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  • Your Winter Break

    by Streeter Seidell December 17, 2005
    Winter break is a celebrated time of year when millions of college kids bid farewell to the dorms, the parties, the regrettable makeouts and return to the towns from which they came. These towns, though nostalgically important, are probably less than entertaining. Even if you're old enough to hit the bars, they're probably small, filled with alcoholic fathers and lacking any sort of wet t-shirt competition. So, what are you going to do with the three weeks of downtime your college has handed you? After doing this four times I think I've got you figured out pretty well.

    Day 1: WE'RE BACK! Oh man this break is gonna rule! I'm gonna see all my old friends, hookup with Megan again, get totally shitfaced with my cousin. I can't wait!

    Day 2: Shit, I gotta get some Christmas presents. NOT! Thank god I picked up twelve coffee mugs from my school's bookstore before I left. I'm gonna sit here all day and order movies on my parents On Demand. Life is good.

    Day 3: I can't believe it's already Christmas Eve. Great, now I have to go to my aunts house and sit around while my grandparents whine about the government all night. Eh, at least I'll get some presents...lame presents. Gee, thanks Uncle Mort, I've been wanting a new flashlight for years now. What an asshole.

    Day 4: Alright, Christmas is here! If I know my parents - and I think I do - I'm gonna get everything I asked for: a video iPod, a moped, a spring break trip to Europe, $2,000 to go clothes shopping and a neon bar sign for my dorm room!

    Day 5: I guess I second generation used iPod is pretty cool. It came pre-loaded with the last guy who owned it's demo.

    Day 6: Oh great, now it's time to drive halfway across the state to see my Mom's family. Boring. If I'm lucky, I'll get to hear about my third-cousin's new husband. What's with these people; I've never even met my third-cousin, why would I care about her new husband?

    Day 7: Oh shit, I have to make New Year's plans. Is everyone going to Tom's house this year?

    Day 8: Wait, now the party is at Meg's house?

    Day 9: Trevor's house? Who is Trevor? Is he that kid who used to get the nosebleeds in gym? What? He's on Real World now? Well, am I invited?

    Day 10: 9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1...Happy New Year! Thanks for letting me hang out, Mom and Dad; my plans kinda, uh, fell through.

    Day 11: You want to hang out today? Oh, you're hung over? Yeah, me too. Last night was fucking crazy, dude. Where did I go? Oh, I, uh, just hung with some college friends that live nearby. How was Trevor's? Puck showed up!? As in, Puck from real World!? I mean, uh, cool. I'll talk to you tomorrow.

    Day 12: Man, how long does this break last? I'm getting kid of bored.

    Day 13: Uh, hey Megan. How ya been? Yeah, I missed you too. What are you doing tomorrow, maybe we could get a coffee or something? Yeah, that'd be great, I'll see you tomorrow.

    Day 14: Megan...wow. You've, uh, filled out since high school, huh? No, I'm not calling you fat, you've just gotten curvier - is that a word? - curvier. Ya know, I totally forgot I have to, uh, go see my Grandma. It's been nice seeing you though.

    Day 15: Hey man, so good to hear from you! How was your Christmas? Yeah, mine kind of sucked too. Don't you miss the dorms, dude? Yeah, me too. I can't wait to go back. What's that? Yeah, I know that Trevor from Real World lives in my town. Did I go to his New Year's party? Yeah...definitely...Puck was there. No big deal. Ok, I'll see you back at school, man.

    Day 16: *sleeping*

    Day 17: Mario Kart for fourteen hours...why not?!

    Day 18: Maybe I'll give Megan another call. I mean, she wasn't that fat.

    Day 19: What have I done? Christ, that was like surfing a wave of loose fat. I can't even look at myself right now. I need to get out of here; when does this cursed break end.

    Day 20: One more day, one more day, one more day...DAD! I WAS DOING SOMETHING IN HERE!!!! CAN'T YOU KNOCK??!!

    Day 21: Oh thank God, back at school. Wait, what paper? But we just started classes!? Due in two days! Fuck, I hate this shit. I can't wait till school is over!

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  • Final Solutions: Extra Help For Exams

    by Streeter Seidell December 17, 2005
    Finals are in full swing and we bet you could use some extra help with your studying. Luckily, there are tons of companies who want nothing more than to give you that extra boost you need. We've collected their appeals here. Aren't you a lucky devil?

    Hello college students,

    With finals in full swing we feel it is our duty to introduce ourselves and take a moment of your time to talk about our medication. Ritalin and drugs like it are available by prescription only to those suffering from Attention Deficit Disorder or ADD for short. They are not intended to be 'bummed' from your 'crazy roommate' for 'serious cramming.' We are aware that, understandably, you will be looking for ways to increase your concentration for those long nights in the library but "˜snaggin a few ritz' from your "˜batshit girlfriend' to "˜crush n' blow' is not the way to do it. If you feel that you have trouble concentrating or just want some legal cocaine, feel free to call us 1-800-Ritz-4-you and listen to our easy five-step tutorial on convincing a healthcare professional that you have ADD. Remember, "˜it's affecting my work, Doctor' (wink wink) Good luck on finals,

    - Pfizer Pharmaceuticals
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  • People You Hate XXXII

    by Streeter Seidell December 12, 2005
    It's been so long since we've had a chance to spread the hate a little bit. For those of you new to the game, it's very simple: you send me you hate, I put here and the rest, as they say, is history. You can check out all the hate coming in at The Famous Hate List and send me your stuff at Streeter@streeterseidell.com, just make sure to include your name, school and whether or not you'd like to be added to my subscriber list. Also, swing by StreeterSeidell.com if you've got a minute. Now, let's get to it.

    MINE:

    Big Umbrella Ben: Hey, I hate getting rained on just as much as the next guy, but seriously man, do you need at 10x10 umbrella to keep you dry? Come on asshole, you walk down the street holding a goddamned sail over your head. If there were any justice in this universe that bitch would catch some wind and send you flying down the street. What's worse is that you have no idea how to wield such a powerful tool. You have that thing swinging every which way, dumping water on people and nearly tearing my eye from the socket. I guess in a city where no one drives a car, an huge umbrella says the same thing as a massive SUV: I have a tiny dick an I'm making up for it by having this huge toy. Well guess what, dickhead, nobody is impressed by your tarp-on-a-twig so get yourself a normal umbrella and learn that having a moderately wet shoulder isn't the end of the world. God, I Hate You!

    Nerd-hating Ned: Man, you're like a character out of a bad 80s movie. Yes, I work on the internet. Yes, I know a teeny, tiny bit about how computers work. And yes, I happen to enjoy knowing that small amount of information. Does that make me a nerd? I frankly don't care. But you, you're all about calling anyone who doesn't work in banking a "nerd," like that actually means anything anymore. How long has it been since that insult sent anyone running from the playground in tears? Ten years? Fifteen? It must have been tough not having anyone like you when you were a child and turning your own self-hatred on kids smaller than you. Too bad you never grew out of it. Grow up you stupid shit. Oh, and I could still kick your ass if you ever want to throw down by the monkey bars after work, douche. I Hate You!

    YOURS:

    Jennifer W. really hates: hate bosses that chastise you because of things that they haven't gotten clear. I mean, when the prick tells me to do one thing, like five minutes later the asshole is telling me that I need to be doing something else. GET IT THE FUCK STRAIGHT then get pissed off at me for not doing something. I am so sick of his "I am army man I am a prick when I have to be" attitude. Come off it fucker. People have feelings and opinions that are a little more pronounced than yours.

    Jon K of the US Marine Corps really hates: Sports Ananlysts not on ESPN or any major network. Nobody cares about your input on the Georgia/Auburn game just because you went to a school for sports management and now have a job on the Southern Alabama Sports Hour that pulls in less ratings then the Norm McDonald show. You usually have a name like Brian McFarley or something that sounds like you were once an average athlete at your small high school nobody has heard of and probably sucked more than that team Butkus coaches.

    Jon also hates: MTV addicts...esp. about The Real World and Laguna Beach. In case you haven't noticed, MTV doesn't show music anymore and they repeat these horrible shows over and over and over again until you can quote an entire episode. Stop watching this, and watch something else with REAL people doing ACTUAL things. And the people who think these shows aren't scripted, you suck very badly.

    Ben M. from Miami really hates: Confederate Flags. Nothing says, "Hey I'm a fucking redneck" like a representation of the confederate flag on your clothing, automobile, or even in your general vicinity. Sorry to disappoint you, but the South WILL NOT rise again. In fact, one could argue the degree to which they ever "risen" to in the first place. Now, being a southerner myself I am certainly no fan of yankee northerner types, nor do I enjoy our current regime of government, however; I think it's pretty obvious that shaving your head, wearing camouflage and watching the Deliverance marathon will never re-establish our nation's capitol as Richmond, Virginia or even Montgomery, Alabama for that matter. Give it up, there is no honor is celebrating a "nation" that existed for a mere 5 years... and for fuck's sakes, take the mud tires off your 2-wheel drive truck and stop fucking your cousins.

    Meaghan from GW really hates: Kids who think they're rich, but in actuality if left to fend for themselves, without daddy's money, are just stupid meatheads who don't know how to do anything else but party and cheat at life. Hey, good job, you did absolutely nothing to become extremely wealthy. Great. I'm all for the fucking American dream, but please PLEASE don't tell me that you're better than me because your PARENTS can afford a black card and your spoiled ass gets to use it. Fan-fucking-tastic. I hope your parents realize what fucking degenerate assholes you are and cut you off... you like grey goose? fuck you, try drinking some fucking zelco like a normal fucking college kid. I realize that its tempting, but stop fucking sitting next to me in classes and expecting me to swoon over your fucking muscles and let you cheat off me - I don't think our professor is retarded enough (notice I said ENOUGH) not to realize your essay is full of words your tiny, juiced-out brain is too fucking dumb to comprehend. I hope you wake up in 10 years on a broken futon in a shitty studio apartment in Southeast DC that's filled with cockroaches you dumb fucking spoiled douche flavored cum dumpster... and yeah, I think you're TOTALLY FUCKING IN THE CLOSET MR EYEBROWS WAXED DUDE IM SO DRUNK I GRAB MY FRAT BROTHERS ASSES IN A NOT FUNNY BUT TOTALLY I WANNA GET POUNDED TONIGHT way. FUCK YOU I FUCKING HATE YOU

    Sara at UNCW really hates: I freaking HATE my uncle's useless good-for-nothing girlfriend that really hates you and continuously pretends not to only for the sake of remaining a fuck buddy. The stupid 30 something looks like she could easily pass for the 55+ menu and looks like a poodle who's been put through the freaking dryer. STOP causing drama in our lives and do us a favor and over-dose THE RIGHT WAY! We don't WANT to find you! You can even leave your kids and 50billion dogs and 500 sexual harassments lawsuits. The world would be a better place without you, you disgusting whiny-voiced, drama queen, thinks she has my body WHORE!!! BLAH I FUCKING HATE YOU. Nothing says 'Welcome to the family' like blind hatred! Happy Holidays!

    Jeff really hates: BELGIANS!! What's up with these people? racist, biggoted, absolutely no culture, their fries are awful (they claim to have invented them) and their music stinks. Why did we give them NATO? How on earth did the EU decide to establish itself in the tiniest of villages called Brussels (one million inhabitants...)?

    Finally, Peter from Mesa State really hates: my douche bag roommate. My roommate always pops his collar. He wears a arm band all through out the day. He pretends to be a skater, but he can't even ride a skateboard. He says, "all sorts, mad faded, so sick, so phat, and he balls" ,after every sentence. He drinks expensive vodka. He would tell me in the morning that he had the worse night ever, because he couldn't get money out of the ATM. He goes shopping when he's upset. He goes to the gym does bicep curls and then leaves. He bitches to his parents when they won't buy something for him. He claims to have been a drug dealer in high school. I found out he wasn't. He whines. He bitches. He always wants to hang out with me. He has a wall full of posters of heavy metal bands and different rappers, when he only listens to the Kottonmouth Kings and Lil' Jon. I fucking hate you. I can't wait until you leave. You're a douche bag. Once again, I HATE YOU. Is being a drug dealer still cool? I mean, I know it was in high school, but in college? Someone let me know.

    That's all the hate for now, but make sure to send yours in to Streeter@Streeter@streeterseidell.com Swing by StreeterSeidell.com and The Famous Hate List for more of that complaining you love oh so much.
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  • Service With A Smile

    by Streeter Seidell December 07, 2005
    I used to be a waiter. In fact, I was in some form of customer service - whether it was bartending, table waiting or drug peddling - for almost a decade. Therefore, I feel like I can speak about customer service in an almost expert capacity. Not only did I watch hours and hours of 'how to treat a customer' and 'when a joke becomes sexual harassment' videos, I watched career waiters and bartenders with eager eyes so I could learn the secret to their semi-success. After all, I wanted money and the best way to do that I learned, was to pucker up, put on some chap stick and kiss some serious customer ass. After ten years in the service industry I broke free and now work at a job that does not require me to clock in, wear a name tag or refrain from freely making sexually charged jokes at my co-workers. Yes, life is good but that doesn't mean I've forgotten about my former life as a Friendly's waiter or weeknight bartender or CVS 'Customer Care Representative.' And it is out of these dark, dark memories where I have found my latest source of hatred and rage; bad service.

    There is something about being treated well by someone at the coffee shop or the parking garage that makes you happy. Here you have come in and taken up some of this person's time; time they could've spent chatting on the phone or watching scrambled porn on the 12" Quasar TV in the break room. So, when they greet you with a pleasant smile, prompt attention and quick service it's a welcome surprise. It's like they understand that you'd like this interaction - be it ordering food, parking your car or burying Grandma - to end as quickly as they would. There's an old saying that goes 'if you have good service, you'll tell two people. If you have bad service, you'll tell ten.' Well, there's also a saying that goes, 'if I go to Pizzeria Uno and have to wait ten minutes to even be looked at again I'm going to burn that motherfucker down.' What, you've never heard it?

    My experience at the Pizzeria Uno epitomizes all that is wrong with the service industry: stupid waiters, slow service, lying, laziness and not bring me my loaded pizza skins while they were still hot. Goddamn it, a man needs his skins! But the real shame in this scenario lies not with Uno, but with me for after having arguably the most infuriating dinner there six months ago, I went back for seconds over the weekend. When will I learn?

    It started like any other dinner: sore feet, cold weather, an irritable girlfriend, the beckoning glow of neon and promises of real Chicago deep dish delight. "Ok," I though, "I'll lift my boycott of this shit hole and give them another chance." My girlfriend and I made our way up some creaking stairs and were welcomed into as generic a restaurant as you can imagine. But, it was warm and it didn't seem to be very busy considering tourist season in New York ended weeks ago. Immediately a man in a headset came up to us and, menus in hand, guided us to a charming table right next to the bathrooms; just like I like it. Aside from the bathroom thing, I was pleased with the service. "hey," I said to my girlfriend, "They've gotten better." Oh, how wrong I was.

    I have alluded to a previous visit to Uno in this article and, to understand why I acted the way I did, I think I should share with you the horrifying details of that experience. I had just signed the lease on my brand new, grown up apartment and I was in the neighborhood checking it out with my college roommates. We toured the 8x8 box they call a 'spacious one bedroom' and then headed out on the town to grab a quick dinner. "Uno," I said, "you guys want to get some pizza?" As any real college kids would answer, they came back with a resounding "DEF!"

    As soon as we sat down - after twenty minutes of waiting - our waiter approached and that's when we met Steve; the biggest douche this side of the equator. Complete with spiked, frosted blonde hair and suggestively low black cargo pants, Steve was just what the doctor ordered; if your doctor was a Nazi doing stress tests on prisoners of war that is. We started to order and each had to repete ourselves because Steve simply couldn't be torn away from the conversation he was having with one of the female bartenders.

    "Yeah, I'll get a personal deep dish..."
    "Hold on....yeah...you going later?...nah, my girlfriend's in town....what?...hahaha...Ok, sorry bro, what did you want again?"
    "A personal deep dish pizza with..."
    "Hold on again, I'll be right back." And off he went.

    When Steve came back, giggling about his conversation with the bartender, we finally finished our order. Feeling slightly more relaxed I finished off me beer wholly confident that in a few minutes, I could order another one. Again, as with so many things that night, I was dead wrong.

    Forty five minutes later, Steve appeared again, this time with our appetizers which had clearly been sitting under a warming lamp for quite some time judging by the congealed fat ringing the mozzarella sticks and the off-white film gracing the top of the blue cheese dippin' sauce. I ordered another beer when he dropped the slop-trays off; that was a beer I was destined to never meet. Our actual order took another half hour to arrive and when it did, it looked strangely foreign. We had ordered a classic cheese and tomato pizza but what came out appeared to have feta cheese and pesto in it. "Hey," my roommate said, "This isn't what we ordered. We ordered a cheese and tomato pizza. This has pesto and feta cheese on it."

    Steve stood for a few seconds, considering his options. He could 1) admit he had made a mistake and bring us our order or 2) pretend that Uno's regular tomato sauce had pesto in it. Guess which one Steve chose? When we demanded that he bring us our real order he was apologetic and promised to "go in the back and whip it up myself." Weird yes, but strangely comforting that Steve was prepared to fully take responsibility for his mistake and craft a juice DDP with his own menthol-stained hands.

    Tick tock, tick tock, another half hour passes without a Steve in sight. We decided that it was time to leave with or without our pizza. On the way to register to complain/pay for our drinks my roommate spotted Steve laughing it up outside, having a smoke. There has rarely been a time in my life when I have considered actually murdering someone knowing full-well the consequences of such an action, but man, was this one of them. We left Steve a whopping 1 cent tip - because if there's one thing worse than no tip at all, it's a 1 cent tip - and we left Uno, never to return again.

    So, as I sat there by the bathroom with my girlfriend closely observing the room for signs of poor service, I was almost disappointed that nothing horrible had happened yet. I wanted my suspicions about Uno to be confirmed, I desperately wanted to be right. A tall waited was walking toward us, his pony tail flapping in the steamy pizza air, and we braced ourselves for a quick order. He was three tables away when he abruptly stopped and turned a table on his left. "I'm so sorry," he said, "your food will be right out." Shit. Then, he turned to the table directly opposite them; "I'm so sorry guys, but your food will be right out. The kitchen is a little backed up."

    "Grab your coat," I said to my girlfriend, "we're leaving." Sometimes - like when you suspect your spouse is cheating on you or that your son did kill the neighbor's cat - it hurts to be right.
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