Remember back in the 90’s when there was a resurgence in the popularity of jeans? Pepridge Farms remembers.

I was remembering how there used to be all these different fashion options back then, most of them terrible. Bellbottoms briefly made a comeback with the ladies, and quite frankly it wasn’t that bad, especially if the girl in question had a ghetto booty on her. With grunge, people were tearing new holes into their perfectly good jeans, until someone came up with the idea of selling them at retail in a pre-ripped style. The person who came up with that idea made a million goddamn dollars by taking a $10 pair of jeans, cutting them up, and selling them back at $50 a pop. Worse still were the acid wash jeans. That was a terrible idea from start to finish. Not content with faded colours, someone decided they needed to be chemically treated. The result was an eyesore that, much like the sun, no one wanted to look at. Seriously, the only thing that went with the acid wash jeans was a baggy white T-shirt and high top sneaks with the laces not laced properly. That was the early 90’s in a nutshell. Then there were button-fly jeans. Zippers were somehow too accommodating, so people decided they needed to keep their junk buttoned up. Not that bad of an idea, especially for anyone who’s ever got caught in their own zippers. Problem is: the Americans who bought these jeans also bought cheeseburgers. The two don’t mix. As they got fatter, their bulge began to bulge in ways it was no meant to. Buttons would come unbuttoned, or unbuttonable, and the result was a peek at their new-fangled thongs (thongs being the greatest fashion article invented in the 90’s).

Baggy jeans and low-riders ended up the century. Unfortunately, these articles of clothing were adopted by Wiggers, when they were better suited for hot chicks. I can remember girls walking around my high school with their low riders on, and the knots for their G-Strings sticking up out the sides, so all you had to do was just reach out and pull on this little string and their undies come off without ever touching their pants. That was SEXY AS HELL. You know what wasn’t sexy? All those wannabes running around with their Calvin Klein undies showing. That was wrong, and it went on far too long. I don’t known what the logic was behind all that. Was it supposed to attract the opposite sex? Was it supposed to send out a message like, “Hey ladies, my mom bought me a pack of Calvin Klein undies at the mall. Does that make you wet?” I’m sure on some level women are curious to see men in their underwear. It’s only natural. Seeing the elastic band of overpriced name-brand tighties on about one hundred guys in a day, however, couldn’t have been that interesting, especially for the girls who enjoyed a good bulge every now and then. The baggy jeans showed off about 0% bulge. It was the fashion of choice for the bulge-less. Plus dude were constantly pulling their pants up. For girl who were irritated by seeing guys scratching their balls in public, this must have been similarly irritating.

On the opposite end of the spectrum: tight jeans were in style with the punk crowd for a while. I’m talking about skin-tight. And it was only the lankiest of boys wearing them, so they looked like cartoon skeletons. Those jeans were just torture to your crotch. Now ladies sometimes like a good, tight pair of pants on a fella, but if they ever ended up in the sack with him, they’d find his sack was now permanently residing inside his body, because those fucking jean mutilated genitals. You may have been a dude when you put them on, but you’d be a girl by the time you took them off.

In many ways, it was a Renaissance of Jeans. What do we have nowadays for pants? Nothing. Just stuffy old styles, and cheaply made too. Not to say that the jeans of the 90’s weren’t cheaply made: they were, and by child labour. But those kids knew how to sew. I’ve gone through six pairs of Lees last year because the back pocket of my luscious, luscious ass keeps tearing, and that’s bullshit.

You know what I hate? When you’re visiting a site and they have those fucking side-ads that follow you as you scroll down. There’s an entire sixth of the page you can’t click on or you’re in totally fucked territory. And they’re always the most obnoxious ads they can muster. They’ll be for some completely illegitimate service or product, like a bogus weight loss program, or some online game advertising itself with half-naked chicks that have nothing to do with their product. And it’s unavoidable. No matter where you go on the page, it’s following you, like one of those paintings with the creepy eyes. You’re being fucking punished for visiting a site. 99% of the internet exists to punish you. Every ad, every piece of spam, every pop-up, every forum, every chat room, every comment box, every social networking site, every virus, every piece of malware, every search engine result: ALL OF IT WANT TO HARM YOU PSYCHOLOGICALLY. You are a masochist for being on here. Get out. There’s nothing here for you.

Me: Oooh… They have a used copy of Fallout 3 for only $49.99, and I have $14.00 credit. I’m going to get that. Wait… They have a new copy for $49.99. WTF? How is a used copy worth the same as a new copy. Fuck this shit, I’ll get the new one.

Guy at the counter: “Do you want this, or do you want to wait until Tuesday when the Game of the Year edition comes out, with all four downloadable extras for only $20 more?”

Me: “…” Fuck. (I walk away forlornly). Fuck that, I’ll just go rent it at Blockbuster.

Even after all these years I’m still pissed off with X-Men: The Last Stand, mainly because it contained the biggest, “So what happened?” moments of all moviedom. There’s that scene where Cyclops is by the lake with Jean, and then “something” happens. Wolverine accuses Jean of killing Cyclops, but all he has for evidence is a pair of glasses. Jean then later claims she killed Cyclops, but this is after the idea has been planted in her head. There still remains the possibility that he’s alive. There’s also the method in which he’s supposedly killed. You see Professor X being “disintegrated” by Jean’s powers, but after the credits he comes back in the body of another mutant. Meaning: he’s not dead. So if Professor X is alive, why can’t Scott be too?

Plus, this is the X-Men. There is literally no method of killing them in which they will not come back. Cyclops was also a big part of X-Men Origins: Wolverine, so they’re obviously not going to waste all that development into his back-story and then not bring him back for a fourth X-Men movie, or a spin-off.

I’m just pissed off about how Cyclops was handled during the movie franchise in general. He’s not the most interesting character: he’s a whiny pretty-boy jock who gets pissed off every time some even tries to look at his drop-dead gorgeous girlfriend, but you could flesh him out a little instead of killing him off outright. The whole love-triangle thing between Scott, Jean and Wolverine wasn’t even a triangle because no one gave a crap about Scott. In Ol’ School, Scott would have been the guy who got caught plowing the caterer. He’s there for a few minutes to set up the rivalry between two opposing lovers and then he’s gone.

It’s the same for X2, where Scott gets kidnapped and brainwashed about fifteen minutes into the movie, and he doesn’t show up again until the last fifteen minutes. That’s not a lot of screen time. The basic problem with his character is that a: he’s not played by a Hugh Jackman, and b: he isn’t Wolverine. Plus, it’s difficult for any actor to properly portray him in all these overly-emotional moments because no one can see your eyes. That’s why there’s these scenes with the actor curling up his lips to a ridiculous extent to compensate for the loss of that facial region. 

Plus X-Men: The Last Stand basically took everything that was wrong with the movie franchise and ran with it. There were nameless mutants no one knows, not even me: and I’ve literally read and collected hundred of X-Men comics, watched their cartoons, collected toys and trading cards, and I still don’t know who they are. I think the one dude was supposed to be Omega Red, but I’m not sure. I’m just confused. Plus there’s like three funerals in the movie. There’s a funeral for the same chick they had a funeral for in the last movie. Think about that. Think about how little death matters in their universe where a person can die twice, and they’re still all teary-eyed and making speeches. I think they even used a new grave marker. They could save a hell of a lot of money just by having a reversible sign saying, “The Professor is In/Out.”

There is a type of person who will refuse to believe fact despite being presented indisputable evidence. These are the sort of people I am forced to co-exist with on a daily basis.

So as you may know, I sell lumber. In this capacity, I met with an old bastard the other day. He was likely in his late 70’s, wearing large glasses and a hearing aid. There was something fucked up about his face. I don’t know if he was burnt, or had some terrible disease, or tried shaving with sanding paper, but it was difficult to look at to say the least. It started out reasonably enough. He wanted a 3”x"3” post, which we did not carry. Then he inquired about laminating two boards together to get the same dimension. I advised him that this wouldn’t have the same structural integrity, and would look awful. Also: we still wouldn’t have the appropriate dimensions of lumber to achieve this goal.

I thought that was the end of it, and went on my way. Later, I ran into him again. He was pointing 20’ up into the steel, where we had a lift of 4”x4”x10’ posts, buried under another lift. He tried arguing with me that these were 3”x3”, despite a clear label on the front proclaiming 4”x4”. I reasoned with him, saying their actual dimensions would be 3 1/2”x3 1/2”, but they were identical in every way to a lift of lumber we had on the floor for easy access. This was simply overstock. He continued to argue with me, saying they were smaller. I could try explaining to him that objects in the distance do appear smaller, but instead I went for my Trump card and got a ladder and a tape measure, and went up to show him that they were in fact 3 1/2”x3 1/2”. This should have ended all doubts.

It did not. He then asked for my tape measure, and went to a lift of lumber on the floor. This was not the corresponding lift, however, but a slightly large one, measuring a true 4”x4”. The 3 1/2”x3 1/2” were immediately next to these. In fact, there was 27 LF of 3 1/2”x3 1/2” posts next to them. I pointed all of this out to him, even measuring the 3 1/2”x3 1/2” for his consideration. He took the tape from me and measured them himself, claiming they were 3 3/4”, which they were not. He uses his wrong measurements of the lumber as fuel for his argument.

He demanded to know if he could get three pieces of the lift in the steel, which I had repeatedly explained were identical to the ones below. The only difference is it would take 30 seconds to get the ones down below. The ones in the steel would take approximately 30 minutes to get down.

Here is the exact process it would take to get these down:

First, I would have to search around to get two safety gates to block off the area. That could take about four minutes, as they are scattered around the store. Then, I would have to find someone to spot me with the lift equipment. That could take anywhere from five to ten minutes. In some cases, there are no spotters available for hours on end. Thirdly, I would have to find the machine, and set the forks to the proper spacing to balance the lift. Fourthly, I would have to drive the machine to the area and pull down not only the lift in question, but the lift above it as well. After having pulled both down, I would have to take the one I didn’t need and place it back up in the steel. Then, I would have to break open the new lift of lumber, remove three posts, inspect them, and place them on a cart. Then I would have to reband the lift of lumber, which means I would have to find the cart containing all the items necessary for that task. I would have to remove the old bands, and place new ones under the dunnage and loop them around. Then, using steel clips, I would join the two ends of the strap together and tighten them, using a hand crank. I would do this for each side, and preferably once in the middle. That could take five minutes by itself, depending on whether I have all the pieces necessary, and if there’s any obstructions under the track of the dunnage. Meanwhile, while I’m doing this, I am also expected to answer any telephone calls the department may get and help every customer and fellow employee that may need help. So is my spotter. For safety reasons, I am unable to use the machine without a spotter. If my spotter gets pulled away by a customer, I will have to wait for him to return or else find a new spotter. This could take upwards of half-an-hour. Also, during this time, customers may try to enter the gated off safety area, and I will have to wait for them to finish and leave before I can continue. That can be another ten minutes. Finally, I will have to use the machine to place the lift back up into the steel, and then return the machine to it’s parking place and remove the gates.

Mind you, all of this is unnecessary, and abundantly stupid, as what I needed was within hand’s reach the whole time. It’s sitting right down at my feet, and clearly labelled with not one, but two signs, proudly proclaiming it’s dimensions.

None of this matters to the old bastard, who will not listen to the smallest portion of reason. There is no way I can communicate to him in any meaningful, or impressionable way that he has a bad idea, coupled with wrong information. I cannot educate him, or convince him otherwise. Our conversation ends with him asking for about the fourth time if he come back he can have three pieces of lumber out of the lift in the steel. I have to tell him I can do it, because it’s technically true. Then I walk away. In the end, walking away is the only thing I can do in these situations.

Sometimes I wonder if I went into teaching (I’m an English Major, by the way), I would still be in this situation. Only, instead of one person at a time, it would be thirty, and I’d be the one responsible for their education. Only, they will not accept my teachings, or logic, or facts and evidence. They will ignore these crucial lessons and continue their entire lives in ignorance, just because I couldn’t find the proper method of conveying it.

Worse still, they will think me the fool. They will remain blissfully biases in their assertions of their rightness.

The old man arguing with me used this exact phrase, “I’m not crazy.” Yet, he is. Perhaps not certifiably so, but he’s refusing to accept another viewpoint, and quite frankly he’s treating me like an asshole for being reasonable. I’m living in a world that is both terrified and angered by me using rationality to dispute a false standpoint. In this kind of world, how can I survive?