PISSING VINEGAR Vol. 24: Random Hostility, Book Two
Written May 2002

Okay, here's the situation...

I had some ideas for this PV column, and they were grand to be sure, but when I sat down to get at it, I totally lost my focus. Starting, and restarting, and deleting, and restarting... fuck it, you know what? We're due for a little Random Hostility...

1. CREED (again): It pains me to admit it, but there was a time when I actually liked Creed. When they first arrived on the scene in 1997, they were one of a million Pearl Jam tribute bands, but they stuck out from the crowd because they ripped off PJ better than anyone else, and in lieu of a new PJ record, I bought "My Own Prison". Hell, I even bought "Human Clay". I admit it, the music was decent enough on those records. But THEN... well, we all know what happened then. Scott Stapp woke up one day and realized that he was Jesus. Why he couldn't have just developed a drug addiction like the rest of the rock stars is beyond me, but I really wish Robert Downey Jr. had slipped a little something into his club soda at last year's Grammy party, because God damn (pun most definitely intended), it's gotten so much worse in the last year. These guys are going out of their fucking ways to portray themselves as heavenly bodies, it's sickening. Just watch the video for "Bullets" (just once, though). Here's Stapp & co., all decked out in their angelic, muscle-bound, CGI glory, smashing their way through hordes of demons and monsters without so much as breaking a sweat. Well, Scottie, I say me and a few dozen of my friends surround you in a dark alley, and you're not going to be nearly as limber. Don't worry, though, we're not going to kill you. A crucifixion would be more suitable for a man of your stature. And over your cross, the sign will read, "Scott: King of the Self-Obssessed Ass Monkeys". Really, I'm trying to get rid of my Creed records, but I can't find a pawn shop that wants them.

2. SUBWAY: Okay, I can dig the fresh-made thing. And yes, I'll accept the fact that good things come to those who wait. But holy cockknockers, Batman, could you get me my fucking sandwich today please? I've never been to Subway yet without waiting at least ten minutes for my food. Maybe it's the one location that's worse than the rest, but I seem to run into this problem pretty much everywhere. Anyway, here's what brought this on... the other morning, I stop in for a couple of breakfast sandwiches. I'm the only one in the store. There are three employees working the store. You'd think I'd be able to get in and out in no time. Well, we know Subway better than that, don't we? After waiting a good two minutes for the "sandwich artist" to wash her hands and squeeze into her little plastic-wrap gloves, she proceeds to put the eggs into the microwave ONE AT A TIME (I've watched them nuke eggs before and yes, you can do two at once). While this is happening, another customer walks in. Of course, one of the other two employees is more than capable of serving this gentleman, but instead my server puts my order on fucking hold to accomodate this guy, who is apparently more important than I am, even though I was here five minutes ago. And, rather than jump in to finish my order, the other two dimwits pretend to be busy (oh, that's a fucking stretch). One of them takes a cannister of fountain pop on what I'm sure is the longest trip a cannister of fountain pop's ever taken outside of the truck, while the other decides that all of a sudden she's got a problem and has to call the manager. So here's me, already a minute late for work, with no effort whatsoever being put into finishing my goddamn sausage n' eggs, while King Shit at the other end of the counter is getting service with a smile. After a few minutes of preparing Shit's sub, our esteemed "artist" realizes it might be time to put my sausages in the microwave. While they're cooking, she moves the other guy's sub AHEAD OF MINE (I have never been bumped ahead of someone else in all of my years of being a Subway patron). But, of course, she can't ring it in. That's someone else's job, and we wouldn't want her going beyond her call of duty, now would we? And, naturally, the person who IS in charge of ringing in the order is blabbing on the phone with her manager. And, rather than saying, "hold on, there's a customer", she takes her good old fucking time and finishes the conversation. Five minutes later, she decides to actually do what she's fucking paid for, but she doesn't know what the guy had on the sub. Rather than ask the guy who fucking ordered, though, she goes to the back (where the sandwich artist has gone for whatever reason) to solve the mystery. Once she gets back, the jackass produces a debit card. This happens to me every fucking time I'm in a hurry. At any rate, she finally gets to my order. I inform her that I've ordered two sausage n' eggs, and she rings them in. I'm almost free from this hell, and I hear a voice in the back yell, "There's bacon on those". BITCH! Now the cash zombie gives ME the old eyedagger, like I'm the World's Biggest Asshole. The poor thing has to void the order and ring it in again, charging an extra $1.20 for the bacon. I should have got the whole fucking shot for free, seeing as how from the moment I entered to the moment I exited timed in at just over eighteen minutes. Fast food my hairy ass. Fuck Subway. Next time, I'll drive to Burger King, it'll be faster and friendlier, and I won't have to take as many blood pressure pills afterward.

3. NOISY NEIGHBOURS: Since I have, for all intents and purposes, moved from Blackville to the Chi, I've enjoyed the many benefits of living a few minutes' drive from work. The extra sleep, the money saved on gas, the freedom of stocking the fridge with beer that I know won't be stolen... the list goes on and on. Of course, though, there are disadvantages. One of them is noisy neighbours. Now, don't get me wrong, they're not bad most of the time. They're an older couple (not elderly... just older), and for the most part it's peace and quiet. But every once in a while (usually when I have to work really early the next morning), the husband goes on, shall we say, a bit of a bad one, and starts screaming and swearing. Personally, if I want to scream and yell at someone, I'll at least have the common courtesy to wait til the way is clear, so to speak. And hey, I heard enough drunken fury growing up, I don't need it in my mid-20's, so shut the fuck up gramps.

Anyway, that's enough for this time out. Hopefully I'll get something worthwhile down next time.