Christmastime in the Emerald City

{September 18, 2007}   More Fucktardery, Just for Kicks.

These are just a few things that would normally cause me to shake with inwardly-held stabbing urges, but for some reason are just really making me laugh. Really, I consider this post to be a success story in my ongoing effort to keep my snarkism to myself at times.

Example One (Mildly Amusing):

I get a call this morning for one of our traffic ticket lawyers. Now, keeping with the general anonymity I try to uphold here, I won’t give the name of the company. However, the name of the company clearly indicates that it deals specifically with traffic issues, and other legal matters relating to the street. And such. Yes.

This is how the conversation went:

Caller: “Um, hi. Um, I’m calling? Because I’m in the process of buying a house? And, um, I need a lawyer to do, um, I don’t know, whatever it is they do? I – hahahaha – I don’t really know.”

Me: “…..”

Caller: “So, um, is there anyone I can speak to?”

Me: “….one moment please.”

My brain: “Yes. Well done. Clearly you don’t know. If you knew, well, anything really, you might have the sense to not call a traffic lawyer about your, um, house? Sorry, hooouuuuuuuse. Nasally valley girl whining houuuuuuuuuuuse? Yeah. Shut up.”

Example Two (Eye Twitching):

Last Friday, I was standing under a bus shelter in the pouring rain waiting for the Dufferin bus. Now, for those who live in Toronto, we all know the Dufferin bus is…well, rather special. For those who have never had the pleasure, let us consider an earlier specimen of the Dufferin bus rider:

Age: approximately 15-17

Weight: fat

Skin: white and pasty

Hair: awful, as in corn-rowed up to the top of the head, with a sloppy french braid protruding forthwith…there may have been a scrunchie involved somewhere.

Accessories: gigantic braided gold heart shaped monstrosities dangling from hideously strained earlobes; other accessories often include baby phat purses and jackets, playboy playmate nose rings, often a baby and/or babydaddy.

Clothes: thuggish and too small, elegantly countering the attempt at dressing things up with the earrings.

Attitude: specfuckingtacular.

So, this is your average white-trash Dufferin bus rider. I was wedged in next to a pair of them. Glittery eyeshadow up the ying-yang, braces and the loudest fucking pair of mouths you could possibly witness on a thirteen year old. And the gum. I now understand what my dad meant when he used the term ‘Chiclet Chomper’.

Their extremely poignant conversation involved a recent run in with a 7/11 clerk. This 7/11 clerk had accused our young friend of tasting a product and then putting it back. Our friend insists she had only smelled it, and demanded that the clerk give her ‘the goddammned fucking freezie’ that she had paid for. The clerk wanted her to pay for the other item. Our friend didn’t have any ‘goddamned money, so what the fuck was she supposed to do, huh?’ It progressed to shrieking about ‘go see the security camera’ and ‘get off my property’ and ‘so I stepped outside the door and was like ‘what are you gonna do bitch, ’cause I smelled something?’ like whatever.’ Special.

Me: “…..”

My brain to her: “You dumb fucking twit! All she had to do was call the cops and use the word ‘hooligan.’ Then, at the very least, your obnoxious day would be ruined by a ride home to your ineffective mother. A few years from now, it’s more likely you’d be taken on a magical journey to Cherry Beach for phone book justice. Read a fucking book! And spit out your gum.”

My brain to self: “Don’t say a word…she’ll snark back. And you don’t want to piss off a kid with braces. Those things split knuckles. Don’t…say…a word…”

Example Three (Snarkiness Tumbles Out):

Some idiot came in to see someone about something that I really wasn’t paying attention to, because the idiot stumbled in after five pm. I do not care if I am still at my desk tidying things up, it is past five. What are you doing showing up and expecting anybody to be in the office?

I guess my tone conveyed my disregard for his woes, because he began to explain. I hate explaining. I don’t care why you are doing what you are doing. If you’re being a fucktard, I hate you. Get out.

Him: “Oh. I’m sorry, but I came here, and I was looking for the suite number. But my memory tells me that it was in the other building.”

Our building is connected via a lobby to another, identical building. Strangely enough, as soon as you step into the lobby, there is a giant sign that says “this address is this way, and that address is that way.” One is left, one is right. I don’t know how people keep managing to fuck it up, but they do.

Me: “Yeah. It’s in this building. Just like the last time you were here.”

Him: “But my memory tells me that it’s in the other building.”

Me: “Your memory is wrong, sir!”


Jesus fucking christ! It’s bad enough that I get people arguing with me about what number they’ve called (But the phone book says this number is for Human Rights Canada! Yeah, well, I can assure you, it isn’t…this is a travel agency…yes, I know where I work, thanks.) but now I get people arguing with me about the physical location of where I’m sitting? Are you seriously trying to convince me that my office switched buildings overnight and I was somehow unaware?

Dude, break out the fucking weed, that’s too deep for my brain.


Well…I guess it’s not a total success story. I was clearly a bitch to that last fellow. But I could have been worse. And I guess the moral of the story is that I would be a much happier person if I was just stoned all the time. Then I’d be as dumb as everybody else, and maybe it would all make sense. And I’m going to avoid 7/11’s.


talea says:

I would like to defend you. I was actually standing beside you when stupid guy about the moving building was there, and you didn’t sound as snarky as you did in the blog re-enactment.

greenmetropolis says:

Ooh, good! It is a success story then. Because really, I just wanted to tell him that he was right, it is in the other building, and that he should go back. Stupid idiot.

Maytina says:

I’m proud of you! I probably would have told him to go back. I’m not very good at keeping it in.

The Dufferin bus is so very special. That you all deal with that once a week for me makes me smile. 🙂

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