On a regular basis I receive friend requests from people on Facebook, and notifications of new followers on Twitter. Upon notification I am forced to make a decision: ignore or unfollow, or let ‘em through.
If I accept the friendship or allow the follow nothing becomes of my choice. However, if I (God forbid) choose not to let someone into my private Skull and Bones I’m lambasted through e-mail, instant message, and in F2F encounters where I’m asked, “Why aren’t we friends?”
Take a moment and watch Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s August 28, 1963 “I Have a Dream” speech.
When I started out blogging I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I knew I wanted to infect the population with my cynicism and unparalleled wisdom, but I didn’t know how I was going to achieve such a feat.
It’s been almost two years since I started and I’m currently at 212 posts (fitting since my writing was revived in that area code). Well, now I’ve got to think about where to go from here. And by that I mean: Critics Wanted. Bloggers Needed.
Working around the public for half my life entitles me to hate people. Hate is a strong word. Well tell me that after you’ve had a drug-seeking crackhead all pissed off at you because their doctor just cancelled their prescription after finding out they went to 3 different ER’s in 4 days all for the same medication. Or, when a pharm tech tells someone that their insurance just saved them $578 and their portion is a mere $20 only to get yelled at because the customer has never paid more than 12 dollars. And then there’s the Medicaid patients (who have better clothes, phones and cars than me) who bitch about paying $2 for a $900 medication.
That is why I am entitled to hate people. I have to deal with nutjobs five days a week (or more if my tightwad of a company is willing to pay overtime because 2 people call in sick and I am the only one willing to or “available” to work).
As a kid there was no day more important than Christmas. For a whole year I’d wait for the jolly fat man to leave presents under my tree. On occasion, though, Santa would drop my presents off early and hide them in a closet, in the garage, the attic, or in the trunk of the family station wagon. For a 10-year-old boy the wait was unbearable. But, getting caught for sneaking a peak was infinitely worse.
When it comes to meetings this same sort of fear-of-the-unknown anxiety drives some people to the brink of insanity.
Casual Fridays are pointless. No they aren’t. They’re the one day of the week I can dress down and wear jeans. Why not dress down the entire week? Because the other four days are reserved for business attire. Why? Well, research shows that people generally feel better about themselves if they dress for success which, in turn, makes them more productive. You’re a moron.
Seriously, who came up with “business attire”? Was it a couple of cavemen sitting around a fire?
OGG: Hey Urg, you know what be a good idea?
URG: The wheel?
OGG: No. Well, maybe. But me thinking we start making people dress a certain way for work.
URG: Ooh! Ooh! And clothes they wear determine productivity and success.
BOTH: Brilliant!
