atomic_fungus (atomic_fungus) wrote,
atomic_fungus
atomic_fungus

#2498: STFU and go the hell away

Got a call from the Chicago Tribune today, trying to sell me a subscription.

Both Chicago newspapers are liberal rags. They have always been liberal rags. When the Sun-Times got bought by some slightly less left-wing guy than the previous owner, Mike Royko abandoned ship for the Tribune rather than lower himself to work for a paper whose editorial policy might become slightly less lefty-liberal than the Communist Party.

But the Sun-Times remained a liberal rag. Royko could have stayed, but I'd wager he got a nice fat raise from the Tribune and his "statement" was probably 99% self-enrichment and 1% actual protest. That's the way those guys work; think he would have quit if the Tribune couldn't match or better what he got from the Sun-Times? Somehow I doubt it.

Anyway, the Tribune has been calling here two or three times per week for a while, and today they called while I was sitting in the rocking chair and thinking, taking a little break between chores. I answered the call mainly so I could tell them not to call me any more.

So I listened to the opening bit, and then said, "I'm not interested in subscribing to a newspaper. Thank you," and prepared to hang up. I had thought--during the opening spiel--to tell her I get my news from the Internet, but I realized that would just sparked a needless debate about the "validity" of Internet news sources. But she wouldn't take "no" for an answer; she proceeded to tell me all the wonderful benefits of the Sunday edition ("including hundreds of dollars worth of coupons"--WTF is that shit?) and then asked me for my name as part of the next stage of the sell.

"I'm not interested in telling you my name, the same way I'm not interested in subscribing to your paper," I said crisply. "Goodbye," I added, and hung up on her.

I don't normally do that to telemarketers. WTF, they're just folks who are trying to do an annoying and stupid job. But at the same time, I absolutely refuse to let them seize the high ground and I am not going to spend one second--or one iota of politeness!--more than is necessary or reasonable on telling them that I am not interested.

If you're not going to listen to me when I say it the first time, then you're going to get hung up on. And, by the way, this kind of "hard sell" horseshit just convinces me that the last thing I want or need is a subscription to the Chicago Tribune. Even if I weren't already receiving the Chicago Sun-Times because Mom subscribed to it, and the subscription hasn't run out yet, I still wouldn't be interested in a Tribune subscription. Fuck those guys.

If they call again, my only words will be, "I want you to stop calling me."

* * *

As for the chores, I got everything done which needed doing. Seeing as it was getting so late, I decided on a gyro for dinner rather than making mexican lasagna. I can do that tomorrow.

It took me an hour to go get my suit, because of all the idiots. Damn it, I wish there was a tailor closer to home that looked like it was any good; but the only places I could find in the Yellow Pages were either big box haberdashers (like "BIG AND MEATY MENSWEAR!") (fictional example) or even farther away than was the place I found.

In all probability I could have taken it to a seamstress here in town and gotten it done, but I wasn't thinking that at the time. I was thinking about the kind of place where some old jewish guy comes out with a tape measure and a piece of chalk and talks to you about sports while he measures your inseam and stuff, and then says, "I'll have it done for you next Tuesday, and it'll cost you thirty bucks. No! Twenty-five, and I'm robbing myself!" The place my Dad had his tailoring done was like that--and it was a ten-minute drive from here--but it's apparently gone out of business. (Problem with old jewish guys: they die, just like everyone else.)

Anyway, this place advertised itself as a tailor's, laundromat, and tuxedo rental; the suit needed cleaning (besides needing to be let out to accommodate an expanding Fungus) so it was two birds, one stone.

I hit Kohl's first; and God did I get sticker shock: the first shirt I found that looked like it would fit me was $55. Jesus! For $55, I want that old jewish guy telling me, "This will fit! Don't you worry! You'll look like a million bucks. No! Seven hundred and fifty thousand, and I'm robbing myself!" I'd pay that guy the $55 for the shirt, because he's a clothing expert and knows what works and what doesn't. I'd probably let him pick the color and pattern, too.

I managed to find some slightly less expensive shirts in the same size; and then I found a boxed shirt on clearance for $10 which has a 19" neck. I bought three shirts, for a total of $70; there was a "buy one, get a second at half off" sale and the first two were $38 apiece.

The clearance shirt has a pattern on it, but I think it'll work with the suit; and if it does, I'll take the other two back on Thursday. If it doesn't, I'll keep it and wear one of the others, and take the remaining one back on Thursday. (But I think it'll be fine.)

I got out of the grocery store for $100, which ain't bad.

I found my manuals, I got my notes typed up and printed; the only remaining thing is to dig out my briefcase, clean it up, and stuff it with the manuals and notes. Also, trim my facial hair; I'll shave tomorrow morning.

*phew*

I really hope I can sleep tonight. I'm taking Xanax at 9 PM, which ought to help; also I've been up since 8 AM. We'll see. But WTF; all I have to do is to be "on" for the interview and I can be "meh" the entire rest of the day.

And then I get to chew my nails while they chew over the results of their interviews with the candidates for the position.

* * *

I can't think of a clever way to end this post. Sorry.
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