Not Now, Berniece

Where my politically correct, coexist, compassionate, tree-huggin’ friends at? Great! So glad you could make it. Kindly go back to your rock polishers and home brewing kits now. I’ve been a long time gone and it’s time to get down to business. That’s right, fuck – right – off.

People are giant pieces of shit. I don’t care what anyone else may tell you, they’re lying. Sure, there may be a handful of decent folk out there but they’re rare. When you do find them, take them hostage, drug them, and convince them they’re a part of your family or at least very dear to you. You must keep them that way indefinitely. *see later chapters on financing this venture*

Natural disasters have the potential to bring out the best or worst in our human nature.

But, I just said we were giant pieces of shit. Let’s roll with that…

Ever notice that when something terrible happens to the entirety of the mother fucking globe suddenly it’s all about you? How you’re inconvenienced? How terrible your situation is? Surely, your situation is dire and will never improve. At least, not soon enough.

Oh – my – fucking – god! You egocentric twats. We’re all in this godawful bullshit together. Instead of picking each other apart, I have idea, turn that shit inward and tear yourself down then build yourself back up a better human being. It goes beyond this current pandemic. This only shines a light on the problem.

I’m not exempt. I’m an asshole – of gaping proportions. Maybe writing this I’ll be faced to force my shit. Probably not though. I’ll likely just give examples of how other people are in need of personal growth; like Berniece. She’s a perfect candidate for personality reassignment and facial reconstruction. Don’t act surprised, I said I was a bitch.

Recently I made a trip to my local bank for an essential business transaction. I was there to make a deposit for our company, which is also considered essential.

If you ask me, your need to refinance your home right now is not essential. My co-workers are walking into your homes and you shitbirds are not respecting the 6 ft. personal space rule because you want to see what my appraisers are writing down on their sketch pads.

This isn’t a therapy appointment. There isn’t a ‘diagnosis’ for your home so important that it’s cool for you to jeopardize my family with your willful disregard. Fuck you! Think about others.

Business had been exploding! The more we were told to stay home, the more you jackasses were refinancing and lenders were ordering appraisals. Order after order, our guys were sent into your homes without protective gear. That shit isn’t provided to us. We’re supposed to get that on our own. Ya’ll know how hard it was to buy toilet paper, right? Try buying masks.

The very items we need to perform our ‘essential’ work (laughable) were completely unavailable to us. Now we’re in your homes and you’re following us, breathing down our fucking necks. Or better yet, pissed that we don’t have the protective equipment.

Lender guidelines are released telling us how we’re valued and exterior reports will begin to be accepted. We fire back requesting exterior inspections in lieu of interior ones be performed and we get rejection letters saying, “sorry, this report doesn’t qualify.”

Yeah, you guys really care about our well-being. Cock suckers.

We’re NOT essential. We’re appraising your home, not saving your life. Saving you money is NOT saving your life. We can save you money LATER.

Anyhow, money was pouring in and I need to go to the bank, which how I ended up at one of the top 5 shitty banks. Chase Bank.

This particular branch being one of the only ones in the area still open to the public, I was grateful to be there with my mask on on a Wednesday. I was third in line. Ahead of me was some dude I wasn’t paying much attention to because he wasn’t being a douche. Ahead of him though, was Berniece.

Berniece approached the counter wearing her 3 day old stretch pants and mushroom colored shirt. I think it used to be white. Her hair was pulled back in what I think was a rubber band, although, I couldn’t actually see it. Her hair was greasy and lumpy in places, and likely would have stayed in place with nothing at all. Almost like she washed her with ambrosia salad.

The clerk smiled at her pleasantly.

Petar (clerk) has a soft and reassuring smile that he flashes around 700 times a day to undeserving customers thereby negating any true meaning or validity. Fuck Petar and fuck this financial institution, but mostly importantly, fuck Berniece.

2.37 into their transaction Berniece decides to announce her displeasure with the current unavailability of open banks in her area. She wants to make sure that Petar, and the rest of the patrons, understand how inconvenienced she is. Furthermore, she, in her shrill and demanding voice, have commanded Petar to let his superior know as well. As if she or he give two solid shits about how happy Berniece is with her drive time to an available facility.

I, for one, don’t give a shit if she drove an hour to get here; I guarantee COVID-19 was not designed to inconvenience her or burden us with her presence. This RNA sequence isn’t popping up, Berniece, just to make your life difficult.

Guess what, snatch breath? This isn’t my bank either! I’m only here because this bank has plexiglass. You know, the stuff designed to keep a safe barrier between you and me?

Yes, I called her snatch breath. I have no moral compass. No compassion. No heart. She lacked any ability to think critically about the situation.

What business did you have that you couldn’t handle online or via the app anyhow? Could you not at least have changed your clothing if you were going to make a drive across town (or two towns) to come to the bank? And where the fuck is your protective gear, bitch?! You don’t exactly look like the picture of health.

Disasters are not created to put you out. Yelling at others will not change the situation. Be grateful for the conveniences you still have. Maybe take a look at your privilege? What does it tell you that you’re entitled to? Now, how about you shove that up your ass – squarely?

People fucking suck. I do too. This pandemic sucks but it’s given me plenty of time to form all kinds of new resentments. With any luck I’ll have an abundance of new material.

For now, I’m tired of hearing myself rail on Berniece. She can’t help her stupidity. My yelling at her won’t change anything. Maybe I should take a look at my own privilege and entitlement?

Sounds like I may have a bunch of stuff to shove squarely up my ass.

6 thoughts on “Not Now, Berniece

  1. More resentments means more rants! I can’t wait! Anyhow…one of the reasons I love your writing is that it doesn’t simply bash. It looks within too. I love how there’s self-criticism amidst the ranting. And I also love how all your rants have a lot of substance to them. Oh and this is classic Christina: “Berniece approached the counter wearing her 3 day old stretch pants and mushroom colored shirt. I think it used to be white. Her hair was pulled back in what I think was a rubber band, although, I couldn’t actually see it. Her hair was greasy and lumpy in places, and likely would have stayed in place with nothing at all. Almost like she washed her with ambrosia salad.”

    Liked by 1 person

  2. We need a 6-foot pole to slap some sense into Berniece and her ilk. Maybe made from wire coat hangers to give it a little extra “whip.” (Exclusively used on strangers, not designed for self-flagellation. See your mental health professional before creating a 6-foot slap pole from wire hangers.)

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Hi, sorry I’m late, new reader here. Your 2nd to last paragraph has a wrong sentence though. Berniece CAN fucking help being stupid! Being stupid is a choice and she chose to be ignorant and to actively try to shit on everyone around her. Also I’m just beyond pissed (but not surprised) that this situation you wrote about in APRIL has not gotten better, this shit and worse are still happening. Sigh. Ugh. Barf.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. She was kind of a cunt. BTW…thanks for reading. I’ve been meaning to drop a line but I’ve fucking self-absorbed. Teaching an old dog new tricks ain’t easy. I’m back in school at the tender age of Icy-Hot and Epsom salts each time I sleep awkwardly. I’m also battling my shitty 13 yr. old to do his own fucking homework. Am I contractually obligated to keep him at this point?


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