Since life has decided to bend me over and make me it bitch for the last few days, I have decided to write a formal complaint. The problem here is that life- unlike some of the other assholes I've had the displeasure of working with- lacks a customer service department to send my complaint to. This has now left me with one option- to go fuck myself...With that in mind, I have decided to air my grievances here and hope that someone out there can relate to my pain, laugh at it or supply me with a working firearm.
To Life or whomever it may concern,
There have been some issues in the last few weeks that have begun to concern me. It seems as though you no longer value our relationship and have chosen to produce steaming piles of garbage, instead of the rainbows and sunshine I was once promised. I would like to take a moment to bring some of these piles to your attention. While you look over this list of grievances please take the time to account for all the ways you have failed me. I realize that I too have had a part in some of this however; I can't help but feel like this is partially, if not entirely all your fault.
I receive a phone call that an old friend has passed away. Said Friend has died in a similar fashion to my mother and now I am forced to relive the experience again. I end up driving to a funeral hours away and endure 3 long hours with my ex-boyfriend and his goody-two-shoes wife. There is a small upside when I realize that I am not only thinner than she is, but have better judgment when it comes to picking a life partner. That fuzzy feeling is quickly squashed when I excuse myself to use the restroom and urinate on the back of my pants while trying to hover over the Applebees toilet at our post funeral dinner party.
Trying to be a good mom I allowed my child to help me cook his dinner. After 3 minutes he picked a fight with me over the proper way to flip a grilled cheese. When I refused to follow his direction, he took to beating me with a butter covered spatula. When I threatened to remove the spatula from his tiny hands and throw it in the garbage, he offered to give me a punch in the face. I then found myself completely disgusted with him and my parenting skills. Was there a reason I chose to procreate instead of buy a cute little puppy?
I go to Walmart and receive parenting advice from three strangers that look like they may be straight off the "most wanted" list. I also deal with 2 monstrous temper tantrums from my three year old-that I eventually give in to, sparking yet another round of parenting advice from 1 more toothless stranger. After a final fit at the checkout, I start to contemplate whether or not my husband would be upset if I left our obnoxious kid at a fire station drop off. I feel guilty for my moment of weakness and leave the Walmart compound. To ease my frustration I take a few minutes to bang my head- until I feel a black out approaching- against the steering wheel of my car before driving home.
I send my ill husband to the doctor (by himself). He returns with a filled prescription and states that he was over charged for his visit. I asked him if he explained our co-pay and showed his insurance card at the time of check out. He replies that he did, but did not feel like arguing. I ask him if he likes throwing his money away to shiesty doctors and pimple faced Latin receptionist. He shrugs apathetically and offers to give me the number to the office so that I may "duke it out" with doc-in-the-box. After explaining that this really is his problem and not mine, he gives me the finger and plops down to play Playstation 3. I start questioning if I was right about making better choices than other people when it comes to picking a life partner.
Turn on car and find engine light shining and loud squealing coming from under the hood. I alert my husband to the issue and he chalks it up to my inability to take the car for routine oil changes. After a 20 minute lecture on car maintenance, I leave and bring the car to a local mechanic. Upon hearing that I was 15,000 over due for the fluid change he proceeds to start the maintenance lecture where my husband left off. During his speech I daydream about taking the car and driving it off a bridge with both him and my husband in the trunk.
It's pouring rain and the car must be towed to the dealer. In the middle of changing a shitty diaper the Tow-truck man rings the door bell. I launch myself out of my sons room and sprint down the tiled hallway. I come to a few second later face down on the floor-knee and hand throbbing- wondering why the fucking floor was wet in the hall and how I managed to miss this fact on my entrance earlier. I pull myself together, though my son is still laughing at my lack of equilibrium and answer the door. I do so without further destruction of my body and ego. I escort Tow-truck man to the car and take a mental note of its contents. Inside the center console- $7 in ones,in the cup holder- a handful of silver change and pennies and in the storage compartment under the radio- 2 purple Dr.Grip pens. Tow-truck man leaves with my car and valuables, while I am left to nurse my wounds with a Spiderman icepack and a stir crazy toddler.
Grandma kindly offers to drive me to Gunther Mazda to retrieve my car. A 10 minute drive turns into an hour and 15 minute drive when grandma decides to drive 15 miles out of the way to save 10 cents a gallon on gas at "her" Hess station. We stop at every yellow light on our voyage and I contemplate petitioning my local government to revoke senior driving privileges. Thanks to God, Moses and Satan- we arrive at Gunther Mazda before my toddler's college graduation. When I receive my car and drive away, I survey the interior. I find that all the contents I mentally noted on March 29th are missing. I have a moment of clarity that is quickly cut short by my pettiness and love of purple Dr.Grip pens. I call Gunther and inform him of my stolen goods. He seems less concerned about my pens than I feel he should, but kindly offers to keep his "eyes peeled for them." As most managers are, he is more concerned about my missing money. He extends a peace offering and tells me to bring my car in for a free oil change the next time I'm due. I tell him that I'm not interested in being robbed twice and ask him to send me a check for $7.87 and a additional $12 for my stolen pens. He laughs and tells me to come in when I'm ready for an oil change. The phone then goes dead...
I hope that by putting this in black and white you are able to see the error of your ways. No need to apologise, just try not to let it happen again. However, if you insist on making it up to me, a check for $12 or 2 Dr.Grip pens (purple) would be wonderful. I really doubt Gunther was serious when he said he would look for them.
Jennie Nadler Milechman
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