Dissonance

I woke up in a relatively good mood and had a productive day without any problems. That is until I got back to my side of town at the end of the day. I was all over this city today but it wasn’t until I got back to my own neighborhood that my day just went to shit within an hour. It was the very last hour before I got home at the end of the day. I should have just picked up Gabby and gone straight home instead of stopping off at the reptile place first and then going to the grocery store after I picked her up.

My mood took it’s first downward turn when I stopped at the fish and reptile place which wasn’t really urgent because turtles will eat anything. Plus we keep minnows in the aquarium for them to eat and minnows breed like rats. I just did this because Gabby asked me to. Get ready to hear the word “again” over and over. When I got out of my truck and made my way toward the store I noticed that a car was backing out right in front of the store. I waited as they began to slowly pull out so that they could get out and on their way without having to wait for me to get out of the way. The car stopped rolling backward after about three feet and just sat there for awhile. I then started to move across and this time the car lunged backward. I stopped again and stepped back onto the curb and waited for them to continue pulling out. It just sat there and sat there. I started across again and the car lunged backward again. I decided to make my way around the front of the car. This time it started moving foreward preventing me from making my way around the front. I stepped back and waited. Again, it just sat there. I decided to just walk around the back of the car and it started backing up. I stopped. It stopped. I moved. It moved. Finally, I stepped it up and began to dash around the rear again. The car kept up with me foot for foot this time completely blocking me which of course was the intention. Finally, both right-side windows rolled down. What I saw was a car-full of thugs (5 or 6) all looking me right in the eye and laughing their useless, worthless, intoxicated, lazy asses off at my expense.

I bought the damned turtle food and went to pick up Gabby around the corner. From there we went to the store. When it was time to check our items out I decided to have it checked for me because I had a lot of produce and the self check lines were backing up into the aisles. Well, guess what? For the second time in a row it turned out to be the same little 19 or 20 something shit-head that checked out my groceries over the weekend. He has little-guy syndrome. Same as little man syndrome. He stands about 5′ 4″ has a permanently clenched jaw and lips pursed so tightly that you couldn’t drive a nail between them. My 14 year-old daughter is taller than he is and I think he noticed that. Of course he never even looked up at me when he started angrily scanning my stuff. When he had completed that, without looking up he said “Kroger card.” I handed it to him. He handed it back to me with my change. I said “Thank you.” He never even looked up. I thanked him again a little more audibly. He just looked up for less than a second, snorted through his nose, looked back down and began ringing up the next customer. I decided at that moment that the next time this ever happens, no matter where it is, I am going to tell them what to do with themselves and where to go and walk away leaving the store’s property to rot at the register.

After that we took some back streets home in total silence. Gabby knew I was extremely pissed off. I nearly bit my tongue in half to keep from expressing how I was feeling at this point. As we rounded the last corner and were no more than a block from home, some thug with two pit bulls started crossing the street way down the street in front of us. I slowed down to allow the guy enough time for him and his dogs to get across the street before I reached that point. What does he do? The closer I get, the slower he moves. When I finally get in direct proximity, he and his attack dogs stop dead in the middle of the street and face my truck just daring me to run over them. Believe me, I was temped. The message from this particular thug was clear: You get out of our way when we’re in the streets, or else. At this point I’d had about all I could take. So just to make a point I did not go around him. I slowed down to a stop right in front of him and layed on the horn. This class-act called me a mother fucker and slapped the hood of my truck. I had Gabby in the truck and he had two pit bulls. What can I do? When he got out of my way I drove home.

The apartment complex I live in was taken over by another management company awhile back and those that worked here were sent out to the street as is the norm for that cut-throat business. It’s not stable employment. The people (mostly females) that work in the apartment business go to work every day knowing that they may not have a job at the end of the day. I see it on a daily basis in my own line of work. I think that stress is what makes most of them the bitches that they seem to be.

For the most part the transition here has been easy as a tenant. Good, in fact. They are making improvements and upgrades to the property even though it isn’t needed in my opinion. It seems like they are so obsessed with cosmetics that they are neglecting the business end of it. Not that I give a shit and I’ll tell you why:

It seems that my rent just went down by twenty bucks. After hurricane Katrina, I couldn’t find a parking space anywhere near my apartment. I was having to park on the other side of the complex from my unit. I finally broke down and secured the reserved parking space directly in front of my door for $20.00/month. It was worth it. Now that almost all of the people from New Orleans have left I don’t really need it anymore. But I still want it. I still have it but for some reason I’m not paying for it anymore.

The company that took over this apartment complex doesn’t know a thing about the tenants. On the occasions that I go into the office to give them my rent check I am always told that I have credit. They tell me I’ve overpayed not just for the previous month but for many in the past. I tell them over and over and over and over that they are forgetting that I’m supposed to be charged for the reserved parking. They tell me that I don’t owe them anything for the space. Why then did I have a red parking violation sticker stuck to my window a few months ago. Why does nobody dare to park in my space? Fine. I give the hell up. I tried. I tried to to tell them that they were supposed to be charging me for this. Thank you for the free reserved parking.

Matt Stiles of the Houston Chronicle pointed out today that because of the increase of red-light cameras here in Houston, red light citations have decreased. According to his column, citations have dropped from 27,000 in October to 17,000 this month.

About 60 percent of those motorists have paid their fines, resulting in more than $11.5 million in revenue. The police department has spent $4 million operating the system, including $2.7 million to its vendor, American Traffic Solutions. Another $2.1 million must be shared with the state, leaving a profit of about $5.4 million, records show.

I thought I read a net profit of about 4.7 million in the paper. Maybe I’m wrong. It doesn’t matter.

I can see a near future where the city ends up fucking itself by keeping these cameras up. Eventually no one will run red lights where cameras are known to be and the city will suffer from a lack of revenue.

Click each picture to enlarge it

I have spoken about this several times before and I know some of you have seen it before. I’m sorry. It’s just something I have to get out of my system every time my patience level hits zero. I wish there was a universal font that was understood to mean “typing through gnashed teeth”. If there was such a thing I would be using it here. Right now.

The Lotto idiots, the scratch-off idiots and the 8-liner idiots all need their own dark, dank, depressing, smoky, windowless dungeons to spend their days blowing their money. Money which I seriously doubt they even work for. They need to get the hell out of the way of us dumb-asses who actually work for a living. I want them out of the convienience stores. I want them treated like third-class citizens. I want a rule . . . no, a law that says they have to take a position in the back of any line in a convenience store. I think they should only be allowed to approach the counter if the place is completely empty and if someone comes in for a quick purchase, they should step aside.

But, no. These people fancy themselves as important regular customers. They are the same type as broke-assed bar regulars who can hardly afford their next drink. The only difference between them and the lotto and 8-liner addicts is that the lotto and 8-liner addicts are usually in better shape to drive home after wasting their money.

I am so sick to death of balancing a bottle of water, a large coffee and a newspaper in my arms first thing in the morning while some dumbass in front of me who has nothing else to do is playing poor man’s casino at the register. And wouldn’t you know it, everytime I head to the counter with all that some fucktard always jumps in front front of me either from the Lotto thing or through the front door. And there I wait. And wait. And wait, while they play the lottery. I have a hard time feeling sorry for these poor, dumb people.