May 31st 2017
This week in reasons to be happy that the human species is slowly killing itself: in People suck. Cats are awesome. Dogs are alright.
- May 31, 2017, 1:57 p.m.
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- Public
I’ve never liked small children. Why mince words?
Five and up, I can get along well with, although people I’ve known don’t like leaving me alone with their kids, because I’m too much like a kid myself, and I’m a horrible influence. Want to eat a f!ck ton of candy? Fine by me; you’re impending stomach ache and loss of sleep, not mine. Haul a bunch of old toys out of the basement and strew them around the living room? Why not; life is short.
As a babysitter, I’m terrible. I exert little to no authority. I believe in having as much fun as legally possible. I’ve really enjoyed the few times I’ve been in that role, though the parents didn’t seem too pleased.
And I say all that to establish that I don’t just hate children carte blanche.
I have an extreme sensitivity to high pitched noises. To the point that I carry ear plugs and a headset every time I leave the house.
Last week on the bus, three obnoxious teenagers screeched and giggled the whole thirty minute ride, and the headphones didn’t completely block it out; so I had a melt down, right there in my seat. All I wanted to do was claw their throats open with my bare hands. Through sheer force of will, I sat stock still, didn’t blink for so long that my eyes hurt, and dug my fingernails into my palm until it bled. The physical pain blocking out the murderous rage enough to keep me from going to jail. Barely. My hand was scabbed for days after that.
Obviously I need to find a better set of noise canceling headphones. I’m trying to choose a pair, but buying them online makes deciding difficult. I want something that doesn’t look like I just came from a gun range, if at all possible. I’m a small framed person. Huge headphones would look especially absurd.
Then yesterday, we went to Menards, and then Mc.Donald’s. I love their lard-slathered, salt-drenched fries. And we hadn’t been sitting there for five minutes when a little Indian, (read: Hindu), boy started screaming bloody murder.
I put on my headset, and it blocked it out, and that was fine for a while. But this kid just did not let up. I’m not talking your stereotypical “baby is having a bad day” cry. This kid sounded like he was in excruciating pain, or being kidnapped. So I had to leave the headset on. The entire time we were in there, eating.
And he looked maybe two. And he was with an older boy of maybe five or six, and three adults of varying ages. His parents and a grandmother, maybe?
If he has a neurodevelopmental disorder, (like me), and gets overwhelmed by Mc.Donald’s, why the hell did they even take him there? Or if he does that all the time, and they’re just choosing to ignore it, why hasn’t anyone reported them to the authorities? Could none of the three adults have, gee, I dunno, carried him to the f!@#ing car? Because none of them were actively trying to help him calm down. Every time I looked over there, he was just standing up in the seat screaming, while everybody else ate their food. (He had food in front of him, that I presume someone was poking into his mouth when I wasn’t watching.)
The husband would occasionally poke me to tell me something unrelated, about what we’d bought. And the few times he did, I had to lift off the headset, and I can’t listen to that incessant squalling without saying something. “You can’t tell me there’s nothing they can do about that.” He says, “They can hear you all the way back in the kitchen”, (I doubt that very seriously. I was just talking). I said, “I don’t care who can hear me. That shouldn’t be allowed. I could bring one of my cats in here, in a carrier, and let it scream; but somebody would ask me to leave.”
I get it. Sometimes a parent can’t find a babysitter and he, (or more likely she), just has to go places and do things with the kid. If I see a mother in the store with a bawling child, I’m pretty understanding. She’s alone, doing what she has to do to survive.
But this wasn’t a grocery store. Nobody has to go out to eat. And this wasn’t a single parent. They were a whole, oblivious, f!@#tard family.
And I generally have a greater respect for anyone that has come here from another country, because America is hardly any fabulous bastion of economic potential and freedom. It’s bad enough to be born into a less than great country, (referring to myself, born in the US), but to choose to come here, I’m thinking you’ve got to have balls. - If I could choose to live anywhere in the world, I’d go to Canada. Or Finland. Or Sweden. - I realize the US is better than India, in a lot of ways, (not all!); but if you’re immigrating anyway, why not just go north a little further to Canada? Especially if you’re living here, all of maybe five miles from the Canadian border anyway. - So it’s not like I have any kind of problem with Hindus. - Hell, my neurologist is Indian, and he’s awesome. And I have far more respect for the Bhagavad Gita and Krishna than I do for Christian mythology.
But these particular three people could be struck down by botulism, and I’d laugh and applaud. If I’d seen them leaving the restaurant, and saw some big, diesel, truck come ploughing through and kill them all, I’d giggle like a schoolgirl, and jump, and clap.
That bulls!@# is just not necessary.
So now I’m thinking I need to call local restaurants and ask them whether or not they frown upon screaming children, and tell them that I have Asperger’s, and I just cannot deal with that kind of noise, and I’m looking for a nice place to eat out once in a while.
In other reasons to keep wishing for a global pandemic to annihilate the human species, I’ve had two douchebag commenters this past week or so. One actually questioning my diagnosis, (seriously?); and the other replying to a sympathetic comment that I made on her entry. I told her to be grateful for what she has, (referring to her family); and this b!tch tells me, “I know you mean well, but this comment doesn’t fit.” Well, f!@# you, lady. All that does is make me think that “meaning well” is something that I shouldn’t even bother trying to do.
As if that hadn’t already been ground into my psyche a LONG time ago. Try to be helpful: Get insulted. Over and over and over and over.
And over on reddit, I made a post about what my douchebag neighbor did to my vine. I put it on r/badneighbors, so I figured I’d get some sympathy. Nope. I got no less than five people telling me that I was wrecking the asshole’s life by making a post about him on NextDoor.
What part of: “He was trespassing and destroyed my personal property” do people not understand? What he did was blatantly illegal. Full stop. I don’t give two sh!ts if telling people about it hurts his social life. He’s f!@#ing fortunate that I didn’t just “haphazardly spill” some herbicide on the plants in HIS flower bed.
But I didn’t. I stayed within the law, and put up a conspicuous camera; so if he’s ever stupid enough to do something like that again, I’ll have him on tape, (er, recorded on an SD card), and I can call the police.
He broke the law. I didn’t. Period.
We need more war and incurable disease. It’s not like I have any loved ones to worry about.
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