Not Quite End of the Week Rant

So I decide to go for a walk on this lovely spring day this afternoon.  I admire the blooming rhododendron, lilacs, and other stuff in bloom.  I'm happy that my 24 hour Claritin D worked this morning and I don't actually have a heavy cold.  All is right with the world. And then I get back to the Library.

On the front walk is a young man with a clipboard.  His friend, a young woman, also with a clipboard, is on the grass of the Library. Both are earnestly promoting their petition, trying to get signatures.  I don't know what the petition is, but I politely (really) go up to the young man and say, 'You probably don't know the rule, but you can't be on Library property with a petition.  You can stand on the Town sidewalk if you wish.'

"According to the Secretary of State, I can petition on any public property."  [Yeah, Kid, try that on the steps of Town Hall.]

"This is not public property, it's owned by the Corporation of the Jones Library, Inc."

"Call the Secretary of State ... I can ... wah, wah, wah ..."

"I will express your feelings to the Director."  I walk over to the young girl and say, "You probably don't know this, but you cannot be on Library property with your petition."

"Can I be on the sidewalk?"  "Absolutely.  You can be on the Town sidewalk, just not on the Library property.  And, by the way (looking at her empty coffee cup laying on its side on the grass), we have a trash barrel right over there."

"And just so you know," said the jobless self important young female, "most libraries are welcoming places for people to learn and express opinions."

"Thank you for telling me that," I said as I take a deep breath.  Since I have been at the freakin' Library since before she was born, I did not feel the need to debate her obviously newly acquired information about the mission of public libraries.

"You learn something new every day, " said the young man who at this point is beginning to look like something that should be sprayed down with Lysol. 

I go in and report the exchange to the Director and she goes to see if they have moved when the aforementioned young man walks in.  I introduce him to the Director.  He does not offer a name but proceeds to say multiple times, 'Call the Secretary of State, I can do whatever ...'  The Director, to her credit remains calm and says she's not going to call anyone.  She knows the law and knows that it is there to protect Library patrons, some of whom may disagree with his petition.  

(I forgot to mention that these two earnest young things had formed a gauntlet at the front door that patrons had to go through, which is not welcoming in our opinion.  When my friend and I left the Library to go for a walk, they saw our name tags and did not approach, clever beings that they are.)

So the fourth (or was it the fifth?) time he goes into his 'Call the Secy. of State, there is case law ...' dance, my boss says, "I have been a Library Director for over 20 years and I know the law.  You need to stand on the sidewalk.  Have anyone you want call the Library Director and I'll be happy to speak with them."

He left still proclaiming his 'right.'  I sure hope he gets stopped for speeding.  Wonder how that self righteous blather would sit with a cop.  Better yet, it should be a State Cop.

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So, tonight, I answered.  Every night for the past five nights, I have received a call which registers an 877 number with the words "Local Call" on my caller i.d.  And I know what it is. It's someone's campaign trying to get me to vote for them.  

In a fit of "I must be freaking crazy," I became a local delegate for the state Democratic Committee.  June 13 is the beginning of the state convention where we delegates will choose which Democrat will run for Governor (and the Atty. Gen. and others).

So for the past five nights, I have ignored that call.  Last night, they called twice and the second call was at quarter to 9 -- too late in my opinion.  Of course I was up, but I was heavily into watching "Sherlock" on Netflix.  

Tonight, I answer.  And the voice says they are calling me as a delegate to the Democratic Convention. (No shit! I thought you wanted a date.)  Now, he doesn't identify his affiliation but launches right into, 'Who are you going to vote for, Grossman ...,' and he lists the myriad of candidates.  THIS really burns me up.

"I do not want to answer your survey.  And your company has called me every night for the last five nights. I had thought you would have gotten the idea that I did not want to talk to you from the fact that I did not answer all of those times!"

Do you know what his answer was?  "We're not a company."  Unexpectedly, my phone went dead.

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Even chocolate ganache cannot make a gluten free doughnut good, in my opinion.  The texture isn't right.

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So the guy who tried to throw me under the bus for his mistake a couple of weeks ago tried it again today. He told me to do something that I know would have resulted in a fubar situation that could potentially cost the Library a lot of money.  Ha ha.  I dumped it in my boss' lap. I'm thinking he might stop underestimating me soon.  It's cold comfort because he makes a lot more money than I do while blaming people such as myself for his mistakes and lack of doing what he should do.  That's o.k.  I'm patient.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Emily, my younger daughter, just found out she's getting a 19% raise because they are moving some people from Boston into the new lab building and the company doesn't want a mass exodus from the Worcester people to the higher paid Boston people's lab.  Let's hear it for pay equality!  Yay!
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I go now.  Supper is ready. :)

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I'm back after three episodes of "Luther" from PBS.  I love it, but it sure is scary at times.

So about Pinterest: why is it that people think they are so freakin' creative when they sprinkle cheese on a tomato slice?  AND they have to share it with me because, obviously, I couldn't figure this out.  I'm thinking it was their Moms who thought rolled up bologna with a cheese hunk was so sophisticated.

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It's happening again -- the letters are wearing off my computer keys.  The "n" is incognito.  I think it's my acid personality.  Anyway, it reminds me of the time my friend sat down to my computer (the old one).  Pretty soon, he's swearing up a blue streak.  I ask him what's wrong and he said, "I can't see what the keys say!!"  He was really ticked off because he's a hunt and peck man.  I laughed because it doesn't bother me.  The only things I can't touch type are the numbers and those don't wear out so I can see what I'm looking for.