Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Tag: Facebook

Creepy Eating at Taco Bell

portrait of young woman with umbrella

Photo by Pixabay on

No, the person in the picture is not me, although I can see why you’d think so.

I decided to eat at Taco Bell yesterday, because I wanted the one thing they could offer me–a chicken quesadilla (the one at Taco John’s has stuff in it I don’t like that looks like boogers).

Since it was raining, the helpful bus driver actually drove me across the street to get me nearer to the desired location. Taco Bell on St Joe (as opposed to the evil one on Lloyd which removed its attendant KFC–why would you want Taco Bell if you could get KFC?) has two entrances, one from the parking lot and one from the street. I, naturally, chose the latter. Walked in the door, and the manager LOCKED THE DOOR AFTER ME. This was disconcerting, especially since I was the only customer, but I was determined to have that quesadilla. (Doesn’t that sound like a relative of the armadilla?) The manager then walked over and locked the other door also. I thought, What is this? Some kind of Stephen King deal? The horrific ARMADILLA will burst through the floor tiles and devour me? I thought of demanding to be let out at once, but I was determined to have that quesadilla. I didn’t bolt it down in a panic, either. I had to shrug my shoulders at several puzzled customers who tried the door and couldn’t understand why I was in there eating alone, as if I’d reserved the place. Then another employee asked the manager, “Why is it locked?” and she said something about “they’ll track across the lobby.” So she was planning to NOT LET ANYBODY IN until it stopped raining. She abandoned this plan when she saw that everyone who tried the door did not just go through the drive-through instead, as she’d been hoping, but left, no doubt to go to Taco John’s in the next block, which was letting people track across their classy CARPETED lobby.


Are we alone now? Is Mark Zuckerberg gone? Good. Today marks the end of Facebook automatically notifying my tiny helpless group of Facebook friends every time I write a new blog post. Facebook has decided that a blog is a Commercial Enterprise, rather than a personal one. This is news to me, since I make no money off it. They say it’s in the interest of not annoying people with unwanted commercial content, which could, as it happens, be allowed to annoy people anyway if I gave Facebook some money. “If you’re a public figure, it’s to your advantage to turn your Profile into a Page!” they say. I ask you–am I a public figure?

Anyway, I am just going to manually link my blog posts to my Facebook feed until they make me stop that, too. I am encouraged by the fact that, since I resumed illustrating the blog, Facebook has started labeling it as a “photo” instead of a “post.” They allow photos, right?


I dreamed that the government set up totalitarian rule, and I tried to warn Nick about it, but they seized my papers and computer. Maybe Nick was actually IN ON IT.

Just remember: armed henchmen sent by the public sector are “jackbooted thugs;” if sent by the private sector, they are “hired goons.”

–Donald Trump sends someone to seize my stuff = jackbooted thugs.

–Mark Zuckerberg sends someone to seize my stuff = hired goons.






No Title


“This is how well gets done.”


Commercial: “Us lives here.”


Rom: “We be them.”


On tanker truck: “Evansville Water Transportation.” Well, now I don’t have to wonder what’s in the tank.


Cancer woman with Scorpio man: “Be the milkmaid with a secret financial ability who wears a tiny silver chain around her waist in bed.” This may be my favorite sentence in the entire collection. Because, what?

Leo: “You could give a winter party for 500, insisting that everyone come in bikinis while you wrap yourself in furs. No one would bat an artificial lash–it’s your style.”

Leo woman with Pisces man: “He wants to run barefoot through your hair. But don’t wait for him to speak up.” Yeah, just say, “You wanna run barefoot through my hair?” It’s your style.

Aquarius: “You’ll spend your last dollars on a quadrophonic tuner even though few radio stations are equipped to broadcast quad.” I believe that is still the case.


The latest Lands’ End catalog has cashmere sweaters on the cover. I glanced at it and thought, “I’d like to have a cashmere sweater, but they’re so expensive.” Then I realized, don’t I have retirement-gift money I’ve been wondering what to do with? And with their current 40% off sale, I could buy a twinset! How classic of me! So I did. I promise to post a (rare and therefore valuable) picture of me on Facebook wearing my new sweaters. Yes, I should post it directly on the blog. No, I do not know how to do so, having no smartphone. Nick, shut up.

Your Car Is Not a Boat

One would think that was obvious, but the hordes who insist on driving into high water, “Turn Around Don’t Drown” be damned, prove otherwise.

Also, don’t call 911 just to say the streets are flooded. What do you expect us to do about it? “You need to get barricades out here and block the street.” No I don’t, for 3 reasons:

1. The city doesn’t have enough barricades to block every street that floods OR enough officers to stand there and direct traffic,

2. By the time we could get barricades to all those places, the water would have gone down anyway,

3. Even if the above 2 things were not true, people would drive around the barricades anyway.

Yes, I work for the Department of Boundless Cynicism. But my eyes are not red, no matter what Nick says.


Remember my ranting about Walmart? The other night, we needed to call an ambulance for one of their loss-prevention people because he was chasing a shoplifter and ran into a door. With his head. HE RAN INTO THE DOOR. WITH HIS HEAD. And then wanted to file assault charges.

Spellcheck is telling me that Walmart is not a word. Would that it were so. And don’t bother saying, “But I bet you like their low prices!” because I never go there. It is sensory overload incarnate.


A couple of suspects were known to the caller only as “Rara” and “Shy.” Since he burst into a motel room, displayed a gun, and hit someone in the head, I don’t think he was really shy. Also, “displayed” a gun always makes me think they’re gesturing toward it and smiling like Vanna White would do.

Speaking of street names, HEY FOXY! I feel bad about not posting on your birthday.


From my colleague 911SK: “A turd rolled in litter looks better than just a plain turd.”

And from me: “If it smells like dog poop wherever you go, you might check your shoes.”


I’m wearing my impersonating-an-officer outfit–navy blue quick-dry cargo pants and navy blue shirt. Just give me a gun and a  taser and I’m set! “NO!” Nick blurts out hastily. “Do NOT give her those things!”


Remember last year, when I had a party at the Howell Park shelter house, which was re-painted for the occasion? And I reassured you that I’d never have a birthday party again? Well, I lied–the Catholic Diocese of Evansville will be having a Mighty Mass (yes, I made up my own title, lest you blame them for it–the actual title of the event is “Rejoice!,” as all must do at the commemoration of my birth) at the Ford Center, on the eve of Pentecost, which is–you guessed it–May 14 this year!! I hope the thousands attending remember to bring me presents.


Facebook says May 7 is World Naked Gardening Day. This is to “celebrate nudism in nature.” Well, since all the animals are naked, I’d think we’d have enough celebration, but apparently not.


Amazon urges me to buy a shower gel dispenser shaped like a giant nose, and the product comes out of…yeah, you guessed it. No thanks. What’s next, a giant pair of buttocks?




Day 8: I Did Not Spend Thanksgiving In My Bathrobe

…I dressed up (cocktail ring encrusted with opals and a paisley shirt from the mid-70’s, made of magical polyester that’s equally uncomfortable in any weather) to go to the $ General, because we needed toilet paper.

Speaking of the calendar, there is a World Leader Edict in effect: Non-Catholics cannot put up Christmas decorations until the day after Thanksgiving. Catholics have to wait until Advent begins on Sunday. This evens out at the other end of the season, when Catholics have until Epiphany on January 6 to take stuff down–everyone else, out by New Year’s. Thank you.

I had THE BEST THANKSGIVING DINNER EVER CREATED. After creating it, Rom did the dishes while I ate, and he picked at the food while still standing up. You know, you don’t hafta live like a refugee. (DISCLAIMER: THE PREVIOUS IS A SMART REMARK COURTESY OF TOM PETTY, NOT A POLITICAL STATEMENT OF ANY KIND.)

To tide me over this afternoon (since we eat dinner around the time I come home from work), I had beast stew, courtesy of Nick. Their meat is actually quite tasty, once the scales are removed. NICK, IT WAS JUST A SMART REMARK, STOP WAILING!

He tries to wedge himself under my couch, but only the head will fit, and only by folding his ears flat. “Get out of there,” I say, in my best beast-controller voice. I’m sure he’ll eat any cat toys he finds under there. Esmerelda is sure he’ll eat any cats he finds, too, and stays safely in the bedroom.

“No,” he says, in a muffled sort of way. “I don’t want you to see me cry.”

“I don’t think you can cry.”
I get up and try to pull him out by the tail. Of course, that only makes him dig his claws into the carpet and growl. I’m tempted to swat him on the rump, but don’t want to hurt my hand. The only alternative is to spoil him further (seems like that’s always how it ends up), so I unwrap the bread Rom made and toss him a chunk. Naturally, he hears it, retracts himself from the couch and snaps it up in one fluid motion.

“That bread goes great with beast stew, you know,” I observe. He glares at me, then crouches for a spring…


{I’m using the editorial “we,” since I act as my own editor. And it shows.}

I would like to thank the people who expressed their appreciation for S.G.’s new daily format. I couldn’t do it without you. Well, technically I could (I think–does WordPress throw out bloggers who don’t have any readers?), but it would be pathetic and sad.


S.G’S 8TH POST, 3/21/13: Crisis in Progress: Location, Location, Location!

–I lecture you on telling us where you are when you call 911. That is still necessary, in case you thought there’s been a technological advance since then that spares you the trouble.

–A caller says that someone needs to be “cemented.” He meant “committed.” I think. Maybe he was a Mafia guy who wanted us to do his dirty work for him. DIRTY DEEDS, DONE DIRT CHEAP. I said “dirt cheap,” not “free.”

–Lisa is called A Certain Person for the first time, because she impersonated me on Facebook.


Back With a Vengeance

“The blog seems to be back with a vengeance,” observed Nick, and, as a frequent target of my vengeance, he should know.


I went to see the Minions movie with D., who shares my longtime interest in these lovable animated Twinkies.

Not everyone can dress like a Minion, but I happen to have a yellow shirt and denim overalls, so there you go. I sent a picture of this getup to Nick. “Do I look like a Minion?” I asked. “Yeah. Kinda.” he responded, obviously not sure which answer would get him in trouble. I should have asked, “Do these overalls make me look fat?”

First we went to McDonald’s, which featured giant Minion cutouts which D. longed to take home and add to her decor. This was not my regular McDonalds, which I’m guessing hasn’t changed since the 70’s. This was the fancy establishment at Lloyd/Rosenberger, nearer the theater. It looks like something out of the Matrix, with weird corners and glossy surfaces and ever-changing screens. I was so rattled at being in an unfamiliar setting that I forgot to specify no tartar on my fish sandwich, which then required a mopping-up operation involving 3 napkins. I resolved that the next time I was in some strange McDonald’s, I’d order nuggets, which require no special instructions on my part.

We proceeded to the theater, and parked under a sign saying Occupancy Assembly Point, which puzzled us greatly. I mean, we were assembled occupants, but still.

The last time I saw a movie in a theater was for Oliver Stone’s Doors film. I checked Google and found out this was in, um, 1991. When a theater had only 4 screens. In contrast, the current theater looks like an airline terminal (although, at our time of day, curiously unoccupied). The main difference is that there is absolutely no place to sit in the lobby. They strongly discourage sitting. Don’t even think about sitting until you get in the theater, or screening room, or whatever the young people call it nowadays.

We then went down a long creepy hallway, and into the theater proper. We were so early that there was no one else there. It was like a private showing. So we had a nice conversation in the dark. We also learned why not to arrive early–the pre-movie-trailer barrage of unrelated ads, which can be summed up as, “Use Your Cellphone To Get A Bunch Of Cheap Crap!”


–D. pointed out that in the caveman period, the Minions’ goggles were made of wood, I suppose because it’s not as heavy as stone.

–The Mystery of Evil: Why are the Minions always looking for an evil master? They’re so friendly and cute! Yeah, that’s pretty much the definition of overthinking something.


–Screaming female: “THIS GUY WAS GONNA GIVE ME A RIDE, BUT WHEN I COULDN’T SELL THE PILLS HE GAVE ME TO SELL, HE SAID HE WOULDN’T GIVE ME A RIDE UNLESS I GAVE HIM SOME P*SSY!” Really?? I even said, “Do you realize you just admitted being involved in a narcotics transaction?” and her only response was to yell “YOU GONNA GIVE ME A RIDE NOW THAT I GOT THE COPS ON THE PHONE?!” and hang up.


PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: When you text a wrong number and say “U got smot?” (I was tempted to reply, “Tell me what it is and I’ll tell you whether I have it”–instead, I just said “U got the wrong number”), and I am told that it means pot (although who could imagine anyone on the Urban Dictionary site making stuff up?)–have you considered the possibility that your text might go to someone WHO WORKS CLOSELY WITH THE POLICE DEPARTMENT? I plugged the number into Facebook–turns out she’s a nursing student at UK, with a seriously redneck boyfriend.


Someone tried searching for Spankey’s Pizza online. She misspelled it, and the web blocker primly informed her, Access Denied–Adult Content. No, there is no spanking at Dispatch. (“There should be,” Nick growls.)

ANOTHER PSA: If you call 911, and we tell you your situation is not a police matter, don’t ask to speak to someone “qualified.” Figuring out who and whether to send someone is kinda central to the job, so yes, we are qualified. (File under “911–Why We Ask All These Questions.”)

Rampant Immaturity


Moon (Photo credit: shahbasharat)

I cannot be held responsible for the on-leave actions of my Security Director, who has been literally showing his @ss on Facebook. I have been informed that this is called “preflighting,” and apparently has something to do with the mating season. Obviously,  this species of beast lacks the ability to feel shame and is incapable of blushing. Makes me wonder what will happen if I have to send him to a complaint about people mooning.

A story I told on the air tonight: “Be on the lookout for a subject in a white car, tailgating a gasoline tanker truck, then passing it and tossing a lighted match in its direction.” That’s a problem that might easily end up solving itself, if you think about it.

The Whole Pink and Nothing But the Pink


Walgreens (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

New product reports from Walgreen’s (with which I am not affiliated, and for which I get no money):

–Softsoap new antibacterial formula–“Caution–Refill bottle only with the same formula.” They’ve finally achieved the dream of all companies–come up with a product where the bottle actually explodes if you use their competitor’s product!

–“Pink” brand lubricant for women! (Write your own punchline.)

–Annd, “Pink” brand laxative for women! “Works gently, for sensitive stomachs.” Is the female colon actually more sensitive than the male? I want to see the relevant studies. On second thought, no, I don’t.

Speaking of which, I read an article which stated, “Studies have found that men have the same emotions as women.” Rom said, “They do, but they’re simple and pitiful.”

And speaking of the wisdom of Rom, I was taking issue with something posted for 911 dispatchers on Facebook, saying, “To your caller, you’re a hero!” “Not so much that I’ve noticed,” I said. Rom responded, “Well, if you want a dip cone, the clerk at DQ is a hero.”

P.S. Credit Where Due

The source of my new-found popularity has been pointed out to me by my colleague A.J. (haven’t settled on a street name for her yet)–none other than Diary of a Mad Dispatcher on Facebook! Which is a never-failing source of 911-related sentiments I usually feel guilty for laughing at. Thank you so much!

Crisis in Progress and Unrelated Objects

facebook engancha

facebook engancha (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I know you’re not supposed to tell people your dreams, but I’m in charge here, so you’ll read this and like it, got that? I dreamed I had a cat embedded in my head. That’s right, an actual cat in my actual head.

Speaking of readers: To anyone reading these things who doesn’t know me personally (hey, it’s theoretically possible), who notices that many of these posts have no comments–they mostly comment on Facebook, which you may have heard of. I’m not just talking to myself here, it only looks like it.

On to our ongoing crisis:

Officer of the Day yesterday (Officer of the Previous Day?) Award goes to poor pitiful Nick, who volunteered to work 3rd shift after already working 2nd shift. I slept better knowing there was a sleep-deprived man with a gun driving around out there.

I’m going to stop everybody I see on the street (and since I walk the streets a lot–stop snickering–I see a lot of people) and say STOP GIVING YOUR OLD CELL PHONE TO YOUR SMALL CHILD TO PLAY WITH! THEY CALL 911 ALL THE TIME! I was treated to one such call tonight where Mom was congratulating said child on having pooped. “You pooped!” I’m honored that I could be part of this special moment with your family.

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