Creep Creepin' Along

There is one school situated between my workplace and home.  One school zone in which the speed limit is reduced from 50 kilometers per hour, to a snail's pace of just 30 km/h.  Understandable it is, that the speed should be reduced as children are often seen jetting out into the street, in a streak of excitement at another day done and one day closer to the weekend.  There are no children where I work, but come quitting time, there's a mad rush into the parking lot and an even greater mad dash to exit the parking lot.

It was just a few years ago, that on his way to school, some small child cut across the street, in the middle of the block, and found his short life cut even shorter, as he was struck down by a passing automobile.  From that day forward, the speed limit was cut in front of schools.  Whether they be schools still open or not, for that matter.  I once received a speeding ticket while passing a school that had been closed down for some years.  A stupid loop-hole that even the cop admitted was "bullshit", however his hands were tied and I was summoned a pricey ticket.

The speed limit, to me, literally is a snail's pace.  My truck is barely at an idle as I creep down the street.  I still glance to the side, making sure that no children come darting out in front of me.  Kids can be pretty stupid sometimes, just like that little peckerwood all those years ago, who failed to see the cars heading for him.  "Check both ways, stupid!!"  Today, though, I realized that this low speed also seems a little creepy.  Oodles of drivers creeping past schools, looking for delinquent kids?  That sounds (and looks) really offbeat.  Probably the only real saving grace is, most everyone are not driving unmarked panel vans, and I'm pretty god damned sure that no one behind the wheel, is sporting a clown suit.

Secret Ballot

The Saskatoon civic election snuck up on me.  When I first learned of it, I thought I'd have so much time to size up the candidates.  I knew already, from speaking to him on my front stoop, who I was voting in Ward 5, where I currently reside.  I even went so far as to get a sign for my front yard.  His opponent, came to my doorstep, but never rang the door bell.  Obviously discouraged by the sign posted on my lawn, he instead through his literature down on the ground, trapped between my house and the shrubs.  What a prick!  Instead of trying to sway my vote, he'd rather act like a spoiled bitch.

As for mayor, well, I've not been happy with the guy we've had for the last (I don't know how many) years.  He's an arrogant asshole, as far as I'm concerned.  With every good fortune that has come to Saskatoon, he's patting himself on the back for "making it happen", despite all those who (behind the scenes) are the real heroes for making things happen.  For putting Saskatoon back on the map and making it a desirable destination to raise a family.

So I went to the school gymnasium down the street, registered to vote by showing my I.D. and coloured in the little black oval as instructed.  Instead of having cheap little cards that get folded over thrice after placing your X, they're now complicated sheets that get placed through a computer onsite.  The instructions for placing my ballot into the envelope was unclear, and like so many before me, I placed it upside down.  The gentleman at the reception table where the ballots were being entered, explained my mistake to me.  

"You place this in like so," he said, demonstrating that the blank side needs to be face-up, "This way, I can't see who you're voting for."

I chuckled and admitted that by having a sign showing my support for my candidate has revealed my vote to everyone who drove by my house for the past three weeks, so it didn't matter who saw my vote.

Happy Halloween, Kids

Unfortunately, this seems to be the case.  Superheroes and cowboys for the boys and "slutty whatever's" for the girls.

A few years ago, a some work friends and I went for some refreshing beverages after our work day, at a local drinking establishment.  It also happened to be Halloween, and as memory serves, the bar had soon filled with a bevy of women, wearing a menagerie of costumes, most of which were of the "slutty persuasion".  It was wall-to-wall eye candy, and what had initially started as a couple of drinks after work, soon extended itself to many many drinks after work.  There were slutty nurses, slutty vampires, slutty bunnies, and a cornucopia of slutty cats.  It was a very nice night, visually.

However, this slutty costumes, I have found, have been gradually spilling over into children's and teenage costumes.  This past weekend, as I was cycling through my bundles of flyers, I came across one ad for savings on Halloween costumes for kids.  Pictured above the (albeit reasonable) price, was a picture of two teen girls, one dressed as a provocative witch, the other as a provocative cat.  Both I determined was inappropriate for the targeted age.  I'm all for freedom of self-expression.  I, myself, had many a questionable Halloween costume as a teen, that I am not proud of, but none of those were purchased from a store.

It's sad that kids, girls more specifically, are being steered in this direction.  The only true saving grace is the fact that in this vicinity, 99% of the time, there is snow on the ground on October 31st and the temperature is so low, that a parka is mandatory to wear over the Halloween costume in question.

Grave Injustice

Several years ago, I found myself in a doctor's office, the specialist behind their desk explaining to me, in great detail, the results of several tests that had been performed on me.  I had apparently been born with a "syndrome", of which will prevent me from ever fathering a child.  I can be a dad, per se, but only if I adopt.  Not by having a child the "fun" way.

I share this with you all, because I find it appalling that I am faced with a situation where I know I could be a good father to a child, then you get all these other butt-reaming assholes, who have one, two, or more kids, and don't appreciate the incredible gift they have before them.

I see it in the news all too often.  Kids being harmed in all sorts of ways.  I find it painfully difficult to listen to, and even more difficult to accept.  In 2011, it was the case of Zahra Baker, the little girl who had survived a horrendous bout with bone cancer, which resulted in the loss of part of her lower left leg and her hearing.  The one thing she never lost, was her beautiful smile, but a selfish stepmother killed the little girl, the details of which are far too horrific to repeat, stole this little girl's life.  Such a waste of life, sickens me.

What sparks this disdain in me, once again, is the brutal slaying of a six-month old baby girl by her "father".  After a night of partying with his loser friends, a 19-year old Colorado teen, Dylan Kuhn, repeatedly slammed his crying infant daughter into the mattress, in an effort to silence the baby girl.  When it was discovered that she was no longer breathing, the authorities were called.

The story initially given to police was that a couple days before, the baby had gotten twisted up in some blankets and fell off the couch and striking her head.  However, evidence found during the autopsy of baby Sailor, failed to match up with the claims made by this sorry excuse for a human being.  Finally this piece of shit, admitted to authorities of how his infant daughter had actually died.

The story doesn't end there.  After pleading guilty for his crime, the charge was pleaded down from Murder to Manslaughter, and instead of receiving the mandatory sentence carried with this charge, the judge, the "dis"-honourable Douglas Walker, sentenced the youth to a mere 90 days in jail, and four years probation.  Apparently, Dylan is also required to take some Parenting classes, too f*cking late, if you ask me.  As well, this motherf*cker is required to submit evaluations on mental health and substance abuse.  In addition, he's not allowed to be left alone with any children under the age of 10.

Motherf*ckers like this all over the country and the world.  Having kids and not realizing (and appreciating) how miraculous and precious these little lives really are.  Sadly, this won't be the last case like this that I'll see on the news channels.

It's a rare occasion, if any, that I side with that sociopath Nancy Grace on CNN's HLN, but when I heard her wild exclamations and accusations tonight, in regards to Dylan Kuhn getting a slap on the wrist for murdering his baby girl, I was disgusted and appalled as well.

Language Barrier

I should have known that Thursday was going to be a f*cked up day at work, when I jumped up at 5:31am, in a panic, thinking I was late for work.  I'd already gotten one sock on my foot before I realized that I had an entire hour before I had to depart for work.

For the most part, my day was relatively routine.  I got out to my primary work area and was greeted with a horrific mess left by the previous night's crew and the "burn-off" idiot from that morning.

I drive a fork lift for a industrial-type factory here in the city.  At the current time, I am covering for a fella who's off with a nasty back injury that required surgery.  What the job entails is placing steel racks onto carts for the assembly/paint line at the industrial factory in where I am currently employed.  The emptied racks, once depleted of the parts they hold, must go to a fiery furnace to have the paint removed from the racks.  It's an easy process which is complicated in it's explanation.  Suffice it to say, the guy who works the burn off area, is as a fellow worker described as a "dip-shit".  And this dip-shit, causes me grief on an almost daily basis.  However, he is not what made this day stupid.  It was the communication with one or two other people.

The plant in which I work, employs a great deal of people of the Filipino persuasion.  What I find odd about these folks, is the fact that they come from a Sovereign State of South East China, they all have Mexican-type names, but can't speak a lick of Spanish.  It's all that ping-pong wing-wong shit.  That isn't a language!  Those are sounds from a vintage pinball machine.  What's even more f*cked up is, a majority of these folks, can't pronounce the letter 'F'.  The very same sounding consonant that starts the country of their origin.  The afore mentioned dip-shit, can't even pronounce my name.  Always calling me "JEPP".  Who the f*ck is Jepp?

Believe it or not!  I don't have that much of a problem communicating with the Filipino workers.  Granted I don't speak to the masses, but instead a few strategically placed folks.  The people I have a problem speaking to, are the people of the caucasian persuasion.  The older white guys who were born and raised right here in Canada, where English is their primary language, but you'd never know it because the order in which they speak certain words, totally confuses the f*ck out of me.

For example, this grey-haired guy flagged me down yesterday and kindly asked me if I'd pick up a heavy steel instrument from outside and bring it to his stall inside.  I gladly agreed, always eager to help, and asked where he was.  

"I'm right across from where they're building those great big tanks." he said.  I knew exactly the tanks to which he was referring and quickly picked up the tool with my fork lift and traveled down to the stall across from those giant tanks that were being built.  Once there, I asked the grey-haired fellow where he'd like it.  The man just stared at me and told me he didn't know what I was talking about.  

"You just asked me to bring this down to you, like two minutes ago."  As it turned out, it wasn't the same guy.  For some reason, in this general area, there's about three different old f*ckers, all with the same shitty haircut and all with same shitty salt-n-pepper 1970's porn mustaches, thus confusing the hell outta me.  Eventually, I found the guy, who didn't have the stall across from the big tanks being built, but was beside the giant tanks.  I tried to explain his error, "You said across, which would indicate that there was some sort of barrier that divided you from the tanks.  Like a river.  Or shrubbery.  A field or in this case, the roadway..."  My words were futile.  He just stared at me like I was speaking a foreign language.  What a dumb-ass.

Today, the same thing occurred.  There were some carts outside with shiny red painted parts on them.  This guy, who's name I'll change to protect innocent...  Let's call him DICK!  Come's up to me and asks, "When you have a spare moment, can you bring in those painted parts for me?"  I thought it odd, being he is a welder, but what the f*ck?  He apparently knows what he's talking about.  So I bring in the two carts of painted parts and park them in his stall.  About five minutes later, he storms up to me and demands I remove these painted parts.  "You don't put painted parts in a weld stall!" he said forcefully, to which I replied, "You told me..., 'When [I] had a moment, could I bring the painted parts in to you."  

"Well I meant to take them over to R___."  She's located on the far side of the west plant, in which I currently work in.  

"If you'd have said that, I would have, but YOU said 'bring them in to YOU'."  (In my world, when someone requests that something be brought to them, it literally means: Taking that item and bringing it to that person.  It does not mean: Taking [said] item and shuffle it off to whomever.

"Well I meant for you to take them to R___!" he repeated, adding more force to his tone.

"You should've said that then." I answered, unwilling to take any shit.

"You know what I meant."

"I can't read minds.  You should say what you mean." I quickly answered and leaving the matter at that.

My biggest frustration in life, is why it seems those who are to speak English most fluently, seem to f*ck it up the most?  Some days I just want to scream and pull my hair out when dealing with these dumb-ass people...

Perhaps it's my own fault, though.  Over the years, since leaving high school, I've tried to perfect my speech and use of the English language.  I've improved myself so much so, that a few years ago I was tested on my speech, reading comprehension and writing.  The result was scoring in the top twenty-one percentile for my age group.  Which was explained to me as my being "smarter" (that's debatable, I suppose) than 79% of the people in my age group.  I can't help but wonder, where I'd score in comparison to the age group of older grey-haired f*cks with 70's porn-style mustaches...?