noises as I explain this to him. I turn over my key to him and skulk back to the waiting area where I discover the only other customer in the place, out of the 50 or 60 chair options in the vast waiting area, has chosen to take the seat I was sitting in. I humbly select another seat and obligatorily watch the TV playing the CBS This Morning Show.
7:30 AM: More hoomanz join the masses of those waiting to have their motor vehicles repaired as slowly and ineptly as hoomanly possible. They seem to take it all in stride. Now there are several around me and I think they can tell I'm not quite like them.
8:06 AM: Charlie Rose's face looks like it is fucking melting and what is with Gayle King? It looks like the make-up crew from the latest vampire flick has been hired to give her a demonic, undead blood-sucker look. Eh, maybe it's natural. I don't watch TV that often.
8:40 AM: Commercial after commercial after commercial! Oh, how I don't miss network television. Hear me now, hooman! I don't have any fucks to give about the crap you're trying to sell!
9:20 AM: Almost three hours after I arrived for my pre-scheduled and confirmed appointment, I am told I'm all set. The invoice is handed to the cashier clerk and she tells me some figure WAY above what I'd assumed. I review the invoice. The evil hooman Domenic has charged me three times what I was promised by the appointment setting telemarketer that called me to get me to agree to this day's transaction. Plus he added shit he merely mentioned he'd have his crew do and didn't indicate to me it would be an added cost. I complain earnestly to him that I was called to set this appointment, not the other way around. I get a reduction to the amount agreed upon on the phone, but I would have had to argue with this hooman to get the slippery added costs like a $20 tire rotation removed from the bill. Deciding I was too tired and frustrated to deal with it, I opted to pay the remainder and leave ASAP.
10:06 AM: I drive to Longwood via I-4, which I rarely use so it was kinda surprising to see a sign that informed motorists that construction would be commencing on the highway soon and would be projected to be completed in the year 2021. The other hoomanz on the road tire of my little car's slow speed and all angrily zoom past me.
10:11 AM: Needing to return the unwanted video card back to Amazon due to my new computer purchase, I arrive at the UPS distribution center with the prepared package in hand. What a dump! The Post Office distribution center a bit down the road is like ten times more upscale if you can believe it. Some burly black hooman, feeling perhaps over worked by the six of us in the room, rudely commands those of us waiting to drop off a package for delivery to just do so. I was waiting because the website said they need a photo ID of each shipper (Perhaps to have evidence incase someone is sending a fucking bomb or something? Sounds logical to me.) So my package, perhaps large enough to carry a dirty bomb, is left for her and her flunky hooman idiots to haplessly deliver to my destination designated on the package without any knowledge of my identity. And this dump didn't have any video surveillance either, that's for sure. Oh, to be a terrorist dealing with the ambivalent and irresponsible UPS! ALLAH ACKBAR!!
10:50 AM: I felt like shopping so I made my way to Best Buy in Altamonte to see if they had any good deals on LED gaming keyboards. As I entered the store, the millennial employee at the front kiosk (watchtower?) greeted me with a hearty (yet fake sounding) good morning. And as I browsed the aisles, another millennial employee approached me to "assist" me.
What's with this, what I consider, "old fashioned" devotion to sales pressure that the newer generation has adopted? I figure the generation before them scoffed recruitment into the capitalist slave labor techniques, the so-called Gen Xers. So throughout the late 90s and early 2000s, shoppers antagonistic to the hard sell approach got a reprieve.
But sometime in the past five to seven years or so, the Millennial Generation took over in front-end retail. Now, we hear their mouth mindlessly emit the words of their Master's sales pitch, but if you look into their eyes...they clearly have surrendered their souls. They are without hoomanity.
11:22 AM: Naturally I find my trip to Best Buy has been a waste of time and as I head home, I near Target. I have a $5 gift card for them that I've had for months so I decide to pop in. But not before some female, ponytail sporting perky cunt hooman in her snooty Toyota Prius decides that I am a pesky irritant in her way on the road. She abruptly passes me when she apparently perceives I'm driving too slow, she muscles her way to a spot closer to the entrance in the parking lot before me and deprives me of the immense joy I'd received if I would have caught up to her and let her know that she "won the race."
11:45 AM: For some reason it seems that every tiny hooman (I guess they're called "children") and their parent was in the place. It was very noisy with the air being filled with the same admonishment from mother to child as another..."No, I said NO! I am shutting you out. You will no longer be heard!" Great, can't wait to see what freaks this generation will bring forth,.
12:12 PM: At the checkout counter, the cashier is all "ooh-ing and ah-ing" my item selections but her poor acting skills inform me that the Kristin Whig Target cashier character is not really over the top. She bags my items while undeterred in delivering her pitch to apply for a Target Red Card. I decline by sharing that I had too many credit cards as it was. I guess to a minimum wage 19-year-old, this sounds cunty. I indicate to her I'd like my 12-pack selection bagged and I actually congratulated her bagging technique (though it was actually inferior) with a slightly mocking exclamation of "Super!" I was tiring of the hoomans and she was unfortunately bearing the brunt of my almost unconscious and really unwarranted derisiveness. She repeated "Super!" directly afterward and I could discern from her tone, she was subtly mocking me. Good for her. I deserved it.