Since the Alt-Tab seems to very strongly encourage bitching and complaining about any sphere of existence (with a heavy emphasis on office life) that pop into ones mind, and one of my strongest attributes in life happens to be combining both of those talents into scathing commentaries, this blog has been my proverbial megaphone for liberating my repressed thoughts. On my old blog, I had a number of family members, old teachers, and neighbors read my pieces, so I had to monitor both my content and language rather carefully, an unwritten policy I was not particularly fond of. However, since it is open game, I now move onto my next entry concerning the activities of the creepy fuckers who violate social deocorum that make me feel distinctly uncomfortable. Again, I presume most people can relate to these scenarios, due mainly to the fact that I have ridiculous ADD/the attention span of Dory from Finding Nemo and if I can pay attention long enough to know something seems messed up, most others can as well.
The Bathroom Stall Peeping Tom
Whether it be at the mall, at work, or a bar when nature happens to call, all of us have inevitably been forced to use public restrooms to take care of business. You find a nice stainless steel cube of solitude for your waste management activities and settle into whatever position/mindset you feel most comfortable in. Then you notice a strange face briefly linger in that small gap between the door and adjoining wall before moving on. Ok, just some rando getting intel on whether or not the stall is occupied, though the presence of my feet on the ground should have been a fairly significant giveaway, but whatever.
For reasons unknown to me, some people don’t understand the concept of either “brief” or “single” glance. Like half a second tops should be enough to let you know that you either need to find a vacant stall or clench your internal organs and fight the good fight against your internal waste for a few more minutes. But these dickwads either continue staring or COME BACK for a second pass. Like what the fuck do you have to gain by this besides incurring my wrath? Is there something particularly compelling or arousing about watching me press out the second half of my Taco Bell value meal? All you’re going to see are my pasty white thighs and probably a look of concentration on my face.
I still dream of a day where a technological gizmo is installed into the door of bathroom stalls that determines if someone has lingered too long outside your rightful area which disengages the door lock and allows you to kick the door outward into the creepy fuckers face. Serves them right, don’t interrupt my intestinal battle with your weird ass sexual fantasies.
The 3 Levels Deep Facebook Stalker
I completely understand Facebook is a breeding ground for both quick communication as well as passive aggressive-ism, especially as it continues to change (edit: imitate Google+. Admit it Zuckerberg) Nor am I condemning those who covertly wander through various profiles (creeping) since 95 % of people do it, myself included, and the other 5 % who say they don’t…well they just proved they are creeps AND a liars.
Let’s face it, there are various categories of friends you have on Facebook; your actual buddies go would go out on weekends with, people you knew from a group project sophomore year, and those oddjobs who happen to have one of the most insignificant (like you were drunkenly introduced to them at a party then never spoke again) of the million possible connections to your life that caused them to request access to your friendship, yet you felt bad and added them to your friends list anyways. These are the creeps I am calling attention to.
Every now and then this event happens. You’re chatting away with some of your buddies or looking at some new photos that were added, when OH YEAH, 1 new notification is up!! You start to feel like a boss, telling yourself some good looking member of the opposite gender ‘liked’ your status or wrote on your wall, clearly indicating interest in your awesome-ness. Then you realize it’s someone you BARELY even know commenting on something idiotic you added to Facebook 3 fucking years ago, rapidly deflating your alpha male vibes. As if this wasn’t bad enough, it is usually accompanied with an inane comment like, “Oh, this is so cool!!” Well, no shit that’s why I added it, to look much more interesting on a social networking site than I actually am in real life. Not only have you taken away my moment of feeling like a baller, you have just made me feel extremely awkward. Though, you have also given me the opportunity to see how fast I can defriend you, which is always a fun game, so I suppose there is a silver lining in this situation.
Overly Touchy Conversationalists
This isn’t the usual “emphasis with gestures” style of chatting that most Italians use to great effect. I’m talking a near-to-complete stranger invading your personal bubble of personal space like a blood crazed crusader and sabotaging any feelings of comfort you might have had by wrapping a constrictive arm lock around your shoulders. This can extend to anyone really: bosses much higher than you on the corporate food chain, the parents of the person you just started dating, and swindling mechanics convincing you of how “badly” your car is fucked.
But the ones this piss me off to no end are the people who stand around college campus soliciting donations (edit: aggressively demanding payment) for whatever cause they happen to represent. I’m all for donating to the reputable altruistic organizations like the Red Cross or various cancer foundations, believe me. But I will usually do so on my own damn time and in whatever way I feel like. When you inundate me with a deluge of statistics as to how awful the plight faced by those members of your cause REALLY face, with clearly fabricated theatrical displays of emotion, the only thing I want to donate to you is a swift head butt to your chin, Victor Ortiz style.
The addition of the Python Grip mentioned earlier around the shoulders or quickly moving laterally to block my path all but ensures I will most certainly not donate your cause, I will actively sabotage your existence in any way I know how. Like, there is a concept of a “bubble” because there is a very defined concept of personal space people like to maintain. You touching me despite our lack of acquaintance is freaky to me, and incites every possible violent tendency within my body. Maybe I’ll start raising money/awareness for a coalition of people like me that kicks those other people’s asses. THERE’S a cause worth donating to if I ever saw one.