Life Sucks, Grab a Helmet!
Lets begin with the general knowledge that life is at its’ most perfect when in bed. That is; that as one moves away from the perfect nest of exquisite peace and tranquility of your own bed, life’s general pleasantness degrades dramatically. The further you are from your pillow, the more life is going to suck. Now, let us begin...
A while back I heard story from a friend who was eavesdropping on a conversation happening between some office assistants and their boss. Well, it wasn’t so much a conversation as it was a series of wild complaints made via email; read aloud to anyone within earshot.
First on the list was the great impropriety of not getting his desired, exclusively vegetarian meal on the plane flight abroad. Now I can’t deride people of their bizarre dietary habits alone. Well, I can (and quite often do) but that’s not really the centre of my argument here. What is the crux of this travesty is that he expected to have a specifically created meal on a plane. It’s not a flying restaurant. It’s a densely crammed flying tin box that equates to an expensive bus ride over the ocean. If you’re so delicate that the thought of picking out the butter-grey slices of beef from your in-flight meal and just eating the cherry-tomato and lettuce leaf sends your sensibilities reeling, maybe you should pack a sandwich. Otherwise, hunker down to the food trough like the rest of us and chew out the lumpy bits.
Second out of the gate was the issue of guided travel. A map. Dude wanted a map. That’s it. Now, granted no country can be as resourceful as these good nations of North America; however, you have to wonder if the locals might have something just as useful. I’ve been overseas and to foreign lands on more than a few occasions. It has been my experience that some places do have such charts and graphs one would need to easily navigate their frozen tundra, deep forests, and cityscapes. In fact, every gawdammed square meter on our sweet Earth has been photographed from space by the good folks at Google. If you’re electronically challenged, you can probably find the dead-tree version at nearly every gas-station, bookstore, and whore-house in sight. If you cannot manage any of the above, then you deserve to be swallowed up by the vastness of this land. Don’t come back here if you can’t find your way there.
Thirdly was the lodging. Now of course anyone who isn’t 6 doesn’t exactly relish the idea of having to share a room with another dirty, stinking human. Seriously, unless you’re going to screw, what good point is there to bunk with someone? That said, if you’re traveling to distant lands, screwing or not, you’re going to have to share a room. It’s a given absurdity that in order to save a few dollars, not everyone gets their own home when they’re away from home. This somehow was lost on the boss. He wanted his own space on this working vacation. I dunno, maybe he likes to break dance old-skool or swing his cock around in the air. Everyone has a reason to be alone, right? Somehow, though, he didn’t feel there was a need to suppress his cock-swinging while away from home. He needed his own cock-swinging room, damn it.
Lastly was the overall purpose of the trip: the job. The only reason for the trip was a photography shoot to take place in classical settings in Old-World Europe. There was a prepared list of locations that were all selected by him. Upon seeing the actual locations, he decided they weren't European enough. He demanded changes. Instant changes.
Perhaps a helpful mental game would assist us here: First, think of any working vacation as though you were diving into a pool. Now, I don’t know about you, but if I’m going to dive into a pool, I like to check out a few things first. Like, is there a pool? If so, is it a pool in which I can dive? Is there water in this pool or is it empty? You know, the frivolous stuff. Naw, instead it's easier to jump into the pool and ask someone to fill it before you hit the bottom.
So, unless you’re in bed, sleeping soundly on you own delicate pillow, expect a lot of things to go very wrong. Just suck it up, and smile. Then cut the strings on your mittens by doing things your own damned self. Oh, and seriously, cut out the cock-swinging unless it’s on your own time. We really can’t afford two rooms and I don’t want to have see that sort of stuff.
A while back I heard story from a friend who was eavesdropping on a conversation happening between some office assistants and their boss. Well, it wasn’t so much a conversation as it was a series of wild complaints made via email; read aloud to anyone within earshot.
First on the list was the great impropriety of not getting his desired, exclusively vegetarian meal on the plane flight abroad. Now I can’t deride people of their bizarre dietary habits alone. Well, I can (and quite often do) but that’s not really the centre of my argument here. What is the crux of this travesty is that he expected to have a specifically created meal on a plane. It’s not a flying restaurant. It’s a densely crammed flying tin box that equates to an expensive bus ride over the ocean. If you’re so delicate that the thought of picking out the butter-grey slices of beef from your in-flight meal and just eating the cherry-tomato and lettuce leaf sends your sensibilities reeling, maybe you should pack a sandwich. Otherwise, hunker down to the food trough like the rest of us and chew out the lumpy bits.
Second out of the gate was the issue of guided travel. A map. Dude wanted a map. That’s it. Now, granted no country can be as resourceful as these good nations of North America; however, you have to wonder if the locals might have something just as useful. I’ve been overseas and to foreign lands on more than a few occasions. It has been my experience that some places do have such charts and graphs one would need to easily navigate their frozen tundra, deep forests, and cityscapes. In fact, every gawdammed square meter on our sweet Earth has been photographed from space by the good folks at Google. If you’re electronically challenged, you can probably find the dead-tree version at nearly every gas-station, bookstore, and whore-house in sight. If you cannot manage any of the above, then you deserve to be swallowed up by the vastness of this land. Don’t come back here if you can’t find your way there.
Thirdly was the lodging. Now of course anyone who isn’t 6 doesn’t exactly relish the idea of having to share a room with another dirty, stinking human. Seriously, unless you’re going to screw, what good point is there to bunk with someone? That said, if you’re traveling to distant lands, screwing or not, you’re going to have to share a room. It’s a given absurdity that in order to save a few dollars, not everyone gets their own home when they’re away from home. This somehow was lost on the boss. He wanted his own space on this working vacation. I dunno, maybe he likes to break dance old-skool or swing his cock around in the air. Everyone has a reason to be alone, right? Somehow, though, he didn’t feel there was a need to suppress his cock-swinging while away from home. He needed his own cock-swinging room, damn it.
Lastly was the overall purpose of the trip: the job. The only reason for the trip was a photography shoot to take place in classical settings in Old-World Europe. There was a prepared list of locations that were all selected by him. Upon seeing the actual locations, he decided they weren't European enough. He demanded changes. Instant changes.
Perhaps a helpful mental game would assist us here: First, think of any working vacation as though you were diving into a pool. Now, I don’t know about you, but if I’m going to dive into a pool, I like to check out a few things first. Like, is there a pool? If so, is it a pool in which I can dive? Is there water in this pool or is it empty? You know, the frivolous stuff. Naw, instead it's easier to jump into the pool and ask someone to fill it before you hit the bottom.
So, unless you’re in bed, sleeping soundly on you own delicate pillow, expect a lot of things to go very wrong. Just suck it up, and smile. Then cut the strings on your mittens by doing things your own damned self. Oh, and seriously, cut out the cock-swinging unless it’s on your own time. We really can’t afford two rooms and I don’t want to have see that sort of stuff.
