Dear Diary,

Why, oh, why are people so bloody annoying?. And it's not simply a question of curiosity, I don't merely seek knowledge--no, it's my sanity, you see, it demands that I know the answer to this question, and if I don't find the answers I seek, I'm terribly afraid of what it will do...

Please, I beg of you, tell me, I need to know!

K, so, imagine you're me (I know, I know--just do it) and you've been dealing with this particular customer who (you suspect) takes great pleasure in harassing you daily (at least) about getting someone to come by and fix a problem that needs fixing. Okee dokee, sure thing, you bet, no problem BUT, you kindly explain (with annoying regularity) that you're not a "service" company and once things go out of warranty there's no guarantee on the when's of things and since they are out of warranty and what they're wanting would absolutely be a "service" issue it could take a bit of time before anyone can swing by and fix that problem that needs fixing.

So, cool, groovy, copacetic, right? Umm, no. They call you and call you (and call you and call you) over and over (and over and over) again until you're having visions of ripping your own hair out strand by strand. You just can't take it anymore (can't, can't, can't) so you buckle under pressure and order someone to swing by and fix that problem that needs fixing like right now! You call the consistent caller who's been harassing you to the point of insanity and explain that they're on the way, 20 minutes tops and they'll be there! Abso-fucking-lutely!

Done, finished, no more calls! Whoo. WRONG. Eighteen minutes later the phone rings and you answer it obliviously unaware of who's waiting for you on the other end, because it couldn't be THAT caller, oh no, you've taken care of that, it's done! But it is them (why, god, why) and they sound rushed and annoyed (etc, etc, etc) and start grilling you about when we're going to be there?? When, when, when!?!? Two minutes, you say, just two! TWO, they question. Yes, two, you answer! No longer, they ask. No, two minutes (they better fucking be), you answer. And ya know what they say to you??? Do you? No? Well, I'll tell you. They say, "That's good, if it's only going to be two minutes I'll wait cause I really need to get back to the pool!"

The pool?!?! The bloody bitching mother fucking pool?!?! This shit was so important they've been harassing me for damn near two weeks, and now that we're on our way, they're bitching about waiting two minutes because they need to get back to the pool.

What is WRONG with people? WHAT???

K, sigh, all done now.

Perhaps when I'm not so annoyed I'll tell you all about my weekend, which, aside from a few very bad moments in the land of Aimee and Drew, was nearly perfect.