Friday, May 31, 2013

More Racket on the LIRR

Same seat, this time it's a Hispanic woman yodeling into her cellphone.

Why do people sit under the air conditioner then try and scream over the noise it makes? If they moved to the middle of the car they would be able to hear each other.

And I could ride with my headphone volume set at something less than "Deafen". Which isn't working because this foghorn-voiced idiot has my poor laptop outmatched.

Indeed I suspect she could give an RB211 a run for it's money.

Thursday, May 30, 2013

Racket on the LIRR

Three French people sitting in the four-seater today, shouting conversationally at each other.

I put in earbuds and crank up some music as loud as I can stand but I can still hear them. But they move when we get to Hicksville.

And are replaced by two thirty-something guys with fistsful of e-gear.

Who are attempting to show the French a thing or two in the line of conversational volume.


Friday, May 24, 2013

Un ****ing Believable

Turns out it was a bomb scare.

And they held us for an hour, made unintelligible announcements that no-one could decipher but at no point did anyone suggest evacuating the fbleeping train.

What a completely fbleeping useless crew of fbleeptards.

Thursday, May 23, 2013

Still Waiting At Bethpage

Just thought I'd mention that we are now blocking the train I would catch if I had decided to work until 6:30 tonight and thereby lengthen my commute home to about two hours, which I had decided I wouldn't do as I have things I want to get done tonight.

It probably isn't the LIRR's fault we are stuck here (but that isn't a given by any means) but why is it so hard for them to tell us what the fbleep is going on?

A New Era in Commuting Must Dawn Eventually, Mustn't It?

So, we're sitting at Bethpage, doors open, not going anywhere work-wards courtesy of the Bloody Long Island Rail Road.

They undoubtedly have a good reason for holding us prisoner instead of carrying us to work in a timely manner (their sole reason for existing). They've said as much over the P.A. system, a miracle of intra-train communications.

Unfortunately, since the person making the announcements is doing an impersonation of Rod McKuen with laryngitis, and moreover appears to be indulging in seeing how far he can get from the microphone before the little red "I can hear you" light goes off, that reason remains opaque to the paying passengers of the Bloody Long Island Railroad.

Who will all be late for work despite getting up on time.

So that's alright then.

Friday, May 17, 2013

Ennui Ain't What It Used To Be

I've been too utterly depressed of late to put fingers to keyboard, driven into a state of despair by the preponderance of late of what I'm coming to call Fbleeptard Design in my life.

Poor design is of course a fact of life, but there's a reasonable expectation that poor design will be spotted for what it is, lessons will be learned and the next time that particular thing is foisted onto the public the poor design elements will have been replaced by new ones in light of experience.

Which is why I'm finding the propagation of shoddy, stupid, unfit-for-purpose design in the second decade of the 21st century a mite depressing.

A while back the abysmal service I was getting from the Long Island Rail Road, that boil on the backside of public transportation, moved me to do something to reclaim at least some peace of mind and move me further away from the Texas Tower Solution. You are looking atthe result.

Yes, The Occasional Stevie was intended as therapy for me as much as a Schadenfreude-enabling portal for the reader.

So it is with much the same desperate need for a safety valve that I announce an occasional sub-department in The Occasional Stevie, one I am calling Fbleeptard Design. It will be nothing but moaning about the intolerable incompetence in design aesthetic displayed in whatever subject comes to hand, possibly with video footage, possibly not.

If this doesn't float your boat, I'm sorry. Tales of incompetence will be running a distant second for a while, until I've exorcised the feelings of rage and the need to thrash people with a stick until they get a fbleeping clue.

I return you to your Yootoobing.