The Mean Reds

Do not mess with me; I am mean today.

I had to stop in the ghetto for gas before work this morning. The cheap ass gas station was so old the card readers weren't reading my credit card. I drove to 3 different pumps and used 2 different cards before going inside.

I hate having to speak through a plastic partition, but that's the way it is in the ghetto.

"Debit or credit?" he asked.

"Credit."

"What's your zip code?"

I was already annoyed with not being able to use my card at the pump. "Why do you need my zip code?"

"To protect against fraud."

I looked around. I was the only person there wearing a shirt AND pants AND shoes, if anyone was going to use a card fraudulently, it wasn't going to be me. "Fine," and I gave him my zip.

He then says, "I need some ID."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"You need ID in addition to my zip code on my billing statement?"

"Yes."

"Fine!" Now fully pissed, I ran outside and grabbed my purse. Inside I slammed my driver's license against the plastic partition. "There's my ID, now please put $20 on pump 2."

"I need you to take the ID out of your wallet and slide it under."

"No. You can see it fine through the plastic. Here it is. Please put $20 on my card now." I said evenly.

"What's with your attitude?"

"I just want to get gas! I've gone to 3 of your pumps, none of which have the credit card reader working and now you're making me jump through hoops. Please put $20 on my card!"

"You know what? No. You cannot get gas here today." And he slid my card back under the partition to me.

There's a gas station on every block; I hope he doesn't think he's special. I stomped out of the store, caught his eye through the window, removed the gas pump, and let it drop on the cement.

At work I made a phone call to my apartment manager. For those of you following, my ceiling has still not been fixed. I was nice about it for 30 days, and I'm done being nice.

The apartment manager was completely incompetent. "I've never heard of your problem because I'm not on the maintenance staff," he quipped.

"Well, as the manager, it's your job to know this stuff," I suggested.

"Well, if no one tells me, how am I supposed to know?"

Seriously? That's the best he's got? That's his best excuse? "I don't know, why don't you hold a meeting with your staff!"

I took a deep breath, fully enraged for the second time before 9:30 am. "It was your name on the work order and, you, not the maintenance staff called the contractor out. They don't have the authority to do that!"

He was snide with me and hung up on me. I called him back and we really got into until he hung up on me again.

I slammed the phone down and screamed "Asshole!" The people in adjoining cubicles began applauding.

"Well done!" they cheered.

"Wow, I've never heard you yell before," one said.

"I've never heard anyone use the word 'attitudinal' in an argument before!" another laughed.

So I called the local housing authority and told them my apartment hasn't been up to building code for over a month. Nothing will come of it, but he'll eventually have to deal with inspectors and my complaint will be on file for anyone who wants to see.

So I ain't taking your crap today. I'm in the mood where if you cut me off, I will let you hit me just to fuck up your day. My truck is old, it can take it.

And if you want me to yell at anyone for you, send 'em my way.

I need a vacation.