I Can Be Worthless, Too (Grumpy Pat Ed.)

Weathermen.

How I hate you.

I know you're not perfect creatures, but holy hell! Two weeks in a row you predicted nearly significant to very significant snowfall for the Greater Philadelphia region and both times you were just really wrong. Hardly even close, really. 

Last week, the first time you sage predictors expected a Snowpocalypse event, I still received a day off out of it--I admit, it was nice. However, that day was a Tuesday. I was already in work bright and early the previous day after a nice (extremely fuck-balls) short weekend. After a day to get the body re-acclimated to just absolutely hating life as we know it, it's not as hard to go into work the following day. Although the break was nice, I kinda WANTED to go to work on that Tuesday--I know, what type of "sick and delusional" am I, right? You see, weathermen, I'm a paid intern. I get paid hourly, which means: If you fuckers continuously fuck up until 1am the previous morning of a "giant" snow storm, then I will not go to work the following day. I will expect, silly me, that you're approximately right. I didn't need a foot of snow, a good 6-7 inches would have plenty sufficed. I basically accepted that you were likely 50% wrong. Much to my chagrin as I woke up Tuesday morning at around 10:30a, you were even MORE wrong than that. Curse you.

Luckily, my place of business opened way late, which meant driving to work would have actually cost me money, so it all worked out. That "luckily" is pointed towards you, weathermen. Lucky for you that some people got a day off from work anyway, because if they didn't, and you were THAT wrong: Pitchforks and fire torches, weathermen. PITCHFORKS AND FIRE TORCHES!

Some of you came out and apologized for your inaccuracy. It was more than warranted. We, as a society, accepted your apologies. You're all human, and as we all know: Humans are stupid. So, that's fine. None of you got fired. All of you were fine. And life continued for the rest of us.

On Friday, you weather-mavericks, you fucking weather prodigies, you shrewdest-of-them-all weathermen, you started back on your path of lies predicting 4-6 inches for the Philly area and even more out west. By Sunday night, that's Super Bowl Sunday night, you already started downgrading that roar of a "storm" to a kitten's meow. 

How important was it to get this one right, you might ask? Well, you see, the day after the Super Bowl roughly no one, even those who only watched the Puppy Bowl for 4 hours straight, wants to come into work the next day. The Monday after the Super Bowl might as well be called "The worst day to do anything ever," because the night before, everyone, for hardly any reason at all, drinks alcohol and eats themselves into a food coma. 

So, what did I do? I got up early on Monday expecting ice to line the roads, but no. In fact, there was no reason to wake up early, because that ice you predicted was really just a sheet of slush. The streets looked like a 7/11 threw up all over the place. I proceeded to leave for work early and arrive early for all of the nothing I had to do once I arrived.

All-in-all: Thank you, weather-shits. Next time I'll just look out the window.

Today's weather, in case anyone's curious: It's fucking cloudy. 

- PatInTheFuckThisShit