People that won’t SHUT THE FUCK UP about study abroad.
I have never studied abroad, so I don’t really understand the need to act like you have some intimate knowledge/understanding of a country when all you did was drink wine, do ecstasy, and have sex with random strangers you met on the train. Oh the trains. Oh how everyone loves the trains.
Of course, you love the trains in Europe. And the food. And the men. What’s not to love? We get it. You spent three months, 10 years ago, traveling with your friends on a credit card your parents gave you.
That my friend, is not living abroad. Living abroad is spending what-would-be Thanksgiving at a government office trying to get a driver’s license, only to find out that you have no idea how to ask in French for this special form that customs never gave you. “The B-122 Form.” You need it. But what is it?
Moi: “…Encore sil-vous-plait.”
La personne: “Tu as besoin la feuille B-133.”
Moi: “Quoi?!” (isn’t feuille – leaf. Why would I ‘have need’ for a leaf? Also, florescent lighting makes us all look like zombies and should be banned. Immediately.)
La personne: Bienvenue en enfer…
I received the worst customer service of my life from United Airlines. They cancelled my flight for a mechanical issue, which probably meant the pilot had a hangover or a bad case of ass worms. When I called back the customer service rep said they reimburse for hotels and just book one and send the receipt to the refund department.
Lies. All lies.
Like a seven-year old who caught her dad putting presents behind the couch, but still badly wants to believe in Santa, I bought it. It was five in the morning, I was tired and wanted to go home and figured if I couldn’t, I should settle in somewhere swank for the night. On Papa United’s dime. Little did I know, Papa United is a deadbeat.
After once again navigating the Labyrinth of Torment, otherwise known as the United customer service line, they sent me a 10% off coupon with a note thinly veiled in hatred.
“I’m so sorry you’re disappointed but we’re not refunding your hotel. Or that Snickers you took from the mini-bar. Take this coupon for 10 cents off your next flight with us. Oh yeah, it expires in three seconds. Three, two, one….”
She could have just saved time and wrote Fuck Off.
Also, Untied is the most amazing website ever!
I once made this photo as my status update with the question “house cleaner or prostitute?” And within seconds, someone killed the joke.
First off, why would a house cleaner need to be discreet? And I swear that little smiley face is a little too demure and happy for a lady who’s going to be sweeping up softball-sized hairballs.
It’s a joke. But then you have that guy or girl on your Friends List who can’t help but prove how smart they are by plugging a few words into Google Translate and repeating what it said. As if I never heard of Google Translate, the best invention since birth control, the only thing besides lip gloss that I use every.single.day, the single reason I haven’t fled Francophone country or had a nervous breakdown in a parking lot.
Yes, I know what GOOGLE TRANSLATE is. I also know, when I plugged in Dame de Menage, it came up: Mining for Women. But thanks for making me look like an idiot and killing what could have been my funniest 2011 status update.