June 2015

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Style Credit

  • Base style: Drifting by Jennie Griner
  • Theme: Heart of Darkness by nornoriel
  • Resources: OSWD design

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jps: (pic#897548)
Friday, March 27th, 2015 01:46 pm
First let me say that I hate self check out. I remember when working a check out line was a job. Now they expect me to do it for free when I buy groceries. What’s next? Am I going have to sweep the floors when I go in there? But Giant management at some point decided that the customer’s time and money is not that important to them, so they hired less cashiers and created more self checkout lines.
So with a basket full of steak, salad, bread, and other over priced crap, I weighed my options. There were three lines backed up with carts and cashiers moving at a minimum wage pace and two open self checkouts.
So self checkout it was…
I started checking out my items, put in my bonus card, which didn’t work, and scanned my credit card. Nothing. The machine read system processing and froze. Not sure what to do I sat there and waited for help. Finally, a woman came with a thick accent that I could barely understand and asked if I needed anything. I pointed at the frozen screen, and she told me to wait. She seemed to excel at waiting as it involves doing nothing. They are good at doing nothing.
Finally, I start to get pissed. I say “How long do you want me to stare at this thing?” Apparently, the answer to this is to the point where I am about ready to start throwing shit. She reboots the system and cancels my transaction. This takes about fifteen minutes. I then take all my crap to another self checkout register, which also freezes.
Rather than rip the monitor off the self checkout machine and use it to beat to death ever single register in the store, I decided to leave and never come back.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.

jps: (pic#897548)
Wednesday, March 18th, 2015 04:14 pm

I’m kind of annoyed today. I am going through my yearly combination of Christmas stress, Obamacare stress, ex wife stress, and end of year tax stress. All these forces combine to just piss me off to the point where I hope that a one ton block of chronic would fall out of the sky, not to get me high, but to kill me and provide a decent party for those around me. It’s also been a dream of mine to have a hot girl do bong hits off my but crack.

I have a limited amount of time to go through the Obamacare enrollment process. I have been putting it off because I knew it would be cluster fuck. Sure enough, I can’t even log in. I was a democrat before Obamacare and now I want to see both of my political parties drown in their own shit. I would rather see the libertarians take office in a violent and rapey coup. But I can’t get what I want, including decent health insurance.

I tried to log in and the website failed, great. So I use the “forgot password” feature. That’s cool. It sends off a reset password request to a e-mail address that I never use.

Why? Well because when I first went through this fucking mess I used my main e-mail account to set everything up. This account failed to the point where it isn’t connected to the website but in their database filled with someone else’s information, because the person I called on the phone was a fucking retard. I can’t get any of those assholes at Obamacare central to understand this, so this dead fucking account will stay there until a giant rock from space comes down and kills everybody. It basically serves the purpose of preventing me to use my primary e-mail address for my health insurance.

So I have to look up the password for my spam account find the e-mail and log in. From there the gate keeper asks three security questions. Great, I wrote down all the security questions and the answers last year. No, the fucking site asks me two questions I set up and one I didn’t. It wants to know the date of my parents anniversary. Okay, if I were a good person I would know this. I don’t. I don’t even know the date of my own wedding anniversary. This may or may not have anything to do with my divorce. She knew she was marrying a social retard when we started this.

So I call my dad and vent. He says “Well Gene was able to login just fine”. Who the fuck says that. If I told him I had prostrate cancer would he say “Well Gene’s Prostrate works just fine. “ Fuck Gene. The asshole doesn’t do much other than cost us money. I asked my mom when their anniversary was and she said she didn’t know and hung up on me.

If anyone needs me, I will be alone in my room beating off.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.