Red Mosquito

daft twat wrote:I live 15 minutes from the Wisconsin border. Many Sconnies come here to work. They’re fat and stupid and love Trump, but whatever. I won’t begrudge anyone a job. However, the lines at our Costco gas station are ridiculous, and when so many of them are Wisconsin license plates, I actually get angry. Fuck you, Sconnies. They can buy gas here, but they should have to pay full price up the street at Speedway. This week my local Costco had Vikings and Packers chairs for sale, and I kind of want to burn the store down even though I don’t care about football at all. I’m for any hard-working immigrants planting roots here, but the Winconsinbreds need to shop among their own kind.

bart wrote:If your debit card is used in a way that is unusual for your account (from a different location, for a large amount, etc) you bank’s security will flag it and text/call you about it. Likely your card will be temporarily blocked after one transaction. The odds of temporarily losing money due to this kind of fraud are much smaller than the odds of carrying over a balance you intended to pay off and ending up paying interest on a credit card. That’s why credit card companies allow you to do it.

daft twat wrote:I live 15 minutes from the Wisconsin border. Many Sconnies come here to work. They’re fat and stupid and love Trump, but whatever. I won’t begrudge anyone a job. However, the lines at our Costco gas station are ridiculous, and when so many of them are Wisconsin license plates, I actually get angry. Fuck you, Sconnies. They can buy gas here, but they should have to pay full price up the street at Speedway. This week my local Costco had Vikings and Packers chairs for sale, and I kind of want to burn the store down even though I don’t care about football at all. I’m for any hard-working immigrants planting roots here, but the Winconsinbreds need to shop among their own kind.

Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

B wrote:OK, here's a story from Ms. B.

She was part of a group of teachers from around the district attending a training inside one of the local high schools. The trainers released them for lunch telling them what a fantastic lunch they had put out for them in the cafeteria.

When they get there, the teachers from the high school had already walked into the cafeteria and seen the food, assumed it was theirs and they at it all. There was no food for the trainees. They had to order pizza that arrived after their training had started up again.

Ms. B disagrees with me, but I can't imagine walking into a room at my job, seeing food set out, and assuming it's mine. No one told me that they bought food for me. No one sent out an e-mail announcing it was there. It just appeared, welp, must be mine, and I proceed to eat all of it.

Am I wrong? Does anyone else eat random, unannounced food that happens to be sitting out at their office?

Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

B wrote:OK, here's a story from Ms. B.

She was part of a group of teachers from around the district attending a training inside one of the local high schools. The trainers released them for lunch telling them what a fantastic lunch they had put out for them in the cafeteria.

When they get there, the teachers from the high school had already walked into the cafeteria and seen the food, assumed it was theirs and they at it all. There was no food for the trainees. They had to order pizza that arrived after their training had started up again.

Ms. B disagrees with me, but I can't imagine walking into a room at my job, seeing food set out, and assuming it's mine. No one told me that they bought food for me. No one sent out an e-mail announcing it was there. It just appeared, welp, must be mine, and I proceed to eat all of it.

Am I wrong? Does anyone else eat random, unannounced food that happens to be sitting out at their office?

Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

tragabigzanda wrote:I’d assume it wasn’t mine but try to eat some before anyone corrected me

bodysnatcher wrote:I haven’t (except for announced leftovers) but 100000% been in corporate environments where people on the same floor have eaten other teams food that was laid out in a kitchen or table in hallway

daft twat wrote:If it’s put out in the cafeteria during staff days, I would assume it was for us, yes.

tragabigzanda wrote:I’d assume it wasn’t mine but try to eat some before anyone corrected me

Mickey wrote:Isn't it like the first week of school down there? Wouldn't be an unusual time to cater lunch for the staff. When I taught I missed a ton of emails (because I was teaching!) and you only get ~25 minutes for lunch.

Sounds like the trainers fucked up.

Chris_H_2 wrote:seems as if the default should be: the food is other people's unless told otherwise, and not: the food is mine unless told otherwise