Stupid Dowtown Crossing

Stupid Downtown Crossing. I hate this stupid place. Unfortunately, I have to come to this hellmouth five days a friggin' week.

Today, I went to CVS and as I was standing at the register, I started to smell smoke. No one said anything, naturally, but it smelled like the shit was burning down. Something was on fire!

I went outside and sure enough, the ashtray attached to the building was on fire. Some asshat threw a lit cigarette into a pile of old butts and other miscellaneous items and walked away, leaving the container to catch fire. It was pouring out the most heinous, repulsive-smelling, noxious smoke. I dumped my nalgene into it and put out the fire.

Stupid Downtown Crossing.

Then, as I was walking down the busy sidewalk, a UPS truck decides he is going to try to cross the paths of about 30 pedestrians instead of waiting until the horde passed. An older man was taking his sweet time getting out of the UPS truck's way and the driver hollered at him, "Move your ass! I'll run you over!"

I mean, was that really necessary? Really? No. It was not. I know those drivers are in a hurry and whatnot, but please, that was uncalled for.

This stupid area of the city turns people into blubbering, foul-mouthed, ignorant, disrespectful assholes. Stupid Dirty Crossing. That's all. I feel much better now.

Is Nothing Sacred?

For the last several months, I've been diligently bringing my lunch from home so as to avoid spending ridiculous sums of money in Downtown Crossing (a.k.a. "Dirty Crossing") on low-quality, crappy food. It's not always easy or convenient to lug my backpack into the office when it's filled with a giant vat of yogurt, bananas, apples, English muffins, oatmeal, cans of soup, etc., but I do it anyway. I make the effort to bring in nutritious, delicious snacks for a reason: SO I CAN EAT THEM. ME. ONLY ME.

So I'm sitting at my desk this morning and I hear my boss in the kitchen, asking, "Whose fruit is this?" I'm thinking, oh, fantastic, she wants a banana. That's fine. Eat my bananas. Whatever. Jerk.

NO. She doesn't want my banana. She wants to decorate the foyer with my lunch. DECORATE. She skillfully arranged all of MY fruit on a stupid little platter and set it in the foyer. For everyone to admire and consume.

I chuckled and said, "If people eat my fruit, I'm going to be angry." She said, "Feel free to eat it."

Feel free to eat it? My fruit? Feel free to eat my own fruit? That I bought? Huh. Well, I sure will. Thanks for the advice.