Natural Selection

I will never understand how some people are still alive.  The days of natural selection are long gone and sometimes (nay – all the time) I think we’d be better off if it still played a role in who survived into adulthood. 

There are people I work with who would not survive even 15 seconds of the Hunger Games.  Or the Oregon Trail.  Or life in general with the internet, moving walk-ways or a cell phone.   They would be shivved, or starved or die of dysentery. These people are incapable of opening a bag of pretzels so that it can be closed again with a chip clip.  I mean, it obviously makes the most sense to open the bag open like you have talons and make sure it’s open on both ends of the bag.  It makes the most sense to ask me if the lunch meat in the fridge is still good instead of looking at the expiration dates posted on the outside of the packaging.  It makes so much sense to see an email I send out to everyone – read the subject line, NOT the body of the email, and then come ask me questions about it.  All of which, by the way, were answered in the first two sentences of the email.

I don’t want you to think I’m unreasonable – people have off days.  Days where they forget how to spell, or forget where their glasses are (on the top of their head) or days where even the simplest tasks seem impossible.  These days usually follow a night of drinking, or a night with a screaming inconsolable baby, or a night working too hard – and on these days I try to be more understanding. More patient.

There are however, a couple people at my job with whom my patience is always at ZERO.  I don’t care if they just got out of the hospital where they suffered from kidney failure and had a miraculous recovery – if they open the supply closet and don’t close it? I want to rip their face off.   I don’t care if they just had their heart broken and their dog ran away and a stranger shaved part of their head on the subway in a razor rampage – if they pour themselves a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and open a new milk when there are already TWO open milks in the fridge, I want to push them down the stairs. 

I just don’t get it.  Be a grown up. Pay attention.  Clean up your own damned mess and stop assuming that you are the only person in the world with needs.  You are not.  And I’m not your f-ing cleaning lady.