Category Archives: really stupid people

The Day Izzy Went Nutty in Wal-Mart


It’s been a while I know, but I have this need to talk about something that happened this weekend at Wal-Mart.  I know a lot of people hate on Wal-Mart.  I am one of them but I admit I still go every now and again when I am broke and need to save some money.  This weekend I was in that state of broke-ness and my sister and I moseyed on over to the second closest Wal-Mart.  The closest Wal-Mart isn’t as nice as the second closest one and usually about twice as crowded.  So we made the drive and everything seemed propitious.  We found a parking spot right up front (shopping karma!) and we found exactly what we needed in under 10 minutes.  We even moseyed around a little bit and window shopped for stuff we had no intention of purchasing.  Then we got in line to pay for our items.  And we waited and waited and waited…you get the idea.  Wal-Mart never has enough lanes open but one goes in there pretty much expecting that.  We really weren’t too upset about it.  We were chatting about this and that and if the line moved glacially (ICEBERG, yo) we were taking it pretty well.  Then lo and behold, a cashier opened the next lane.  When I noticed, I immediately walked over and I got there at just about the exact same time as another patron, we’ll call her Cap’n Crazeballs, who’d moved from the very back of the line.  Cap’n immediately went on the offensive telling me that she was there first (she wasn’t actually, given that I was in front of her) and I…I behaved badly.  I really did.

Let me be honest-I was so angry by her abusive words and hostility that I really, truly only remember two things that were said.  First, she definitely called me a fat bitch, and second, I definitely responded by telling her “you ARE the people of Wal-Mart.”  She got louder and more verbally abusive and I got quieter and more Southern by the moment.  Southern on me equals napalm with a super thin veneer of almost civility.  I very rarely go Southern.  I think most people would be utterly shocked to encounter me when I’m Southern as my reputation is solidly in the “super sweet but could be a little more assertive” category.  My sister was so angry by Cap’n Crazeballs that she left in order to avoid a very large scene.  At that point, I had no intention of giving any ground so I took all of my sister’s items and added them to my own pile.  As the checker rang my items up, Cap’n Crazeballs continued her verbal assault.  It was so utterly ridiculous.  Even as it was happening, I knew it was stupid and I should just let it go because haters gonna hate and all that jazz.  She only had like four items and I could absolutely have let her go in front of me.  In fact, if instead of calling me a fat bitch and generally being a ginormous asshat, had she just politely asked, “hey, I’m kind of in a hurry and only have four items, do you mind?” my answer would have been, “not at all, have at it.”  I absolutely would have let her go in front and been happy to do it.  But she started off with fat bitch and I could. not. let. it. go.

Caught in between was the store clerk who couldn’t have been a day over 19 and looked as though she weighed about 90 pounds.  She was terrified and did not make eye contact with either one of us or respond in any way to either one of us.  I was pretty annoyed at her, too, at the time, for not asking to help the next customer in line instead of what became a free-for-all, but once I calmed down after I got home, I felt really sorry for her.  First, well…I kind of was being a fat bitch.  I mean, let’s face it-I am fat and I was also, at the time, super bitchy.  Second, Cap’n Crazeballs was not exactly a petite teeny-tiny slice of Texas pie herself, if you know what I mean.  And then, our checker works at Wal-Mart where even full-time employees-very hard working, industrious individuals-still frequently need government assistance in order to feed their families.  There’s something wrong with that.  There is no way they pay that checker nearly enough to get in between two angry fat bitches.  I probably wouldn’t have taken a side, either, in her position.  And then there’s the fact that even though we had waited 20 minutes, there were still three parties in line ahead of us who’d been waiting even longer.  Had she asked for the next person in line, it wouldn’t have been me.  If one of them had called me out like the Cap’n I would have deserved it.  So I admit I squirmed a bit on the drive home as I reflected over the scuffle.  I was just as bad as Cap’n Crazeballs because it’s not like I encouraged the people in front of me to go get in line.  And I knew, even as I wasn’t backing down, that we were both in the wrong, and I was slightly worse because at least I knew it.

As I left, Cap’n Crazeballs tried to push the empty cart at my back, but I had a pretty good grip on it, so it didn’t really do any damage.  I muttered something like “charmed to have met you, classy one” and then left the store.  My sister had the car started and waiting out front right around the same time I came to the sudden realization that Cap’n Crazeballs was probably pissed enough to run me down if she got there first and I should probably be glad open carry isn’t permitted in Texas.

I got really, truly rage-filled in a store only one other time about ten years ago on the Day After Thanksgiving Shopping Extravaganza©.  Another abusive fellow customer, although that time I just turned around and left the store rather than engage.  Which store, you ask?  Thank you for asking.  It was Wal-Mart.  I think it’s a sign that Wal-Mart and I are just not meant to be together.


Bridezilla Bites


This is a short and *mostly true story.  Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

[sound effect: the “dun dun” from Law and Order]

Our story opens at a seedy office complex where Rhymes with Moi (hereafter referred to as our heroine) works.  Our Heroine is a very nice person, I think we all can agree.  What kind of story would this be if she were a total bitch?  Because she is so kind, when she notices a sad coworker, she befriends her and tries to help her out.  This leads to a chain of events where coworker, who swears Our Heroine is the bestest friend she ever had, asks Our Heroine to be her matron of honor at her upcoming wedding.  Our Heroine is touched and flattered and agrees to this.

[This is the part of the story where the biographer – me – will most certainly not point out that if coworker loved Our Heroine so very much, then she would have called, or texted, or emailed, or sent a get-well-soon card to Our Heroine at least once when she was home-bound for almost two months after knee surgery, instead of ignoring her altogether and blaming it on her busy, busy life.  The biographer will also not point out that she wasn’t crazy about coworker from the start and that she thinks coworker is a big fat lying liar who lies like lying people do.  For more details on the ridiculous lies told by the lying liar coworker, please email the biographer directly and she will be happy to explicate about the types of lies told and how she will not be telling you about them.]

Our Heroine, who is fond of research, checks out books on the responsibilities inherent in matron-of-honor-hood.  For starters, there is the bridal shower.  Our Heroine holds, not one, but two bridal showers for coworker.  (Ooh, hey, I accidentally just typed cowanker before I corrected it.  Heh.) The first shower was held at the biographer’s (e.g. me) house.  Coworker was almost 45 minutes late to her own shower.  When she finally did show up, she sailed right past the biographer (AKA me) without saying a word or introducing her to the two people she brought with her.  Naturally, the rudeness wasn’t coworker’s fault, because as there always is with coworker, there was drama! happening.  I would share the drama! but I don’t actually care.  The biographer has very little knowledge about the second shower which occured at work.  This is probably a good thing as the biographer (once again, yours truly) is feeling very pissed off and prone to sarcasm at the moment.

Next up was the bachelorette party.  Our Heroine booked a “too drunk to drive” hotel room just in case the festivities got out of hand-coworker does enjoy tying one on.  Our Heroine also purchased the requisite bachelorette bling: tiara with veil, light up plastic ring rock the size of Vegas, doofy sunglasses, and blingy necklaces.  As with the first shower, coworker was late again, but this time she was over an hour late.  She proceeded straight to the liquor and dove right into the spirit of things until another bachelorette party was seated next to us at which point she began verbally bashing the 20-something year-old blonde bride to be.  Statements such as “stick up her ass” and “thinks she’s perfect” were bandied about as if coworker personally knew the stranger seated at the next table.  The biographer is certain it had nothing whatsoever to do with spiteful jealousy.

Between the bridesmaid dress, the two showers, the party, and the destination wedding trip to New Mexico, Our Heroine has shelled out close to $1000.  This is approximately $900 more than she spent on her own wedding. 

Yesterday, during the fitting, Our Heroine discovered the bridesmaid dress does not fit.  This made Our Heroine cry, which am I right, ladies?  Totally understandable.  She plans on taking to a tailor to see if it can be altered and in the worst-case scenario will just go buy another dress from her local department store.  When Our Heroine texted and emailed coworker to let her know, she was met with dead silence.  Please bear in mind that coworker actually works with Our Heroine and is currently sitting not less than 50 feet away from her.  Oh, yes, coworker knows the situation, but feels the silent treatment is the best solution to the problem.  After all, how dare Our Heroine ruin her wedding so????!!!!  Our Heroine has even offered to pull out so the perfect sea of blue dresses won’t be sullied by different shade.  And still the silent treatment.  Not even a “hey, let me process and I’ll get back to you.”

Our Heroine will not allow the biographer to send a scathing email to coworker, so the biographer (it bears repeating, me, me, me) must sadly settle for passive aggressive ass-chewing via the blog vehicle.

The biographer advises Our Heroine to tell coworker to stick it.  The biographer also knows that Our Heroine is too nice to do that, yet still urges her to reconsider.

[sound effect: the “dun dun” from Law and Order]

*the only untrue part is the seedy office complex.  It’s actually kind of a nice building…

Thanks…You, Too


So it’s busy today at my second job at the box office.  I’ve been fielding phone calls all morning, and since I’m the only one here, that requires me to put people on hold and go back to help the first person that called, before helping the next one.  So one person in particular kept calling, saying she’d hold, and then hanging up before I could get to her.  Wouldn’t hold.  I recognized her voice each time because it had that husky “I smoke 4 packs a day” quality to it.  This was the last phone call I got from her today:


ME: Thank you for calling “The Theatre I Work At.” Will you please hold a moment.

HER: No, bitch, I’ve been holding for 15 minutes.

ME: I’m sorry, ma’am.  Our phones have been very busy today and I’m the only one here.  If you’ll please be patient with me and let me help the person who called before you, I’ll be right back.

HER: NO!!!  I’ve been trying to talk to you for 15 minutes.

ME: Ma’am, when you hang up before I can get to you, and then call back, it just puts you further back in the queue.

HER: Not my problem, I just have a question, and you’re going to answer it right now.

ME: Yes, ma’am, what can I do for you? (thinking may as well get this sh*% over with)

HER: I want to know about stadium parking.

ME: Excuse me?

HER: STADIUM PARKING.  The Cowboys stadium.  What are you, STUPID??

ME: Ma’am, we are not affiliated with the Dallas Cowboys new stadium.  We’re a live theatre, not a sporting venue.

HER: Oh, well can you give me the number to the Cowboys stadium?

ME: No, ma’am, I don’t have that number.

HER: Well, f&cK you, then.

ME: Thank you, ma’am.  You too.


Some days I really don’t like my job.

ETA: Since then, I have received two phone calls, which when I answer, there’s nothing but a long series of beeps, as if someone is pressing down a number on their telephone.  Something tells me it’s Lady Awesome of the Cowboys Stadium parking issues.

Randomness January 7, 2009 Edition

  • WordPress does this spiffy thing where you can see the top searches that surfers input in order to be directed to this page.  It turns out that “d0g p0rn” is the top search directing newbies to my page.  I used that term in reference to my dog, Sydney, who kept rolling over and showing me her tummy while I was trying to get a picture of her.  I find it incredibly disturbing that there are so many people who are interested in d0g p0rn.  I have therefore replaced the letter “o” with the numeral “0”.  It looks kind of the same, but hopefully that should take care of the d0g p0rn searches associated with my blog.  Really, people.  Sheesh.
  • I bought coffee this morning from QT and a very cute guy was chatting me up while I was doctoring it–the end result is that I wasn’t paying attention and I way-the-hell oversugared it.  I had to throw it out, only I felt guilty for doing that so I wound up paying them for two coffees.  It’s only fair.
  • I got my DVD of Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog.  If you haven’t seen it, you really should.  Classic Joss, plus Neil Patrick Harris (yes, of Doogie, but more importantly, he steals every show as Barney in How I Met Your Mother) sings.  What’s not to like?  It’s about Dr. Horrible’s (“I have a PhD in Horribleness”) ascent to super-villian extraordinaire.  Seriously.  His goal is to join the Evil League of Evil and win Penny’s heart.   Also, he wouldn’t mind eliminating his arch nemesis, Captain Hammer, played brilliantly (e.g. what a frickin’ ham-AWESOME) by Nathan Fillion.  Who also sings.  Everybody sings.  Even the commentary is done in song.  Good times.
  • I paid for those two weeks off.  BIG TIME.  Monday beat me up and made me go cry in a corner like a little baby.
  • I have an all day orientation tomorrow for grad school.  I think it might be lame, but they’re making me go. 
  • I have a haircut appointment in 45 minutes.  I have put it off for about three months, but the hair is now unbearable and must be cut.  I need to color it too, but can’t really afford it right now.  I think I’m going to try coloring it myself this weekend. 
  • My nails are long right now.  My grannie would be so proud.  I’m going to enjoy it now, because I can guarantee I will be biting them again come finals.
  • My work mom is back at work and that makes me happy.  Everyone needs a good work mom.  I think mine is probably the best work mom a girl could have.  She’s damn swell. 
  • I made no new years resolutions this year.  At least not yet.  I’m not ruling it out.  It’s just that I completely flaked on all of last new years resolutions.  I have actually gained weight.  I have slightly more debt than I did this time last year.  And I’m still, on occasion annoyed by my job.  And I shouldn’t be any of those things.  There’s been a bit of self-flagellation (did I spell that right?) on my part. 

Here endeth the randomness.  I have to work now.  Then get a hair cut…

Venti Goodness


There’s this girl I know who hates me tremendously.  It all has to do with a guy-a really jerky guy, actually.  She liked him.  He liked me.  Ergo, I am evil and must be destroyed.  What’s funny is at the end of the day, he’s the creepiest, assiest ass I’ve ever met, and the only guy I’ve ever regretted being with.  Just thinking about him makes me all squicked out.  Seriously, he isn’t worth the time it took to type this paragraph.  Why bring it up?  Well, one of the two downsides about the place I work is that she also works here. 

Pre-DH, she and I were friendish (friendly enough but not actual friends).  I liked her and encouraged her to pursue her degree because she was too smart to be a receptionist the rest of her life.  When DH and I (if I could only turn back time) became an item she decided I was the whore of Babylon.  DH was still okay with her, and in fact, I understand she still keeps in touch with him, but to this day she is beyond nasty where I’m concerned.  Mostly she ignores me-studiously and intently, as if to ensure I understand that on her pecking order I’m somewhere below the bidness she flushes down the toilet.  She talks about me to pretty much everyone in the office, but she rarely talks to me.  I take an unholy amount of pleasure in forcing her to be courteous to me-saying “hello” to her in front of supervisor types, which forces her to reply in kind.  I can see on her face how much she wants to turn her back and I get a strange sense of satisfaction out of it, so clearly I am petty also.

But it bothers me.  Not her hating me-I’ve moved passed that teenage need to be liked by everyone.  I’d just like it to be for a different reason.  If she’s going to hate me I’d like it to be for something I personally did, because DH is a pretentious, lying, manipulative blowhard who isn’t worth any of the excess drama and/or emotion.  Between you, dear Internet, and me, I got the raw end of the deal.  I sincerely, with all my heart, wish he’d gone for her instead, except I wouldn’t wish him on anybody.  Not even her.

So what do I do?  Nothing.  I think inaction is the best course of action.  I just needed to vent.  Thanks for listening, Internet.  You’re a pal.