The "Dubious Achievements of Humanity
I've Encountered" Un-Award
As I was working on my edition of the Ruby Raspberry
of Infamy, I was struck by the amount of Wienerdom in the world that
would not be eligible for the Raspberry by virtue of being unrelated to
the Internet or World Wide Web. Here is my list of the truly vile that
at times make my life a trial.
- Vile White Trash Family.
- Twas the Monday 'fore XMas and my friends and I
- in search of restaurants went to Little Shanghai.
- As we were seated we were looked up and down
- By a white trash family wearing a frown.
- Why certainly we weren't your typical mom, kids and dad
- We were 1 woman and 3 men--is that so bad?
- They stayed seated and watched as our order was taken
- Dad chowing down egg rolls, wishing it were bacon.
-
- And when we all got up to get the buffet
- I was shocked at who quickly came jogging our way
- It was Dad grabbing all the remaining crab puffs
- And the last of the egg rolls and the other stuff
- Leaving us with not much of a choice for food
- Dad brought it all back to his wife and their brood.
- Very atavistic, much like primitive man
- Who wanted survival for only his clan.
- Leaving others to starve, my kind to die
- I guess we're "kicked out of the gene pool," my friends and
I.
-
- And to top it all off and confirm in our eyes
- That they were tasteless white trash...we had a surprise.
- As we looked over at them, Mom was beginning
- To change her kid's diaper. My stomach was spinning.
- Right there in the restaurant, right there on the floor
- Where people were eating! What a complete boor!
- There are places called restrooms where these things are done
- Well-mannered people go there, but Mom was not one.
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Telemarketers. Need I say more?
Yes, I need to. The dinner interruption factor aside, the most stupid people
in the entire universe work for these places. We are talking ultramaroon
city. For that reason, I like to screw with their simple heads. I apologize
if I am inhumane, but I simply can't help it. Any woman who is old enough
to hold a job that doesn't know what the abbreviation "Ms." is,
deserves to be messed with. Here is a sample conversation:
Telemarketer: Hello, is Mr. Starbuck there?
Me: Mr. Starbuck is at work.
T: Oh, ~~giggle~~ is this Mrs. Starbuck??
M: No, Mrs. Starbuck is his mother. She lives in Colorado.
T: Oh...then may I speak to his wife please?
M: I'm his wife.
T: Okay, well, Mrs. Starbuck, we...
M (interrupting): I told you I wasn't Mrs. Starbuck. I'm his wife,
but I'm not Mrs. Starbuck!
T (confused): Oh, what is your name?
M: My name is Ann Stretton. You can call me Ms. Stretton.
T: Okay, Mrs. Stretton, we have...
M (interrupting again): Not Mrs. Stretton, I'm not my mother, I'm
Ms. Stretton. Don't you know what Ms. is?
T: No...
M: Haven't you ever heard of Ms. Magazine? Gloria Steinem? The Women's
Movement?
T: No...
M: You've never heard of Women's Lib? How old are you?
T (embarrassed and giggling): I, uh...
I think it is at this point I hang up.
Temp Job Agencies. Yes, many of
you swear by them, but I swear at them. First of all, I got a total of
two, count them, two temp jobs through a handful of agencies I signed up
with in the summer of 1985. At that time, I had a BFA and was a fabulous
typist. Go figure. Then I was told to wear pumps to one job. When I told
the temp supervisor that I don't wear pumps because they made my feet hurt
(it is true...I develop blisters on my feet in various pressure points
wearing pumps), she repeated in disbelief: "You...don't...wear...pumps!?!"
How rude! Get a clue, lady! Not everyone enjoys the plastic lifestyle!
Second, I went to an interview with a temp agency in the summer of 1994,
shortly after I received my Master's. The interviewer gloated over my experience
and qualifications and told me she "had just the right job for me."
Although I had noted on the application form that I wanted part-time since
I was a busy exhibiting artist, she somehow overlooked that. After she
told me about the job, I asked if it was 40 hours a week. She told me it
was and I explained I didn't want it. Then she hurriedly ushered me out
of the office, as if I was wasting her time. %!Ý@#! Third, I sign
up with a temp agency the summer of 1995 (you think I would've learned
by now these people are mental midgets). I request that with my qualifications--10
years Macintosh desktop publishing experience and a Master's degree, that
they not call me for jobs for less than $10/hour. This is not an unreasonable
rate! They told me if I refuse more than three jobs, I will be deleted
from their list. What do they do? Call me with $7/hour jobs! Naturally,
third time's a charm. I am dropped from their list almost immediately,
and I refuse forever to seek the help of a temp agency again. I will be
homeless on the street with my animals digging in garbage before I apply
to another temp agency. They can all kiss my pump-free feet! (Have you
seen the feet of women who wear too-tight shoes and pumps? U-G-L-Y! I've
got to admit, I've got pretty little feet inside those comfy Converse AllStars!)
The Company That Shall Remain Nameless. This
was weird. A friend of mine referred me to them, after she contracted out
to me one of their small projects. The man I interviewed with was nice,
and was interested in using me as a freelancer. I had come in low on my
bid. For a couple weeks last spring, I had freelance jobs coming out of
my ears. I took a big job on a tight schedule from a previous employer,
since they were the first to call me. Then The Company That Shall Remain
Nameless called me with another rush job due the same time. I felt bad,
but I had to turn them down. I told them I was unable to do that particular
job at that point in time, but am still looking forward to working with
them on their catalog project. A few months later I was contacted by a
woman who was new there. She said the man I had spoken to before had left,
she has taken his spot, and they had decided to go with another freelancer.
One on the West side of town. Oh brother, is this classist discrimination
or what? The West side of town. Anyone who lives on the West side of town
is sitting pretty in the financial picture, do you catch my drift? She
claimed "we wanted someone closer to our office." Oh, a whole
ten minutes closer is really going to matter! Geez!
Potato Gun Guy. Allow me to break
into Dave Barry-speak for a moment, but I am not making this up! We have
a neighbor who used to fire off his potato gun. Yes, potato gun. Some PVC
pipe with aerosol propellant filled with a potato. Yes, you read correctly.
How old? Middle-aged. I repeat, I am not making this up. Dang potato landed
five feet from me if it was an inch. Coulda knocked me blind! Yep. Say
he's divorced from the Missus, now. Haven't seen mucha the gun now neither.
Guess the new girls he's been a-datin' don't take much to 'tato guns. Dang
nab neighbor still parks his dang nab trucks in the alley so we can't pull
outta our own driveway, I tell you what.
Pineapple Head. ~~~~shudder~~~~
This guy was...yuck, he was so unbearable. I knew him in Colorado. He thought
he was God's gift to women, even though his head looked like a pineapple.
He worked in the same building I did when I was a student. He tried to
seduce all the women there. Except me. He knew I was on to what a fool
he was since my dad worked there too, and I heard all the juicy gossip
on what a jerk he was. Did I say his head looked like a pineapple? He was
great subject matter for my surreal-humorous-figurative-punk period.
Top Hat Head. ~~~~shudder~~~~ This
guy was...yuck, he was so unbearable. I knew him in Colorado. He thought
he was God's gift to women, even though he wore a permanent top hat atop
his fat head. I'd see him in the art building when I was a student. He
tried to seduce all the women there. Except me. He knew I was on to what
a fool he was. He seduced my at-the-time best friend. We got in a fight
once because she was supposed to pick me up to see a movie, but she was
spending the time with Top-Hat-Head and never even called me to cancel.
But she learned her lesson. She found out Top-Hat-Head was two timing on
her...with another guy!
Living UW-Madison
Art Professors. ~~~~shudder~~~~ Your paintings look lke they'd
hang in the Ramada Inn. ~~~~shudder~~~~ What do you mean you've never heard
of this artist? You're in graduate school!~~~~shudder~~~~ I don't care
if you have to work that day, you need to see the lecture by so-and so!~~~~shudder~~~~
You work too many hours at your job, you need to be in this studio more...wow,
you've sure done a lot of new paintings since last time we talked. ~~~~shudder~~~~
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