pet my peeves

Yes, I have a pet peeve today.  It’s people who ASSUME. 

Yeah, we all know what you do when you assume, so I won’t repeat it here. But another thing you do when you assume is teeve me off!

So, the other day, I’m in the city and suffering from a severe low blood sugar. That happens, quite a bit actually, but rarely ever does it reach this depth. So by the time I dash in to a Seattle’s Best (because Starbucks was another two blocks and I couldn’t wait that long) I was seriously crashing. Thankfully the line had just cleared out, so I get to the counter, order a soy latte and an oatmeal raisen cookie and I tell the nice, but vacous girl behind the counter that I’m terribly sorry but I’m close to passing out and could she please hurry it along?

I was eyeing a package of jelly beans on the counter, but sugar is a last resort. I needed the cookie.

She’s typing up the order on her little register . . .for, like, ten minutes! Then tells me the total for my latte. She’d forgotten the cookie.  I reminded her, and yes – my tone was less than pleasant. That’s what happens when my blood sugar drops. I get short and sometimes mean. But I didn’t swear, or say anything rude.  So she’s back to the register, re-typing the whole order.  Another 10 minutes.

I inform her I’m dangerously close to passing out.  She goes to get the cookie.

I swear to you, she was gone five minutes. I couldn’t even see where she’d gone. So I ask the second cashier what in the HELL is taking so long, the cookies were in the case right there, and I’m seconds away from eating those jelly beans.

“She’s heating it up for you.”

I informed her I didn’t WANT my cookie hot, I wanted it IN MY BELLY!

“We assume all customers want the cookies hot, so we do that automatically.”

Well, yes, folks – this mild-mannered writer blew a gasket.

So I get my cookie, warm, and I’m desperately shoving it down my gullet waiting for my soy latte, which will sustain me properly.  But Oops, she forgot to tell the barista.

Fifteen minutes later, and very nearly a 911 call, I get my latte and she gave me back my money.

Bad enough, right?  But no, it doesn’t end there, this peeve I’m petting.  Monday morning I need to fill up the car before driving to work, and the pump register isn’t working, so instead of paying outside, I have to pump and then go inside to pay. I walk in, and immediately the woman behind the counter declares “Your phone number.”

Dazed (it was 6:00am and I was freezing) I tell her my number.

“No, that’s not right.”

“Um, yes, it is. I know my number,” says I.

She types it three more times. “No, it’s not.”

I asked her why in the name of all that’s holy does she even need my phone number? I just want to pay for my diesel and go to work.

“For your Safeway card,” she states blankly.

“Did I walk in here and say I had a Safeway card?” I ask, beginning to boil and hoping that shakes off the chill from the wind that tried to blow me to the ground while pumping. “I don’t USE a Safeway card! Not one time did you ASK me if I had a Safeway card!”

“I assumed you did. We assume everyone does.” was her reply.

And you’d think that’d be enough, right? That I’d get to work and meditate a little, and all would be well?

HA!  I get home that night, and my sister is opening her mail – there’s a letter in there from her health insurance.  She had knee surgery last week, a simple procedure, but it was the result of a fall she’d taken 8 years ago. She was walking along, and tripped, and landed hard on her knee.  It happens.

Her doctor asked what she’d done, she told her.  The surgeon asked how it happened, she told him.

So the insurance company mails her a form that declares:  We believe this accident to be the result of a Labor and Industries work related incident.  If that is NOT the case, you are required to fill out this five page form explaining how this is NOT a work related accident and mail it in immediately before we can process your claim.

AAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Asses.  All of them.

I feel better now, thanks.