Posts Tagged ‘angry’

I listened to a radio show that made me livid. My favorite voice-personalities were reading a list of things that The Boss looks for in a job interview that most people don’t think is ever an issue. They apparently polled a few hundred company owners, and these people revealed the things they judge you on that you might not know about.

Potential bosses can be evil, cruel bastards. Don’t get me wrong, most of the interviewers you encounter will be friendly and pleasant…but there are apparently some sadistic ones who don’t have a heart. Those who sounded off in this poll really made me glad I have a very cool boss and a string of freelance projects.

The following “red flags” these people look for were at the top of the list, meaning that approximately 25% of all interviewers are looking for them.

Split Ends.

Turns out they aren’t just checking to make sure you have a decent grasp of what “business casual” means. Many job interviewers are examining your hair for flyaways and split ends…which can apparently indicate a lazy person who doesn’t have enough responsibility to care for themselves.


Ok, let’s try out a scenario…I am out looking for a job because I’ve been living on Ramen Noodles for a month so that I can use every spare dime to pay for dry cleaning for my one and only nice suit to go to job interviews! Paying for a haircut is probably not high on my Blow Money On List.

Mister Interviewer, shouldn’t your attention be on my job skills, and maybe the fact that I am dressed appropriately and I don’t smell like a gym or a French hooker?

You know, if I came to a job interview wearing a purple and teal Mohawk, I could see the concern…but my dry from the West Texas weather hair shouldn’t be a problem.

Smudged Mascara.

Apparently, mascara and eyeliner smudged underneath your eyes (even a little, according to polls) gives your interviewer a glimpse into a party-girl persona. These interviewers admit to knocking perfectly qualified candidates to the bottom of the list if they can spot an imperfectly lined eye.

Geez…this one is wrong on so many levels. See, I could understand if these people got upset at Goth-worthy streaks of black running down our cheeks. But they’re talking about a bit of smudge under the eye.

What if it’s summer (which meant 104 degrees around here), and the interview is at 2 in the afternoon? No makeup can stand up to that!

What if it’s a person’s third interview of the day, or they had to dash from class/work/dentist straight to the interview? Want them to show up late because they stopped to retouch their eyeliner?

My favorite is my own reason for the constantly “smoky” appearance of my eyeliner…I wear contacts. Which means if a gnat sneezes, my eyes will water, rendering my perfect makeup a bit smeared. Simmer down, most people think that’s sexy!

Another contact issue: the wind. Dry eyes. Little drops you have to put in your eyes to see where you’re going. Again, moisture that destroys makeup.

This bears repeating…shouldn’t you be more worried about a person’s qualifications??

Cheap Suits.


Ok, if I could afford a $400 designer suit and new shoes, would I be here interviewing for an internship that pays peanuts while paying half of what I hope to be making from you to some teenager to keep my kids alive while I sweat it out with you, worried about my makeup and split ends??


Geez. I am so grateful for my random writing-for-a-stranger freelance jobs, my photography business that I run all by myself (thankyouverymuch), and my kick-ass editor at the paper…


Lots of people have asked me where I got the rant about restaurants and other places moving towards banning kids.

I read several before I got mad enough to come on here to suggest a ban on creepy uncles and generally vent about people who cannot handle the fact that there might be kids in public places…but here are a couple of the articles that sent me into my self-righteous Momma-is-Mad tailspin.

The No-Kids-Allowed Movement is Spreading

Stop Discriminating Against My Kid!

Restaurant Bans on Kids

BTW, I do think that people should teach their kids some manners and actually watch them in public…even I get a little upset at the never-been-disciplined kids who are released into the wild of a Wal-Mart to fend for themselves and crawl under bathroom stalls.

However, I have seen adults do the same (sadly that is completely true), and they’re all still free to roam the grocery store commenting on the tampons in your cart and running you down with their own…

I also don’t take my kids to a nice restaurant on a Saturday night or an R-Rated movie anytime. Most parents actually do show some discretion…heathens that we are 😉

How does everyone else feel? Am I the only one who would have a hissy fit if I got kicked out of a grocery store or fast-food joint for having a child with me on a random Tuesday afternoon?

OMG. I really thought I was beyond being shocked by the general masses…

Apparently not.

There are stores, malls, and restaurants now offering “child-free” hours, days, and even weekends. They’re catering to people seeking peace and quiet when they venture out into public.

Seriously, people???

Yeah, I get it. Kids can be annoying. They’re loud, sticky, and sometimes smelly.

So is your uncle. Can we ban him from the next table so that he’ll quit leering at me when I lean over to wipe a booger off my toddler’s upper lip?

Hey, we mommies aren’t petitioning for a ban on grumpy people who like to scare the bejeezus out of our kids for daring to smile at a stranger!!

Any of you childless peace-seekers ever consider that the frazzled mom who just ran over you with her basket and contaminated your sneakers with kid-kooties might just be trying desperately to get her groceries, get home to feed her kids, and get in bed herself in time to wake up and do it all again?

Try stepping aside and letting her pass. Try saying “excuse me.” Try not standing smack in the middle of an aisle considering the possible consequences of spending 8 cents a pound more on the “new better clumping” kitty litter for 45 minutes.

This just might be her ONE free hour in the day to do the shopping between naps and meals…and you want to ban her from the freaking store so you can hear the “clean-up in aisle seven” voices more clearly?

Afraid you might have to battle for the aisle with a person pushing *gasp* a stroller? Again, step aside and share the aisle.

That family trying to scarf down a meal with their kids at the next table might actually be trying to enjoy their first dinner out in months, and they just can’t afford the meal and a sitter on the same paycheck.

If you want peace, shop at midnight and glare at the people running the floor buffers. If you want quiet, shop with your iPod. If you want to not be near the breeders, stay home and buy your crap on eBay.

And to the stores who think this is a great idea…consider this. People with kids spend more money on stuff and don’t linger in restaurants…they have better things to do than occupy a table for hours pondering the best way to piss off other people.

Just sayin’.

You know those mock-old-fashioned drive-up restaurants with the speaker-boxes at each car stall and carhops on roller-skates?

For those of you from my area, it’s called Sonic Drive-In.

Ever notice that there is always at least a few of those boxes that are crumpled or even hanging by a thread (um…speaker wire)? And that most, if not all, of them have a few dents and crinkles?

I always thought this was due to the fact that there are so many drivers out there with absolutely no concept of the space they take up, or that just don’t know where their car ends and the rest of the world begins. I imagined the poor boxes were all victims of hit-and-run accidents left to be attended by a teeny-bopper on skates rolling around in circles wondering who ordered the melting slushie on her tray.

I was wrong.

The other day, I was enlightened to the idea that many of these boxes are the victims of revenge, caused by conversations much like this…

Voice-in-a-box: Hello, welcome to <insert-business-moniker-here>, how may I help you?

Me: Hi, I’d like a #2 with…

Box: Would you like mustard or mayonnaise on that?

Me: Mustard, with no let…

Box: Fries or Tots?

Me: Um…tots…but on that burg…

Box: What would you like to drink with that?

Me: A Diet Coke, and can you…

Box: Can I make that a large size for you?

Me: No, just…

Box: Okay, I have a #2 with Tots and a medium Diet Coke, anything else?

Me: Um, yeah, but on that first part I need the burger to be without lettuce or onions.

Box: Ok, add a burger with no lettuce and no onions…do you want that one with mustard as well?

Me: NO! That is the same burger!

Box: …is that going to be a combo as well?

Me: I don’t NEED another burger…that is how I want the FIRST one to be!!!

Box: So you need a #1 and not a #2…

Me: No…I just want a #2 with mustard, no lettuce, and no onions.

Box: Is this the order with the Tots and a Diet Coke?

Me: Yes! I also need a kids’ meal with a burger and…

Box: Fries or Tots?

Me: Apple slices.

Box: …

Me: …

Box: O-kay…do you want apple slices as a side, or the apple juice in a box?

Me: @#$%!!! Slices! Apple slices. Wedges. Cut up pieces of fruit in a package.

Box: So you don’t want any apple juice with that? We can also give you a small soda with a kids’ meal.

Me: Yes, do that…make it a Coke.

Box: What size?

Me: Know what? Why dontcha make it a SMALL?

Box: So we have a #2 with mustard, no lettuce and no onions, with Tots and a medium Diet Coke, and a kids meal with a grilled cheese, no mustard, with apple wedges and a small coke? Will there be anything else today?

Me: Yes, a double-tall screwdriver.

Box: …  …  …  Ma’am, I don’t understand.

Me: Never-mind…the order sounds right, and I need to add a large Dr. Pepper with extra ice.

Box: Great! Add some pepper poppers…will there be anything else?

Me: Actually, I just hi-jacked a carhop as she rolled by and took someone else’s order. Just remake the one you sent out. Thank you. That will be all.


And that, my friends, is why Sonic boxes have a short life-span.

Just a statement to start this one off…

I DO NOT have a problem with outsourcing!!!

I am paid quite often for articles and blog entries by people who are outsourcing.

However…there is a very simple concept that employers should keep in mind when hiring someone to work for them.


That said, why in the hell to major, multi-million dollar companies find it necessary to outsource their call centers to people who cannot speak English in a recognizable manner?  ENGLISH, not Engrish.

This is not a racist rant. I don’t know or care what the race, religion, nationality, or hair color of the person on the other end of the line is. I really don’t. What I do care about is that I am calling for a purpose, and need to be able to understand the person who answers the customer support line.

When I dispatched, one of the requirements for my job was to have the ability to speak on the radio and 911 phones in clear, concise English. I had to be understandable to work there. It was just a fact that if I couldn’t make myself understood by the people I was communicating with, I didn’t have a job. Period.

Therefore it was quite frustrating to spend the first ten minutes (after holding for twenty, but that is another rant entirely) trying to figure out what the hell “Gooaffanoo Mizz Tree” meant.

Four tries later, I finally assumed that “Good afternoon, Miss Tori” was a logical translation. The next forty minutes were much more of the same. I gave the phone to the shortest Minion for 5 minutes and they seemed to understand each other quite well. Unfortunately I don’t have a translator on retainer for him, either.

Thanks AT&T…you just made the Top 10 on my Shit List.

…and I still don’t have a working phone.

Today was one long series of unfortunate events of the sort that Jim Carrey would never survive. It began with last night’s craft project and concludes with the character Band-Aid on my ass…

Last night I took some old photo frames that were the same size and color, sanded down the sides until they all matched perfectly, and fitted them together into a frame collage. It was gorgeous, if I may say so myself, each frame was black with gold trim so together it looked pretty fancy.

In this new set of frames I placed some black and white prints of kittens in costumes that I had been saving for years that came from a calendar…many many years ago. I have not seen a calendar similar to this, ever. I was saving the prints for something special.

I proudly hung the completed piece of art in my bathroom on a blank wall that has been bugging me. As a freelance writer with two kids out on the Back 40 of Hell’s Half Acre, I don’t exactly have much money. Extra things like home decorating items and wall art are luxuries that we just can’t buy. So anytime something can be made cheap and still looks classy, we are quite delighted with it.

This morning, things went pretty much as usual, my son woke me up at the crack of dawn to dance to CMT (his favorite early-am activity). I drank coffee that took an hour to brew (Hard water = a coffee pot that drips water at the rate of a slowly leaking faucet). I fixed us all bowls of our favorite cereal (none of the three of us like the same kind on the same morning…it is apparently against some cosmic rule).

I subsequently dumped out a bowl each of Cookie Crisp, Cinnabon-Something-or-Other, and Fruity Pebbles when I discovered the milk was a little…sharp. Eggs were rejected for the fact that I had exactly two eggs, and three hungry people. The kids got Pop-Tarts, I got another cup of coffee.

After that it was back to CMT and Legos for the munchkins, and I went into the bathroom to put on makeup and do something with my hair. My son gave me two minutes to get good and into the application of my eyeliner (very black, btw), then came marching up behind me with a TV remote in hand, headed for the toilet.

I leapt across the room, screeching “Nooooo!” and saved the remote in the nick of time, while apparently drawing an impressive black stripe across my face. Unfortunately either the high-pitched noise, the sudden shudder of the room from me jumping, or karma from the last bug I squished, something managed to dislodge the nail holding up my pretty creation from last night.

The entire thing came crashing down into the bathtub, shattering into dozens of splinters of glass and wood (insult to injury: the places I glued were mostly intact). Even the photos tore just enough to render them mostly useless in the future.

My saving grace in that moment was that the entire mess was limited to the interior of the bathtub, so it was fairly easy to scoop it all out, then shake out the bath mat and rinse the tiny shards down the drain. Plus, I could do all this with the munchkins and their curious little fingers locked safely out of the room until the glass was cleared.

It also gave me a few minutes to bawl like a baby and mourn the loss of the cool wall art that I would have dragged all house-guests into the bathroom to look at for the next month.

Once all of that was done, and the rest of the morning passed without any bloodshed or major malfukulations (yea…….sound it out…..there ya go), we all trooped out to Plainview to pay a bill that was due today.

I took with me all the money I had, which was enough to pay the bill and buy the gas to get back home. I did not consider that we would be passing roughly 137 snow-cone stands and a dozen ice cream trucks on this journey in 103 degree heat (but it’s a DRY heat…ha). I couldn’t buy the treats; couldn’t even stop for my gimongous iced tea from Sonic as I had hoped. We got the bill paid and the truck back up to a quarter tank with about 17 cents to spare.

By this time, the kids were sweaty and mutinous…

The bribe I got them out of Plainview on was that it’s Tuesday…and Meemaw (my grandmother) ALWAYS goes to the pizza buffet night in Lockney, and we have a standing invitation to go eat with her each and every Tuesday. We have been doing this for over a year at least a couple times a month, and not once has she allowed us to pay for our meal. Therefore I felt fairly safe in the drive to Lockney.

Nope. This turned out to be the one Tuesday that she wasn’t home, wasn’t in town, wasn’t anywhere to be found. If looks could kill, the tiny lightning bolts flying at the back of my head from the backseat would have taken me out right there on Main Street, crashing the truck into the newly remodeled pizza place.

I pacified the kids with a trip to visit my parents (they LOVE Grandma and Papaw), and got lucky. Mom had some money she was saving for me from some of my storage stuff she’d sold for me.

Therefore, I got to feed the angry, hungry minions!

It wasn’t pizza, but Dairy Queen fries and chicken saved me from a sure overthrow of the throne tonight.

Getting back home was uneventful, as was most of the rest of the evening. The kids watched iCarly and George Lopez while I got a few things written for “work.”

My son drowned my favorite makeup brush in the bathtub and my daughter had a hissy fit because I wouldn’t let her wear a pageant dress and boots to bed. The cat scratched the smallest one for dragging him around by the tail, and the screeches that ensued scared the loopy cowdog outside. The dog howled for half an hour, and the kids went to bed mad at me…for some reason, it was all Momma’s fault, as always.


Finally, the kids were in bed and I was alone (well, reasonably so, the kitten in the house doesn’t count). I poured a glass of bourbon and diet coke because I am NOT a glass of wine kind of girl, and I ran the bathtub full of bubbles and bath salts.

I sank into the tub and slid down…and immediately jumped back out, splashing water and bubbles all over the bathroom.

Yeah, there was a piece of glass in the bath mat that had evidently survived the cleanup efforts of the morning.

Yeah, I cut my ass cheek.

And yeah, considering that I am really not a Band-Aid kind of person, it is quite an admission for me to tell you that since the location of the cut was just so that shorts were uncomfortable, I decided to put a bandage on it.

There are dozens of bandages in my house, in every shape and size, in Tinkerbell, Hannah Montana, Cars, Toy Story, and more…lots to choose from.

I put SpongeBob on my buttcheek just for spite.

I ran across this blog and have subscribed to it…this particular post was wonderful. Thought I would share!

This is something I wrote a while back in response to a “letter to editor” in a local newspaper…

The writer was evidently quite offended that a police officer dared to turn on lights and sirens as he responded to an emergency call.

Rumor has it he drove *gasp* 45 miles per hour in a 35 mph zone!

Wow…I wasn’t aware Wyatt Earp drove a truck. Thanks for the enlightenment. I’ll never watch Tombstone with the same level of respect…

Just for those who don’t know…

Police officers go through extensive training behind the wheel. Years of driving under conditions that would have most people spinning off the road. They are perfectly capable of handling the speeds that their job sometimes requires. If you have the bad luck not to notice the flashing lights and the blaring sirens that accompany an emergency vehicle, rest assured that emergency responder is perfectly capable of dodging you when you step out in front of him. They really do have to prove their driving skills at high speeds before someone “pins a badge” on them.

If you know of a police officer that runs Code 3 (this is the term for an emergency response with urgency, lights, and sirens) to catch a person going 3 mph over the speed limit, then you must not be from here, because the officers here won’t stop you for that violation. They have bigger fish to fry.

Consider this. You state the “few seconds” it would cost to slow down to 35 mph will not make a difference. You are mistaken, it would take more than a few extra seconds to reduce speed, meander through town, and build back to a speed suitable for an emergency. It would cost at least a couple minutes or more.
Now, imagine a child being beaten by an abusive adult waiting desperately for someone to save her. What about the person hiding in a closet from an unhinged ex tearing though the house with a gun? Or the mother whose child has been abducted and know precious seconds are wasting away while that child is taken further and further away?
These things happen in small towns, too. You don’t hear about every tragedy an officer faces, so the illusion of the safe little community remains intact.

Now, put yourself in the shoes of the officer. If he makes it on time, he might save a life. He might save a beaten child in time to avoid a hospital stay or a broken bone. He might get a baby back to his mother. He might stop a psychopath from firing the gun he is waving at the scared woman who called 911. If someone is already hurt, he could get there in time to put pressure on a wound before someone bleeds to death. Depending on the location of the injury, that can take seconds.

The people who read the local news surely read about a suicide attempt nearby. A person was saved literally by mere seconds, and ONLY because the officers that responded turned on their lights, their sirens, and drove as they were trained to.

You’re right, the police officer could take his time. He could give you those extra couple of minutes to satisfy your sense of propriety. He could ignore his training and his call of duty.
I can tell you this though…when it’s “time to bring out the big guns” (your words, not mine), that is not an officer I would vote for. I think I would vote for the one who will show up quickly when I call 911.
Let’s just hope you’re never in a terrible situation waiting desperately for someone to come to your aid…begging the 911 operator to “tell them to hurry”…praying help arrives in time. Let’s hope if you ever are in that position, that the officer turns on his lights and drives a little more than 30mph.