When The Fuck did Classism = Maturity??
So, one of my old roommates--
[used to leave for days on end and not tell anyone, leaving his dog behind to shit and piss and chew up other people's stuff; didn't have to money to replace one of our other roommate's chewed-up retainer in full but had the money to go gamble at the casino the same weekend; repetitively brought his drunk friends home to crash on my couches and eat the food I intended for my workluch the following day--I often made this discovery right as I was leaving for work that morning--; passed out drunk in the shower overnight; drank my friends' booze in the fridge...]
--texted me out of the blue yesterday wanting to know when a good time to come into the house for the rest of his stuff (that he left, FOUR MONTHS AGO, when he skipped out on his last bit of rent when Sergio took over the house). Evidently he'd tried coming back for it before, but "a large dog didn't want to let him in" (i.e., Chewey the pit bull does his job as guarddog damned well).
Well, since he skipped out on money owed, Sergio confiscated all the possessions left in the house as compensation. I told him this, gave him Sergio's number, and said Take it up with him. When he didn't think that made sense or was fair, and he needed his suitcase still at the house because he's going to Orlando next week and that was his priority, I pointed out that perhaps he ought to punctualize his priorities and, say, keep his possessions in his possession; as it is the rest of us had to clean up/toss out a bunch of his crap after he up and turned tail out of the house.
He told me I had his number, and that I should have "grown a backbone" and called him up about it, not to whine about it now.
Uh. Huh.
I replied telling him that I had expressed these same concerns when he still half-assed living there, but perhaps he'd drank those memories away.
He had the nerve to attempt throwing an occasion wherein I went out drinking after having had no water at work one day, so a friend of mine drove me home and he then drove her the THREE BLOCKS down the street to her apartment (I had told her to take my car, I'd walk down for it in the morning, but whatever). That I'd drank that much and "showed no signs of intelligence" (yet I remember that whole incident, and was just going upstairs to sleep it off, because that's what I do when I drink too much--instead of getting into other people's shit, for instance) meant I had no business lecturing other people.
Once, I conceded. That happened, once. Unlike the repeated incidents of such drunken transgressions as bracketed above; or, for instance, the time I came home from my family's house at 3 a.m. and his drunk ass came stumbling up the drive from G-d knows where, completely oblivious to my (armed, because I didn;t recognize the stumbling zombie-like figure at first, mistook him for a street person, and pulled out my knife) presence, and pissing himself in the middle of our back porch while his dog ran around and I tried working myself and my luggage around his still oblivious ass.
Instead of trying to defend or deflect from that, he decided to deter the argument instead--I'm not allowed to tell people to grow up because I just work a "high school summertime job," and I should talk to him next week about growing up when he works for Sea World and I'm shining tires. (Here's hoping he doesn't stumble into the dolphin tank and drown.) However, that might be difficult, as he also informed me he was blocking further incoming texts/calls because he didn't see any point wasting his time and this "nonsense."
Which is a bitch move of a retreat if ever there was one. That he had to throw a classist jibe out like that means I must have bit a little too close to home, I guess. But, this means I don't have to contend with out-of-the-blue whining texts now, right?
My only retort was, "Just in case your were bluffing, at least my job lets me pay what I owe, when I owe it."
Also, it's winter time and I'm still making buku; my coworker pointed out that she makes more working here than she does at her teaching job; and I'm the youngest worker here, so what's this "high school" shit? And yeah, it's a mostly nonsense job, but when I get off and go hang out with my friends who work their nonsense jobs, we talk about shit like the anatomy of the brain and Israel vs. Palestine and theology. The only conversation I ever heard his friends and him have while doing shots pregaming for the club district, was NASCAR and how how much money they make. The only book I ever saw this twat pick up was a piece by Glenn Beck, and he never even finished it.
MONEY DOES NOT EQUATE MATURITY. Just ask Wall Street. I personally would root maturity in its fullest somewhere in the fulfillment of Security, Status, and most importantly Substance. SSS =/= $$$--that's just gutting the ideals with the material.
But now Sergio doesn't have to contend with his whiney ass at least. I make a pretty good attack dog when Chewey's not around, ne? ^^
[used to leave for days on end and not tell anyone, leaving his dog behind to shit and piss and chew up other people's stuff; didn't have to money to replace one of our other roommate's chewed-up retainer in full but had the money to go gamble at the casino the same weekend; repetitively brought his drunk friends home to crash on my couches and eat the food I intended for my workluch the following day--I often made this discovery right as I was leaving for work that morning--; passed out drunk in the shower overnight; drank my friends' booze in the fridge...]
--texted me out of the blue yesterday wanting to know when a good time to come into the house for the rest of his stuff (that he left, FOUR MONTHS AGO, when he skipped out on his last bit of rent when Sergio took over the house). Evidently he'd tried coming back for it before, but "a large dog didn't want to let him in" (i.e., Chewey the pit bull does his job as guarddog damned well).
Well, since he skipped out on money owed, Sergio confiscated all the possessions left in the house as compensation. I told him this, gave him Sergio's number, and said Take it up with him. When he didn't think that made sense or was fair, and he needed his suitcase still at the house because he's going to Orlando next week and that was his priority, I pointed out that perhaps he ought to punctualize his priorities and, say, keep his possessions in his possession; as it is the rest of us had to clean up/toss out a bunch of his crap after he up and turned tail out of the house.
He told me I had his number, and that I should have "grown a backbone" and called him up about it, not to whine about it now.
Uh. Huh.
I replied telling him that I had expressed these same concerns when he still half-assed living there, but perhaps he'd drank those memories away.
He had the nerve to attempt throwing an occasion wherein I went out drinking after having had no water at work one day, so a friend of mine drove me home and he then drove her the THREE BLOCKS down the street to her apartment (I had told her to take my car, I'd walk down for it in the morning, but whatever). That I'd drank that much and "showed no signs of intelligence" (yet I remember that whole incident, and was just going upstairs to sleep it off, because that's what I do when I drink too much--instead of getting into other people's shit, for instance) meant I had no business lecturing other people.
Once, I conceded. That happened, once. Unlike the repeated incidents of such drunken transgressions as bracketed above; or, for instance, the time I came home from my family's house at 3 a.m. and his drunk ass came stumbling up the drive from G-d knows where, completely oblivious to my (armed, because I didn;t recognize the stumbling zombie-like figure at first, mistook him for a street person, and pulled out my knife) presence, and pissing himself in the middle of our back porch while his dog ran around and I tried working myself and my luggage around his still oblivious ass.
Instead of trying to defend or deflect from that, he decided to deter the argument instead--I'm not allowed to tell people to grow up because I just work a "high school summertime job," and I should talk to him next week about growing up when he works for Sea World and I'm shining tires. (Here's hoping he doesn't stumble into the dolphin tank and drown.) However, that might be difficult, as he also informed me he was blocking further incoming texts/calls because he didn't see any point wasting his time and this "nonsense."
Which is a bitch move of a retreat if ever there was one. That he had to throw a classist jibe out like that means I must have bit a little too close to home, I guess. But, this means I don't have to contend with out-of-the-blue whining texts now, right?
My only retort was, "Just in case your were bluffing, at least my job lets me pay what I owe, when I owe it."
Also, it's winter time and I'm still making buku; my coworker pointed out that she makes more working here than she does at her teaching job; and I'm the youngest worker here, so what's this "high school" shit? And yeah, it's a mostly nonsense job, but when I get off and go hang out with my friends who work their nonsense jobs, we talk about shit like the anatomy of the brain and Israel vs. Palestine and theology. The only conversation I ever heard his friends and him have while doing shots pregaming for the club district, was NASCAR and how how much money they make. The only book I ever saw this twat pick up was a piece by Glenn Beck, and he never even finished it.
MONEY DOES NOT EQUATE MATURITY. Just ask Wall Street. I personally would root maturity in its fullest somewhere in the fulfillment of Security, Status, and most importantly Substance. SSS =/= $$$--that's just gutting the ideals with the material.
But now Sergio doesn't have to contend with his whiney ass at least. I make a pretty good attack dog when Chewey's not around, ne? ^^