I’m yet to encounter the majority of issues I hear Lemmings griping about. Everyone has been pretty civil toward me. Every time my inbox blows up I feel dread, only to open it and find zero confrontation or vitriol. I’m not running into any racists, sexists, bigots, etc., and I certainly haven’t noticed a decline in content (I browse Top ~6 Hours).
I realize my personal experience doesn’t equate to these problems not existing, but I do get the strong impression that people are exaggerating greatly.
Produce Manager here. Place the end that opens directly between your two palms, and rub your palms together vigorously. The bag will stick to one palm or both, opening every time. Please stop licking your fingers to open these bags and then picking through our vegetables. You’re gross.
This reminds me of the anonymous confession thing that made it’s rounds on Facebook several years back. My cousin would post links to his every day with messages like, “Let’s see what you’ve got” or “Give me your worst” attached to it. I suspect he was desperately fishing for compliments, or hoping for anonymous love confessions from the girls he was flirting with, as he would also post scrambled love letters on his wall that he must have figured these girls had time to sit down and eagerly unscramble (ie; I VELO UYO YLSHAE RMOE NTHA HTE UNS VELOS TEH ONOM). I always made sure to anonymously let him know what a stupid, annoying fuck he was being.
One of my cats (who is very sweet but a tad mentally handicapped) likes to try to get into people’s food while they’re eating it. Especially my toddler’s, who is an easy target. Poultry and sliced turkey are her most popular choices. She had a bit of a rough life before we wound up with her, and has a mild food insecurity (when it suits her) and what seems like a streak of ferality despite her love for affection.
Anyway, whenever I catch her sneaking a piece of food off a plate, I go, “GET OUTTA HERE, YA FUCKIN’ RAT!”, and she runs off, sometimes with a piece of food, then stops to devour it and/or furiously lick her feet and play it off cool. It’s annoying, but she’s loved, and I guess at the end of the day the vibe just wouldn’t be right it she wasn’t a fuckin’ rat every now and then.
It’s the sodium that will get her one of these days. But ya live like a rat, ya fuckin’ die like a rat.
I live 3,000 km from where I grew up, and sometimes it blows my mind that if I step out to my street and touch the asphalt, I’m touching the same continuous structure that’s connecting to my parents home in a seperate country, on the other side of the continent.
I manage a produce section at a grocery store and spend all day on my feet with no real personal workspace to unwind, other than a small shared office often occupied by talkative old women. I honestly love my job, am respected by my employer and I’m pretty well compensated (Canada), but even a desk in a cubicle looks kind of cozy to me. Just having a space for your things, a plant or two, a photo of your wife and kid. Not gonna lie, I kind of wish I had a small office and/or cubicle to retreat to. Even if it was just for the paperwork parts of my day.
I know plenty of people dumb enough to take this as proof. I worked with a young guy a few years back who was standing idly by while I discussed PCs and malware with another co-worker. Idle guy joins the conversation to tell us how just recently he avoided some malware himself after receiving a popup from Microsoft saying his PC was infected. The popup included a number on the screen, which he called.
Relieved to have Microsoft looking out for him, buddy calls the number and follows instructions to give the person on the other end remote access. After which, the malware is allegedly removed, and he’s ordered to fork over $100 USD for the services rendered. Still relieved just to have Microsoft looking out for him like this, he forks over his fucking credit card information to pay for work. He finished the story with this very serious nod. A nod that said I really dodged a bullet there.
This is like every modern Christmas movie where they think kids won’t get it unless Santa’s sleigh no longer runs on old magic, but on futuristic technology, guages, panels, samouflanges and discombobulators.
This is bringing back memories of not only finding the same thing, but also of the turd that I found in my front flower box one February that was full of cables.