Geriatric Meltdown, BANNED! and the Silver Tacoma of Rude

Jerry AtrikPerhaps I should have some sort of identification/ warning attached to Jerry when he makes his forays out in public.

It must be fortuitous for the greater community that I usually get stuck running Jerry’s errands for him.  I am normally the one who ends up having to go to Speedway (gas station/convenience store) to get his smokes and to put gasoline in his truck.  That is a bit more complicated than it sounds.

 Speedway has a promotional program in which you earn points for buying gift cards (buy a $50 gift card, get 1000 points, then turn around and buy a $43 carton of smokes with it…) as well as for buying gasoline and the various convenience store crud they sell, such as Monster drinks and “Busted” papers.  Sometimes it’s a tad bit complicated to instruct the young punk clerk du jour on how to  1.) scan your Speedy card, then 2.)  take your cash in exchange for the gift card, then 3.) use the gift card to buy the carton of smokes.  If the order gets screwed up in any way you don’t get your 1000 points for buying the gift card.

When you earn enough points, you can redeem them for various free crap, like a $50 gas card, or an Amazon gift card, or whatever’s on the list.  Jerry’s whole aim in this is to get a $50 gas card.

If he gets 1000 points per $50 card he buys, and he doesn’t buy anything except $50 gift cards,  he’s got to spend $2425 to get a “free” card.

speedway gift cardNot the Golden Ticket, but close.

Anyway, Jerry does know to check the receipt to make sure he got his 1000 points.  The last time he went to Speedway to get his own smokes (I don’t know what possessed him to take this brazen step of self-sufficiency, but something must have) he forgot to have the clerk scan the Speedy card first, so the points didn’t appear on the receipt.

Ordinarily, in most places the clerk or the manager on duty can back out the transaction and let it fly again, but this kid was either new or having a bad day or both, and basically told Jerry tough titty, better luck next time, the money was already on the gift card and since the Speedy card wasn’t scanned first, he wasn’t going to get any points.

Jerry is one of those people who refuses to take “no” for an answer.

jerry points rage

I’m just glad I wasn’t there to witness this personally.

So the clerk (who is probably not terribly thrilled with Jerry’s condescending demeanor and/or gratuitous whining by now) tersely informs Jerry that the manager won’t be in until Monday (this was a Saturday night) and that he could come back then and take it up with the manager.  Jerry refuses to take the $50 card and demands his money back so he can go to the other Speedway to buy the card and get his points.

The clerk refused again.  So let the pissing contest begin.

Jerry doesn’t lose too many of those.  He’s embarrassed me in enough restaurants that he’s almost guaranteed a home-cooked meal.  I generally know how to fix his chow to avoid most of the bitching.  He’s probably one of the fussiest, bitchiest customers the Waffle House and the Frisch’s Big Boy have ever seen.

If I had to wager, I would bet he has consumed his fair share of boogers, loogies, scabs and semen, considering how rude he can be with wait staff.  “I want those fries flaming hot!”  I can hear him now.  Flaming hot with a sprinkling of scabs and a splash of bodily fluids… hawwkkkk…but I’m the passive-aggressive one.  It’s easier to feed him at home so that others are not treated to his egregious lack of manners and proper etiquette.

cold friesNo wonder they cringe at the Waffle House when they see his truck.  The silver Tacoma of Rude!

Then I get a phone call from Jerry while he’s at the Speedway asking me for the non-emergency cop number.  It’s a good thing he didn’t call the number I gave him, because he was in a different jurisdiction than the number he asked for.  Around here, if you’re outside of the area covered by a particular law enforcement agency, that means the dispatcher will tell you that’s not their problem and to call the other jurisdiction, and no, she doesn’t know who to tell you to call if the address you give is not in her area.

In other words, if you’re in the city of Columbus and you call Gahanna’s dispatch, you are SOL, which is what he would have done because he didn’t realize which jurisdiction he was in.  911 doesn’t work like that- dialing 911 will  (almost always) get you the correct dispatch, but you better know which jurisdiction you’re in if you call the non-emergency numbers.

bitchingSome things were never meant to be taken up with law enforcement.  They have enough to do.

I’m thinking to myself,  Are you really going to call the cops – even on the non-emergency number- for something kinda dumb like this?  For a moment I thought of World’s Dumbest and the guy who got arrested for calling 911 because his sandwich sucked and the restaurant wouldn’t give him a refund.  I am thankful Jerry didn’t get cops involved.

At that point, Jerry decides to stage a one man sit-in at the Speedway until the clerk got in contact with the manager, who told the clerk to give Jerry his $50 back, and instructed the clerk to tell Jerry to never set foot in that store again.

Banned from the Morse Rd. Speedway.  While sober.  Truth is indeed stranger than fiction.  To his credit, Jerry did go to the other Speedway and he remembered to have the clerk follow the correct procedure so he finally got his points, his gift card and his smokes.

rude tacomaJerry and the Silver Tacoma of Rude- coming to a convenience store or one star dining establishment near you!

Jesus Loves All the Little A-Holes, Friends are Forgiven, and Serenity is an Incontinence Pad

I have absolutely no illusions concerning my own lack of patience when people act stupid.   I do not suffer fools gladly, if ever, except for maybe trying to keep from throttling them by making fun of them. I’m not trying to be blasphemous when I say Jesus loves the people we (rightfully or wrongfully) assume to be assholes.  I’m just saying that He has a whole lot more patience than I ever could have.  He is God, I’m not, and that is a very fortunate thing for both the chronically and situationally stupid.

Speaking of the situationally stupid, Jerry enjoyed his Monday night beer and bitch session with Bob last night.  I’ve found that it’s a lot easier for me to endure those bitch sessions if I take the DS and play Freecell or Bookworm or Scrabble while Jerry whines and cries to Bob about how stupid his illustrious co-workers are.   I hope Bob finds it amusing.  I think he and Debbie are just happy to have company- even if said company does whine and cry, fill up the ashtrays, piss on the toilet seat, and leave empty beer cans.  It must suck to be old if that’s the best kind of company you get.  Jerry’s B&B sessions at Bob’s (for me at least) are usually an hour and a half of listening to the pot call the kettle black.  It gets more outrageous and whiny and paranoid the drunker he gets.  It’s painful to observe.    I am one of those annoying people who always has to be doing something- call it a nervous habit.  I like to watch TV and read at the same time, or troll on-line and watch TV, or play the DS while I’m watching TV.  Maybe I’m just hard wired to multitask all the time. 

It’s been way too long since I’ve had an evening of intelligent conversation, one on one with a friend.  It’s been so long that said conversation included a drink or two and not a few chain-smoked cigarettes.  I don’t regret for one moment being set free of the cigarette vice – which I will always attribute to the grace of God- but for a time reference only, it’s been eight and a half years since I’ve lit one up and even longer since I had an evening out somewhere nice with a friend.  I don’t think I would know how to behave.   Jerry’s idea of “dinner out” is either Waffle House or the pizza joint (one of the few places where he doesn’t bitch) or sending me to the Chinese joint for takeout.  While the pizza joint is good, and I do adore good Chinese food,  it would be fun to actually dress nice and go somewhere nice and be treated like a lady for a change.  However, I am sure that those in hell might welcome a snowball fight, and I’m not seeing that happening anytime soon either. 

Some women are treated to candlelight dinners and intelligent conversation from time to time.  I am treated to Captain Wastoid passed out on the bathroom floor, whitey-tighties hanging from the bed post (??? ’cause I was sober and I know I didn’t bother to take them off of him) and if it’s a really special occasion, really bad country music blaring from the stereo just to complete the ambience.  I was lucky last night to be spared the country music, but he managed to scare the living daylights out of Clara, which really pissed me off.

Clara has some issues in her history, one of which is that somewhere in her past- before she was rescued and came to us- she was beaten.  When we got her she was wary of almost all humans.  She preferred Kayla’s company to anyone’s and she felt safer with other dogs.   She was a bit better with women than men, and I slowly gained her trust.  Over time she has gotten to where she will tolerate certain men- generally she is good with Jerry, but she can’t stand to be around him when he’s drunk.  Last night he found a leather whip he had in the closet (Lord only knows why he has a leather whip, but he does.)  If he had actually used it on any of the dogs or even threatened to I would most assuredly beat the living hell out of him or at the very least zapped his ass with the stun gun, and I would do either of those things to anyone who would even remotely think about using a whip on my dogs.  Especially Clara.  But all she had to do was see him take the whip out of the closet and she freaked out.  Clara reads people better than people read people.  She knew he was drunk, and she knows he’s an asshole when he’s drunk.  Even though he did not threaten her with the whip ,(I would have had to severely mess his daytime up had he made that bad a choice) all she had to see was him, drunk, and a whip, and that did it for her.  I am going to make it a point to hide the whip in the same place I hide the stun gun so he can’t find either one when he’s wasted.

Poor Clara made a beeline for the bathtub (?certainly not her favorite place) and was cowering behind the bath curtain.  When Jerry staggered back to his room and flopped on his bed, I ended up convincing Clara to go to my room, where she promptly curled up all the way under the bed where no one can reach her.  She stayed there for an hour or two, until Captain Wastoid was passed out.  Then she got up on the bed with me, and was my personal 65# cling-on the rest of the night.  Clara is one of those rare and special dogs who respond to the most subtle commands and are (for good or ill) exquisitely tuned to their surroundings.  This is why police and military love the Malinois breed. Those dogs can read your mind, they are devoted to their handlers, and they don’t miss anything.  Clara seldom requires correction, and it is not necessary to raise one’s voice with her.  All it takes is a quiet “no” or a disapproving glance for me to correct her.

I will say Clara seemed none the worse for wear this morning, but I don’t like anyone upsetting her.  She is a good dog, and doesn’t deserve to have to put up with stupid shit. 

I shouldn’t find humor in bladder control products, especially as I am at risk for accidents myself, should I sneeze or cough or laugh the wrong way.   I should get some of these for Jerry, but he doesn’t normally just piss his pants, even if he’s really shitfaced.  He just pisses in unorthodox places such as closets, floors or drawers.  I just get to find the dampened whitey-tighties as a reminder the following morning.

Oh, for an evening in the company of adults.  I’ve done my time with those of the diaper set.

All of us are examples.  Some of us are bad ones.