In celebration of Cinco de Mayo, Christine, Gayle, and I went to Taco Bell for lunch. I’ve been to plenty of Taco Bells in the past, so I’ve seen the various class of employees. Today, however, must have been a special day. Multiple classes of Taco Bell employee were represented. It was a lot like being at the Old Country Buffet but without all the sweatpants.
The first individual to help us falls into the morbidly obese genderly agnostic group. I think this person was a woman based off of the voice, but the chin scruff pointed toward male. MOGA-person went on break after Christine ordered, and his/her place was taken by cracked tooth lady.
Cracked tooth lady took the remaining orders, and then informed us that we could win $1000 by taking a phone survey. I’m curious if they have an email address instead. I’d love to send them this gem.
The older woman who actually prepared the food looked like the carrot thief from the Been Caught Stealing video. I’m still not convinced that she isn’t in fact a dude.
There was one worker that appeared to be normal while sitting at a table. Upon standing it was determined that she has a severe limp.
Rounding out this gaggle of ailments was Mr. Whiteshirt, otherwise known at the manager. He was aiding the carrot thief by manning the sour cream caulk gun. You could see the disdain on his face grow with each successive pull of the trigger. I could hear the monologue running in his head. “I have a associates degree in hotel/restaurant management from Devry University. What the hell am I doing here with limpy and tooth rot?”
What we have at this point is a disgruntled manager and the diversity superfecta. As an added bonus, a possibly pregnant teenager snuck in the back to pick up her check.
We got our food and made our way back to Gayle’s car. I sat in the passenger seat thinking about this very story and heard what can only be described as a walrus and a garbage disposal simultaneously chewing on a Chevette. I looked over and saw an old lady (possibly related to toothy) coughing up a lung while parked in a handicap spot. She slowly leaned out the window and deposited a lovely nugget of lung-butter on the ground below.
I wish I could have made up this story.
Posted in Rants by Tom on May 5, 2010 | Comments (0)
I went to Darrenkamps for lunch today as I occasionally do. I was standing line when I heard the cashier (a cute little old lady) say, “Let me put that in another bag. There’s nothing worse than a crushed pie.”
You don’t really see that level of customer service anymore. However, it got me thinking. Is there really nothing worse than a crushed pie? The following, ladies and gentlemen, is a short list of things that Tom feels are worse than crushed pie.
Notice that there aren’t any really big things on this list. Aids is a no brainer, but that doesn’t comply with the spirit this rant. For this purpose, we’ll stick to the range between “crushed pie” and “incurable jock itch.”
- The sound of my son crying
- Seasonal allergies
- Flat beer
- Getting lost in the ghetto
- Mosquitos
- Swiss cheese
- Farting in the shower
- That Autotune vocal effect
- Sitting on your nuts
- The Ice Capades
I’m sure there are more, but I could spend the next year writing this as I thought of more. We’ll just stick to 10 right now.
Posted in Rants by Tom on Apr 13, 2010 | Comments (1)
I wrote this in back in 2008, but I thought I’d share again. That’s the advantage of having your own website 
Ok–This concept has bugged me for a while and I was reminded of it the other day. An article came across my news reader and it brought back a bunch of thoughts on the subject.
The curse word ‘Battlestar Galactica’ created
The article basically describes the word “frak”, which you may have guessed is synonymous with the dreaded f-bomb. Examples of its use include “No frakkin’ way” and “motherfrakker”. I’m assuming that the k would be doubled in these instances so that the word wouldn’t rhyme with “rake” when read.
Scott Adams, the creator of Dilbert is quoted in the article as saying:
At first I thought ‘frak’ was too contrived and it bothered me to hear it.[...] Over time it merged in my mind with its coarser cousin and totally worked. The creators ingeniously found a way to make viewers curse in their own heads — you tend to translate the word — and yet the show is not profane.
I’ll pose my problem with this as a question. Why isn’t “frak” profane? Everyone who watches the show obviously knows its intended meaning. My grandmother used to do the same thing when I was a wee little lad and I wondered about it then. She would say “sugar” if she dropped something. Obviously, she meant “shit”. Even as a child I knew that.
So why use the euphemism? Your intended thought is well known. As Scott Adams stated, our minds substitute the profane word for the non-profane word almost seamlessly. If our minds do this, why waste the effort to try to cover it up? This exercise is silly. The so called bad words (which I try to keep to a minimum on this site for content filtering reasons) are just that–words.
Words by themselves aren’t inherently good or bad. They’re tools used to describe thoughts. George Carlin said it best–”There are no bad words. Bad thoughts. Bad intentions.”
The word “slope” for example means a deviation from vertical or horizontal or an inclined surface. The same word spoken by a Vietnam War veteran most likely has a different meaning. The word itself has little to do with the significance of the thought.
Ironically enough, I think that the use of proper terminology (particularly in matters of the human body) sounds more vulgar in some instances than the slang terms. For example, which one of these sounds more like questionable language?
- I’ll be there in a little while. I have to defecate.
- I’ll be back in a few. I gotta take a dump.
That’s another thing that bugs me. We can read “Everybody Poops” to little kids but then at some point as they get older the idea of cracking one off becomes vulgar. That’s a rant for another day, though.
Here’s a thought to end this tirade. What if we didn’t put so much emphasis on these so called bad words? What if as a result of that, they fell out of use as expletives. Has anyone ever thought that maybe the reason they’re used as expletives is because they’re supposedly shocking? Are they shocking because they’re bad words, or are they bad words because they’re shocking?
Think about that, bitches.
Posted in Rants by Tom on Feb 23, 2010 | Comments (0)
As I’m sure some of you know, I’ve been pursuing a master’s degree in instructional technology. Well I finished this past May and I got my degree in the mail today.
Well…Let’s just say that I’m amused by what was in the package. That’s right–package. Audra actually had to sign for this thing.
Let’s take a trip down memory lane. I graduated from Etown College in 2002. This is a picture of my degree from Etown. It’s a standard 11×8 piece of paper with a little embossing and the college’s seal. It also has some snooty writing about how the trustees, upon recommendation of the faculty, grant the degree of blah blah blah. It’s classy, though.
Well then there’s this monstronsity that I got today. It measures in at 17×21. I had to include the dollar in the picture to illustrate scale. It is gargantuan. I would expect a certificate this large to be given to a Nobel Prize winner, or the guy that cured cancer. Honestly, I didn’t even put forth that much effort in the program.
Aside from that, it’s just cheap looking. I don’t know if the printer was running out of toner, but the lines aren’t as crisp as I imagine they should’ve been. Also, the university was apparently founded in 1884, and they spoke Latin in Philadelphia.
Now for the best part of this story. There was a letter enclosed with the degree. I think it totally sums up my experiences with Philadelphia University.
And now, for your viewing pleasure…
UPDATE:
I just got off the phone with the university. It turns out that the letter is only a translation of the Latin on the diploma. Once again, I have to mention that I’m reasonable sure that nobody spoke Latin in Philadelphia. Also, I’m pretty sure that nobody spoke Latin world wide as recently at 1884 when the university was supposedly founded. That being said, I love the bastardized Latinization of the words Pennsylvania and Philadelphia.
You should also make a note that I am to be addressed as Magistratus Scientiae from this point forth.
Posted in Rants by Tom on Jul 23, 2009 | Comments (0)
If you know me, then you probably know that I eat a lot of salads for lunch. That or Hot Pockets. Both Giant and Darrenkamps have salad bars, but for some reason Giant’s bar treats me the same as the Hot Pockets. Therefore, I usually frequent Darrenkamps.
While assembling my leafy cuisine today, I started thinking about a few unwritten aspects of the salad bar.
Have you noticed that there are no directions on how to navigate the salad bar, yet MOST of us can figure it out? It’s pretty cool that the human brain can infer the most efficient method of navigation when presented a long hollow table with metal buckets full of ingredients.
That being said, how do people screw up a process that has obviously been written into our DNA through thousands of generations of evolution? The comparison is as clear as day: Sabre-toothed tiger=salad bar. Whatever.
I got behind a lady today that had no clue how to navigate the bar. It was really depressing. Everyone knows that you get your plate/tray and move down the line. This lady was getting iceberg lettuce, and then bacon bits, and then romaine, and then croutons. I felt like I was in a game of Pong (because the lettuces and toppings are always at opposite ends of the bar).
This brings me to the sneeze guard. The ones at Darrenkamps and Giant are ok because they’re rigid. They don’t move when you touch them. Some places use guards that are hung by chains. They might work for shorter people, but I’m 6 feet tall. The guard usually comes down to my elbow. As a result, I have to bend down a foot or more to get my shoulder under the tray to reach the dehydrated egg chunks.
Sometimes I don’t make it low enough and tap the guard. Then I get the evil eye from all the other buffet mongers. Sorry folks. Sue me for not bending enough.
Finally, I’d like to get back to the toppings. Am I the only person that’s had the urge to switch the utensils around? Does broccoli really need a slotted spoon, and what genius decided that the bacon bits should have tongs today?
I know that I could organize that better, but I can’t. The risk of cross contamination is too high. How would you feel if you wanted a couple krab chunks but you can now distinctly taste banana peppers? You also don’t want to get pickle juice in the bleu cheese chunks. I’m pretty sure that’s what caused Polio.
Update: The Darrenkamps salad bar has shut down. Sadness abounds.
Posted in Rants by Tom on Feb 2, 2009 | Comments (0)
