Chandri MacLeod (chandri) wrote,
Chandri MacLeod

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Only one word, really...

ASS. All one can really use as reference. Ye GODS.
It's one thing to be generally juvenile - but taking cheap, childish shots is the final proof needed that the guy is a rampaging moron. Yup. Ass.

Oh; and someone on the third floor stole my computer boxes out of the storage room. And my keyboard box, in which were a bunch of cables and nearly a hundred bucks of software.

GAH. What is *wrong* with the world? I tracked the girl down - and I *know* she took them, because she's got them out in the hall and they've both got *my* waybill number on them. NUMBER. MINE. She removed the label with my name and address, but not the waybill number.

I was perhaps overly pissed - but I kept thinking that if this were the fourteen hundreds I would have pulled out a glove and slapped her on the face with it - then pounded her into the ground like a tent peg and take back my damn boxes. GAH. What is so seriously *wrong* with the world that you can't even call someone out who's OBVIOUSLY LYING?

We get cheated, really, those of us whose parents raise us with honesty in mind. We get taught that lying is wrong, is bad, and that lying gets you in trouble. But when you get out *into* the world, you find out that you're only one of twenty people who find honesty even *important*, and lying never really gets anyone in trouble but you. Damnit. DAMNIT. I *despise* people who lie to me. And I could *tell* she was lying, the first time I asked her if she'd gotten her boxes from *our* storage room, and she told me no, she'd had hers shipped from Ontario, even though the boxes had the Vancouver airport code on them.

People. Are. Scum.

But we had a lovely last-night wander about the town, however pointless it might have been. Got Keltie up for it and everything. And tomorrow Dad arrives, and I take my exam at two, and after that I'm gone. Hoorah.

And seven days after that, I'm home. *dances*

I should probably upload my hard drive now.

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