If you say "online resources" again, I will punch you in the throat.

Remember how, in ancient Greece, if you were an insufferable douche, the people could get together and vote you out of society, Survivor-style? It's time to adopt that again. For the good of society. Among the first ones to go: people who ask you for help because they don't have a clue what they're doing, then proceed to ignore everything you say and just do whatever the fuck they were doing before you got there. Imagine a world where I never have to have this conversation again:

Her: I'm trying to find out how to search your website to see if you have something.
Me: OK, you'll start, of course, by going to our website. [I give her the URL]
Her: OK
Me: You should see a link to the catalog in the upper right-hand corner.
Her: I see "hours," "online resources..." Should I just go to "online resources?"
Me: No, that's not the right page. Look above that and to the right. It should say "Go to Catalog."
Her: I don't have what you have. [I assume that by this she meant the ability to follow simple instructions instead of banging around on the keyboard like a monkey writing a draft of Hamlet] Should I just go to "online resources?"
Me: No. You should see a search bar up in the corner. Just above that is the link you're looking for.
Her: I see the search bar, but there's nothing above it. Here, I'll go to the next page. [She starts reading off every link she can see on the page]
Me: What? Next page? There is no next—I have no idea what page you're on.
Her: I'm on page 3...
Me: Page 3? What the f—did you just do a Google search for the website?
Her: Yes.
Me: picardfacepalm.jpg

Also on the list:

• Hipsters
• Anyone who makes a commercial with a talking baby.
• People who say "I'm computer illiterate (tee hee!)" like it's a point of pride. Especially when they actually mean "do everything for me."
• Every website with a flash intro that you can't skip or obnoxious background music that plays at 900 dB.
• Anybody who refers to a room in their house as a "man cave." The correct term is "penis parlor." Also, you're a douche.
• Hipsters (again).
• The person at our old apartment whose car alarm would go off for about three hours straight every Saturday morning.
• The Corn Refiners Association. (I'm not going to stop drinking soda, but seriously, stop calling high fructose corn syrup "natural." You're assholes, and it insults everyone's intelligence).
• I would have put that creepy-ass mascot from Burger King on here, but apparently that's already happened.

This is by no means everybody. Who's on your list?

This is why we don't buy flashy shit we don't understand.

So, my work week started with the following phone conversation:

Her: I need click-by-click help doing something annoyingly simple on a computer I have no fucking business owning.
Me: Do you have this specific program, which is the only one you could possibly use to do this?
Her: Oh, yes, of course. Probably. I don't know. Did I download that already? Yes.
Me: *twitch* OK, first you'll need to open that. *twitch*
Her: How do I do that?
Me: *violent seizure*
Her: Oh, I should tell you, I'm completely computer illiterate.
Me: Lovely. In that case, you need to promise to do exactly what I tell you to do, and absolutely nothing that I don't tell you to do.
Her: OK!
Me: You'll just need to find the icon for the program and double-click it.
Her: OK. Where's that?
Me: *sighseizurefacepalm* Look on your desktop–that's the main screen with all the little pictures that let you open things.
Her: It's not there. Where is it?
Me: Open up your Start Menu–that's the button in the lower-left-hand corner. It might say "Start" on it, or else have a picture of a rectangle that's red, green, blue, and yellow. If you have a Mac, I will punch you in the face.
Her: OK. So where do I find it on there?
Me: You have to read so you can find the name...you know what? Just find the box that says "search" and type in the name.
Her: It says "no results."
Me: Do you know how to spell? Did you actually do this before?
Her: I guess I must not've.
Me: *deep breath* OK...on the website you're already at, click on this link. Then keep clicking "Install," "Yes,"  and "OK" until it stops asking.
Her: Oh, it just opened the program that I actually did have already!
Me: *murderous rage zen meditation* Good. Now turn on your device and plug it into your computer. It should show up on the left side of the window.
Her: It's not there.
Me: OK, unplug it and try it again.
Her: It's still not there. Oh wait, is this it where it says exactly the name of my device?
Me: *mouth agape* I, um...yeah, you're doing it right. Just drag and dro...just click on the little picture and move it to your device and let go.
Her: I don't have the little picture because I did like eight things you didn't tell me to.
Me: Look on the left and click on "All." Then try it again.
Her: Oh, that was easy!
Me: *aneurysm*

Whoever started the myth that technology was going to make life easier is probably going to get bludgeoned someday by a tech support mob wielding iPads.

This isn't even "think horses, not zebras"; this is "think horses, not squid."

I went to the doctor yesterday because, after spending a week in North Dakota, I once again caught the Midwest Superfuck Bacteria, which is generally comparable to having your lungs, throat, and sinuses filled with homemade napalm. When I say "doctor," of course, I actually mean the broke people's version, the Hope-It's-Not-An-Emergency Room—Urgent Care.

Based on the fact that I've ever been sick before, I could say immediately that it was an upper respiratory infection (also based on the fact that it was my lungs and throat that were burning and full of shit), so I figured that it would be pretty quick—look in the ears, listen to the chest, prescribe some antibiotics, send me on my way. Based on the fact that I've ever been to Urgent Care before, I should have known better than to think it would be so simple.

Here's the rough timeline of my experience:

12:00 PM
Registered for web check-in, described symptoms of upper respiratory infection. Said I lived 10 minutes away.

12:15 PM
Received call saying I should come to Urgent Care because the doctor would be ready to see me in ten minutes.

12:25 PM
Arrived at Urgent Care. Filled out unnecessary number of forms, considering I'd been there before and also gave them all this information online ten minutes prior.

12:45 PM
Was called back. Temperature registered at 98.8°. Answered questions regarding symptoms I'd already described in web check-in. Said "no" to questions about fever.

1:30 PM
Doctor finally fucking shows up, looks in ears, listens to chest. Then she tells me she's going to order a chest x-ray and blood work because I have "all the symptoms." Of what? Apparently it's their policy to order all this unnecessary shit for patients who have a fever and chest pain, because they hate Occam's Razor.

Me: I've never had all that done in almost 30 years.
Her: Well, have you been here before?
Me: Like three times. For exactly this.
Her: Because it's actually our policy to do that for patients with a fever and chest pain.
Me: I don't have those.
Her: The nurse said you did.
Me: What? I was 98.8°. That's not a fever.
Her: Well, no, it's not by our standards, but you told her you had a fever.
Me: I said "no" when she asked that. Is that what "no" means? I'm pretty sure I just have an upper respiratory infection.
Her: Well, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to prescribe some antibiotics? Have you ever taken Amoxicillin?
Me: Um, yes.
Her: Is that what you want?
Me: I want the proper treatment that will make me get better.
Her: I'm going to put you on some Amoxicillin. Do you need a work note?
Me: Yes.
Her: Which kind?
Me: *has a stroke*
Her: Work or school?

I never realized that you could just go to the doctor and tell them what you think you have and what you want them to give you for it. Yeah, I have whatever it is that means you need morphine and medicinal marijuana. Thanks.