You just made my list!

OH-MY-GOD-I’M-GOING-TO-BARF

I know, we all have at least a couple of these unwanted little shits hanging around, but if there was ever proof that God is cruel, it’s skin tags! Their official name is “acrochorda” but you could call them “happy pretty sugar sacks” and they would still be just as disgusting. It’s not even that I think they are gross on other people, it’s more that when I find one on my body I feel like cutting my own head off.

I get happy pretty sugar sacks on my neck sometimes and usually don’t notice them until they get poked or snagged by my shirt collar. I can promise you this, the second they make themselves known I reach for the tweezers. Yeah, that’s right, I rip them off with all the subtlety of a wolf shaking a bunny to death. Do wolves eat bunnies?

I’m going to throw up.

God really fucked up when he created the centipede. I mean what the hell was he thinking? If his intention was to create an insect so creepy that it could cause me to piss my pants every time I see one, then bravo God, you win! There is only one thing worse than a living centipede, and that’s a freshly killed centipede. It’s not enough that they look like an 8th grade mustache scooting across your wall when they are alive, but they somehow manage to look even more disgusting when dead with their twitching, hairy legs.

Way to go God, you dick.

First of all, I worked in a restaurant for two years and I know first hand how INCREDIBLY difficult and stressful it can be. Working in a busy restaurant sucks giant hairy ass because every time you start your shift you know the next 8 hours are guaranteed to be total chaos. EVERY DAY!

So anyway, I went to lunch at a nice-ish restaurant with two coworkers (fuck you, yes I have a job) and a couple of us ordered the tortilla soup appetizer. What we received looked more like orange chili or maybe this, but OK not a big deal. Before the first spoonful touched my lips I already smelled something suspect but I like to live on the edge so into my mouth it went. YUMMY, soapy bleach, just like mom used to make when she wanted me to slowly die! I took another small bite and it was clear something had gone horribly wrong with this soup. I asked my friend is she felt the same way and of course she did because it tasted like hobo’s armpit.

We quietly discussed the possibility of sending the soup back but didn’t want to be dicks. Ultimately we decided it needed to be sent back but unfortunately our waitress refused to check back with us. I think she saw us discussing the soup and was avoiding us. Finally she stopped by with our sandwiches and in my shyest, most polite voice I said “I’m sorry, I know you are going to think we are crazy but this soup does not taste right. I really think there is something wrong with it.”

Her reaction? She stared at us like we just said “I think this soup is evil, it’s stealing our thoughts.” All she said was a long, sarcastic “O Kaaaaaaaaaay” before removing the bowls of poison soup. Here’s the thing, even if we WERE dicks and the soup was JUST FINE she still should have said “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Let me take these from you and check with the chef.” Then she can go into the kitchen and flip us off or spit in our food but to our face at least PRETEND to give a shit.

She never said sorry once. Well, that’s not entirely true, when dropping off the check she lazily said “again, I’m sorry about the soup.” Again? Again? Too late to start working for that tip.

I realize this long boring story about my soup seems trivial but I just fucking hate people in the service industry who treat you like shit when you are being VERY polite to them. I don’t care if you hate your job, most people do, deal with it. I have worked some HORRIBLE jobs but I never took it out on the customer, it wasn’t their fault that I was too stupid to get a good job.

Be like me, I am perfect.