So what’s all this bullshit about anyway, eh? Yapla Ays, what a stupid name, right? Well, in case this is the first page on my humble little blog you’ve managed to navigate to, I’ll fill in the blanks as we go.
My name is not really Yapla Ays, it’s an acronym for Your Average Parking Lot Attendant, At Your Service.
But why all the cloak and dagger bullshit, you ask. Well, I really am a parking lot attendant and, while it’s not the most fulfilling job in the world in any area (other than fitness, I guess, I mean shit, I’ve sweat off quite a few pounds since starting this job…) it pays the bills and so I’d like to keep said job. That’s hard to do these days if you’re online on social media bitching about customers, employees, policy, etc. So, enter Yapla. While I’m sure it’s quite possible for someone to figure out my true identity, they’d have to really fucking want it, and I don’t plan on offending any one person, so that shouldn’t be a problem.
This blog is my vent. I work and toil away many a 6-8 hour day during which I sweat, hurt, and am blatantly ignored by, well, ignorant drivers. It’s easy for you to slow the fuck down, you gently tap the break pedal (it’s the one on the left, dipshit.) For me, it’s not so easy. Sure the carts are on wheels, but did you realize that the average shopping cart (metal, not those flimsy plastic pieces of shit,) weighs roughly 70 pounds (yes, I’m American, that’s about 32 kilos, Frenchie)? So lets say Bertha’s in the shop (Bertha’s my baby, she’s the little motorized tag-along cart pusher that lets me do the work of 2-5 other people pushing carts without her aid,) and I’m just hauling 10-15 carts. I’ve got them all strapped up and leading them down the back hill. Now, it’s not real steep, maybe 3-7 degrees, but those fuckers get moving after a very short time. So we’ll keep the math simple: 10 carts, 70 pounds each, moving at 5-10 miles per hour (as fast as I can keep my ass up with them, basically.) That equates to a 700 pound mass of steel rolling your way. Again, yes, it’s all on wheels so to actually get it moving isn’t the amazing feet it sounds, but to get it to stop abruptly? Yeah, that’s a real bitch.
Now imagine Bertha’s alive and well and we’re doing beautiful things together. Instead of those 10-15 carts, her fat ass is pushing a solid 40 carts. That’s 2,800 pounds, almost a ton and a half, of steel on wheels and Bertha can fucking haul ass. I’m careful, mind you. I don’t drive her the way you assholes ripping through my parking lot in your little rice-burners, suped-up pickups, and wanna-be muscle cars tend to drive them. But regardless, if Bertha’s bookin it at her top speed down that same hill while pushing 2,800 pounds of shopping carts when you decide to whip in off the road without paying attention to the stop sign, speed limit, or any other of those pesky little traffic law-type things and you’re head on for me, don’t think I’m sacrificing my ass for your precious little car. We’re just gonna see how the steel all meshes together and let the insurance companies sort it out (here’s a hint though, if you’re breaking traffic laws when you hit the tool the pedestrian is operating, guess who wins that suit…)
But I digress – my goal is to vent here so I don’t have to explode at work and lose my job. If you enjoy reading it, can relate to it, or just think it’s fucking funny, by all means, stick around. If not, if I offend you, if you’re one of the many douche-bags I bitch about regularly and you realize it and refuse to change your douchie ways, then just get the fuck out, right? Or flame me in the comments, that’s cool too. I moderate them, but I won’t delete anything that isn’t over the top racist or just plumb-fucking-retarded. Hell, I might even approve it anyway just so the whole world can read your douchie statements 😉
So a bit more about my grand ol’ blog. I’ve got a grand total of three moods I can be in when updating this little guy. They are green, gray, and red. Smiley, could-give-a-fuck, and pissed. Happy, eh, and mad.
When I have the energy and remember, oh, and give a fuck, I update the site’s favicon (that’s the little icon next to the site name in the window/tab header for the page you’re on, if you’re wondering,) to reflect the mood I’m in as I’m writing. It’s just an easy way for you to know ahead of time if the most recent post/update was all Grrr, Arrrg, or Yay, or, bleh. If any of that matters. If not, well, fuck you, I’m trying here.
Hopefully I’ll have the energy to add my next page today, Wednesday, February 22, 2017, on which I will update weekly with a short (like, Twitter short) blurb about my latest Person of the Week. They will most likely usually be customers and will never actually reference a customer’s identity but will be a bit of praise or something interesting about them. Just think of it as my way of rewarding the good customers for not being royal douche-bags like the bad customers. I’ve already got this week’s winner ready, just don’t have the energy left to put it all together and am hence, going the fuck to bed.
Happy trails, and put’m where they go, damn it!