The spring semester recently started and I am again surrounded by idiots.
I am taking a Lit course. On the first day of class the professor, a man with a bald head which bobbles when he speaks, was talking about some of the literary movements of the last few centuries. During his presentation, he spoke about post modernism. While on this topic, some bastard in the class started giving his opinion about how post modernism is just an amateur extension to modernism which never really died out.
Nothing will make you want to inflict pain on yourself more than being forced to hear the mindless opinions of your peers. Who the fuck cares what that asshole thinks about post modernism? Who the fuck cares what anyone thinks about post modernism?
Anyway, in addition to the Lit course that will undoubtedly turn me against reading for all purposes, Girlfriend and I are taking several other courses. We decided that we need some school supplies and our ink cartridge filled.
There is an Office Max not far from our apartment and one would assume that they would be able to fulfill these seemingly simple needs.
One would be wrong.
As soon as we walk in we are greeted by some kid I mistook for a rat. He had greasy hair and pubic hair on his upper lip that I guess he thought was a mustache. When the rat started to speak, I realized he was indeed an employee asking me what I needed. I handed him my ink cartridge and followed him to the filling station. He went behind the counter, put on a pair of rubber gloves and piddled around with the machine for some time.
About ten feet to the left of him was a man working at the customer service counter. I watched him for a few minutes.
I have never seen someone with such an undeserved, imaginary sense of authority. This guy was probably forty, unattractive, fat and balding. He had on glasses that went up to the middle of his forehead. He was the kind of person that you could tell had absolutely nothing truly good about himself to say when he filled out his E Harmony application. He had gum in his mouth that he could not have chewed more obnoxiously. Violet from Willy Wonka's would have been speechless.
I witnessed him ring out a woman who paid with a credit card. When he saw her get the card out of her purse, he pushed out his chest, cleared his throat, extended his two fingers, rotated his hand around his wrist and pointed to the credit card machine. I wondered who his choreographer was. He practically screamed at this woman:
"Gonna need ya to go ahead and swipe the card, sign the pad, and confirm!"
I'm pretty sure he was under the delusion that he was controlling air traffic and if he was not obeyed immediately hundreds of lives would have been in danger.
Meanwhile, the rat is still trying to fill my ink. His superior, a thirty something loser wearing several gold chains, asks the rat if he is having any trouble. Loser turns to Girlfriend and I and announces that he knows all the tricks to filling ink cartridges.
Nothing makes two college kids more impressed than knowing your way around an ink machine. What a jackass.
Anyway, Loser goes and sticks his dick in the machine, fills the cartridge and charges us. While walking away I get a nod from the air traffic controller. If I had not just wasted ten minutes waiting for that damned ink cartridge, I would have thrown it at him.
We have our ink, but we still need some notebooks and folders. There are nine aisles in Office Max. All of them are labeled, so we walk by looking for one that says notebooks, folders, school supplies, or something of that nature. There aren't any. They have an aisle for change rollers. Change rollers! Those fucking cylinders made out of tiny brown paper bags. They have a whole aisle for those, but no aisle for folders.
Girlfriend - There isn't one god damned folder in an office supply store?
As we begin to walk out we find the folders. They are on a shelf three feet high in the corner of the store. I'm guessing the guy who does the layout for Office Max is the same asshole who wrote that Cavemen show. I know people with three copies of their twenty first chromosome who make better decisions.
We pick up some folders and notebooks and walk to the register that the air traffic controller is not working. There is a fellow customer in front of us who wanted to return a ream of paper he bought in 1973 with a credit card and buy it again with a gift card. The clerk says she'll have to take it off of his credit card, issue him a new gift card and charge him again. She will also need her manager to come over to okay her actions.
I had five notebooks and six folders in my hands. I dropped all of it on the ground. I grabbed Girlfriend's hand and we walked out.
I will never go back.
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