Thank You Sir, May I Have Another
I’ve really had it up to here with a few standard Vegas experiences that don’t seem to be going away.
Has anyone noticed lately that ALL employees of the popular store Target seem to believe each individual item you buy deserves its own bag? Is not the purpose of a bag so you can hold multiple items in one container while walking to your car? How come I buy six things and I have six bags to either dispose of or shove into the bag for all my bags that is so freaking full I can barely fit another bag in it because I practically come home with more bag than product? And if I ask them “Can you put everything in one bag?” I have to get real specific like, “Oh, not the glassware, those can go in their own bag, I just mean most everything else.” So I’ve learned to say “Can you put more than one thing in each bag,” at which point I sound like a horrid bitch. And I hate it when I sound like a bitch because I have to correct something that’s SO stupid it sounds even MORE stupid when you have to verbally acknowledge how absolutely stupid it is.
Secondly, whose bright idea was it to make a product that contains most of your meal yet when you bite into it shatters into a million pieces? Yeah, tacos. One of the lamest foods in the world. I HATE crispy tacos yet somehow these things are on everyone’s list of favorite foods. Please … I’d rather store my beverages in waffle cones. At least with that you have a good five seconds before whatever you’re enjoying turns into a filthy mess.
Let me qualify this last point of angst by telling you I spent the last four weeks at car dealerships trying to find a vehicle for my boyfriend. He has horrible credit so we put some great time into real quality places like “Silver State Auto,” “Drive Time,” and “Thrifty Car Sales,” the latter of which shoved us off to a “sister dealership” called “Baja Autos.” They both lied about the proposed interest rate by 15 percent and didn’t cop to it until I did the math and realized they weren’t charging a 15 percent interest rate … it was 30 percent.
Now, listen up: YES, I am a girl. YES, I am 5’2” and probably look like someone you lived next to at one point in your life. However, I am not an idiot. And 10 years of enjoyment derived solely from riding dirtbikes and wrecking and repairing pick-up trucks in the BFE capitol of the world Florence, Oregon, means I know a thing or two about suspension lifts, I can see when brakes are shot without even test driving, and I know when you’re lying about lowering the gears in an automatic vehicle.
So, seriously -- F off.
Everyone I’ve talked to in the past month that thinks all girls should be mechanically retarded -- F off. And you too, taco lovers -- for keeping the popularity alive.
Oh, and there’s a nice big middle one right here for Target. Call me when you start bagging item“s” for my convenience -- then there might be an apology in order.
Might.
Precocious entrepreneur, workaholic and a rabid perfectionist Crystal Starlight knows a thing or two about getting ahead at a young age. Email her at [email protected]