They Call Me MISTER Cummings

Part 1

“That’s one big fucking fly…”

As I sit here in my living room, trying to figure out how I’m going start this post, there is a fucking fly, as big as my dog, annoying the shit out of me. Because it’s night time, and the fly is black, I can only see it when it flies in front of my 55 inch TV screen, which doubles as a computer monitor. I’ve tried turning on all the lights, but because my furniture is dark, I STILL can’t see the mother fucker. I’ve been chasing it around my apartment, following the propeller engine ‘buzzing’ sound of its enormous wings, and knocking things over like Porky Pig in that old cartoon where he eventually blows up his entire house trying to kill a fly.

My dog is just lying on the couch, not helping a lick, and looking at me like I’m fucking crazy. Maybe she’s scared. This thing is so big that the last time it disappeared, it came out of the bedroom wearing my 1994 long sleeve Nine Inch Nails concert t-shirt. It’s got a thorax like a Volkswagen Bug, and every time I start typing, it flies RIGHT in front of my fucking face, scaring the shit out of like a cheerleader in a horror flick. And I’m pretty sure it has Jeff Goldblum’s face. JUST writing this opening has taken me a half hour because FUCK! There it went again.

The giant spiders in my apartment must be on strike, because usually I don’t have this fucking problem. I live in an apartment near a forest and a lake, so when I walk outside, the area between the railing of my walkway and the roof of my building is a patchwork of intricately designed giant webs that are so lavish and opulent; you would think they were made by a Liberace Spider. I think I saw a candelabra and a piano in one. The spiders just hang out in these things all day eating flies, wasps, mailmen, horses, airplanes, or anything else unlucky enough to wander into their path. The basic rule of etiquette, if you LIVE in my building, is to walk by and politely nod your head to them without making eye contact. You leave THEM alone…they leave YOU alone.

However, much like people, some of the spiders CAN be assholes. One day when I came home from work a few months ago, I walked in and there was a spider sitting on my couch with four of his feet up on my table, and a beer in each of the other four. He was wearing a filthy dago t-shirt and watching ‘The Jersey Shore’. When I said ‘what the fuck’, without looking at me, he said ‘Youse gots a problems wit dis?’ in a New York garbage truck driver accent, and then he opened a beer by poking one of his four inch long fangs through the cap.

Then, last week while I was walking to my front door after a particularly shitty day at work, I was tripped by a web that was spun across my path. This thing must have had the tensile strength of the wires that hold up the Golden Gate Bridge. While I was lying on the ground, I looked back and saw a couple of the teenage spiders laughing and pointing at me with their eight index fingers. Not wanting to upset the delicate balance that my fellow tenants and I have with the giant spiders, I angrily grabbed all of my White Castle hamburgers that had spilled onto the ground when I fell, stood up, brushed myself off, and went to my apartment without making a fuss.

I didn’t think that day could get any worse…but it did.

The week before I was ‘punked’ by the spider bullies, I received an email message from my boss telling me that I was to attend a meeting at a cell phone company office in Downers Grove. Fuck. Downers Grove; that’s about an hour and a half drive from my apartment. I won’t drive that far for pussy, I certainly don’t want to do it to attend an 8 hour long snore-fest. Imagine that you’re watching commercials on TV for eight hours…THAT’S what I knew I was in store for.

I’ve talked about how shitty my job at an electronics store is, about the picnics, the asshole customers, and the corporate douchebaggery that I have to deal with, but I really can’t stress to you enough how much I hate going to these fucking meetings. My time would be MUCH better spent IN my store ensuring that my sales are strong, that my employees aren’t fucking around, and that the gauntlet of tasks set forth by my superiors is run. I have shit to do, all of which is meant to make the company money which, in turn, makes ME money.

 It seems like EVERY fucking week I’m inundated with meetings, and conference calls, and corporate team building seminars, and dealer franchise meetings, and asshole dealer representatives bothering my fucking employee’s by making them ignore customers in order to listen to them ramble about their products. FUCK! WE KNOW ALL THIS SHIT! If there’s something new? SEND ME A FUCKING EMAIL! I don’t need to drive to ‘Lightmyfart, Arkansas’ in order to hear shit I’ve known for FIVE fucking years. For Chrissake, I only MAKE 8.33 an hour!

As usual, I’m told that this meeting is ‘mandatory’, so I’m forced to go. I called my fellow manager, Ruthie, and we made arrangements to drive to Downers Grove together. You may remember Ruthie from ‘Corporate Buffoonery’. She’s the ONLY manager that works for my company who I’d LIKE to sleep with, however I’m trying not to dip my pen in company pussy, or however that saying goes. Not only that, but Ruthie is Mexican, which means that if I DID get her pregnant…I wouldn’t be able to sweet talk her into an abortion like I normally do, because Mexicans believe in that ‘Jesus’ dude.

The morning of the meeting, I got to Ruthie’s store nice and early to pick her up. When we went to the company picnic together in June, we were almost an hour late and I was bitched out by my boss, because I drove. Ruthie offered to drive this time, but my male ego would have none of that. There’s just something about driving a woman around that makes guys feel more ‘manly’, and because I’m STILL trying to show off for her, even though I know that the skin-boat is in dry dock and will NOT be making a trip to Tunaville, I macho’d up and told her I’d drive.

From Ruthie’s store, my GPS told me that it would take about an hour to get to our destination in Downers Grove. Since the meeting was to start at 9AM, I arrived at her store at 7:45AM, and waited for her. And waited. And waited. Finally she showed up, like a typical woman, at 830. Great, now I would have to mash the gas pedal, ‘Smokey and the Bandit’ style, in order to get there on time. We have a track record of being late together, and although I don’t quite mind the rumors created by that fact, I was told, in NO uncertain terms, NOT to be late for this meeting.

Harlem Avenue is a 51 mile stretch of construction riddled, pot hole infested, lane closure having nightmare that goes from Glenveiw to Monee in Illinios. It seems that as far back as I can remember; I’ve lived on, or around Harlem Ave. The main reason that I DON’T believe in a God, is simply because if there WAS a higher power…Harlem would be a four lane highway instead of a two lane highway. I cannot recall a SINGLE fucking time in my life when there wasn’t construction in some form or another on this road, and even NOW it’s the ONLY way for me to get to and from work. When I drive to work on a Sunday, it LITERALLY takes me 21 minutes to get there. Monday morning? Because of the fucking construction? An hour and a half to two hours of slow moving hell.

I have to say, I don’t even UNDERSTAND what the fuck the construction IS. All it seems to be is a shitload of those big round barrel cones blocking off one of the two lanes for NO particular reason. There’s no construction going on, the lane that’s blocked off is COMPLETELY fine to drive on, and there’s not a worker in sight. It almost makes me think that Harlem is a giant ant farm experiment and there’s a bunch of city engineers watching the traffic on monitors somewhere, drinking beers, and laughing their asses off while waiting for some poor slob…most likely ME, to lose it and go ‘Mad Max’ on the assholes in front of him.

Unfortunately, on this particular occasion, Harlem is the length of fucked up asphalt that we would have to ‘yellow brick road’ in order to see the cell phone Wiz. Harlem is a short drive from Ruthie’s store, and as I turned on to it, I was immediately stuck in a mass migration that had come to a complete halt. Horns were blaring, that right lane was blocked off for NO reason, and the most annoying thing was that I couldn’t see a goddamned thing that was going on ahead of me because of the semi directly in front of my car. Great, now even if the traffic DID pick up, I’d have to wait 40 minutes for THIS asshole to shift from 1st to 2nd in order to get up to a Nascar-esque 10mph. Its 2010 folks…will SOMEONE please invent an ‘automatic’ transmission for the fucking semi’s?

Finally the traffic started moving at a moderate pace, and I could see a railroad crossing ahead of me. Guess what happened next? That’s right ‘ding-ding-ding-ding’. The arms of the crossing slowly descended. The guy driving the car in front of me slammed on his gas pedal and JUST made it under the crossing arm, leaving me to wait directly in front of it. I stopped and looked at my watch. 8:47. My GPS told me that we would arrive at our destination at 9:50. FUCK, I didn’t have time for this shit. I KNOW how long these trains take, and with my luck, the fucking thing would stop and start doing that ‘forward, back’ tango that trains like to do for me. Like a peacock showing a potential mate its feathers. Well, I ain’t fuckin’ no train.

I leaned forward and looked to my left…nothing. I looked to the right and there it was, about 5 fucking miles away and moving at a snail’s pace. It looked like the train was already breaking so that it could stop JUST as it passed in front of me, while the train conductor leaned out of his window and flipped me off. Fuck it. I looked at Ruthie, “Go for it” she said. I put my foot on the gas, crossed the double yellow line into the oncoming traffic lane, and went around the crossing arm. No sooner did I do this, when I glanced to my right and saw a fucking squad car trying to turn around into my lane, from the opposite direction. I didn’t even wait until I heard the sirens. I just pulled over and waited about 3 minutes for him to get to me. FUCK DO I HATE HARLEM!

The last two times I was pulled over was for doing 47 in a 40, which ended with me getting a DUI for a .081, and the second was because my license was suspended. It seems that State Farm was trying to find me for 50 bucks from an accident I was involved in back in 2005, and when they couldn’t…the court ordered my license suspended figuring that would get me found. I had NO idea and it led to MORE courtroom nightmares. So, understandably, I’m a bundle of nerves when I get pulled over. I started to sweat, my hands were shaking, and I was rambling. Ruthie told me to calm down; everything was going to be all right. But I knew it wouldn’t be…it never is with the police. It just never is.

When you’re a kid, you look up to the police. They are these noble creatures fighting for truth and justice. But when you get older, you realize that they are just flawed assholes like the rest of us, the only difference is that THEY get to violate YOUR civil rights. I know I did something wrong, and when this short, fat, cop showed up at my car window…I told him so.

I gave him my insurance and license, and he told me that what I did was dangerous and stupid. I apologized to him profusely, and explained that we were running extremely late for a meeting. He looked down at my insurance card, without acknowledging my explanation, and said “I don’t see an expiration date here”. I pointed to it and say “It’s right there”. Then I looked up at him, and in a pleading voice I said “Officer, everyone in my family is a cop, and I have a clean record, can you PLEASE just give me the ticket so we can be on our way? I promise this will never happen again, but I could lose my job if we don’t get to this meeting”.

The officer was a stout and rotund weeble wobble of a man, with a pointy nose and a double chin. He was about 20 years old and JUST by the way he looked at me with those cold dead beady eyes; I could see what was going to happen. He was one of those assholes who had NO friends in school, probably got picked on because of his awkward look growing up, and here he was in a position of authority with an intelligent, well dressed man who had a beautiful girl in his car. I was fucked.

I’m not saying that ALL cops are like that, but I see it more and more these days as the police ranks fill up with a younger generation of short fat guys who went to school with these chicks who look like they should be doing porno. They prance around with big tits, tight shirts, and daisy dukes, and if a guy is good looking enough for them to fuck, you can be sure that he’s not going to become a public servant. So guys like officer double chin here, end up with a chip on their shoulder the size of Mt. Everest.

He told me to wait there, and then walked back to his squad car. We all know what that means; I’m getting a ticket. So we wait. And wait. And wait. Ten minutes later he came sauntering back up to my car with that Napoleonic walk that short, fat guys in a position of power often have. He handed me back my insurance card and license, and told me to follow him back to the police station. FUCK! Now I was screwed. But I didn’t lose it yet. I assumed that my license was suspended again and I just didn’t know it. I didn’t want to piss this guy off, because if that were the case; he COULD have just arrested me and had my car impounded. But he wasn’t doing that. He was letting me follow him to the station. Maybe he’s being cool. Even if I get arrested for driving on a suspended, at least I won’t have to pay the 500 dollar impound fee, so I didn’t want to cause any waves. My stomach was in knots, and Ruthie was looking worried herself.

The officer pulled out in front of us, and I followed him as he made a left turn onto a side street. A few blocks down, he made another left. Here’s the fucking irony of this ENTIRE story…we ended up having to wait 23 fucking minutes for the god damned train. The SAME one I was trying to avoid. While we sat there behind the officer at the tracks, I called my boss and explained to him what was going on. He was NOT happy.

Finally the train disappeared into the distance, taking my freedom with it, and we continued on to the police department. I parked my car on the street, and the officer, who I could see was a GOOD foot and a half shorter than me now that I was out of the car, told us to go in the front and wait in the lobby.

The lobby was the typical lobby of a police department. Old yellowed floor tile that used to be white back in the 60’s, shitty school desk chairs with the desk part ripped off, and a Plexiglas window separating the lobby from the young female police cadet in the control room. For the next TWO fucking hours Ruthie and I sat in those uncomfortable chairs and speculated as to why we were there. I was running all the scenarios through my head. Suspended license, a warrant I didn’t know about, overdue books at the library, SOMETHING was going on, and I had NO fucking clue what it could be. My stomach felt like I was on a rollercoaster and it had JUST crested the top. The thing that kept playing over and over in my head was ‘if I’m under arrest…why the fuck am I standing out here in the lobby?’

Finally, officer Takes2long came into the control booth and beckoned me over to the glass. Without looking at me, he slipped a wad of papers underneath. I looked at the papers he had just slid out and they were 3 tickets. One was for ignoring the railroad signal, one was for crossing the double yellow line, and one was for NO INSURANCE! A look of astonishment crossed my face. I looked up at him and said “that’s it?” He nodded his head, and I fucking lost it.

“You made me wait here for TWO fucking hours after I POLITELY told you that we were in a fucking hurry? And what the fuck is THIS?” I point at the ‘no insurance’ ticket. “The FIRST thing I did was give you my insurance card!” He said “There’s no expiration date on it.” I pulled my insurance card from my pocket, SLAMMED it on the Plexiglas window with my palm and said “IT’S RIGHT FUCKING THERE! I SHOWED IT TO YOU! Are you blind? Or just stupid? Why would I have an insurance card with NO expiration?”

NOW he looks at me, NOW I have his attention, and NOW he starts to get incredulous. “Sir, if you want to continue to talk to me like that, I’ll be forced to detain you for obstruction”

“Is that a joke? YOU’VE ALREADY DETAINED ME! And YOU’VE obstructed ME from getting to work! Do you realize that I could lose my job because you wanted to get a couple of donuts in you while you wrote out these fucking tickets?”

The female officer in the control room wasn’t more than 20 herself. I don’t know if this police station was doubling as a fucking day care, but I was pissed. Growing up in a police family, I learned some things about the law, and I learned how to treat people. You have to give respect in order to get respect as a police officer, and this guy could have just cost me my fucking job over a ticket that he could have given me on the street.

You could tell that THIS guy was JUST out of the academy, and this chick was still in it, because she didn’t know what to say. She just looked on like she just caught someone fucking her cat. Ruthie stood behind me, staring at me in disbelief. Once or twice she tried to grab my arm and tell me to just drop it, but I was on a fucking roll. Then officer Numbnuts tried to speak with an authoritative voice, which became more of an ineffective mumble through the Plexiglas window. “I am an officer of the law, there’s no reason…”

“NO REASON? Are you kidding me? I KNOW ‘officers of the law’, and you’re just a fucking kid with a badge. You could have just made someone lose their job because you wanted to sit in the a/c while you wrote those tickets! Jobless people become homeless people, and then they become thieves, and when someone walks in on a thief, what do you think happens? They become murderers. You may have created a criminal today because you’re an ass. I can’t believe I have to TEACH you how to treat people!”

Now BOTH cops were staring at me in disbelief. Maybe nobody had challenged their authority yet, I don’t know, but as I grabbed my tickets and turned to storm out of the building, I heard the cop say “Wait, you can’t go yet.”

“WHAT?” I turn back around, and look at him hard through the glass.  “You have to pay to 200 dollar bond before you leave.”

Look, on a normal day to day basis, I’m about as compliant with the law as one man can be. I try to stay under the radar, and avoid conflict of ANY kind. My rebellious days are far behind me, but this guy was just getting on my nerves. “What do you MEAN I have to GIVE you 200 dollars?”

“You have to pay a 200 dollar bond before you leave” he said.

“Have you ever heard of an I-bond?” I look at the lady officer who’s watching this whole exchange in amazement, and say to her “Did this kid JUST fucking start here? Does he know, AT ALL, what the fuck he’s doing? Or is this place forced to hire at least ONE retard like McDonalds or Jewel?”

The officer pipes up with the words he’s obviously just learned at the academy “if you continue to speak in that manner…” I cut him off. “FINE! You want 200 bucks cash; I’ll go fucking get you 200 bucks cash JUST so I can get the fuck out of here”. Again, I turned to walk out and, again I heard his voice, louder this time “You can’t leave this building until you’ve paid.”

I turned back to the window and calmly asked him “am I under arrest, officer?” Stunned, he said “No”. I said to him “Then, you’re kidnapping me? Is that it? Holding me for ransom? Is that what you’re doing? 200 bucks or I have to sit in this lobby? For how long? Do you understand the procedures of the law? Due process? Illegal detention?” He looked at the lady officer, and then looked back at me “I COULD arrest you if you try to leave”.

I was shocked. It almost sounded as if he were asking me, not telling me. “You really are an idiot, aren’t you? You have absolutely no idea what you’re doing. I think that IF you were going to arrest me, you would have done it by now, OR this nice lady standing next to you would have. But you’ve fucked up this SIMPLE traffic stop so bad, you KNOW that my lawyers will sue this place until you can’t even get a line of credit at dunkin’ donuts. If you arrest me, the NEXT time you see me YOU’LL be on this side of the glass, and I’ll be on that side with my feet up watching Jerry Springer and smoking a cigar. You’re not going to arrest me, are you?”

Sure the lawyer thing was a bluff, but I’d NEVER in my life had THIS kind of leverage over a police officer. I had him on the fucking ropes, and it felt good. I felt like I was saying ALL the things that I’d ALWAYS wanted to say, NOT to a cop, but to the fucking system itself.

The young lady cop turned and walked out of the room. Ruthie and I could tell that she was going to go get someone. Someone who could handle this. The cop looked at me stupidly and said “I will arrest you if you try to leave.”
Stalemate. Neither of us was willing to back down from our position. Ruthie could see that I was about to bolt for the door, and she was right. There was a bank across the street, all I had to do was make it to my car, grab my ATM card, dash over to the bank to get the money, and bring it back to officer Dickless. He wasn’t going to arrest me, and even if he was, I would be back before he got out from the control room into the lobby.

Ruthie, finally able to speak, told me that SHE’D just go get the money. I looked over at her, taking my eyes off of the cop. She told me that if she hadn’t been late, none of this would have happened, so she felt responsible. I usually only like to hear a woman say that when she’s telling me that she’s pregnant, but Ruthie just wanted to leave. Ok, our stalemate was at an end. I sat down again while Ruthie ran out to the bank.

While she was gone, the officer went about doing paperwork behind the Plexiglas. I sat there and just stared at him with an angry hypnotic gaze. I fucking hated that man. Ruthie came back in and paid the 200 bond. As we were about to leave, the officer said “You should be careful to obey the railroad crossing Mike.”

Then I probably went too far; “You call me ‘MISTER’ Hempen! I’m probably 17 years older than you, you little shit!”

I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was the years of hearing my mother yell at me in that powerful police officers tone. Maybe it was just my frustration of having been in that lobby for so long. But that statement was so powerful, the cop actually took a step back when I said it. Cops are TAUGHT to shut YOU up, and I just shut THIS guy the fuck down. He stood there and looked at me as we left the police station and ran for the car. It was 11:01, and we were in for a world of shit.

Part 2

We arrived at the cell phone company’s office building at noon. A quick ride in the elevator brought us up to the 25th floor where we were greeted in the lobby, just outside of the meeting room, by an older woman who told us that there were assigned seats inside. We made a grand entrance into the room through the 11 foot tall oak doors, and I immediately knew why my boss was so pissed at me on the phone. This wasn’t just a meeting for our DISTRICT; this was a meeting for our REGION. There were about 70 managers there AND my Regional Manager, who is my boss’s boss. As we carefully slunk through the room, looking at the name cards on place settings, I could FEEL my boss staring at me. Because I have such good luck, I found MY seat…right in fucking front. Great, now I would have to actually pay attention instead of ‘pretending’ to pay attention while holding a document in front of my face with my eyes closed.

Soon, the meeting broke up for lunch. My boss snuck up behind me as I was still sitting at my table, placed his hands on my shoulders, leaned down, and whispered angrily in my ear “I want to see your ticket”. I pulled it out of my shirt pocket and held it up between my index finger and middle finger without looking behind me. Then I felt his breath on my ear again “we’ll talk after the meeting.” Fuck you.

Because my company, as a rule it seems, ONLY hires African Americans and Hispanics…we were treated to a typical lunch of Fried chicken and tacos. I don’t know about YOU…but to me this is the MOST racist thing I’ve ever seen. Not only do they cater to every culinary stereotype available, but our hosts are so white that they make the townsfolk of Mayberry look like the cast of ‘Boys in the Hood’. It seems like every time we have lunch provided to us by our vendors, its fucking collard greens, chitlins, chicken gizzards, pig’s feet, watermelon, enchiladas, burritos, and some kind of rice. Because EVERY minority likes rice, right? Just ONCE I’d like to see fucking jelly sandwiches, potato salad, sauerkraut, and cabbage. If you’re going to be racist…have racist THEME lunches; all white, all black, all Mexican, all German, all Italian; what the fuck ever, but mix it up sometimes…I’m SICK of feeling like I just stepped out of Tyler Perry movie every time I eat lunch with my fellow managers.

As much I would have liked to sit at a table with people I knew, I was stuck at the front of the room, at the kiss ass table. I was surrounded by JUST the kind of managers that make me HATE going to these fucking meetings. There was the old guy with the pony tail who has turrets and kept shouting out the names of his buddies that he lost in Vietnam, the old lady who, instead of writing down notes, crocheted every syllable into a fucking pillow, and the double wide behemoth who made everyone in the room lightheaded whenever she inhaled, because she was sucking all the fucking oxygen out of the building.

As lunch time came to an end, the cellular representatives came into the room and dimmed the lights to get our attention. I was shocked. There were six of them all together, and I have to say…those were 12 of the best looking tits I’ve ever seen.  I imagine that somewhere in that building, there’s a cardboard cutout of Bugs Bunny like at Great America, where he’s holding his hand waist high, and the caption reads: ‘you must be THIS tall to enter’, only in THEIR cut out, Bugs is holding his hands out in front of him like he grabbing for something and the caption reads: “your tits must be THIS big to enter.”

The first chick went behind the podium and presented us with a slide show that was more boring and less informative than watching paint dry. As she sputtered out the words that she’d, no doubt, memorized out loud the night before while her poor husband was trying to watch Sports Center, she began walking around the room and talking to us as if she were addressing a third grade class. She kept referencing her kids, and how great cell phones are for children, and when she wrapped up? She offered us ‘raffle’ tickets if we could answer her patronizing ass questions right.

The suck asses at my table excitedly raised their hands and then held up their arms with their other hand, at the armpit, waving them back and forth and shouting “OOOH! OOOH! PICK ME!” like fucking Horseshack from ‘Welcome Back Kotter.’ When one of them got picked to answer the question, they stood up at attention and repeated the answer like a 12 year old at a spelling bee. The Cellular milf would then come around the table, hand them a raffle ticket, pat them on the head, and scratch their belly while saying “goooooood boy! Did YOU get a ticket? DID YOUgetaticket? Yesyoudid…”

I can’t for the life of me understand WHY people are like that. I KNEW what the prizes would be, and I could have given a fuck. Every time these idiots made a spectacle of themselves and drew the attention of everyone in the room, I wanted to slink under the table and stick a fucking knife through my windpipe.

As each representative went to the podium to speak, the rest milled about behind her like fucking wind up dolls aimlessly bumping into each other while waiting for their turn to talk. Most of these women were the kinds who just like to listen to themselves. If you met them in a bar, even the allure of their titties would wear off eventually and you’d HAVE to tell them to shut the fuck up. One of them had an annoying ‘rich girl’ affectation when she talked, where she carried her ‘A’s just a LITTLE too long, like: faaather and baaaad. As she walked back and forth in those high heels, and her head held up with that look on her face like nobody had EVER told her ‘no’, I just wanted to punch her in the fucking throat. Another one had huge Mick Jagger lips that almost wrapped all the way around her head, making her look like a Canadian from South Park, where her bottom jaw and the upper part of her head aren’t connected as she talked. After each one was through with their presentation, they’d give us that EXTRA slap in the face by ‘recapping’ everything they had just said. I swear to god, ONE chicks RECAP took longer than her fucking presentation.

They went on to tell us how their cell phone company would one day rule the planet though superior technology. They used acronyms like ‘Q1’ for ‘the 1st quarter’, ‘HSPA’ for ‘high speed access’, and ‘WAYM’ for ‘we are your masters’. I felt like I was in the movie ‘They Live’, and I was the only one with the fucking glasses.

They talked down to us and treated us like morons for hours. Brainwashing us into believing THEY had the lowest prices available, like I can’t just pick up a pamphlet from one of our OTHER cell phone carriers and disprove that shit. Am I wearing an ‘I’m an Asshole’ T-shirt? They even made us perform ‘cell phone’ infomercial skits. They were using us to give them FREE advertising ideas. 

This went on for hours. Another representative would get up, and another, and another, until I was SERIOUSLY thinking of just jumping through the floor to ceiling glass window and falling 25 stories to my death. Not ONE piece of information was new. This whole thing was an exercise in ‘kiss ass’, from the douche bags giving speeches to impress their bosses, to the assholes at my table trying to impress theirs by answering every question.

Why is it, in this country, that we feel the need to PROVE ourselves for NO particular reason? My store is number 4 of 18 in my district; we’re number 28 of 177 in my region…consistently. Isn’t that enough? Do I REALLY need to kiss ass? Kissing ass isn’t going to get me a raise, it isn’t going to get me transferred to a store closer to my apartment, and it CERTAINLY isn’t going to get me laid. The only ass I need to kiss is my own.

Finally the end of the meeting came and they started calling out the winners for the raffle. Just as I thought, the prizes were the kind of things that the Sherriff’s Work Alternative Program cleans up on the side of the fucking road: A small suitcase with the ‘Blackberry’ logo on it, a ‘Blackberry’ knife set, 4 thermal mugs, 2 ‘Blackberry’ notebooks, a fucking ‘SLANKET’ (swear to god), 4 SMALL ‘Samsung’ windbreakers, 2 ‘Samsung’ backpacks, a TEN dollar gift card to the ‘Garmin’ store (seriously, do you even KNOW where this ‘Garmin’ store is? You’d pay 30 dollars in gas just to get there), 4 ‘Blackberry’ pens, and six SMALL ‘Samsung’ t-shirts.

Every asshole that won did that jag off run up to the podium like they do on ‘The Price is Right’, while the crowd cheered them on. They received their ‘pen’ or‘t-shirt’ with a corporate logo on it, with the glee of someone who just won a fucking 2011 Mustang Convertible. All I could think was that these people had been brainwashed into becoming walking corporate advertisements.

The raffle took almost as long as the meeting, and finally when the 800 pound gorilla in the room, my regional manager, got up to talk, I knew it was almost over. Fuck was I wrong. This repressed jag off stood up there and told us for 40 minutes how we would either win or die. I wanted to stand up and shout “Who are you? Fucking Braveheart? WE SELL STUPID ELECTRONIC EQUIPMENT! In the grand scheme of sales, we’re 2…maybe ONE step above Payless Shoes! Now sit down and shut the fuck up so we can get ONE final look at all these wonderful titties, and then go home and toss one off!”

I won’t bore you with the ‘walking out’ crap, but after it was all over, Ruthie and I saw a movie together. I didn’t even get a handy in the theatre. I dropped her off at her store; picked up some Whitey’s and headed home. It was about 1045 when I was tripped by the asshole spider kids that live outside my door, and at the end of the night, I ended up throwing out my shoulder from jacking off to vigorously.

I think that work sucks for most of us. It’s an eight hour long daily nightmare we must endure in order to keep that damnable Joseph McCarthy off of our backs, but in the end? Fuck it. What are you gonna do? Not work? My main bitch is simply this: LET ME FUCKING WORK! I don’t NEED the endless meetings and conferences that add NOTHING to my bottom line. I don’t mind being a team player. I often hire people to work at OTHER stores because the managers are either too lazy, or too incompetent to do it themselves. But at the end of the day, even though they may be jag offs, I don’t like to see ANYBODY working 12 hours shifts, 6 days a week because they’re shorthanded.  I don’t even mind helping them train those new people, or helping them fix up their store for corporate visits, I do my part as a team player whenever I can. But I DON’T feel the need to ‘kiss ass’ because unlike the good old days of ‘The Jetsons’, I ain’t GETTING no raise or promotion simply because I polished Mr. Spacely’s butt with my lips.

And as for cops? Sure there are a great majority of them who do the job out of a need to help others. But most of the one’s I run across just like giving people shit. The police departments of MOST cities in this country need to seriously stop and THINK about what’s in the best interest of the people they are meant to serve and protect…and STOP only thinking of how much money they can stuff into their village coffers. You DON’T have to give a 17 year old a ticket for smoking a cigarette. Whatever happened to just taking him to the side, and talking to him like a man. Maybe if you give him a reason to respect you, he’ll actually listen. A good cop is able to tell the difference between a genuine apology made by someone who’s willing to listen to reason, and an asshole who’s just placating him so he can do it again. He has to be part mind reader, part psychologist, part counselor, part friend, and THEN part police officer.

This country is SO concerned about murder rates, and high crime statistics, that Its NOT paying attention to the minor stuff. The kid, who got a 200 dollar fine, plus 160 dollars in court costs, for smoking a cigarette, is paying for the meals and laundry of the guy who stuck a fork in his wife’s eye and now spends lazy afternoons in the ‘yard’ playing basketball. I call bullshit. Let the kid go, and every time you catch him smoking a cigarette? Fine the goddamn tobacco companies 5 grand. THEY can afford it.

Look, I’m not saying ANY of this out of spite. I fucked up, I deserved a ticket. I OWN that, and I’ll PAY my fine with no fuss. All I’m saying is that police officers need to be taught, not only how to intercept…but how to interact as well. As much as I’d rather have spent that day in a lockup rather than in that fucking meeting, that cop could have shown a little more respect for my time. I didn’t kill anyone, I didn’t rape anyone, and I was nothing but respectful to HIM when I was pulled over. In the old days, as long as you were honest with a cop, and admitted to what you did with humility, he’d more than likely let you go. I wasn’t asking for that, and even though I was just as guilty of kissing HIS ass, as my fellow managers were of kissing my regional manager’s ass, I was shown, once again, how little can be gained from that act.

So whether it’s a multi-million dollar corporation, or a village RUN like a corporation, we all have to be prepared to take some shit from time to time. Just try not to get any on you while you’re bringing those lips in for a landing at ‘Booty Airport’.

My solution? Just let the spiders that control my building run the fucking cities. You fuck up? You get eaten. Case closed.

Be a douchebag!

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