Anyone who’s paid any attention to anything about me knows that although I’m a serious fan of doing dumb shit, I’m allergic to stupid. I’m talking full-blown anaphylaxis– which is probably a good thing because my lack of breathing prevents me from breaking out in handcuffs. This is especially true since I work with the general public six days a week, and believe you me– I should probably be lacing my coffee with antihistamines.
I am not a patient individual. I can fake such qualities that might make me seem almost saintly. Seriously, have I gone full Postal yet? No. Calling Pope Franny– next saint. Over here. My head hasn’t exploded yet– another miracle right there.
Example: how many people can’t comprehend a simple task like addressing/stamping an envelope? When did this become quantum mechanics? A girl, probably 13 or 14, came into my office with a large envelope. There was no address written on it, two random stamps slapped in the wrong corner, and wanted me to send it out. At first I was confused– seriously, was this shit really happening? While I’m too sober to appreciate it? Mind filled with “no fuckin’ way” pity, I inquired what she wanted to do with this envelope– because people often figure that they can fill out the appropriate label at the counter. No way could this be happening, right?
Wrong. It was happening like a case of diarrhea on the first hill of a roller coaster– this fine example of what I deal with on a daily basis just fractured reality for me. I told her to put the address on the front, I’d slap the postage on it– and away it’d go. You know, give her the benefit of the doubt. Now, if you’re the kind of asshole that just thought “I’ll bet she couldn’t even fill out the address,” I love you. Guess what. The little jiggling wad of fail before me couldn’t even write out the address right, but I won’t get to the icing on the cake yet. I noticed that the address is for one of the boxes in my very office– but the envelope is clearly labeled as a Tim Horton’s camp submission. As expected, the next day it’s delivered to the box she wrote down.
Just wait for it.
Well yesterday the box holder showed up with the envelope, with several pieces of opaque tape slapped over her writing, addressed to where a Timmy Ho Ho’s camp would be expected… Canada. That’s right, not only did she have no idea how to send it in the first place– she sent it to herself. Oh yeah, and according to this cloud of piss in the gene pool– she was sending this in because she was invited back to be a counselor.
Nice try, assjack, I think camp counselors have a basic understanding of how to send a letter. Well. You’d hope. That bit of brain-melting ignorance aside, I saw that same porcine sack of genetic party favors screaming obscenities at one of my elderly neighbors last summer and the summer we moved in.
I am nothing short of astounded that these toxic levels of stupidity haven’t killed me.
Ladies and gentlemen, do the world a service and cockblock/beaverdam your dumber friends. You know the ones. Otherwise, life’s gonna go full Idiocracy before I’m old enough to retire.
Fuck you, it’s not on the horizon!