My entry for HateQuest 2006 that you will probably hate.
THE DECLINE OF THE WEST
She raised her hand.
"So, um, how long do these papers need to be? Five paragraphs?"
What are you, fucking 8 years old?
"Uh, no, more like five pages."
The lecture hall filled with ominous murmurs of dissatisfaction. The other dumbfucks wiped the drool from their chins and asked "uhhh?"
"Double spaced?" she asked with all the hope of a starving child having a piece of bread crust dangled in front of her face. (Which I would probably snatch away and throw to a dog.)
"Well, yes. It's APA Format, after all," the instructor replied. The room let out an audible sigh of relief.
"Fuck, that's still a lot," she whispered to her neighbor, another stupid bitch two weeks shy of the big 1-9.
"I know," the other one whispered back in a tone somewhere between fear and disgust.
"Nobody ever told me college was so hard."
THE BEST ARGUMENT FOR NOT GETTING ARRESTED IN THE STATE OF FLORIDA
I once took a class called American Political Thought. Arguably, such a class would be moot since there seems to be very little "thought" in American politics -- owing to the modern Guelphs and Ghibellines who infect our country by trivializing social discourse because we're all giant pussies who won't tell them they shouldn't -- but I never made these concerns known to the instructor (whom I suspect feels the same way anyway).
Everybody in the class was divided into six groups. Each student was required to write a four or five page paper about a work or subject discussed in class and then submit the paper to his or her group. The group members would then read the paper and submit feedback to the author, giving their advice on how to improve the paper. The original student would then take these critiques under consideration and revise the paper until it was a fully-developed 8 or 9 pages. Because I am an atheist, God hates me. I was assigned to what had to have been the worst group in the entire class. Each of the papers I read was, without exception, terrible. I am going to post some excerpts from the most worthless fucking paper I have ever read in my entire life. I would like to tell you up front that this was a 4000-level class. The author of this paper was a pre-law student in her mid-20s. I was 19. English was allegedly her first language, although I am somewhat inclined to believe now that she actually spoke the fucking national language of the planet Neptune.
Ratification of the United States Constitution:
Why did the Anti-Federalist oppose the Ratification of the US Constitution?
I don't know. Why don't you ask him?
The foundation and the structure of our country can be found rooted in the United States Constitution. The American Heritage® Dictionary defines the word constitution as “The basic law or laws of a nation or a state which sets out how that state will be organized by deciding the powers and authorities of government between different political units, and by stating and the basic principles of society” (Mifflin 118). Once our founding fathers came to a common consensus to the meaning of the word “constitution”, they were faced with many issues of what to included and excluded when writing the United States Constitution. There were many debates about what should be included and excluded, but the Anti-Federalist stood their ground and stated that the Bill of Rights should be included or they would not sign the United States Constitution.
This was the thesis statement of this woman's paper. For some reason, throughout the whole paper, she refused to accept the grammatical convention of adding the letter "S" onto words to pluralize them.
...The Anti-Federalist was people who opposed the ratification of the United States Constitution because they argued that a republican form of government could work on a national scale.
What the fuck does this even mean?
...Patrick Henry argued that the second reason why the Anti-Federalist was opposing the ratification of the United States Constitution was because the United States Constitution did contain anything that protected the citizens from the federal government. Henry’s explained that the Bill of Rights would protect states’ citizens from strong centralized federal government.
Note that she also does not seem to believe in adding the word "not" to make statements/ideas negative. This was not an isolated typo; the word appeared so rarely throughout the paper that I think she must have plagiarized the portions that contained it. However, this next part is my favorite:
According to the Public Broadcasting Service (PBS), on September 17, 1787, the United States Constitution was signed by Delaware: Gunning Bedford, Jr; John Dickinson; Richard Bassett; Jacob Broom; George Read Maryland: James McHenry; Daniel of St. Thomas Jenifer; Daniel Carroll; Luther Martin*; John F. Mercer* Virgina (sic) : John Blair; James Madison; George Mason*; James McClurg; Edmund J. Randolph*; George Washington; George Wythe* North Carolina: W.M. Blunt; Richard D. Spaight; Hugh Williamson; William R. Davie*; Alexander Martin* South Carolina: John Rutledge; Charles Cotesworth Pinckey; Charles Pinckey; Pierce Butler Rhode Island: No delagates were sent to the Constitutional Convention Georgia: William Few; Abraham Baldwin; William Houstoun*; William L. Pierce* New Hampshire: John Langdon; Nicholis Gilman Massachussetts: Nathaniel Gorham; Rufus King; Elbridge Gerry*; Caleb Strong* Connecticut: Roger Sherman; Oliver Ellsworth*; William Johnson New York : Alexander Hamilton; John Jr. Lansing*; Robert Yates* New Jersey: William Livingston; David Brearly; William Patterson; Jonathan Dayton; William C. Houston* Pennsylvania: Ben Franklin; Thomas Mifflin; Robert Morris; George Clymer; Thomas Fitzsimmons; Jared Ingersoll; James Wilson; Gouverneur Morris (PBS 2).
This 25 year old woman decided that since she couldn't come up with anything else relevant to the topic (as if she could come up with anything relevant to it in the first place) she would waste a page and a half of space with a poorly-formatted list of people who accepted the outcome of the Constitutional Convention. I should note that the asterisks apparently signify nothing, since they are not referenced in a footnote. Her conclusion:
The Anti-Federalist and the Federalist came to a common consensus and signed the United States Constitution on September 17, 1787. The United States Constitution foundation is built on a strong centralized federal government and the Bill of Right for basic individual liberties.
WHAT PISSES ME OFF ABOUT THIS: Grammar issues aside, there are about two pages worth of useful material in this 6-page paper and it is written at maybe the seventh-grade level (although admittedly not from any middle school I ever went to). I frankly find it heart-breaking to think that this woman will one day stand in a court of law and represent people accused of serious crimes. I find it equally disheartening to realize that this woman went through elementary school, middle school, high school, and four years at a university without a hitch despite showing an understanding of the English language rivalling that of a goddamned garden slug. But what gets me the most is that in our critiques, we were specifically forbidden to judge our group members on grammar, structure, or other "stylistic" issues. My critique was terse and said basically "separate relevant information from irrelevant information and develop an actual line of thought." In other words, "I FUCKING HATE YOU AND YOUR WORTHLESS FUCKING PAPER AND I WANT TO SEE YOU TRIP AND FALL INTO LAVA AND WATCH YOUR SKIN MELT OFF OF YOUR BONES AND FALL INTO A DISGUSTING PUDDLE THAT I COULD THEN PUT INTO A JAR AND SHOOT INTO OUTER SPACE."
She is now attending graduate school.
"Unnh...ohhh...fuck, yeah....oh, Nick, fuck me harder...."
My name is not Nick.
MIDDLE MANAGEMENT SUCKS
It had been a fairly normal day. By that, I mean that almost all of my people had been late and that despite the fact that we had been going through this routine for three months at that point, nobody seemed to remember that a "30 minute break" does not mean "oh, fuck it, come back whenever you feel like it." But hey, I'm just a supervisor, so I have no authority. I can't fire people or even threaten them with it. It didn't help that since I had received my promotion after the start of the season, most of them still considered me a co-worker rather than someone whose missives they had to obey with fear and trembling, and it also didn't help that I was younger than most of them.
For the most part, "they" came from Bulgaria. I'm not going to go through the standard PC "OH I HAVE NOTHING AGAINST BULGARIANS, MIND YOU, IT'S JUST THAT..." thing since I fucking hate having to explain myself for things I never said in the first place (just like I've had to do on this site a number of times, now that I think of it). For some reason, an employment agency in Eastern Europe is able to con a surprising number of students into thinking that coming to Florida for six or eight months is a good way to earn a lot of money. Nevermind the $3000 each person has to pay the agency for the privilege of getting "placed" as well as food and other living expenses (God forbid they get sick, since a trip to the hospital virtually bankrupted one of my favorites).
If I had to give an overall letter-grade assessment of the Bulgarians in my department (cashiering), I would give them a B-. They were rarely if ever short on money at the end of the day and if one of our fat-ass American employees magically didn't show up, they were always willing to pick up an extra shift or two. On the other hand, many of them lacked customer service skills and spent their days moping around like someone had just killed their kittens. Before you angrily /msg me for my horrible bigotry and cultural insensitivity, YES, I am aware that it is not customary in other countries for employees to wander around with these ridiculous smiles on their faces and act like they actually fucking care when they ask "how are you today?" Through some miracle of misunderstanding people's intentions, Americans have come to expect this from cashiers. It was therefore not unheard of for me (and everyone else who seemed to have any vague power) to receive complaints about how "unfriendly" the Bulgarian employees were. Usually, these complaints were countered with a "what? Thank you for bringing that to my attention, ma'am. I'll have a talk with Svetlana about it later." The talk would never occur, naturally, and I would instead do things that actually mattered (playing computer pinball in the office).
As you probably already figured out, though, the biggest customer complaints related to their English-speaking abilities. Actually, if I had to give them a group grade on English, it would be an A. The issue was not that they spoke English poorly, it was that they (SHOCK OF ALL SHOCKS) had accents. If you are a stupid redneck hick who has never gone past the county line in 40 years of existence, chances are pretty good that you'll probably say something retarded like "you shore dew tahlk funny" if you ever happen to hear someone who comes from somewhere other than Cunttown, Alabama, speak. You will probably also weigh 300 pounds and be intent on spreading your disgusting genetic poison around as much as possible.
At this point, I might as well tell you what I do. I work at a waterpark and the employees in my department sell people their tickets to get in. I can assure you, the job has its benefits (i.e., nubile college chicks wandering around with almost no clothes on) but it has its downsides. The heat is horrible, for one thing. Worse than the 3000000 degree Florida sun, however, is (as you've probably already anticipated) having to deal with our customers. This is not a rant about how all customers are terrible. In fact, I would say that 90% of the transactions with our customers are either friendly or at least non-eventful. I would go even further to say that I'm sure most business transactions everywhere are like this. And yet we all bitch about how awful all of our customers are because the ones that really piss us off stay in our minds the longest and distort our views of all the others. This was one such lady.
She crashes into the entrance/exit, red in the face, obviously infuriated. I am talking to one of the Bulgarian girls in my department, halfway hitting on her, halfway helping her.
"EXCUSE ME" she bellows.
"Yes?" I ask.
"I'm gonna leave this phone" (she takes out a cell phone) "at the office or whatever and you need to get on your little intercom system and page my daughters and give it to them so they can call me if they get hurt because I am fucking leaving."
"We don't have a paging system," I reply passively, knowing this will only piss her off more.
"What? In a place this big, you don't have an intercom?" she asks as though an ostrich shat in her mouth.
"Ma'am, the whole place is outdoors. Even if we had an intercom system, nobody could hear it." She looks to the girl I'm with.
"You wanna know why I'm leaving?" No, actually, I don't fucking care why you're leaving, I just want you out of here because you're a fat bitch who's creating a scene.
"Why?" I ask.
"Because nobody in this fucking place speaks any English! This is America, in America, you speak English or you get the fuck out!" The girl leaves.
"Everyone here speaks English or else they wouldn't be working here," the head manager from another department says as he walks up to the counter to stand next to me.
"Not only that," she continues, "this place is disgusting. It's filthy. It's fucking dirty."
"We have a very good maintenance crew," he says.
"What, are they all Russian too?"
"Do you still want to leave the phone?" I ask.
"What's the point?" she wonders aloud, looking up to the heavens, hoping that Christ would take her side of the argument. I'm sure he would, since he and his father both dislike me (see number ii).
"Well, if you're just gonna leave them here, I guess the first thing they'll do is come up here and want us to find you," I reply.
"So let them use your fucking phone," she grumbles, shoving her cell phone into her purse. "This would probably get stolen anyway," she says, looking over at the Bulgarian girl.
"You know, ma'am, she's working on a PhD," the other manager lies.
"I don't give a fuck what she's doing, she needs to learn how to speak English!" she shouts. I guess it's worth pointing out that the two of them never actually spoke. "She better have a green card."
"Uh, she does," I say.
"And you know, I bet she's a lot further along speaking English than you are speaking Bulgarian," he remarks. Well, that did it.
"Give me that," she said, grabbing the pen out of my hand. She tears a piece of paper out of her imitation leather purse that reeks of tampons and urine and furiously scribbles a phone number down on it.
"I'm leaving this with you for when my daughters come to look for me. I hope they get hurt so I can sue the shit out of this place!" she screams. She turns on her heel and, before she's out the door, spins around again and throws the pen at me.
"Fucking cunt," he says.
I am infuriated by many things. Having writing utensils thrown at me is now on the list. However, since I'm relatively low on the totem pole, I can't do or say shit to this lady. So I get to stand there and take it like a bitch. In a way, my inability to do anything about it for fear of losing my job was the worst part of the whole affair. Everyone agreed that this mother-of-the-year was a disgustingly obese hellbeast, but I felt as though I had sleighted myself by not running after her and jamming the pen into her carotid artery.
I hate the things I have to put up with. I hate the things I am not able to do. I hate the things that make me feel like less of a person. I hate the things that I want to do but do not.
I hate, therefore I am.