Head, Meet Desk

Okay, my peeps. Join me in banging my head on my desk in frustration. Put your forehead to your keyboard in a worldwide show of “OMGWTFBBQ”-level frustration at the sheer pointless everyday stupidity of the world and, more pointedly, the people therein. But just so you know, the stupidity is not limited to people. Oh no. I feel a forehead-smackingly peevishness at inanimate objects too.

I’m fair. I’m an equal-opportunity forehead-smacker.

So far this week, there has been many a moment of WTF to be witnessed. It’s been, like, The Perfect Storm of annoying around here. And it began on Thanksgiving.

On Sunday, we ate our delicious Thanksgiving dinner, complete with turkey and loads of pie. On Monday, I said to myself, “Self? Let’s make turkey soup out of the carcass.” So that morning, I got the turkey bits and pieces and put them in a big pot, with water and onions and peppercorns and all kinds of herby goodness. I boiled the fuck out of that sucker for four hours. FOUR. HOURS. And then I strained the broth off into one pot in the sink, and spent another hour or so picking the meat off the bones. And burning my fingers.

And just as I was finishing up, and dumping the bones and skin and onions and whathaveyou into the garbage — just as I was pushing the last of the peppercorns into the garbage and getting ready to pack all the broth and meat up to make soup this week — a plastic cup, containing various and sundry pot scrubbers, which sits on the side of the sink, decides to do a half-gainer off the edge of the sink and into my pot of broth.

Pot scrubbers. SCUZZY, NASTY pot scrubbers. In my lovingly prepared pot of soon-to-be soup.

To say that I lost my shit would, indeed, be an understatement. But, thanks to MORE PIE and some tasty wine, I got over it.

And then came Tuesday. This is where the stupid people in our story really begin to take centre stage in the Festival of That-Guy-Needs-A-Smack-Up-The-Bracket.

The thing is? I can’t tell you about it.

Something happened, here on our street yesterday evening, that has both BDH and I periodically shaking our heads and saying, “But… whuh??” Something so colossally stupid, it defies any logical sort of explanation from any of the parties involved. I cannot tell you, for it is something for which police had to be called, if only to referee the stupid taking place. But since there may come a time when the stupid is actually quantified and examined and assessed in a court of law, no doubt by legal professionals who will also be shaking their heads in a collective show of “You’re KIDDING, right?”, I am not at liberty to share the blindingly moronic details with you.

But take something really stupid you have observed, multiply it by about 10, subtract any sort of good judgement or logic or common sense on the part of the participants, make it a public spectacle, and you’re probably pretty close.

I can say, it involves the Mayor. If you have been a reader for any period of time here, you will know that the Mayor is capable of vast quantities of annoyingly stupid behaviour. So there, my friends, is a yardstick by which to measure last evening’s little melodrama.

So that was yesterday.

The festival of Stupid continues today, however. As I was working in the attic, there was a ring-a-ling on my doorbell, and a BANGBANGBANG on the door. Now, given the Dance of Dumb that occurred out on the street last night, there was NO WAY I was going to go answer my door. Who KNOWS what kind of stupid awaited me?

But after five minutes or so, I headed downstairs to dump the dregs of my tea. I checked out the window and saw a note in our mailbox and fluttering in the breeze, and a Purolator truck in front of my house. There had been a delivery! I opened the door as it pulled away, and began to turn around in the drive across the street. I walked out on my porch to flag him down as he went by. At which point, he turned, looked at me and my open door and the delivery slip that he had JUST written that was in my hand… and smiled and DROVE AWAY.

So now, I have to go clear across town to pick up the package. Which I suppose is my fault really, but honestly — would it have killed him to stop and just drop the damn thing off? He’s probably got paperwork and timetables and procedures that say he can’t. I’m okay with that, I guess… it’s the assoholic smile he gave me as he drove off. It’s the NANNY NANNY BOO BOO look he gave me, the HAHA SUCKS TO BE YOU look, that kind of pisses me off.

At least he didn’t wave.

Needless to say, tomorrow looms. But the good thing is, for part of the day at least, I will, in fact be sitting at a desk — so if any head smacking is required, I will be totally ready.