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Sometimes in life, you come across a situation, and you just want to yell, "Hey! Asshole!"   And not just when reading food boards.   I'm on an airplane and there's this gunner-kid next to me.

Yeah, the "Mister Asshole to you" was a dead giveaway. That's why I'm wondering why I ever thought otherwise. I better get the testosterone detector on my DSL checked.

Hey Asshole!   Cover your mouth when you cough repeatedly while sitting/standing/exercising near me. Thank you.

Not so much an asshole as just a typically self-absorbed self-important perfectionist modern woman: at the dry cleaners yesterday, I was waiting next to a tres petite perfectly-coiffed 60-something blonde dressed like a sporty teenager (jeggings, Uggs, faux-fur-trimmed fleece hoodie) but with major (though small and 'tasteful') gold and gems on her ears, wrists, and fingers. She was pouting and sighing and fingering the cuff of her just-cleaned powder-blue cable-knit cashmere turtleneck like a worry stone. She had apparently just requested an audience with the cleaner-in-chief, who appeared forthwith, to whom the blonde pleaded 'Isn't there anything you can do about this?'... 'This' was clearly a figment of her tortured imagination. I couldn't see anything wrong with the cuff, and neither could the cleaner (so I gleaned from the blank look on his face). There ensued an awkward silence, punctuated by lots of blinking all around. Finally, the cleaner said he'd 'give it another run-through', took the sweater and her ticket and walked away. She called after him: 'you're not going to charge me for that, are you?'. I wanted to squash her like a fucking bug.

That's a situation tailormade for a not-quite-under-your-breath "Bitch" as she walks away.

Better: the counter girl and I both shot her a withering Death Ray.

Perfect! It's amazing how satisfying that can be :)

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I share an elevator bank with a certain consulting firm that has found itself in the news for wrong reasons of late. Let me tell you - what an unrivalled bunch of douchebags. Seriously guy - hang up your fucking phone. No I don't care that you are the head of the practice - I don't work for you and that's for a reason.

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If you want to cheat Citibank out of 20 cents every time you deposit a roll of quarters, that's your business. But you make it my business every time I pay them $10 but get only $9.80 worth of change.

aren't quarters still equivalent to 25 cents?

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If you want to cheat Citibank out of 20 cents every time you deposit a roll of quarters, that's your business. But you make it my business every time I pay them $10 but get only $9.80 worth of change.

aren't quarters still equivalent to 25 cents?

I think it's some kind of brain puzzle - like the one with the fox, sack of grain and a chicken and only room for two of them in the boat.

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I hate being serious here, but I think Suzanne was referring to the practice of people substituting a nickel for a quarter in the middle of the roll, thus making 20 cents on the transaction.

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Not so much an asshole as just a typically self-absorbed self-important perfectionist modern woman: at the dry cleaners yesterday, I was waiting next to a tres petite perfectly-coiffed 60-something blonde dressed like a sporty teenager (jeggings, Uggs, faux-fur-trimmed fleece hoodie) but with major (though small and 'tasteful') gold and gems on her ears, wrists, and fingers. She was pouting and sighing and fingering the cuff of her just-cleaned powder-blue cable-knit cashmere turtleneck like a worry stone. She had apparently just requested an audience with the cleaner-in-chief, who appeared forthwith, to whom the blonde pleaded 'Isn't there anything you can do about this?'... 'This' was clearly a figment of her tortured imagination. I couldn't see anything wrong with the cuff, and neither could the cleaner (so I gleaned from the blank look on his face). There ensued an awkward silence, punctuated by lots of blinking all around. Finally, the cleaner said he'd 'give it another run-through', took the sweater and her ticket and walked away. She called after him: 'you're not going to charge me for that, are you?'. I wanted to squash her like a fucking bug.

That's a situation tailormade for a not-quite-under-your-breath "Bitch" as she walks away.

Better: the counter girl and I both shot her a withering Death Ray.

Perfect! It's amazing how satisfying that can be :)

Another bitch at the dry-cleaners. (Brilliant.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jE5cVRQ_g70&feature=related

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I hate being serious here, but I think Suzanne was referring to the practice of people substituting a nickel for a quarter in the middle of the roll, thus making 20 cents on the transaction.

sorry, i'm not very familiar with the workings of the criminal mind

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so, i'm in the elevator with the building super and he's carrying a pizza for his family dinner. he asks me if i want a slice, i say no thank you, but i sure wish i could. he says, "one slice won't ruin a diet". i tell him that i am allergic to wheat. he tells me "you must be doing something wrong, i think that you should get a man and that will straighten everything out." i say, "wow, you think that'll work?" he says, "trust me, it's a sure thing". then he wishes me a nice holiday and goes singing up the hallway.

 

wtf?

 

You just have to find the right man:

 

pillsbury_boy.jpg

no no no - she's past the insouciance of youth. She needs an older man.

duncan_hines1.jpg

 

And all these years I've been thinking men were useless.

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I hate being serious here, but I think Suzanne was referring to the practice of people substituting a nickel for a quarter in the middle of the roll, thus making 20 cents on the transaction.

 

TD Bank has cash counting machines in many of its branches. You dump in the contents of your coffee can, etc filled with coins, paper clips, etc and the machine counts your money and issues you a receipt. The teller gives you money for the receipt. It eliminates the practice (and need) for people to wrap their own coins. If you bring rolled coins into the bank, they direct you to the counting machine, where you have to unwrap and deposit your coins.

 

Curiously, TD (Toronto Dominion) seems to have trouble counting Canadian coins in the US machines. Sometimes it spits them out with the paper clips, sometimes it counts them as US $, and sometimes it just keeps them.

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Not so much an asshole as just a typically self-absorbed self-important perfectionist modern woman: at the dry cleaners yesterday, I was waiting next to a tres petite perfectly-coiffed 60-something blonde dressed like a sporty teenager (jeggings, Uggs, faux-fur-trimmed fleece hoodie) but with major (though small and 'tasteful') gold and gems on her ears, wrists, and fingers. She was pouting and sighing and fingering the cuff of her just-cleaned powder-blue cable-knit cashmere turtleneck like a worry stone. She had apparently just requested an audience with the cleaner-in-chief, who appeared forthwith, to whom the blonde pleaded 'Isn't there anything you can do about this?'... 'This' was clearly a figment of her tortured imagination. I couldn't see anything wrong with the cuff, and neither could the cleaner (so I gleaned from the blank look on his face). There ensued an awkward silence, punctuated by lots of blinking all around. Finally, the cleaner said he'd 'give it another run-through', took the sweater and her ticket and walked away. She called after him: 'you're not going to charge me for that, are you?'. I wanted to squash her like a fucking bug.

That's a situation tailormade for a not-quite-under-your-breath "Bitch" as she walks away.

Better: the counter girl and I both shot her a withering Death Ray.

Perfect! It's amazing how satisfying that can be :)

Another bitch at the dry-cleaners. (Brilliant.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jE5cVRQ_g70&feature=related

That, in the US vernacular, is a cunt, not a bitch.

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I hate being serious here, but I think Suzanne was referring to the practice of people substituting a nickel for a quarter in the middle of the roll, thus making 20 cents on the transaction.

sorry, i'm not very familiar with the workings of the criminal mind

And I am Marie of Roumania.

 

But yes, Rich wins the prize. The weird thing is that this time, it was one of the plastic-wrapped rolls, not a paper wrapper that someone filled and deposited. Which means that it's slipping through at the bank, or wherever those are filled, NOT at the depositor's. :unsure:

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I hate being serious here, but I think Suzanne was referring to the practice of people substituting a nickel for a quarter in the middle of the roll, thus making 20 cents on the transaction.

sorry, i'm not very familiar with the workings of the criminal mind

And I am Marie of Roumania.

 

But yes, Rich wins the prize. The weird thing is that this time, it was one of the plastic-wrapped rolls, not a paper wrapper that someone filled and deposited. Which means that it's slipping through at the bank, or wherever those are filled, NOT at the depositor's. :unsure:

Nice to meet you Marie

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Not so much an asshole as just a typically self-absorbed self-important perfectionist modern woman: at the dry cleaners yesterday, I was waiting next to a tres petite perfectly-coiffed 60-something blonde dressed like a sporty teenager (jeggings, Uggs, faux-fur-trimmed fleece hoodie) but with major (though small and 'tasteful') gold and gems on her ears, wrists, and fingers. She was pouting and sighing and fingering the cuff of her just-cleaned powder-blue cable-knit cashmere turtleneck like a worry stone. She had apparently just requested an audience with the cleaner-in-chief, who appeared forthwith, to whom the blonde pleaded 'Isn't there anything you can do about this?'... 'This' was clearly a figment of her tortured imagination. I couldn't see anything wrong with the cuff, and neither could the cleaner (so I gleaned from the blank look on his face). There ensued an awkward silence, punctuated by lots of blinking all around. Finally, the cleaner said he'd 'give it another run-through', took the sweater and her ticket and walked away. She called after him: 'you're not going to charge me for that, are you?'. I wanted to squash her like a fucking bug.

Reminds me . . . this needs to be made into a handout card:

demotivational-posters-bitch-please.jpg

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I hate being serious here, but I think Suzanne was referring to the practice of people substituting a nickel for a quarter in the middle of the roll, thus making 20 cents on the transaction.

 

TD Bank has cash counting machines in many of its branches. You dump in the contents of your coffee can, etc filled with coins, paper clips, etc and the machine counts your money and issues you a receipt. The teller gives you money for the receipt. It eliminates the practice (and need) for people to wrap their own coins. If you bring rolled coins into the bank, they direct you to the counting machine, where you have to unwrap and deposit your coins.

 

Curiously, TD (Toronto Dominion) seems to have trouble counting Canadian coins in the US machines. Sometimes it spits them out with the paper clips, sometimes it counts them as US $, and sometimes it just keeps them.

 

One thing I really miss about Japan is the ATMs. They had slots for both coins and bills, so all you had to do was put the bills in the bill counter and put the coins in the coin counter, and then the machine would count everything and deposit it into your account. Plus it would also update your bank book at the same time. And if you were only doing a deposit, you could just use your bank book, you didn't even need your ATM card.

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