Archive for the ‘Professional Stupidity’ Category

The Silver Lining in the Current Economy or Doing Away with Stupidity

Tuesday, July 28th, 2009

We read and hear daily about the cheerless state of our nation’s economy. What we’re not told is that there is a silver lining. I know because I’ve been the recipient of this recent benefit not once, not twice, but three times this past weekend. And as you may have guessed, this silver lining has to do with stupers (short, yet again, for significantly stupid persons).

As most of you well know, Home Depot has been adamant in its refusal to provide customer service. Trying to find an employee, let alone a helpful, thinking employee is like trying to locate the Batcave (Batman’s sought after secret headquarters). It ain’t gonna happen. I’m happy to report that to remain competitively in business, Home Depot has initiated a policy of not hiring idiots. I believe their corporate headquarters contain these very, if not similar, words in their instructions to the Human Resources Department: “THE HIRING OF STUPERS IS NO LONGER CONDONED.”

I strolled into a Home Depot to check out their potted plant selection.

The moment I stepped into the store, four helpful, happy employees greeted me, begging to be of service.

“How can we help you?’

“Thank you, but I see the orchids right over there…” I pointed to a spot about twenty feet away.

Nevertheless, one employee accompanied me in case I had questions; she helped me lift various pots and tried desperately to recall the instructions for the proper care of these delicate exotics.

Stunned, I next went to the bank; Wells Fargo, to be precise. Once again, upon entry, an overjoyed greeting committee welcomed me. I swear one of them looked to be the Bank President. They fervently thanked me for my business. I muttered,

“Um, I’m just withdrawing thirty dollars…”

They continued to thank me.

The teller was extremely helpful. He didn’t ask the usual idiotic questions, such as,

“Don’t you want to upgrade your account to executive level? Don’t you want another ATM card? Don’t you want…?” This is usually where they stop after I holler a resounding, “NO!”

As I left, the Bank President shook my hand; I swear he wanted to slip me a twenty just for coming in.

Finally, I went to Macy’s, the hit or miss store. Once again, not even a hint of stupidity. I found a worker to help me in record time. Before I could utter…

“Is there someone who…”

I heard,

“Here I am!” by a delighted employee.

To be successful in any venture, it is of utmost importance not to behave stupidly and to actively utilize one’s mind. Taking this one necessary step further, the same goes for employees, who act as extensions of the store management. If management wants to be regarded as intelligent, useful beings, they must hire the same. Then success is practically guaranteed.

Why not think?

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Stupidity and Math

Wednesday, July 15th, 2009

Stupers (short, once again, for assuredly stupid persons) are not only incapable of listening, following directions, properly operating a motor vehicle, eating with their mouths closed and complex math problems, but their attempts to solve simplified math are akin to drilling holes in a block of cement…with a toothpick. It ain’t gonna happen. A calculator in the hands of an idiot only makes matters worse, guaranteeing a multitude of errors.

I received an e-mail from Wanda describing her unfortunate experience with a calculator-toting stuper:

Dear Keli,

I work as an editor of legal documents for a lawyer. I get paid $16/hr. Yesterday, I worked 2 1/2 hours and gave my boss an invoice for $40. Last night, she e-mailed me, saying that I overcharged her and should actually be paid $36.80. I e-mailed her back, explaining that one hour equals $16. Two hours equal $32, and another half an hour is $8, making the grand total $40. She responded, saying that she used a calculator and her total is correct. And she’s going to deduct it from my paycheck. Is this not a case of rip roarin’ stupidity? My boss does act stupidly now and then, but it usually doesn’t bother me. Unless it has to do with my paycheck! What should I do? 

Wanda

Violence is not the answer. Even subtle hostility should not be used here without extensive training as fine timing is required. I plan to do a workshop on subtle hostility and stupidity in the near future.

Wanda indicated that although her boss typically performed idiotically, it was tolerable imbecility. That should be comforting to all of us. I would suggest Wanda arm herself with a calculator, make an appointment to see the boss, and give her a quick addition lesson, at the boss’s expense, of course. It appears to me the boss multiplied 16 by 2.3 instead of 2.5; the .5 equaling the half an hour. Alas, the boss mistook .3 for 30 minutes.

The amount involved may seem paltry, but who knows? $3.20 today may escalate into $320 tomorrow. Even calculators can’t do the thinking for idiots.

Mental training involves great effort; too much it seems for stupers. We must strive harder to train our minds to develop the best that is in each of us.

Don’t stop thinking.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Sex, Lies and Stupidity

Tuesday, May 26th, 2009

When I’m forced to confront a case of stupidity, I either do so cheerfully, since I have full knowledge of what lies ahead or very, very quietly. I reserve hollering and unleash expletives only in emergency cases.

I’ve found that when stupers (short, once again, for doggedly stupid persons) are confronted with their own stupidity, they do two things: act surprised (because idiots are genuinely stunned when someone catches them acting idiotically), and attempt to lie their way out. This was the case with a meager mind at Son #1’s school a few years ago.

Son #1 has always been technically talented. My fiercely loyal readers may recall my mentioning that this same son routinely repaired his classroom computer…when in kindergarten. Parents of other kids invited Son over just to upgrade their computers or have him custom-build one from scratch.

When in the eighth grade, Son requested and was granted permission from Mr. Joe, the computer lab director, to use the school’s fast running computer for Son’s science project. Days later, Son came home upset because Mr. Joe accused Son of setting up an online gambling operation.

“Why would he think I did that?” Son asked, clearly irritated at the unfounded accusation.

I pushed away images of winning $700,000 playing poker or bingo and took it upon myself to investigate. I entered the school administration office.

I’ve always been an active parent, first-rate at attracting sniffing out trouble in my kids’ schools and resolving issues involving stupers posing as teachers, coaches and superintendents. I strolled in quietly, wielding my Louis Vuitton handbag and Prada shades (arsenal no member of the female sex who plans on battling stupers should be without).

Before I uttered a word, the Superintendent skulked away, arms up hold-up style. I was feeling good.

“Where’s Mr. Joe?” I asked no one in particular.

Mr. Craig, a respected and responsible teacher asked, with great concern no stuper could possibly feign, “Is there a problem, Mrs. Garson?”

Damn right, Yes. Mr. Joe has accused my son of setting up a highly profitable gambling operation in the two days that Son was allowed to use the school computer.”

“I’ll get Mr. Joe,” Mr. Craig left and returned instantly, Mr. Joe in tow.

Mr. Joe is a small, hairless, oily looking fellow with beady eyes and lips so thin, one can’t help but stare and wonder if they’re permanently turned inward; he’s the type a parent intuitively knows treats kids like a piece of overchewed gum the moment the parents’ backs are turned. I started,

“You accused Son of starting an online gambling operation.”

“No, I didn’t. I never said that.”

“Then just what did you say?” I asked, moving in for the kill.

“I said the computers were running slower than usual.”

Obviously, code for stuper talk that meant, I did say just that, but if you persist in accusing me, I will persist in lying between my extremely thin lips.

“And did you throw out the words “online” and “gambling” somewhere in that sentence?”

He paused two seconds to pretend to engage in thought, but we all know where that leads.

“No.”

Mr. Joe left the school of his own accord (so I was told) at the end of that school year. I love it when stupidity resolves itself so neatly.

It’s important not to resist a case of stupidity or stew over it, which would be a grievous waste of our precious time. Better to meet it head-on and resolve it in a positive manner, when possible.

Don’t stop thinking.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Hospital Stays and Stupidity

Saturday, April 18th, 2009

For the past almost two weeks, I’ve been at the bedside of X, a loved one, during an extended hospital stay for a fever of undetermined origin. My main role, as my dear readers may imagine, was to keep the stupers (short for disarmingly stupid persons) at bay. Incidentally, X is now fine and home.

This hospital is world renowned and justifiably so. Traveling harpists float serenely from room to room entertaining forlorn patients, while the walls and corridors (of which there are many) practically burst with colorful pieces from Picasso to Frank Sinatra.

I’m happy to report that the physicians were exceptional; mostly concerned, cautious and vigilant at exercising thought before acting. However, here’s the problem: the number of doctors and residents attending each patient daily, is enough to successfully wage war against the city of Harmony, California (population 18). At any given time, there could be eight people in a patient’s room. And they didn’t communicate with each other. Add to that, the social worker, nurses, nurses-in-training, nurse’s assistants, menu planner, meal deliverers, blood drawers, room cleaners, transporters (not the Jason Statham variety, but the kind who chauffeur patients in gurneys to travel from floor to floor), and helpful volunteers, and suddenly the odds favor stupidity.

For instance, on Day 5, I decided I would no longer argue with overzealous residents who ordered chest x-rays with wild abandon. I decided to be quiet that day. Either that or explode with revolutionary outrage.  Apparently, my silence caused great worry. The social worker (who’d been keeping a close eye on me for days) feverishly raced up to ask if I was okay. I nodded. Then Dr. B (in charge of the resident team) who’d overheard the social worker, asked if I was certain I was really and truly okay. I told him I was rock solid. His response,

“Nobody is that solid. You really should seek some help.”

I absolutely did feel solid. Did I need help? I’d shoved aside inaccurate diagnoses and predictions of dire illnesses as being the cause of the fever and still managed to keep my head, even though such pessimism caused me great distress. Just how well did Dr B know me, anyhow? Did I show signs of strain? Or sure, my nail polish was beginning to chip, and I did wear the same red Lacoste shirt two days in a row, but I felt fine and knew the situation would soon be over.

Two days later, a virus was found to be the culprit and the Infectious Disease Specialist (whose very voice oozed calm and comfort) announced that X could go home. However, X did not go home because the other groups and specialists took three more days to reach agreement that X really could leave.

Was this stupidity or an acute state of caution? Does it really matter? What does matter is the ability to remain attuned to what’s important and to act accordingly.  If we act self-righteously, which I’m afraid I am guilty as charged whenever I believe that I know all, or if we constantly shift values to fit what we want, then we are not using our minds properly.

Think.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Stupidity in Education

Saturday, March 14th, 2009

The seventeen-year-old, high school senior spoke with a heavy French accent that did nothing to diminish her poise and confidence. She spoke before a large group of assorted professionals. Her presentation at the podium detailed school life in her rural village in France.  Her name was Nicole, and she was not a stuper (short, once again, for a prominently stupid person). Nicole attended an American public high school for her senior year, as an exchange student.

After her talk, an audience member asked what she thought of going to an American school.

“Oh, it’s so easy!” Nicole explained. “Here, it is very short. There are many breaks and P.E. We have no P.E. in my village school.”

She was asked what school in France was like.

“I go from eight to five with no breaks. All we do is learn.”

Then she was asked what college she will go to when she returns to France.

“I will not go to college when I return. In France, we do not recognize this year I take here. I must retake in my village school.”

Okay. Are so-called educators training high school students in some of our nation’s schools for stuperhood?

Meanwhile, my local public high school has declared a holiday this coming Monday. Why? For a special teachers’ meeting. You know. The one they have once a month or so. Where they walk around campus in circles, patting themselves on the back. Back patting is a heavily indulged-in stuper activity.

For the past few years, students, 10th grade and up, at this high school typically end the majority of their days at noon. But I don’t have cause to complain as I’ve not had any children attend this educational institution. Instead I’d like to point my finger toward an exemplary teacher and what it takes to train our students to think.

Many years ago I read of an educator, Mrs. Prentiss, who taught at a public elementary school in a lower income section of New York. Kids had trouble making it past eighth grade, and if they did, the high school drop-out rate was high. Mrs. Prentiss singlehandedly wrangled with city and school officials to upgrade the curriculum to one used by a small private school in Baltimore. She was successful.

The makeup of the school dramatically changed as students, once regarded as stupers, began to shine. Students willingly spent more time on campus because they were eager to learn. Many soon started reading at two grades above their class. Gradually, one hundred percent of these once considered hopeless students finished high school and many continued on to college.

Idiots tend to perpetuate stupidity. Little to no effort is made to change things, as the mere thought (if it were to occur) of doing so is exhausting. Hence, they walk around in circles.

To ensure we do not fall in with the stupid among us, we must make an effort in whatever we do, to give it our very best. Generally, our best happens if we just take the time to carefully think.

No problem can withstand the assault of sustained thinking.  ~ Voltaire

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Stupidity and Professors Who Don’t Use Spell Check/Should be able to Spell By Now

Sunday, March 1st, 2009

Before Son #2, who is still in high school, could take an art appreciation class at the local community college, he needed to pass an English examination, as did all students not enrolled in the college. Unfortunately, the professor of this class did not need to take such an exam, and it showed. Here’s an assignment Professor Wheezledorf passed out:

Students:

I perfer you view a peice of artwork for a few minutes before you write down your preception. Use seperete peices of paper for each peice you write about.

Bohemian-artistic-rebellious type, government experiment or stuper (short, as you all well know by now, for a volcanically stupid person)? Either way, a college professor of any subject should at least have mastered spell-check, if not spelling basic words themselves, for heaven’s sake.

Not everyone can spell well, and that’s fine, especially if you have a learning disorder such as dyslexia; but it is not okay if you’re a chronic misspeller who works as a teacher responsible for teaching, of all things, students. Stuper teachers should use spell-check, enlist the help of a dictionary or a non-stuper who can spell ( I hear they’re quite prevalent).

Professor Wheezledorf is no foreigner; English is his first language, and he appears to have reached the ripe old age of forty which should translate into having acquired at least enough knowledge to snugly fit into a kidney shaped swimming pool that was all the rage in the San Fernando Valley in the seventies when I was a wee tot. If you, dear readers, can provide me with a legitimate excuse for his chronic misspelling, do tell, as I’m always on the lookout to gain better understanding.

If we can travel to the moon, invent post-its and use a hammer without smashing more than one finger, can’t stupers make an effort to spell words that they regularly use? It’s been said that spelling is one of the outward and visible marks of a disciplined mind. Dogged misspelling by a teacher is the obvious mark of a moronic mind.

Keep thinking.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

 

Stupidity at the High School Level

Friday, January 16th, 2009

Some questions are so thought provoking that intelligent minds could possibly explode if they contemplated them for too long. For instance, who created God? Are there life forms outside of our universe? Why are bureaucrats often idiots of epic proportions? And finally, two questions I pondered yesterday:

First, why does the robust athletic director of my local public high school convincingly resemble a pregnant walrus in her sixteenth month? I mean, shouldn’t an athletic director set a stellar example for students, bolstering their belief in physical fitness? Secondly, why does the principal of this same school inform a student from a small private school, without benefit of a competitive athletic program, that she will not allow him to play on the high school team even though, per state laws, he’s allowed to as long as incidental and simple state guidelines are followed? Why am I discussing this? Because said student is my son.

Son met with Principal yesterday. All six members of the school’s golf team and the coach stood behind him as he requested permission to play on the team. Son met all requirements; he only needed approval from the Principal. She told him she couldn’t let him play for two vital reasons:

1. There was too much paperwork involved; and

2. If she allowed him to play, she’d have to allow other students in from all neighboring schools (two total) that lacked an athletic program.

Note to self: contact the IRS without delay and tell them I’m not filing my tax returns this year because of the excess paperwork involved. But wait; isn’t paperwork part of the Principal’s job? And would it be such a dreadful act to permit students from other schools to participate? Aren’t we all part of the same , community, city, region, world?

Son, though prepared for being turned away, knowing our local high school has a very flimsy reputation, still felt a bit dejected. His hopeful teammates, however, insisted the Principal could change her mind. I shook my head with a sigh when I heard this. I am no pessimist, but how can a stuper (short, once again, for an inordinately stupid person) change her mind when there is no working mind to change? I ask you!

I’m glad to report this story has a happy ending. You’re familiar, no doubt, dearest readers, with the adage: when one door closes, another one opens. The very afternoon following this incident, Son received an invitation to play in the Toyota Tour Cup Junior Golf Series, a string of tournaments for elite junior golfers all over Southern California.

Take heart when stupidity rears its empty head. It typically presents temporary roadblocks. Irritating and annoying to be sure and oh, so exhausting at times, but impermanent. Step around and far away from the stupid among us. Remain steadfast and your goal(s) will be successfully met.

People become really quite remarkable when they start thinking that they can do things. ~ Norman Vincent Peale

Think first, last and always.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Overlooking Postal and other Varieties of Stupidity

Saturday, January 10th, 2009

The small, bucolic, yet highly sophisticated valley (population 5000) where I live, boasts three post offices, all of which are practically registered epicenters of stupidity. During the holidays in particular, the amount of idiocy engaged in by postal workers is akin to the energy necessary to operate 23 cell phones on the planet Pluto. That’s no small feat. Postal employees make it a habit to keep one worker behind the counter per every twelve patrons in line, keeping employee #2 within view, reading the local paper or braiding her hair. By the time I reach the counter, I’m ready to pull the safety pin out of the nearest hand grenade.

Much to my surprise, I encountered an entirely different post office last week.

I entered our main branch (I know it’s the main one because it’s open for limited hours on Saturday, and it sports its own parking lot with four whole parking spaces). The moment I stepped inside, I was immediately sucked into a Hallmark film.

The place seemed brighter, out of the ordinarily cheerful, surprisingly welcoming. I looked around. There was a glow about the room despite the same drab walls, same dull interior cement floor. Granted, I was pleased that only one customer stood between the postal worker and me, but not pleased enough to hallucinate. Then it hit me. It was Chris, the jolly and exultant, late twenties or so, government issue employee.

His smile was so bright that he could have lit all the candles on an octogenarian’s birthday cake. He looked so happy, so ecstatically jovial, that he’d made the place come alive.

My turn came early because the lady before me kindly offered to step aside to an empty counter to properly lick the hundred or so envelopes she planned to mail. Typically, post office patrons do no such stepping aside, but do all their licking, lamenting or labeling right there at the counter making all behind them wait. I knew it had something to do with Chris and his luminous smile. I do not exaggerate. His winning grin and benevolent words could have made the moon weep for joy.

At the counter, I told Chris that I needed postage for my oversize envelope #1 as well as the self addressed large envelope #2 folded inside #1 which was to be sent back to me by the recipient. Proper procedure is to weigh each separately because envelope #2 usually weighs less on the return trip. Chris only weighed envelope #1, holding his smile of contentment and sheer delight the whole time and muttering sweet sayings. How could I quibble over a quarter or two with the very personification of bliss? It was easy to overlook his negligence and mild stupidity. I dared not rain on his happiness.

When I returned to my car, I told Husband about Chris. Husband asked,

“You mean that big, fat guy?”

“Was he fat? Maybe pleasantly plump…”

Chris’ cheery demeanor blinded me to his physical and/or mental imperfections. He encouraged me to overlook and treat stupidity with patience. If every person in our society was benevolent and grateful or ready to, in a small way, reciprocate the kind feelings shown him or her, then this place would be quite pleasant for all of us.

Just think.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Newly Discovered Urban Disease Linked to Stupidity

Monday, November 3rd, 2008

Researchers today claim that new diseases are being discovered at a blistering pace. I inadvertently discovered one myself last week while Husband (H) and I waited at Los Angeles International Airport (LAX) to pick up my mother.

H and I inoffensively drove down the ramp marked “Arrivals” to enter LAX.  As is customary in potentially crime-laden areas where opportunistic hoodlums cram themselves into every nook and crevice, officers of the law carefully scrutinized all motorists exiting said ramp. A gatekeeper type cop stopped H, giving him a seething glance during which I casually observed two other officers waiting off to one side. I should have instantly noticed signs of this rapidly spreading disorder, but my mind drifted to whether I should have worn my black cashmere sweater instead of the fuchsia. As it was, I paid only abbreviated attention.

Once the Gatekeeper waved H on, we stopped in the White Zone, a part of the road where the curb sports white paint indicating that area is only to be used for the immediate loading or unloading of passengers, baggage or short term parking (5 minutes or less).

I left H for no more than three minutes. I sprinted down the sidewalk, aiming to grab Mom, throw her under one arm, tuck her carry-on bag under the other and drag both back to the car in record time.

During my brief absence, H sluggishly opened the trunk, then shuffled over to the passenger door in the slowest of motion, in order to stretch the allotted time as well as to appear industrious. Alas, we were both novices in White Zone parking, as it had been a very long time since our last such visit to LAX. Had we been adequately experienced, we would have imitated the clever chap behind H who remained in his car while wife went off in search of a passenger. This savvy driver commenced moving his car forward a few feet, then reverse a few feet; forward and reverse, going nowhere, but completely throwing all parking police off his scent.

Unbeknownst to H, a stuper (short for a decidedly stupid person), suffering from my soon-to-be unveiled malaise, approached H from behind. When I returned, this is what I saw standing next to H:

I have great respect for officers of the law. I am grateful for their presence and the vital protection services they offer. But truly, how helpful  are overweight, physically unfit officers? How fast will they be against the hungry, lanky, yet often surprisingly limber criminal element?

To add insult to injury, this portly hippo of a cop was writing H a citation. I asked sweetly,

“Are we not parked in the White Zone?”

“See that sign over there?” he asked in a voice several octaves too high for such a stout presence. He pointed his chewed off pen toward a place over my right shoulder.

We all looked and saw nothing.

“I mean over there,” he continued, unable to find the sign he sought. “Anyway, the White Zone is for commercial…wait a minute, the White Zone is for, let me see now, it’s for…”

The chubby cop vainly searched for the true meaning of the Zone while I realized we were caught in a tidal wave of stupidity or at a minimum, choppy waters.  Was there any hope?

He suddenly reached enlightenment. “It’s for, oh yes, the loading or unloading of passengers. You cannot get in or out of your car…”

“How can passengers load or unload if they can’t get in or out?” My question received an elbow jab from H, eager to see the last of the blubbery being. “Okay, thanks, Officer.”

Yes, it’s Fat Cop (FC) disease with a dash of stupidity.

A picture of the two officers standing off to the side while I contemplated the color of my cashmere sweater flashed back to me. They were also pudgy.

I’d actually witnessed the beginnings of this malady almost a decade ago when I traveled with my children in downtown Los Angeles. We found ourselves embedded in heavy traffic in the middle of a Sunday; usually a day devoid of commuters even in an enormous metropolis. On the side of the freeway sat a disabled, small, but sturdy yellow school bus. Certainly not a sight to halt cars. However, what did bring traffic to a complete standstill stood next to the bus, waving one flabby arm while the other hauled up its too snug fitting, about to burst trousers. A fat cop. Back then it was an anomaly; a deviation from the norm.

Too much fast food, especially of the donut variety, by law enforcement officers in the big city has finally resulted in FC disease. As illustrated by the forgetful parking cop above, this disorder may also trigger rapid onset of stupidity.

Dear readers, when visiting metropolitan areas, we must exercise a paramount degree of vigilance. Maintain your mind on highest alert. We must also wear proper running shoes, avoid airports if possible and carry an easily concealable, but threatening weapon or two to be subtly brandished, if needed. Sufferers of FC disease will need our assistance.

Just think.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

The Three Best Jobs for Stupid People

Thursday, October 23rd, 2008

You’ve seen lists, dear readers, in magazines and on the Internet, detailing the best places to live, retire, raise a family, work, travel, eat pizza, or do just about anything. They’re touted for their many benefits. Today, I’m going to visit the opposite end of the spectrum: the best places for stupers (short for determinedly stupid persons) to work. These are the worst places for the rest of us to work. Accountability is nonexistent, four letter words replace compassion and understanding, and customers are in for a roller coaster ride without the roller coaster.

These idiot-infested environments are where stupers tend to seek out and consistently obtain jobs. Consequently, stupidity is freely dished out to unsuspecting and innocent bystanders. Of course, not every employee at these asylums for the content-free mind is a stuper. But the overwhelming majority snugly fit into this woebegone category.

The mentally bereft are present in practically every workplace, it’s true, but in mediocre environments, ignorance and unhelpfulness are more plentiful, doled out like Snickers and Tootsie Rolls on Halloween.

I donned my lab coat (with pearl buttons, in a lovely shade of lemon) and set to work, thinking it’s high time for this list. Why? Because some of my cherished readers may be out there, right now, earnestly searching for their next gig, only to be unknowingly offered a position in one of these stuper-filled companies. Or you may have the misfortune of calling on one of these companies and being serviced by a meager mind. Beware!

Here they are:

1. Pest Control (specifically Termite) companies:

These dispensers of stupidity are routinely called in when there’s a sale of a home or a potential termite problem, proudly referred to as “evidence of infestation” (termite droppings or wood debris). A fumigation is ordered. However, take note, such droppings, usually found in attics or basements, are never vacuumed or otherwise cleaned up by the hollow-headed. So when a building or house is resold, even a few short months later, the termite company will once again inspect and find “evidence of infestation.” The very same evidence found previously. And thus the circle of lunacy continues.

I read of an unsuspecting gent, Dennis, who treated his home for termites. After an inspection of the home, Dennis was awarded a clean bill of health. Days later, he found evidence that termites were still present. A stuper inspector verified that termites had re-infested the very same area, but he insisted that these were a completely different species of termites and therefore not covered by any warranty. It cost an additional $2,500 to treat.

2. Telemarketing: self-explanatory to anyone who’s ever been on the receiving end of this aggressive brand of oversoliciting idiocy.

3. Banks: Fools are prevalent here, but harder to spot. First a quick disclaimer: At least one-third of these workers are not stupers. I’ve used the services of bank employees who are thankfully competent. But there are the others. The stupid among us.

Many, many, many years ago, we were losing our home to foreclosure. There had been a downturn in the real estate market; our residence plummeted in price. We wanted to keep it, but shouldered a hefty mortgage payment. I was told by a degenerate bank representative:

“You’ll have to sell it at a loss.”

“Can’t you reduce our payments to what they’d be if we sold it at a loss?” I asked hopefully.

“No.”

“How about just reducing our interest for a short time until market conditions improve? We have a good record.”

“No.”

“What if I sold it to my mother who then turned around and sold it to back to us?”

“That wouldn’t be right.”

“Okay; just sell it to us at the discount.”

“No. We must start the process all over again. It has to be a fresh transaction.”

Think of the money that would have been saved all around, if they’d worked with us (no real estate related fees, paperwork, etc.). Consequently, we lost our home when it was sold to a “fresh” buyer at a substantial discount.  This pitiful bank itself went under shortly thereafter.

Stupers are prevalent in many assorted workplaces. In fact, it’s highly likely that there’s at least one stuper lurking among every ten employees in most companies. When I worked in the corporate world, our legal department had a staff of eight, two of which were certifiable dimwits. All the more reason to diligently exercise our minds. As the number of stupers rapidly increases, the demand for thinking humans will also rise. Imagine what those with working minds can accomplish.

Think.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com