Meany Me

I think I should start a new Blog Category called Meany Me. On some days I’m just gonna be mean. I’m down with that. I’ve realized my shortcomings a long time ago, somewhere around my third marriage.

Anywayhay, I had to “hang out” at the County Social Services Dept. today to file some stuff to get some attention to some important matters blah, blah, blah, but I had to sit for a Real. Long. Time. Try 7 hours. In a hard deformed plastic chair. In an ice-cold room.

Now let’s take the above paragraph and peel away the onion skins to see what we really have up there. 1 County; 2 Social; 3 Services; 4 Dept.

For number One I’d prefer to attend the County fair but in all ‘fairness’ they had enough cows, clowns and bull there to cover that trip.

Second, I wouldn’t call it a Social because at those uppity events they serve food and chilled Chardonnay. There was no food near that place. Literally. If you go to one of these “Co. Social Services Depts” bring your own damn food. Seriously. Otherwise prepare to walk out of there 7 hours later like you just got off the Cannibal Cruise Lines. They did have a water fountain. Don’t you love those fountains that tease you with a trickle and a squirt? They’re so playful, almost as if Steven King was inside the little metal box messing with you.  Actually, the fountain was so pathetic I think it was crying not fountain-ing. I would no more put my mouth close to that gurgling spout than I would put my lips on Michael Moore’s jiggling buttcheeks. If there is any disease, germ or bacteria that can jump its gotta be on that overused fountain. So now we turn a 7 hour ordeal into a Carnival Cruel Lines edition of “water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink”. I should have killed myself for forgetting to bring my water bottle and ended this misery before I made you suffer through reading about it (but I’m a meany, ‘member?). I had to go into the bathroom, wash my hands, then cup up water to drink. It tasted somewhere between Fish Tank Dirty and Rusted Metal Bathroom Supplies.

Next on the list is SERVICES. I capped this one to stand out on its own. I’m writing an evil letter to Webster’s Dictionary to change the meaning of this word. It has nothing whatever to do with helping others. I’ll request that they put down a new description of my own experience with this word today. Under the word ‘services’ put [see Alfred Hitchcock] and maybe add a photo of some flock of birds stuck in a cheap motel room shower. After sitting through 7 hours of hearsay (stuff all the other people were talking about) and finally getting my name called I found out that I’d have to “come again” another day. Seriously? Wouldn’t I rather have a few root canals or a greenish weeping infection where I sit? Noooooo, I got more paperwork to fill out and about the best help I received was the lady telling me to “ask next time I come in if I made the cut”. Meaning, should I waste 7 hours again or just ask next time. Why didn’t anyone say that when I signed in??? She said they “filled their quota for the day and couldn’t be taking on new cases” or whatever. I was so zombified and calorie deprived I just got up and left. I didn’t even have the energy to give my favorite death stare.

The last word is Dept. Or Department. Kinda like Decapitation is ‘ment’ to be taking ‘de part of me off’. Or how about the abriviated word. If you look at it jest right you could imagine the p being a fallen over b. That would bring it back to Debt. The county is definitely in the red. You can see it in the eyes of every one that works there. Glassy and red. [maybe you can see my stress building with this paragraph? I'm not sure if I lost more than just 7 hours today]

So next time you ever notice that you drove by a place with the words County; Social; Services; Dept. on the building I hope you say a little prayer for my next visit.

Pray I don’t do something stoopid and end up on the evening news.

Note to Self: Next visit bring Voodoo Doll w/pins and red food dye.