An escalator isn't a ride

Attention all whale half-breeds, lazy people and the elderly; get the fuck out of my way. Every trip up and down the escalator I have to spend looking at your sweaty back is shaving precious seconds off my life.

Was there a line to get onto the escalator? When you stepped on to the escalator, did you have to hand over a ticket? No? Then it's not a fucking ride, you douche. Do you think I brush past you with that irate expression on my face for shits and giggles? No, it's because you stand there like a retard on a coverer belt and I have places to be.

I understand it must have been quite an effort to get out of bed this morning, and all this walking around the stores has wiped you out. I feel for you, but could you stand to one side so people can get by? Look, you can even lean against the railing!

As for you elephants who take up the whole escalator with your vastness, could you do me a favour and not use this time to recover from the marathon shopping you've been doing? And for the love of hell, if you're going to finish that bucket of fries, do it somewhere else. Do you think I enjoy staring at the ugly pattern of your shirt while tapping my fingers impatiently against the railing? I have somewhere to be and it's ahead of you.

What's that, you have a pram? Well you could leave the bloody baby at home, but I guess that's probably not going to happen. I suppose you've got me there, sir. I'd still appreciate it if you and your crying midget could stand to the left in case I'm in a hurry, though.

Oh, and just because your phone rings doesn't mean you have to stop walking. If you haven't mastered talking while placing one foot in front of the other I implore you to stick your head in a bucket of water and try breathing.

To the next one of you fuckers who stands in front of me and doesn't have the audacity to move a few inches to the side to let me pass, I hope your die in a horrible accident.

Customer Service - a Dramatised Generalisation

I'm pretty sure the weather is nice today. Beautiful, even. Somewhere in the back of my mind there are images of people lying in the sun, or perhaps splashing around in the water at a sun-soaked beach. I push these thoughts away as the bland walls of my work place come back into focus. I'm sitting on an uncomfortable stool at an annoyingly high desk with an archaic computer who's keyboard always jams when you hit the enter key and a mouse cord that isn't nearly long enough to use comfortably. Beside me is my co-worker dutifully preforming some menial task; receiving in stock or some such thing. I look at the tiny characters on the depressingly small monitor and try to remember what I'm supposed to do with them. It takes slightly longer than I'd like to admit. I need a coffee. As I begin to rise off my rattling stool the phone rings. I narrow my eyes at it before picking it up.

"Good morning, [company name], this is Dale."

"Hello David."

It's Dale you smarmy cunt. "It's Dale."

"Oh, sorry." She's not. "I got a [product] from you a few years ago and I have a problem with it."

"I'm sorry to hear that. What's the problem?"

"Well I've been using it for years and even though it's doing exactly what it should be doing, and there is no product in the world that preforms as well as it did on it's first day, and even though I only spent the minimal amount of money on it at the time, I want it replaced because it has aged."

Sigh. "I'm sorry to hear you're no longer satisfied with your [product], ma'am. We can repair or replace faulty products if they're within their warranty period. Do you have your original invoice?"

"No, it was years ago! Can't you just look up my surname?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Jane Smith."

Fuck me. I type Smith into the computer come up with roughly four thousand Smith's. "Sorry ma'am, but the search wasn't successful. May I ask for the phone number that would have been on the invoice?"

"You want my phone number? What for?"

"To look up your account. There is a large number of Smith's in our system but nobody will have the same phone number."

"Oh, okay. I think it was my husbands number..." Several agonising seconds roll by before she finally remembers her husbands number. I type it in and find account Jane Smith, invoiced and archived in December of 2003. I put the phone on hold, hit print and wait for the old invoice to crawl painfully slowly out of the old printer. It finally finishes and I pick the phone back up.

"Okay ma'am, I see you purchased the [product name] in 2003-"

"Oh, it wasn't that long ago."

"Maybe I have the wrong account." I don't. "May I ask a few questions to make I have the right Jane Smith?" She agrees. I quote the phone number back to her, as well as her address and post code. Yep, right account. "It's dated December 7th, 2003."

"Oh, it doesn't feel that long ago..." Yeah, time moves quickly. Interesting. Can we get on with it?

"Anyway, let's try and sort this out. You purchased a product in 2003, were happy with it in the beginning but it's recently dropped in quality?"

"Well I was never really happy with it," then why did you buy it? "but recently it has become a real problem!"

"I see. Have you been using the provided care products?"

"No, one of the reasons I purchased the product was because it didn't need any upkeep."

"There is no such product, ma'am. All [product]'s need some kind of upkeep, even the most modern models."

"That's not what I was told!"

Groan. Uneducated customers are one thing; they don't know any better, but customers who have been misinformed by salespeople who will say anything to get a sale are difficult because they're victims as well as annoying. "I see. Okay, well let's fill in a customer service form. I'll send it to the manufacturer who will then inspect the product. If they find a manufacturing fault, they'll repair or replace it."

"Well the [product] is uncomfortable! Why do they have to inspect it? Can't you just send me a new one?"

"Sorry ma'am, but all products have to be inspected before they're replaced. It's their policy." I'm pretty sure it's the policy for every manufacturer ever, but I don't say so.

"Well that's just a waste of time!" She mumbles something incoherently under her breath that sounds suspiciously like an insult against my mother. "Fine, can they come today? I'm going out at 4pm so they'll have to come before then."

"I'm sorry ma'am but that's not how it works. I have to send this form to the manufacture who will then contact you directly and book a time to come out."

"Well when will that be!?"

"I can't answer that, ma'am, I don't make the bookings. They should call you within two working days."

"Two days! That's too long, I need a new [product] now! Can't you inspect it?"

"No ma'am, I don't work for the manufacturer." Nor do I feel like driving to Mordor.

"Well that just isn't good enough. Can I speak to the manager?"

"The manager isn't in today, ma'am."

She clucks her tongue reproachfully. "Typical. Where is he? Out having lunch at a pub?"

No, he's fucking your mother you insufferable bitch. "It's his rostered day off. I'm happy to help in-"

"Oh, just forget it! I'll be telling everyone not to shop at [company name] and I know a lot of people!"

Click.

Fine, go and die, bitch. I'm going to have a coffee.

Biting the hand that feeds

I've noticed in the past few weeks a resurgence in the whole 'life was better in simpler times' philosophy. People are always waxing poetic about how great it was when we wrote hand-written letters to each other, but I never hear anyone talking about how great it is that we live in this amazing age of information. I think people are looking back on those times with rose tinted glasses, the same way people talk about how great it was being a teenager. I don't know about you, but I found the pimples, high school and constant erections to be a pain in the ass. Honestly, before the advent of email, how many of you actually enjoyed writing a hand-written letter to someone? Then there is the whole issue of how long it takes to mail a letter, wondering weather your intended recipient actually got your letter or not, and let's not forget the fact that every fucking envelope had to have a bloody stamp on it.

No, I think I'll stick with email, thanks a bunch.

Then there is arguably the biggest technological advancement in society; mobile phones (possibly second only to the internet). I was a teenager when mobile phones became a must-have item for, well, everyone and honest to fucking God I have no idea how we operated before they came about. Meeting up with friends these days without a phone is damn nigh impossible. When my buddy DJ lost his phone, he was almost incommunicado (but managed to keep in touch via Facebook). You might be tempted to say “Well Dale, doesn't that show you just how dependant on technology we've become?” to which my reply would be, after I finished burying my Doc Marten into your cranium, “Who fucking cares?”

Yes, we are addicted to our phones, GPS's and the internet. And why the Hell shouldn't we be? They make life significantly easier, enable us to keep in contact with our friends and family almost anywhere on the planet, even keep us entertained. I heard (another) complaint about us 'young people' and our generation and how we never liked to be bored. We have our phones which double as mini computers complete with internet connectivity, games and even some that double as an MP3 player. How dare we!?

All you misunderstood souls who want to be punk rockers with flowers in your hair can blow me; I love being able to sit in bed with a laptop, talking to people all over the globe while listening to music I've illegally downloaded which I'll soon import to my iPhone, making the walk to the store tomorrow far more pleasurable than it otherwise would have been.

In conclusion; handwriting is obsolete, the digital world is real, and I fucked your mother.

Todo mi amor,

Dale Mallows

Is Australia really a nation of racists?

The short answer is no.

The long answer is the following;

We may not be as sensitive to some cultural differences, sure, but to be condemned as racists as an entire nation over a silly skit on a variety show is a pretty damn big call. A few guys (the frontman being Indian, no less) paint their faces black and we're called a 'backwards, racist' country. Now correct me if I'm wrong but we never had ethnic cleansing like in Africa, wars bred from religious intolerance like in the Middle East, and I'm pretty sure there is nobody walking around in white hoods setting fire to crosses in peoples front yards.

We also don't abuse and spit on black sportsmen like they are known to do in Spain, Italy and Norway.

I'd say, as a country, we're pretty respectful of other peoples backrounds. You want proof? Look at the thriving Vietnamese, Italian and Greek communities. We don't tolerate other cultures, we embrace them.

I can see how the skit on Hey Hey could have been seen as racist to an American audience, since it's a much more sensitive issue there. But here's the thing; it wasn't aired in America! Harry Connick Jr may well have been offended, being an American, but to demand an apology for a very light-hearted form of entertainment, which I might add didn't poke fun at black people or the Jackson family, that's the outrage.

I like Harry Connick Jr, and anybody who knows me knows that I love America. Having said that, they ought keep their opinions to themselves. Yes, I'm talking to you Bill O'Riley you capitalist piece of shit. And Harry, being American doesn't mean you're superior to us backwards outback folk. We have a very different attitude here than you do at home, we're laid-back, 'live and let live' types out here. That might seem backwards to you, but to us it's a very nice way to get by. You want to start comparing our countries and see how flawed your system and way of life really is, America? You all have guns, but not healthcare. Who's the backwards country again?

We're all zombies (and not the cool kind)

I read a study today that said we will, on average, spend 3,188 hours starting at one kind of electrified screen or another such as television, computer, cell phone, GPS, computer games and other assorted shiny, attention grabbing things. We’ll also spend around 365 hours of commercial viewing per year through television alone. That’s on top of all the pop-up and on-site advertising on the Internet sites like Google and Facebook.

So is all this advertising turning us into mindless zombies? The fact is you’re taking in information when you watch television or surf the internet. Not that the information is, strictly speaking, of any importance, but our brains are still being engaged in a very basic way. So while you sit there and watch hour upon hour of Family Guy or playing Farmville you may feel like you’re filling in your time. And maybe you are, who am I to argue? But from the outside looking in, all you're doing is sitting in front of a screen, slack-jawed and dead-eyed.

But from where I’m sitting, it’s really rather depressing that so much of our lives is taken up by the most inane of activities when there are so many other things we could be doing. We are living in the most enlightened and progressive time this planet has ever known, a time where we can look, dress and behave however we like. We have access to public transport that can take us pretty much anywhere we want to go (if we can stand waiting around for 45 minutes for a train to arrive), not to mention cars.

So rather than take in what our surroundings have to offer, what do we do? We sit around and watch TV, or spend hours accomplishing nothing on the internet. And that’s only when we’re not working which takes up a much larger chunk of our lives than it rightfully should. And on weekends, in between our zombie-like intake of the media and our slavery to the wage; we drink, celebrating the fact that we have two nights of freedom from our own lives. Or we drink to ignore the fact that our freedom is so short-lived as to be laughable. Or we just sit at home, in front of our televisions and computers and waste our lives away on digital waves of light.

I think I’ll go and update my Facebook status now.

Facebook and Twitter are making me lazy

Before status updates and microblogs, I used to write detailed blogs about the simplest of things. Some might say too detailed, but to those people I say kindly fuck yourself. I wrote blogs pages long about my adventures on the weekend with my friends, theories about anything that sprung to mind and even rambled about random things that encapsulated my mood at the time. It was fun for me because I got to write about my favorite subject; me, and fun for my few readers because I served as a scribe for our adventures.

Things have changed. I've found that I can squeeze an entire weekend into a one hundred and forty character description on Twitter. Why bother sitting here for hours writing about my life when I can use one witty remark to capture an entire experience. All those years of writing haiku seems to have given me a talent for putting more information into as little words as possible. I find the trick is to leave it open to interpretation, but not to the point where it's cryptic. People don't like cryptic messages. Well, I don't, anyway.

As for my blogs based on my mood, such as my long winded rant about how lives are decided by quantum physics which was inspired by an afternoon of listening to Nine Inch Nails and reading The Selfish Gene, they're almost non-existent now that I can elude to how happy, depressed or awesome I am by using Facebook's status updates. There is no character restriction that I'm aware of, but the general idea is to keep it short and sweet. Cryptic messages are even worse on Facebook because you do have the extra space to explain yourself, but they seem to be far more common too. Advice; if you try to sound mysterious, you'll most likely end up sounding like a tool.

There is also the fact that my status updates generally get a lot more readers and therefore comments than my blogs ever did. Being the narcissistic attention whore that I am, ten comments from random people I went to high school with gives me more elation than one or two comments from good friends. I can’t help it; I feed on comments and kudos like a celebrity feeds on publicity. I feel like a sellout, like an actor who couldn't find an audience in his indie films and took a role in a Hollywood blockbuster as a result, sacrificing integrity for fame.

I think I'll go update my Twitter, now.

Campaign Propaganda

I’ve been thinking a lot about how I used to view the world vs. the way I view the world today, and the one thing that I think has changed the most is my tolerance for understanding and reason. When I look at the world and its many troubles, I used to think the easiest way to fix them would be to come to an understanding or a compromise. I figured that since I’m personally a pretty lenient person that, deep down, everyone would have the capacity for mercy and logic.

Now all I can think is that I give humanity too much clemency. It’s hard to believe that the human race has actually evolved when there are thousands of people killing and dying over a sacred wall. People have actually, in recent times, killed in the name of one God or another. Not to mention the general stupidity of the human race pissing in the shallow end of the gene pool (such as the insistence to actually hinder natural selection by putting labels like ‘Do not spray in eyes’ on a can of deodorant or ‘Do not attempt to swallow’ on a mattress).

Drug users who take up our precious medical resources when they OD on the side of the street in the CDB should have to take their actions into account for a change. Gambling addicts who try to sue a casino because they gambled all their money away should have their cases thrown out immediately. Sex offenders should be on a public register and under-age sex offenders should be stripped of any human rights given to a person at birth.

If people are going to fight like a bunch of little girls over a piece of wall, I say we blow it up completely. Let’s unite the world, not by sitting around waiting for things to settle down, but with an iron fist. Look at all the comic books you might have read as a kid; the superheroes fight endlessly for justice and peace but nothing ever changes. Did you ever stop and wonder what it would be like if Lex Luthor did take over the world? I say we need a super villain to take the reins and actually make something happen. Enough pissing around, let’s get planet Earth into shape and make of it a planet to be feared!

Vote Dale Mallows for Leader of the World in 2012.
“He’d vote for you!”