Seriously, Administrators?
“Since they all have internet access at home. . . .” Assumptions, administration. Some of mine didn’t have running water at home. Some of mine didn’t have coats, or socks, or shoes that weren’t held together with duct tape and string. Some of mine didn’t have food in the cabinets or fridge. I’ve had students who lived in homes with a dirt floor. No means of bathing. Parents strung out on booze, drugs, or general laziness. Internet access? Come down off your ivory towers, administrative rule-makers. Not everybody is you.
Jackass!
When a grinning, ingratiating-type customer is one of many in line at the 20-items-or-less register, and when he starts piling his merchandise on the tiny little counter-space that was made for 20 items or less, and he says to the sweet little overworked cashier, “I’ve got about eight over the twenty; that’s all right, ain’t it, hyuck hyuck hyuck?” the answer should rightly be, “No, it’s not. Please put your stuff back in your cart and move it to the proper line. This line is for people with only a few items, and it’s not right to make them wait for you and your cartload.”
A good manager will back it up. And then I think everybody in the line should mutter ‘Jackass’ under his/her breath but loud enough for the jackass to hear.
The person behind him with a gallon of milk, the person behind her with a bag of apples, the person behind him with four two-liter bottles of Coke, the person behind her with a case of Pampers, two giant cans of Similac, an infant and a toddler, and the person behind her with a sack of potatoes and a pair of Levi’s, will be forever grateful.
It’s not like the guy has any finer feelings or anything, you know. He’s a JACKASS. And after all that, when he asks the little cashier to cash his payroll check even though he left his ID in the truck, and to run back and grab a pack of Winston’s for him, wouldja honey, because he done forgot, hyuck hyuck hyuck, I think he should be castrated there in the store by the 24-hour always-on-duty official Store BallBuster because we’ve already got far too many of them kinda folks.
You think I’m kidding, don’t you. Everybody who wishes that all stores, schools, institutions, offices, governments, and businesses of every kind had a 24-hour always-on-duty official BallBuster for people who think the rules are for other people, raise your hand and say, “JACKASS!”
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7Sharon, Judy and 5 others
Twatwaffle, Part One
If you are a sad, pathetic, frightened, ever-suspicious parent who fears all knowledge you don’t personally already know and believes any questioning of your long-held beliefs is sinful, that must be YOUR poor child sitting out in the hall reading a chapter book for children half his age while the rest of the class is smiling in rapturous awe at the antics of Harry Potter or Bilbo Baggins or Percy Jackson, comparing/contrasting plotlines with classical mythology, learning modern vocabulary by learning ancient terms, learning about the night sky by learning about Mt. Olympus and the gods and goddesses of old, and learning how to write proficiently by using literary devices. But I’m sure reading about Billy and Susie going to Grandmother’s house for Sunday dinner is pretty much enough. Twatwaffle.
