Ya Know What P*sses Me Off?

This post was simultaneously published over on the Complaint Department Manager's blog, and with some editing, posted here.

So, you are an oleunemployedconstructionworker trying to make ends meet and keep your 14 year old daughter in her unlimited Metro PCS cell phone and the latest fashions.

As a result, you will take pretty much any Manuel Labor job just to make ends meet.

Spent most of the day building a wall inside the kitchen of an "A" frame home down towards the lighthouse located city the publisher of this blog likes so much.

Well, after a couple trips to the big box retailer of home improvement supplies, I finally finished up this project.

As the olestationbus is getting a chemical high during its repaint this week, I was driving my black oleragtop, yeah I know, Florida, August, black cars, convertibles, yeah, I have heard it all but anyway, the goodrealtor strokes that check and I head over to the bank to deposit it, no, not the bank referenced here, but the one servicing all of America, to deposit this four party, Kuwaiti based check.

So I am queued up in that line of automobiles, trying to put that drive in bank teller into the same position as this oleunemployedconstructionworker, waiting on the moron in front of me to complete her transaction.

How do I know she is a moron?

I am sitting behind her, in a black, open roofed automobile, sweating my *ss off, she sees me in her rear view but she can't pull twenty feet forward to put her money away and get herself gathered up to head out to A1A.

No, she spends, and I timed it on my trusty cell phone, 2:42 minutes getting her sh*t together right in front of that ATM machine while I am sweating my *ss off, trying to deposit my modest earnings for the day.

Thanks B*tch!!

And thanks to the Complaint Department Manager for allowing me to have the outlet to finally, complain about something.

But just know, I still possess the ability to

Celebrate Life.