Jul 17, 2016

This World Is a Joke

     After writing this post back in April, I received by far the best email I've ever gotten from one of the blog's readers. This might make it seem like I'm getting a ton of mail when I'm actually not, maybe I've gotten a total of five messages over the years but still, the letter I'm referring to is simply the best and will remain the best even if I ever get five hundred or five thousand of them and here's why: the dude got me, like really got me. I often wonder if people get what I write, if they get the jocular tone of it all or if they just think I'm an idiot (which would actually be a completely valid point as well), but this guy got it, got me. And not just that, he was unbelievably kind to boot and among other things wrote, "... you must be a really fun person to be around with. Your boyfriend is lucky to have you." And you know what? Fuck it, I am, I am kind of fun — my boyfriend and I crack each other up basically all day every day. Statistically speaking, one out of seven days someone starts crying because we laugh so hard and I'm sure that in a couple of years (if not months), the other six out of seven days someone (me) will pee their pants too thanks to someone's old age.
     But why am I telling you all of this? Because I like talking about looming urinary incontinence and other perks of getting old? Not really. Because I want to prove a point, a point which I want you to keep in mind while you're reading the remainder of this post and that point is: I'm not bitter. I'm not bitter, even though everything else that follows in this post is. And trust me, I'm not happy about that — I like bitter only when it comes in a tumbler accompanied by some ice and a generous splash of vodka since vodka-Bitter-Lemon's one of my dearest companions, but sometimes a girl needs to vent and this girl is in desperate need of some venting so hence the cathartic embitterment. And you can thank this girl's boiling point which she reached this week for it.
     The past Monday, after quite some time of car trials and tribulations, we've gotten a new car. Well, if you consider a used minivan a new car, but anyhow. We went to the car dealership to check it out on Friday of the previous week and came to pick it up this Monday like the salesgirl suggested. "Just call me Monday morning if you decide to take it and I'll have all the paperwork ready for you," she said and that's exactly what we did: on Monday morning we called her — and no one answered.
     After finally getting a hold of someone at the dealer's, it turned out that our girl was at 'the doctor's office' which later turned out to be code for 'I decided to drive to Munich last night to go for a drink and came home at 5 a.m. today and now I'm such a zombie even though I drank three cups of coffee already, LOL' like she explained all smiles and giggles. So. After running around like crazy for hours getting everything from payment and purchase agreement to insurance and registration in order, we were finally one step away from actually getting the damn car and driving away in it, when the girl said, "Oh, I'm sorry, the car still has to be taken to the inspection station to pass vehicle inspection."
     When she said that, my head almost exploded. How the fuck is that even possible, you dimwit, when my boyfriend specifically asked you some seven times if the fucking car was taken to the fucking inspection already and you each time said 'oh, yes, yes, of course'? I wanted to kindly inquire, but I just smiled and said, "Oh really? How's that?"
     "My boss wrote me a list of things I have to get done and I did everything on the list but now I see that I forgot to turn the page — your vehicle inspection appointment was on the other side, LOL."
     Honestly ... How my brain didn't melt and ooze out of my skull through my ears is beyond me. How that twat is still alive and breathing today is too. But unfortunately, that's not the end of what brought on my cathartic embitterment.
     On Wednesday, I took my boyfriend to the doctor's office for his mandatory medical check-up to get his driver's license renewed. Want to know something? That was his second visit in the last seven days because there was 'a hiccup' the first time around. So did he get his license renewed by now? Of course not. When he got there (for the second time), got his blood drawn (for the second time) and waited for his results (for the second time), they, what? Gave him his paperwork? Of course not. Why? Because "we will send you the paperwork, sir, you'll get your papers by mail tomorrow, that's how the system works". Sure, that seems logical. Why give the man — the man who's standing right there in front of you, mind you — his papers when you can have them mailed to him? That's how the system works, duh. And so, he's still waiting for those papers and still hasn't renewed his driver's license — because the fucking system doesn't fucking work.
      But that's still not all, far from it. Last month I got a letter urging me to come by the local tax administration office and when I got there, no one knew what I was there for — and they asked me to come there. And the list of incidents, directly pertaining to me or not, doesn't matter, goes on and on: not too long ago, my boyfriend's passport expired and he waited for a new one for almost two months. And you know why? Because the woman at the passport renewal office forgot to take his fingerprints and didn't even bother to check what was the matter with his application even though he kept going back there every couple of days asking her why it was taking so long until one day he frigging lost it and she got scared into caring.
     As you can see and probably sense, I truly have a slew of examples illustrating how our society is in a total shambles, how this, all of this is a farce — that our world is a joke, a fucking joke. I've already put together a similar catalogue and written about something along these lines in Slovene several months ago, but back then I didn't touch upon one crucial point: I'm not talking about making mistakes, everyone fucks up because to err is human. He fucks up, she fucks up, you fuck up and God knows I fuck up, boy, how I fuck up. But that's just the thing: I know I'm messing up big time despite the fact I fucking care and try not to. I don't even want to begin to imagine how many fuck-ups I'd produce if I just stopped caring and trying altogether, if I just 'forgot to turn the page'. Well ... I actually don't even have to imagine, I get a pretty accurate taste of it whenever I have to deal with the outside world because people in general just don't fucking care anymore.
     So let's man up and tell it like it is: our race is getting too lazy or simply too stupid to give a damn, period. Which has actually been a known fact for a few years now — did you know that since the Victorian era general intelligence dropped 14 IQ points? When I read that, I was shocked, I was dumbfounded, I was gobsmacked. Not because the research says we're getting stupider, no. After all, this life has turned into an episode of Jersey Shore or Jerry Springer. I was aghast, because it says we've only lost 14 points — to me it seems that we've dropped some 2 to 7 points just this past week. I'm afraid that by this time next year they'll be selling apps reminding us to breathe out or wipe our own drool. "Wipe-A-Drool: your friendly drool wiping reminder. Thanks to our breakthrough vibrating system you'll never forget to close your mouth ever again!" I mean, you can already get an app reminding you to drink water — drink water, for fuck's sake! We're hopeless, completely and utterly hopeless.
     Regardless of the fact that I'm not inclined to bitterness, though, I've said that humanity is a lost cause many a time before, but mostly just to my mom, she gets it. We've had this conversation on more than one occasion and once she said, "You know what, honey? I see these things and know all of this, but I'm old. You're still so young and it saddens me that you see all of this too when you should be full of hope, when you should still think the world is this great, promising place." Great? Promising? Hope? If you ask me, with hope it's pretty much like with respect — it is given when it is do. So you can't call me pessimistic because I have absolutely no hope I'll one day grow a tail, sprout black and white fur and turn into a zebra, I'm not an idiot. And therefore, I'm not hoping or counting on humanity to come to its senses — I'm not an idiot. And because I'm not an idiot, I know that things are not looking up for mankind and I've known that for quite some time actually.
     At first, that realisation was hard on me. I would lie in bed at night, unable to sleep, just wracking my brain. How the fuck are we going to fix this, how the fuck are we going to drag our dumb, fucked up asses out of this slump? And then one day, not too long ago, if hit me: we won't. It's that simple. We won't. Somewhere along the way we had taken a wrong turn and slowly but surely fucked this great, promising place up completely. And most people don't even see it because they're too preoccupied with their own little problems, all hail sancta simplicitas.
     As you might assume, I myself don't believe that ignorance is bliss and therefore that bugged the shit out of me. Now, I don't sweat it anymore. Things will sort themselves out, we'll get what we have coming — remember Noah, his arc and the great flood? Whether you believe that fable to be true or not, it's a fucking great allegory: when humanity got too disgusting, God, Nature, Eywa, the universe, whatever decided to smite us and start anew, give this world a fresh start. I'm kind of sensing that will happen to us, except that we'll drown in our own garbage and shit. And I'm willing to bet good money that the last man's last words will be, "Oops. Forgot to turn the page." But as I said, I don't sweat it. I just stay away from the simplicitas as much as I can and make damn sure we never run out of beer in our house because you know what they say: a drink a day keeps the shrink away. Or in my case the inclination to grab a fucking machete and start swinging.
     With that being said, I better sign off now and get off of this damn thing, my boyfriend is waiting for me with a couple of beers he just opened — let's see if we can make someone pee themselves today. Fingers crossed.

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