Chris Kirkpatrick you're gonna get your ass kicked
Worse than them little limp bizkit bastards
but not as hard as the fucking bitch who monitors the health center parking lot.
physical: less than fun at 8am. also, due to fuck ups among the registration staff, i ended up sitting in the waiting room for an hour after i should have been free to go. so i was already in a bad mood.
as i'm handing back in my parking pass, she tries to ticket me. for what, you might ask? for parking in the health center lot when i was not in the health center.
"but i was indeed in the health center," i say.
"no you weren't," says the bitch.
"yes, i was," i say, pulling out my receipt.
"yeah, but you can't go somewhere else while you're parked here," she says, still trying to give me the fucking ticket.
"i didn't," i say.
"yes you did. we have cameras monitoring both doors," says the bitchwhore.
"okay, what time is it?" i ask.
the time, gentle reader, was 9:43.
i point out that my receipt was printed off at 9:40. where the fuck am i gonna go in three fucking minutes?
"whatever. you're on the cameras," says the bitchwhore, rolling her eyes.
i wish i had magical powers that could give people wasting illnesses. i'd choose something particularly nasty for her. painful, bloody, possibly involving the genitals.
i don't need this kind of crap before noon.
but not as hard as the fucking bitch who monitors the health center parking lot.
physical: less than fun at 8am. also, due to fuck ups among the registration staff, i ended up sitting in the waiting room for an hour after i should have been free to go. so i was already in a bad mood.
as i'm handing back in my parking pass, she tries to ticket me. for what, you might ask? for parking in the health center lot when i was not in the health center.
"but i was indeed in the health center," i say.
"no you weren't," says the bitch.
"yes, i was," i say, pulling out my receipt.
"yeah, but you can't go somewhere else while you're parked here," she says, still trying to give me the fucking ticket.
"i didn't," i say.
"yes you did. we have cameras monitoring both doors," says the bitchwhore.
"okay, what time is it?" i ask.
the time, gentle reader, was 9:43.
i point out that my receipt was printed off at 9:40. where the fuck am i gonna go in three fucking minutes?
"whatever. you're on the cameras," says the bitchwhore, rolling her eyes.
i wish i had magical powers that could give people wasting illnesses. i'd choose something particularly nasty for her. painful, bloody, possibly involving the genitals.
i don't need this kind of crap before noon.