I'm So Great: The Rantings of a Jaded Youth

When I grow up, I want to be just like me.

Hey, you look fat! Buy this! October 21, 2010

Filed under: Half-Assed Product Reviews,My Job,Things I've Done — Stephanie Fantastic @ 6:04 pm
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So I have to vent about the dumbest thing that happened to me yesterday. I was trundling along, doing my boring security job. The rain had stopped so I was feeling a little better because there would be a standstill in the continuing frizziness and curliness of my hair, and I figured at least people would roll their windows down to deal with my ass. Nothing doing with the latter. This guy drives up past me and up to the arm without looking over, his car nearly in the hedges that line my little shack. I stare at the side of his face through his closed window for a second before walking up to him. Without rolling down his window, he jabs a finger at his dashboard. Okay, he has a pass. The trick was in inserting myself between his car and the hedges to read the number and date off of it, since this guy was clearly too lazy to pick it up and show it to me. I get the number, timestamp his shit, half-heartedly wave him on, and get back to whatever I was doing.

About an hour later, he pulls up again, again so far up so that he has to look back at me. He rolls down his window, makes a show of looking me up and down, and says, “You know anyone who’s looking to lose weight?” in the conspiratorial whisper of the guy trying to sell you fake Rolexes in movies.

“Is it some kind of creepy scam?”

“No, of course not.” He hands me his card.



At this point, I was skeptical and aggravated. This guy didn’t give me the time of day an hour ago- couldn’t even roll down his window or lift a card up– but now he’s got a quota to fill and my fat ass is looking like a sweet payout. Fuck that guy. And fuck the chubby-looking guy in the tiny picture on the card. Worst salesman ever. Also, can you read that sentence on the bottom of the back? What does that even mean?


More Like H O Gay June 2, 2010

I haven’t talked much about my silly job in a while, which is probably a good thing, but there’s something that’s been bugging me since I started security. HOAs. Home-Owners Associations. Why do those exist? And furthermore, why do rich people want to live in areas with them so bad? If I had a bunch of money, the one thing I wouldn’t do is go live somewhere where people tell you what to do all the time. If I want to paint my two million dollar house Mexican Ice Cream Shack Pink, then I should damn well be able to. I paid TWO MILLION DOLLARS for it. Does it jerk me off too? Only when I want it to. Because it’s a fucking two million dollar home!

I can kind of understand the people who move into these HOA communities because they want to be board members. They love the power trip of micromanaging important issues such as their neighbors’ lawn care and guests. I get that they were in ASB and student government all through high school and college and can’t get enough of making useless decsions. Maybe if I had participated in student government, I too could have the thrill of telling the city to put stop signs up. So those people I get. But what about the relatively laid back people? What motivates the seemingly reasonable people who feel it’s their right to park their cars on the street in front of their own TWO MILLION DOLLAR home overnight to move into places where they’re not allowed to? It’s completely beyond me.

I’m very far from owning a home, but I’m kind of glad I got this job because I would have known absolutely nothing about HOAs otherwise and may have thought that they aren’t so bad when compared to the location/beauty/etc of my prospective new home. Now I know otherwise. I will never live in a place with an HOA. If I want wind chimes or a garden or to let my friend spend the month at my house, you’d better believe I’m not going to deal with a panel of busybodies telling me no.


Clean Your Plate. Kids Are Starving In Africa May 4, 2010

I think I’m going soft. I get a lot of calls, working security. Some of them are completely ridiculous (there are kids playing baseball in the street!) and others are legitimate (a boy is pointing what I think is a shotgun at my house). Today, I was seriously almost in tears listening to a cancer survivor telling me how furious she was that a painting company hired by property management let out her two declawed cats. These cats are like her children and she promised the last owner that she would never let them come to harm. They were the only thing that got her through her cancer because she worried more than anything about what would happen to them if she died. Now because of some douche who couldn’t warn her to keep them in the bathroom for a day, they’re wandering around near a manmade lake with no claws. All around a touching story.

But what happened to me? Growing up seems to have re-sensitized me to things I thought I had long been desensitized to. Suddenly I’m getting teary at movies and talking to people about more than just the weather. Maybe it’s just that I see people as people now, whereas when I was an invincible kid, people were a means to an end. Can you give me a ride to the mall? Will I get an A in your class? But I need this job to have enough money to go to wherever. I never used to like people very much. They made me nervous and they were confusing, and I preferred my own company and my own little world. I’m still like that, but to a lesser extent.

Lately, I keep coming back to this general subject though. Kids can’t appreciate that their parents and teachers and everyone else are real people with feelings and pasts. I know it took me a long time to recognize that the world wasn’t a movie that started when I was born and will end when I die. It’s hard to grasp that no one is a secondary main character in their own life. It’s just too big to wrap your mind around. I probably could have found a less psychotic quote, but this was the first one that came to mind as I was thinking about this: “You kill one person it’s a tragedy, you kill ten thousand people it’s a statistic.” Thanks, Stalin.

Our minds can’t fill out all the details like that. It’s too much for us to take in, and it’s probably an evolutionary trait. You can’t go around killing the next tribe over if you think about how the next tribe is probably just a color-swap of your tribe. Well, some tribes probably did think about that and sat around long enough to get killed by tribes that didn’t have such developed cognitive skills. Now that we don’t have to worry as much about people fighting us for land and resources and whatever else people used to fight over all the time, we can start blubbering over starving children in Africa or babies with harelips.

I feel like I should wrap this all up with an insightful, quotable message about the way people are or what being more sensitive to the plight of other people means to me, but I don’t think things through that far. It is what it is.


Observe and Report March 11, 2010

Filed under: My Job — Stephanie Fantastic @ 4:43 pm
Tags: , ,

I work security at the front gate of a working-rich community so I get a lot of calls from angry people asking me to dispatch guards for situations where there’s no way we could help. One old lady wanted the patrol guy to drive her to Newport Beach after his shift ended. Another man drove up to the back of the shack and sent his 6-year-old son out with a garbage bag held at arm’s length away because it contained a dead rabbit that had been on their lawn. Another lady called me furious that I had let a solicitor on property and when I ran the plate, it was a woman from the Census Bureau that the resident was calling about. And I received this call today.

Stephanie: Hello?
Man on phone: Hi, this is Mr. Such-And-Such from Address. I have a hive of hybrid Africanized bees on the side of my house.

At this point, I paused to have a small heart attack. I mean, did he want me to send someone out with a stick? With all the “There’s a dog running around. Go get it.” calls I get and the inevitable “What do we even HAVE security for?”, I was a little worried.

Mr. Such-And-Such: So I need you to let Bee Busters in at 4.

I laughed out loud and thanked the Baby Jesus.