This past week has confirmed what I’ve long held to be irrefutable scientific fact: If there is a twenty-something girl in this world, she will get more bent out of shape than a Romanian contortionist over something that she blew out of proportion in her PMS addled brain. Much like bombing fish in a barrel, it’s almost unsporting how easy it is to piss them off, but that doesn’t stop me from giggling like a maniacal bastard inwardly (and outwardly, if we’re being honest) every time I unlock an offense achievement.
Without going into too much detail, it started as a work thing, but has degenerated into a bitch full moon because some hypersensitive twat lost her shit on Facebook today.
Most people would have taken my initial comment as the joke that it was (no matter how much truth there is in it). Unfortunately, the self-appointed victim has no sense of humor, but that’s not my fault. I got independent verification.
Me: Does the idea of comparing the behavioral training of a toddler to a puppy offend you?
Queen Inappropriate: So yeah- the best way to keep a toddler off the couch? Watch it. Your friend is retarded. I wish I was able to post.
Me: Not my friend. Not sure why she’s on my friends list. I think I know her through my brother.
Me: God, I hope he didn’t hit that. He may have contracted teh stoopid.
Just remember, girls- every time you turn into a blubbering vagina, I win. And I know how much that pisses you off, so take some Midol and walk it off.
Not that middle aged men are any better. Yesterday, I had a former commercial tenant come in to talk to my boss and make a payment on his staggeringly large outstanding ledger balance. Of course, every time he stops in, my boss is out and he’s started taking this as a personal affront. Really, he just has the worst timing, but damned if it’s not somehow my fault.
“This is completely ridiculous. He’s never here, he doesn’t return my calls and he won’t take the lien off my property! You probably don’t even give him my messages either, do you? He has all of you little girls covering his ass. Don’t deny it.”
“You know, I bet you’re frustrated right now and that’s okay, but I can’t stress enough how much this isn’t my fault or my problem, and the more you rant at me, the more likely I am to wait until you leave the office, roll my eyes, and then make a joke about how you look like a penis with mutton chops and 70s pornstache. Chill out and write him a note or try his cell. It’s not like he isn’t tethered to it 24/7.”
“Well at least if you have to be a bitch, you can be mildly amusing.”
I really don’t get paid enough for this, but I don’t think I’ll ever find another job where I can say a reasonable amount of the things I’m really thinking out loud…