How I really feel about John Q. Public

Well, as all of you know, I work at the newspaper. I have determined though, that I would help their business tremendously if I just worked from home. See having me work with the public is the equivalent to making a nun work in a porn shop. The two just don’t mesh well. It is so strange, I used to be a people person (when I worked at the grocery store). Apparently the anti-social bug has bit me somewhere along the way, and I’m just not that friendly toward the general public anymore. I swear, even when I answer the phone now I roll my eyes and cop a ‘tude. I absolutely love the people that I work with, it’s just that there are lunatics everywhere now-a-days, and they just seem drawn to me. Let me give ya’ll a few examples…
One day, I answered the phone only to find an irate south-Floridian on the other end. He wasn’t mad at us, necessarily, just the fact that although he had lived here for 20 years, people still said to him “Well, you ain’t from around here, are you?” He asked me how my boss felt about that, and I said “Oh, we treat everyone equal here at the paper.” (My first thought wouldn’t have been taken so well, or been the least bit P.C.) He went on, and on, and on, to tell me of how hard he had had it here and that people were mean to him…yada yada yada for TWENTY minutes. Then, he tells me that he is going to go on some talk-radio show and tell the people of South Florida how mean we are (Frankly, I can’t poo-poo on that idea, seeing as how I believe we should shut the gates to our area anyhow.). As he’s getting off the phone, he says that he’s sure that he will have a cross burning in his yard the day after he does the show. WTH?
Another time, I had this crazy man call me up and tell me that he is coming in to drop his parent’s obituary off. When he came into the office, he tells me that he’s sorry that his lazy a** sister hasn’t brought them in. Then he goes into how lazy she is, and how she stole his parent’s money, and how she got everything in the will (along with her two hellion children). And those two hellion children of hers had replaced the paintballs in their paintball guns with marbles and shot their neighbors (at this point, I was about to pee all over myself trying to hold in the laughter). Then he went into how he was an “F***ing CNA …an F***ing CNA, and he had moved to this town in order to help them.” He said “I could help lift them, you know…I mean, I could lift you, but I would be hurting for three days.” Yes, he said that. I didn’t even get mad, I was still trying not to laugh about his nieces and nephews. In the end, he FINALLY gave me the obits, and then proceeded to tell me how to get to his father’s grave in Arlington. Apparently you have your butt facing JFK and walk forward and to the left. WTH?
The last story that I will bore y’all with is the Blonde Indian’s obit for her son. No joke, this very odd little old lady brought in her son’s obit, along with his resume. I’m not sure why we needed his resume but…apparently we needed it. His obit was also weird. He died while recovering from another accident. But then the obit said that he “liked to dance at the local pubs…but he only did it until 10 p.m., because he had to get home early so that he could help his friend build his house before it got too hot.” Once again, WTH?
So I have had the revelation that I would be a much better asset to my boss if I worked from home (possibly in my pajamas).