Seriously, I want to know. I’m sitting here wondering how it is that we as human beings don’t go completely bat-shit crazy and lose it.
Look, I’m a fairly intelligent woman even for my years, yes I’m old so get over it, yet almost anything we need, want, or have to do, comes with a set of instructions that I wonder what alien from another planet composes them. I mean, you stuff the square peg in the round hole then turn the round hole upside down and fill it with the enclosed liquid with one hand that is safety locked so you can’t open it while you run around your front yard naked in sub-zero weather. This must all be done during a full moon during a moonless night and don’t let the enclosed four-pound ball roll off your head which must be placed there before you open the original packaging. Say what? And that’s if you just want to take a fucking pill. You want to try and get something major done Lord help you.
At some point people are going to start actually losing it and Heaven help the poor nut jobs who come up with these instructions, because there is going to be a mass murder take place. Actually, I can’t even feel sorry for them because I honestly believe they sit around trying to come up with ways to screw with our heads. This kind of bull-crap is true of almost anything we go to put our hand on or try to do.
Tried putting together a kid’s toy lately? I would be willing to bet I could get for simpler instructions for building a, well I won’t say what here because it might make someone nervous, than the instruction for putting together that bike.
Now here is where it gets worse, yes it does get worse, try going through a contact button on almost anything you have a problem with on the internet. Have you done it lately? If you have, think about it a minute. You don’t just get to go and them supply a simple space for you to type in your problem, issue, or whatever. No, they give you a list of things to choose from that doesn’t even come close to what you need and if you do manage to convey your message you might get a response back really quick that states, we will contact you in less than 48 hours. Hey guys, that bike I just put together exploded and my kid is stuck up in a tree now.
And if you have to make a phone call, God bless you. I will tell you now that it has been nice knowing you because by the time you get past the electronic receptionist and all the bull-crap she or he puts you through you’ll be a skeleton with cobwebs hanging from your bones. Customer service should be renamed ‘It Ain’t Happening Sucker.’
So, I ask again, when is homicide justifiable?