Tag Archives: my uber-confrontational personality

Scammed!

Posted by plumpdumpling on May 27, 2009 – 9:19 am
Filed under holidays don't suck for me, living in new york sucks so hard, my uber-confrontational personality
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All New Yorkers are assholes, and don’t let anyone tell you any different.

Case in point: on Monday afternoon, Dr. Boyfriend and I celebrated Memorial Day with an entire pitcher of sangria on the patio of Dos Caminos. Because sangria is from the Spanish meaning bloody, and there’s no better way to mourn the loss of all our fallen combat soldiers than to drink fruit-filled blood in remembrance of them. Or something.

So anyway, we left the restaurant and walked toward Rockefeller Center, where he was going to work for a couple of hours while I went shopping. On the way, we decided to stop at an ice cream truck and continue mourning the loss of all our fallen combat soldiers by eating . . . frozen milk. Whatever. At the intersection right outside of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, there were two trucks with identical markings parked across the street from one another, so we just sidled up to the first one without bothering to do any bargain comparisons.

A 30-ish, Israeli-ish, purposely-bald guy stepped up to the window inside the truck but went about not paying attention to us while he talked on his cellphone to someone about his gambling debts. At least that’s what Kamran tells me he was talking about. I, of course, was too busy trying to decide between cone and cup to notice. But long after I’d chosen, he was still on his phone. Had we been basically anyone else, we probably would’ve walked across the street to the other truck at that point, but it was a holiday, and we’re patient people.

Finally, the guy took my order: one scoop of vanilla in a cone with multicolored sprinkles for Kamran and one scoop of vanilla in a cup with multicolored sprinkles for me. He even showed me the cup to see if it was to my liking. He didn’t tell us how much it was but just waited for his money, so I handed him a $10 bill. (Kamran had paid for lunch, for those of you non-feminists who may be crying foul at this moment.) He took it, disappeared into the depths of the truck, and then came back and said, “That’s it. $6 for the cone, and $4 for the cup.” Bewildered, I said thank you and made way for the person behind me to order.

But two steps later, Kamran and I turned to each other to ask, “What the hell just happened?!” The cone he’d gotten was this kind, the soft serve kind, the kind you can get at McDonald’s for $1. The kind you can buy from any other ice cream truck, from even the most expensive truck at Coney Island on the hottest day of the year with all the sprinkles you could ever hope for, for no more than $2.50. And yet I’d just paid $6.

I was torn between being pissed off at him for thinking I was some tourist who doesn’t know how much ice cream costs and pissed off at myself for looking like some tourist who doesn’t know how much ice cream costs. I was pissed off that he had put black electrical tape over all of the prices on the side of his truck so he could charge whatever he wanted and was getting away with it. I wanted to march back to the truck and put on my mean New Yorker face and splatter my cup of vanilla all over his designer graphic t-shirt.

But I didn’t, because not only do I not have gambling debts to pay off like he apparently does, but it was also the best ice cream truck ice cream I’ve ever had. (And that includes the gourmet Van Leeuwen ice cream truck ice cream I had last summer.) Maybe it’s one of those things where paying more for it makes it taste better, but maybe it really was $10 ice cream.

What I’m left wondering, though, is: what would’ve happened had I handed him just $5 instead? Would he have demanded more, and what would I have done?

This Would Never Have Happened in Ohio

Posted by plumpdumpling on January 14, 2009 – 6:01 pm
Filed under living in new york sucks so hard, my uber-confrontational personality, no i really do love ohio
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So I have food poisoning, right? Which is sort of a joy right now, because while I was home in Ohio this past weekend, I tried on my bridesmaid’s dress for my best friend, Tracey’s wedding in March, and it turns out that I’m about five inches of torso away from getting the thing zipped. (She found THE dress discontinued and on sale and thought she could guess my size but no doubt bought it too small in an attempt to not offend me.) So I vomited about eighteen times yesterday at work and stayed home today, which is sort of great because I managed to lose four pounds in 24 hours thanks to not being able to keep even water down but sort of sucks because the meal I was vomiting up was grilled chicken and steamed vegetables instead of something I felt guilty about and wanted to purge, like pecan pie and maple ice cream.

At 3:30 this afternoon, I finally got to a place where I thought I could successfully stand up, and the pepperoni and pepperjack cheese in Kamran’s refrigerator didn’t sound so delicious, so I walked down the street to his Gristedes to buy some Jell-o and soup. I had been in front of the Campbell’s for maybe ten minutes, trying to find something, anything, without starch and sugar and tomatoes, when this stylish Nordic guy on a mobile phone dropped his box of pasta while walking in front of me. I excused the fact that he hadn’t excused himself before blocking my view of the soup and said, “I got it,” though bending over in my state of sickliness seemed like the worst idea possible. The guy kept chatting in his foreign tongue as I placed the box on top of his other items, and then he simply walked away.

While he was well within earshot, I said in my most monotone voice, “No problem. Glad I could help. Say no more.” The woman beside me shot me the dirtiest look and obviously scolded me in some language I didn’t recognize, so I turned, puked the last of the contents of my stomach all over her droll little fur hat, and went home to enjoy my Jell-o.

THIS is New York. Assholes.

The Seat-Smearers Strike Again

Posted by plumpdumpling on November 19, 2008 – 11:27 am
Filed under jobby jobby job job, my uber-confrontational personality, too much information
Tagged as , , ,

I think it’s pretty common to have a favourite stall in the bathroom, but I’m nearly obsessive about mine. I monitor who else is using it, which of the two toilet paper rolls is getting utilized more, what time of day it gets visited for the first time, and so on and so on. These things are especially important considering that I work next to an office of women who POOP ON TOILET SEATS.

It’s the perfect stall, too. The first one has the air vent in it, and while I appreciate a little noise while I’m doing my business, I can’t handle that there’s a huge space on the right side where everyone can look in and see you. The second one is too cramped. The third one is too spacious. The fifth one is handicapped, for God’s sake. And so I take the fourth. I used to try and play it cool and not use my special stall if someone was already in the third or fifth out of respect for their peeing privacy, but in my old age, I’ve come to care much more about my own comfort.

Anyway, the other day, I innocently went to my stall and found THE HUGEST PUBIC HAIR EVER CULTIVATED just lying there, sprawling across the whole seat. You can imagine my horror. And so I typed up the following sign in the biggest font possible:

TO SEE THE LARGEST PUBIC HAIR IN EXISTENCE,
PLEASE VISIT STALL #4

I thought about adding something about taking a Weedwhacker to a bush but thought better of it, being intensely concerned about my professionality and all.

When I came back after lunch, I followed a woman down the hall who stooped to pick up the sign, which had been tossed to the floor. I thought it very apropos that these seat-smearing women would take down the sign but not take the extra two seconds to throw it away. The woman–who doesn’t seem to speak a lot of English–looked at the paper as if she was confused by it, so I said, “What an awesome sign,” and she stuck it back on the door without a second thought.

And so my legacy lives on.

If I knew for sure it wasn’t illegal to post other people’s phone numbers in my blog, I would do it SO FAST right now.

Posted by plumpdumpling on October 28, 2008 – 4:53 pm
Filed under good times at everyone else's expense, jobby jobby job job, my uber-confrontational personality
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In my incredibly important role as an executive assistant, I have to talk to a lot of really retarded people (none of which is my boss, I’d like to emphasize, in case he ever reads this). But none of these is more retarded than the IT telemarketer. This is the guy who never EVER bothers to look up the name of the IT manager at your location but just calls and casually tells you–obviously on speakerphone, because his legs are kicked up on his desk and he’s busy practicing his old frat’s secret handshake–to connect him to whoever happens to be the head of your IT department. Having a superiority complex and an intense desire to lose my job over something stupid like being snotty to salesmen, I make absolutely no effort to mask the loathing in my voice from these cretins.

HOWEVER, I just received a call from one at an NYC company called Axispoint and was uncharacteristically nice to him, simply because I was coming off a delicious chicken meatball lunch and had really enjoyed IMing Dr. Boyfriend about being excited to “warm up my ‘balls” all morning long. But as soon as I uncharacteristically nicely told this guy that we don’t even keep an IT department at our location–particularly ironic since we’re a software company–he just went and HUNG UP ON ME.

Can you believe it? I am the one who hangs up on people. I am underpaid one who has to talk to retards all day. I have a singsong voice that demands telemarketers to stay on the line longer. But not this guy.

I checked my call log, and of course I have his number from my caller ID. So what should I do with it?

The Robin Hood of Rudeness

Posted by plumpdumpling on July 31, 2008 – 2:11 pm
Filed under fun times on the subway, living in new york sucks so hard, my uber-confrontational personality
Tagged as , , ,

I got to Grand Central a little late yesterday morning, and there were a few too many people crowded on the platform. I took my place behind them and pulled a magazine out of my bag to take my mind off the heat and, you know, my loathing of all New Yorkers, when this girl not much older than I am walked right up and crammed herself and her giant duffel bag into a space in front of me that should’ve fit no more than a quarter of her. I let it go for a moment, not wanting to break a sweat, but when the train pulled up, I realized I wasn’t going to get a spot if I didn’t act fast. So I took one step to the side and one step forward and then outright pushed the girl back to make room for myself. She let out a huge scoff, I half-turned my head and smiled in victory, and she moved to a different line of people to try her luck there.

Later at work, I called a deli to order food for a training class that was taking place in the office and asked, “Can you have it here no later than 11:45? I won’t be available to sign for it after that.” The woman assured me it was no problem, and I got a call from the deliveryman that I should come to the lobby and sign for it at 11:44. Pleased that they were true to their word, I imagined myself thanking the guy for his promptness and giving him an outrageously large tip. But when I got downstairs to the lobby, there was no one there. And I realized that the guy had called me a few minutes ahead of time, figuring it’d take me a while to get downstairs, NOT REALIZING THAT I HAD A LUNCH DATE 80-SOME BLOCKS UPTOWN AND NEEDED TO ACTUALLY LEAVE ON TIME. So when he arrived, I didn’t smile politely, I didn’t thank him, and I slashed that tip to a shell of its former self.

Then yesterday evening, I was walking toward the exit of CVS when this very large woman stepped right out in front of me from a side aisle. She was wearing a huge orange tunic that screamed, “I am fat! Pay attention to me!” I sped up a step to pass her, but she cut me off and then walked as slooooooooooooowly as possible down the aisle, listening to her iPod and pretending not to notice that I was patiently waiting for her to git goin’. Finally, she stopped and turned to look at something on one of the shelves, and I took my opportunity to rush past her, being careful to brush against her bag and sort of push it off her shoulder. She said, “Jesus!”, but I kept on walking in my seersucker dress, swinging my white leather clutch and generally feeling superior.

But then I left the store and thought, Maybe these people don’t see me as the Robin Hood of Rudeness that I am. Maybe they don’t understand that I’m robbing from the rude-rich and giving to the rude-poor. (Namely myself.) Maybe they think I’m just being plain obnoxious like I think they are. Maybe they’re trying to teach me a lesson.

But surely not, right?