List of Frustrations

Sorry it's been so long since I've posted anything. I've been preoccupied with a list of frustrations about as long as my arm. No, it's probably even as long as Bridget's arm -- and we all know how freakishly long that girl's arms are. She's like a monkey. But don't tell her I said that. Let's see ...

First, I got a job and lost a job all in one day. While on the phone with the company I really, really want to work for, I got an email from a company I don't really want to work for. They wanted to let me know that they were hiring for online academic coaches and would like me to attend a group interview ... the next day at 1pm. I looked at the time display on my computer, and I was not impressed that they'd given me less than 24 hours notice. But what the hell? I went to the interview and suffered through over an hour of asinine questions (the answers to which no one bothered to record -- even though there were eight of us) and a test. And, naturally, the test was 50% math. I almost walked out, but I figured: I don't exactly have anything better to do. There were 18 math problems, and I had to leave six of them blank. Oh, and did I mention that they were elementary school level problems? Yeah. I failed. Several hours later -- at about 11:45pm -- I received an email from the interviewer (a woman who, though she tried, could not disguise her inherent bitchiness for even as long as it took to ask a few questions and proctor a test) welcoming me to the company. Hmm ... what kind of outfit hires a person to tutor math that she clearly cannot understand? Probably the same sort of place that hires a non-English-speaking woman to teach grammar. That should have tipped me off right away. Training was to begin the next afternoon. Ah, yet more last minute communication. Gotta love that! I emailed her back right away, asking her to call me the next day in order to answer a few questions and let me know what time to show up for training. Well, you guessed it. She didn't call me. Instead, she emailed me at 1:15pm to tell me that training was to begin at 2pm. Because this job is over a 30 minute drive away, I had to miss it. She also sent me a link filled with information on all the things I would have to pay for to work there. Maybe, if I completed 30 continuous days of employment, I would even be reimbursed. Yeah, right! I'm pretty desperate but not that desperate. I can't exactly afford to shell out any cash on a job right now. That's kinda the point of me wanting a job, actually. As I understand it, they pay you. Have I got that wrong?

For those of you who appreciate my Dad-isms, here is a pearl of wisdom from good old Dad regarding the shame of unemployment: "Don't worry about it. It's just a phase -- like being homeless or confined to a wheelchair. You'll get past it. Just keep looking." Yeah, I guess some people find homes, but I'm not so sure about wheelchair confinement. I think that's usually pretty permanent. Dad, on the other hand, is absolutely confident that it's just a "phase." You know how it is when you're going through a phase: dying your hair purple, smoking clove cigarettes, painting sad clowns in your free time, tooling around in your wheelchair. Oh, Dad.

Next on my list of frustrations is the almost constant hassle I get from my apartment complex. We're turning off your water all day on Tuesday; You must clear everything off your patio by Thursday so that we can power wash; We're coming in to inspect your apartment on Monday, whether you like it or not. If you're not home, we'll let ourselves in; We're coming back on Wednesday to fix stuff in your apartment, whether that works with your schedule or not. And on and on and on. And no, I'm not making any of that up. That's pretty much what this week looks like. These people drive me freakin' crazy! Can I not have a moment's peace? Hank and Ollie are pretty aggravated, too. They hate having strangers tromping through their home. It means hours of hiding inside the sofa. And let me tell you, balancing on a tiny wooden shelf between cushions does not a happy cat make. How can you stretch out on your back that way? How can you run back and forth in the sink while your person is trying to do dishes? How can you roll around with your catnip carrot? How can you gleefully bat your water bowl off the counter and watch it either shatter into a million pieces or bounce around, splattering water all over everything? You just can't. Those damn apartment people! They're ruining our lives.

I have to say, though, that some of the maintenance people can be pretty entertaining sometimes. Only an hour or two ago, I looked out my window and saw one of them practicing his golf swing with a power-washing nozzle. It was funny as hell. He looked around, making sure no one was present in the courtyard, and then he just started swinging away. As his partner drove around the corner in his maintenance golf cart, the guy ran over and began attaching the nozzle to the hose, as if he weren't just pretending to compete in the Master's tournament. Haha!

There are other frustrations, of course, but who has the time to recount them all? I've gotta get editing ... and preparing for my interview ... and preparing for those damn maintenance people ... and job hunting ... etc. And it's time for Hank to sprawl out across my keyboard, which is hard for him to do when I'm typing. Not impossible, mind you, just hard.

Anyway, I'll try to be better about posting. I can hardly expect you to join my cult and then fail to indoctrinate you. I dropped the ball. It won't happen again. Hopefully.

B

Pet Peeve of the Day:
Alex Trebek. That man really gets my goat when he condescends to women contestants by constantly referring to them as "young lady." GRRR! I get mad every time he does that, which is on almost every episode. It also irritates the hell out of me when he pretends he knows the answer and the contestants are just a bunch of dumb asses. You just know he didn't have a clue about the population of Jakarta or the number of bones in an antelope's body. But he always has to smirk and say something like, "Oh, sorry (in his annoying Canadian accent), that's incorrect. The answer, of course, is ..." AH! Sometimes, I just wanna punch his lights out. If I ever make it onto that show, mark my words, my personal story is going to be this pet peeve. I will tell him to his face that he'd better not call me "young lady," or he's losing a limb. Why can't he just be nice to people? Like Pat Sajak.