Does Mom Chew Your Food?

An advertisement played on the radio this afternoon.  The local soccer association is trying to drum up interest in kids joining a soccer league.  The announcer in the ad spoke of professionals who will teach your kids on how to play soccer.  I thought to myself, "Jeez.  How stupid are your kids that they can't figure out how soccer is played?  Does your mom chew your food for you, too?" 😂 

Here's a ball.  There's a field.  Now run and kick that spotted ball that way (👉 indicate which end of the field is the opponents goal.)  Kick the ball into that obnoxiously oversized goal.  Repeat.  "You can touch the ball however you like, just not with your hands.  You can lick the ball for all I care, just don't lay a hand on it."

Soccer really is a stupid game.  Based solely on it's simplicity.  Run. Kick. Run some more.  And what's up with that damned net?  It's the size of a barn, yet the scores are so god damned low.  I reckon it's the size of the field.  They run and run and run, up and down that enormous field.  I imagine the scores are so low, because everyone is tuckered the f*ck out.  I betcha that the goals were human sized, once upon a time, but the field was SO BIG, that no one was scoring at all.  So instead of making the field smaller, the genius' made the goal net BIGGER and still the f*cking scores are miniscule.

Only thing worse than the game of soccer, are the fans.  NOT all of them.  There's bound to be some normals among the bunch.  I'm talking about the sociopaths who go ape shit out of team loyalty.  I believe when I was a kid, I heard a story about some Brazilian player who f*cked up and the fans went to his house, drug him outside and murdered him.  What the f*ck?  That's f*cking insane.  That's like if I wore a Saskatchewan Roughrider jersey and someone came up to me wearing a Winnipeg Blue Bomber shirt, then they f*cking murdered me.

I wrote a blog many many years ago, on another platform, I believe, where I addressed the stupidness of soccer, citing how this tribe in Africa really wanted to play the game of soccer, but couldn't afford the equipment (the ball).  So they formed their own soccer balls out of dried manure.  It was quite a sight, watching a video of these young African teens running, chasing and kicking these dried shitballs. 😂 I laughed, commenting, "See?  Further proof that soccer is a shit-game."

If I'm not mistaken, somehow I got a lot of soccer-related web accounts (FB, Twitter, etc.) tagging me and following me.  Had to block them all, because... Well.  It's soccer. 🤨

One Word Horror Title: MONDAY

 

Everyone lays claim to hating Mondays.  Everybody from your neighbourhood grocer, to your letter carrier to your favourite cartoon feline, everyone grumbles over Monday mornings.

I've never had much issue with Mondays as I've always felt they sucked every bit as much as every other day that ends with a Y, with exception of November 29th, my favourite day of the year.  That is until about a month ago, when I began my newest work piece, which I'll be stuck with until September, unless I draw a short straw and get stuck with the same Monday morning shift.

Monday mornings, I begin my work at 5:12am, which requires me to get out of bed at about a quarter after four in the morning, in order to get myself mobile and feed the boy.

If I were able to sleep at night, the 4:15am alarm wouldn't be so bad, but as of late, I'm barely getting three or four hours a night.  Last night, I know for a fact that I only had maybe two hours of sleep.  Maybe a couple minutes more, but nothing significant, but I was up and at 'em and as I was walking out the front door, the power in the northern part of the city went out.  Because I park in the garage, I was unable to leave for work.  I gave it about ten minutes, then called work to let them know I would be unable to fulfill my commitment at 5:12am.  So I lost my normal work for the day, but I was still able to work some other routes and that's where my day began to really unravel.

The power came back about an hour later and I rushed out the door, headed to the garage for work.  I arrived a few minutes before 6am, when I was told there was no work available for me, yet, but to call back at 8:30am.  So I returned home and awaited for the allotted time to call.  I was able to get my itinerary over the phone.  The fellow addressing me was of East Indian decent, so I had some difficulty understanding him, which is why I reiterated with him multiple times, to reassure that I would be taking said bus over at this time and place for this duration. Yes. Yes. Yes and yes, is what I heard through the ear speaker on my phone.  I quickly sped to the mall, catching a bus headed downtown, where I caught the shuttle to the garage where I, once again, clarified with dispatch that these were the bus routes for me and that I take them over here and there and this 'n' that.  Again, I was met with confirmation after confirmation.

First I had to take the shuttle van to Confed Mall where I took over the 65 for one lap through Kensington, followed by the race down 22nd Street and finally sliding into the stall downtown.  A lady approached me and asked me to call the #14 to ask them to wait.  I smiled and told her that I was going to be driving that bus in a few minutes, adding that I wouldn't leave without her.

I did one loop of the 14, returning in time to grab a slice of mediocre pepperoni pizza from the Pharmasave, and with about forty-five minutes to spare, I ate my pizza in the driver's lounge.

My next piece was driving 17-3.  Remember that I confirmed the where, what, and when with the dispatch people, not once, not twice, not even thrice, but probably about five times.  So many times that they were probably scoffing at my ignorance when I left their little window.  It's not ignorance that I possess, but an overwhelming level of anxiety.  Members of the dispatch have fucked me over in the past, giving me false information, telling me to take over a route, downtown, when in fact I was supposed to be at the Circle Park Mall terminal and as you've probably already guessed, they fucked me on this one, too.

I was lead to believe that I was supposed to take over Route 17 at 13:20 (1:20pm for you laypeople) at College and Bottemley.  I stood at that stop for nearly an hour when dispatch called and asked where I was?  I told them and that's when I was on the receiving end of a scolding, telling me that I was supposed to be at the Circle Park Mall to take over the bus.  They told me that the bus has been idling there at the terminal for forty minutes and that they were sending a supervisor to pick me up and take me to my bus.  That ride over was not fun, either.  He gave me shit, big time.  He never raised his voice, but he made it abundantly clear that I had messed up and that I'd likely be receiving a reprimand for the mistake.  I explained to him a bunch of times of how I confirmed multiple times with dispatch that I was told to go there to take over.  He told me outright that takeovers for that route is ALWAYS at either the Cope Terminus or at the Circle Park Mall.  He added that this route was his regular run when he was a driver and that's how it's ALWAYS been done.  He really emphasized that "always".

With a 48-minute deficit when I took over, I managed to catch the bus back up to be on-schedule.  When I finished up my shift, any guesses where I traded off the bus with the next driver?  Yep!!  College and Bottomley.  ALWAYS, my ass!! 

I think I'm going to chat with one of the union guys just to get their take on this.  As I said, this has happened a few times and I don't know if anyone else is having problems similar to this, but I don't think I should get a write-up if I'm not really the one at fault. 🤔

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Fuck that!!!