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Stories from the Shawarma Shack

This week started with a whimper and ended with a WTF.

Mondays are typically slow. This Monday was no different. I’ll save you the snore fest and sum it up by saying that it was barely worth the gas I spent driving there. Except that this little red haired girl © Charlie Brown showed up and said she was a new hire. Excellent. We need more waitstaff (sort of). Welcome aboard, I’ll show you the basics before R (The Boss’ oldest daughter) gives you your full training. Red tells me her girl-friend had started the day before. Gravy! Now roll the silverware.

Tuesday I had the day off. Which meant I ran around like mad until it was time for me to get The Kid from school. Then I took a nap. I’m so lame.

Wednesday was slow. Except for a girl from a local group that I’m active in showing up to work and discussing her boy toy’s (her words not mine) aversion to food in general and the reason behind it (and there’s a good reason behind it), it was pretty boring (see why I don’t blog about work? Not a damn thing happens).

R comes in and as we’re closing out my shift she starts grumbling about her dad giving her two bisexuals and telling her to train them. I had to stop myself from laughing too loud. My boss’ idea of a qualified employee is young and female. Being bisexual, if he had actually known about it at the time of hiring, would probably have been the cherry on his sundae. I don’t call him a Greasy Rat Bastard for nothing. I laughed and mentioned that Red had said her girlfriend was working here, but I thought that she meant girl-friend, not girlfriend. I asked R how she knew they were bi. She says they told her and that were making out in the parking lot.

*pause*

Making out? Neither of them drive, so that means they were standing in full view of everyone driving past.

Now let me state now, I have absolutely no issue with anyone being anything other than straight. Do what makes you happy. However, I do have a problem with people getting happy at work. It’s just not professional. We may not be Tavern On The Green but you don’t make out standing in the middle of the parking lot of the job you just got. It’s just not kosher. Plus, not all of our customers really appreciate girl-girl action. Ann Arbor might be a major liberal city, but there are still enough McCain/Palin signs around to remind you that conservatives still exist within city limits.

Thursday, I came in late and pissed off. Very pissed off. The Man drove me to work so he could run some errands during the day. Apparently, if I tell him at 1015 that I want to leave in 5 minutes, that means I want to leave at 1030, which is the time that I’m supposed to BE at work. It started slow, mostly take out orders, which is pretty normal since we open around the beginning of people’s lunch. My cook, Mo, was on his cell phone for most the day, yakking away, loud as hell, in Arabic. Which meant anytime there was a lull in orders he’d go out back to talk more, which meant I had to go find his ass so people wouldn’t be waiting forever for their food.

Around 3 I had a rush. 10 people came in pretty much at the same time. Completely unexpected, though not wholly unwelcome (except the chick who stiffed me. She’s unwelcome). Near the end of my shift, before R came in, Red’s girlfriend calls, “I won’t be able to keep working there. I’m exhausted and I keep working like this I won’t be able to get my school work done.”

*pause*

That has to be the lamest fucking excuse to quit ever. She’s exhausted? She worked TWICE since being hired. That’s it. Two days. That’s her whole damn training period. But she’s exhausted? She had someone working with her so she wasn’t being swamped with customers. But she’s exhausted. GTFOOHWTBS.

I wake up at 645 (though I don’t actually get out of bed until 700), get The Kid clean, dressed, and off to school (she eats breakfast there). Then I go to work where I run around (or stand around) for 6.5 hours dealing with an idiot boss and customers who seem to enjoy annoying the hell out of me with their stupid petty requests for shit that doesn’t even come with their order. Come home, make dinner, take care of The Kid, check her school assignments, praise her for the work she’s done (and let’s not go into what I have to go through when she’s sick), make sure The Man has what he needs for work, deal with email, messages, blogs and I don’t get to actually wind down until after 10pm. If The Man works a midnight shift, I stay up until he leaves (1145pm), then I’m still up chatting with friends that I haven’t had a chance to actually talk to all day because I was busy. Then it’s bedtime and up at 645 to do it all over again.

But she’s exhausted.

Kiss. My. Ass.

Her shift was 5.5 hours. That’s it. You don’t even get a damn lunch break unless you work 8. She worked a grand total of 11 hours this week. But she’s exhausted.

I told R when she came in, one of my regular customers was at the counter when I told her. He works full time and goes to school full time. He laughed and said she needed to get over it. R is a high school student, oldest of four kids (which means she basically does the parenting when The Boss isn’t around…The Boss is divorced and Mom lives in another state) and works in her dad’s restaurant after school. She just rolled her eyes.

Red quit too. I had a feeling they weren’t going to stay around long. Neither of them had waitressing experience, and neither of them had ever actually been to the restaurant to eat. They just saw a help wanted sign and came in. Red couldn’t identify any of the items we have on the menu except for a few of our salads and hummus. That’s it. Red’s excuse for quitting was that it was too far to walk and she couldn’t afford the bus (her bus fare would have been two dollars every day she worked, plus since she was working night shift, someone could have given her a lift, so it would have been just one). Her and her GF came in to give R a birthday present (Thursday was her birthday), and Red was using a walking stick that was too long for her and hobbling rather dramatically saying that her knee was swelling froma childhood injury and that it hurt to even stand none the less walk.

She applied for a job as a waitress knowing that she was going to be doing a lot of walking and standing. WTF. Another lame ass excuse if you ask me. What fucking waitress SITS? If all we did was sit all day we wouldn’t have to wear ugly, comfortable shoes. We could wear the cute, but highly uncomfortable ones designed for women who don’t do a lot of walking.

So we’re down two waitresses who probably would have sucked as waitresses anyway. They’ll go get jobs at the mall or something now. Good riddance.

Economic crisis? What economic crisis?

I listen to NPR a lot, especially at work. So I hear about all the stuff going down on Wall Street all day. And, if I may be so blunt, who really gives a fuck?

Fact is, I’ve been broke. Most of my life has been spent in an economic crisis. It’s called Detroit. Man up bitches.

These rich folks stressing out about stocks? Try stressing out about keeping your fridge stocked with something other than potpies.

These suburbanites are finding it harder to shop at Banana Republic? And? My ass finds it hard to shop at Old Navy. Now what?

Whole Foods? What’s that? I expect that when I buy food-unless it’s frozen, canned, or meat-it’s going to be whole. I don’t buy apples with sections cut out of them. I don’t buy a half a carrot. All my food is whole. GTFOOH.

You want a solution to higher gas costs? Move the hell out the burbs, closer to your job and take the damn bus. One dollar gets you a ride and a transfer and you’ll get where you need to go. Bus not reliable? Get a bike. Nuff said.

All I’m saying is that, right now, broke folks could make a killing “coaching” rich people how to be broke (they have life coaches, SAT coaches, interviewing coaches, and coaches for everything else, why the hell not a brokeness coach?).

Broke people, the tables are a-turnin. Don’t miss out on this opportunity. We’ll teach them the difference between the designer consignment shop and the salvation army. Sav-A-Lot/Aldi’s will have their own training section. We’ll have to teach them the art of making their own damn coffee. There will be sections called

  • “No, you don’t need the new Apple i-whatever. The one you bought 4 months ago still works just fine.”
  • “$500 jeans look exactly the same as $20 jeans and you don’t sound as stupid when you tell people how much you spent on them.”

And,

  • “Your Hummer is a waste of money and a clear indication about the size of your penis, now get your ass a Honda and stop being an insecure pussy.”
  • “Don’t throw away that chicken grease! You can use it at least two more times.”

Yep, broke people, it’s our time to shine.

I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB!

I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB! I HAVE A JOB!

Can you tell I’m happy? Give me a week, I’ll be bitching.  I’m slinging shawarma at a local pita joint. I had worked there for a week once but, on the same day, my babysitter dropped out on me and my car stopped working.  What’s funny is that the cafe is sort of famous (fame being relative here).

They’ve remodeled the inside recently, a little less seating than before. And it seems they letting people smoke hookahs at the table (O.o) which I’m sure violates the Michigan ban against smoking in restaurants, but this could be on their outdoor patio so who knows. I guess I could start carrying a lighter just in case.

I won’t start until the 19th, that way I know everything is set and in place (babysitter, The Man, etc etc). Because the man doesn’t always work days (and I’ll be working days) babysitter won’t always be necessary, but it’s helpful to have.

Mars Phoenix Rover makes science depressing

So I was looking through my latest Tweets on Twitterfox when I came across an entry for NASA’s Phoenix Rover (yes, I’m a nerd; know why I signed up for second life? SCIENCE FRIDAY DOES A LIVE SIMUCAST THERE AND YOU CAN ASK QUESTIONS TO THE GUESTS!) that sounded like a complete downer. There’s a point in every year when Earth and Mars are on opposite sides of the sun, which means we’re a long flipping ways away from each other.

Now the reason that these Tweets from a robot seem like a downer is because those geniuses at NASA gave it a great personality (of sorts). This is a extra-planetary rover that you’d like to call your buddy. Until he hits you with the news that he only has a few more months to live.

Not sure how long I’ll last before I succumb to CO2 ice. September? October? Time will tell. Lots of work to do before then.

That entry was followed up with this one

In November, even if still alive, I’ll lose contact with Earth due to Solar Conjunction–when Earth and Mars are on opposite sides of Sun.

even if still alive” Oh dear God! Not functioning, not active, alive. If NASA isn’t careful people are going to start developing ideas that these robots are living things and deserve the same rights as humans and then all space and scientific exploration goes down the crapper. Hell, I’m developing something along the lines of feelings for this bloody machine. Who ever is updating their Twitter page is way too good and humanising the rover.

Then….THEN it hits you with the most optimistic, chin-up, stiff upper lip, the-show-must-go-on type message which, I have to say, sounds like it’s straight out of a movie (and if it’s not, would be a really great line in one…Wall-E 2 anyone?)

Knew about the freezing going in. It’s the only way to reach and study the ice. And I was the first touch it! No regrets.

NO REGRETS! Well, for one a machine doesn’t have regrets anyway but going beyond all that….don’t you just want to hug the damn thing now? Hug it and say “Oh my gawd…you’re so brave. That’s right you keep right on testing that soil and you prove you’re the best damn soil tester NASA every sent into space.” all the while sobbing because you know that in the end, the inevitable will occur.

NASA is turning awesome scifi movie fodder into a chick flick. A chick flick with robots, but a chick flick none the less.

I bet LIfetime is going to pick up this story and find some way to make all the men involved evil. Delta Burke will star as the Phoenix Rover, of course.

Losers everywhere, take heart, Chris Kattan married a model

which means you can too!

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080630/ap_en_ot/people_chris_kattan

NEW YORK – Chris Kattan, a former cast member of NBC’s “Saturday Night Live,” tied the knot with model Sunshine Tutt in Yosemite Valley, Calif., on Saturday, his publicist, Jill Fritzo, said Monday.

Kattan, 37, appeared on “SNL” from 1996 to 2003. His screen credits include “Corky Romano” and “A Night at the Roxbury.”

The couple became engaged on Christmas Eve 2006.

A sad day indeed…George Carlin dies at 71.

George Carlin has always been something of a hero to me, even though he hated the idea of public figures being heros for not doing anything particularly heroic.

He offended everyone by using common sense. He dissected and disemboweled every aspect of our lives from the most mundane to the spiritual. He spoke truth when no one else would. He didn’t play political games, lambasting Bill Clinton just as much as he has lambasted Dubya (though GWB does provide more comic fodder). He was neither an anarchist nor a fascist. The clarity and sting of his observations made it easy to forget his age.

He died yesterday of heart failure in a Los Angeles hospital. He was to be honored this year with the Mark Twain Prize for 50 years of comedy, joining the ranks of Steve Martin, Whoopi Goldberg and inaugural Twain Prize recipient, and fellow social commentator, the late Richard Pryor. They will award him the prize posthumously with a November 10th tribute. (hat tip)

Given his thoughts on life, death and all that comes after…I have to wonder who got the last laugh. Though I truly believe that all his digs at God and religion were done with a conspiratorial wink and nod to the Higher Power that only those two really understood.

He was an original. All these comedians who want to be “edgy” and controversial are simply poor imitations. So, for your entertainment, the routine that (arguably) launched George Carlin into the national spotlight. Seven Dirty Words

“I love words. I thank you for hearing my words. I want to tell you something about words that I uh, I think is important. I love..as I say, they’re my work, they’re my play, they’re my passion. Words are all we have really.

We have thoughts, but thoughts are fluid. You know, [humming]. And, then we assign a word to a thought, [clicks tongue]. And we’re stuck with that word for that thought. So be careful with words. I like to think, yeah, the same words that hurt can heal. It’s a matter of how you pick them.

There are some people that aren’t into all the words. There are some people who would have you not use certain words. Yeah, there are 400,000 words in the English language, and there are seven of them that you can’t say on television. What a ratio that is. 399,993 to seven. They must really be bad. They’d have to be outrageous, to be separated from a group that large. All of you over here, you seven. Bad words. That’s what they told us they were, remember? ‘That’s a bad word.’ ‘Awwww.’ There are no bad words. Bad thoughts. Bad Intentions.

And words, you know the seven don’t you? Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker, and Tits, huh? Those are the heavy seven. Those are the ones that will infect your soul, curve your spine and keep the country from winning the war.

Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker, and Tits, wow. Tits doesn’t even belong on the list, you know. It’s such a friendly sounding word. It sounds like a nickname. ‘Hey, Tits, come here. Tits, meet Toots, Toots, Tits, Tits, Toots.’ It sounds like a snack doesn’t it? Yes, I know, it is, right. But I don’t mean the sexist snack, I mean, New Nabisco Tits. The new Cheese Tits, and Corn Tits and Pizza Tits, Sesame Tits Onion Tits, Tater Tits, Yeah. Betcha can’t eat just one. That’s true I usually switch off . But I mean that word does not belong on the list.

Actually, none of the words belong on the list, but you can understand why some of them are there. I am not completely insensitive to people’s feelings. You know, I can dig why some of those words got on the list…like cocksucker and motherfucker. Those are…those are heavy-weight words. There’s a lot going on there, man. Besides the literal translation and the emotional feeling. They’re just busy words. There’s a lot of syllables to contend with. And those K’s. Those are aggressive sounds, they jump out at you. CocksuckerMotherfuckerCocksucker. It’s like an assault, on you. So I can dig that.

And we mentioned shit earlier, of course. Two of the other 4-letter Anglo-Saxon words are Piss and Cunt, which go together of course. But forget about that. A little accidental humor there. Piss and Cunt. The reason Piss and Cunt are on the list is that a long time ago certain ladies said ‘Those are the two I am not going to say. I don’t mind Fuck and Shit, but P and C are out. P and C are out.’ Which led to such stupid sentences as ‘OK, you fuckers, I am going to tinkle now.’

And of course the word Fuck. The word Fuck, I don’t really…well, this is some more accidental humor, but I don’t really want to get into that now. Because I think it takes too long. But I do mean that. I mean, I think the word fuck is an important word. It’s the beginning of life, and, yet it’s a word we use to hurt one other, quite often. And uh, people much wiser than I have said, I’d rather have my son watch a film with two people making love than two people trying to kill one other. And I of course agree. I wish I know who said it first, and I agree with that. But I would like to take it a step further. I would like to substitute the word fuck, for the word kill in all those movie cliches we grew up with. ‘Okay Sheriff, we’re gonna fuck ya now. But we’re gonna fuck ya slow.’ So maybe next year I’ll have a whole fuckin’ rap on that word. I hope so.

Uh, there are two-way words, but those are the seven you can never say on television. Under any circumstances you just can not say them ever, ever ever, not even clinically. You can not weave them in the panel with Doc and Ed and Johnny, I mean it’s just impossible, forget those seven, they’re out.

But, there are some two-way words. There are double-meaning words. Remember the ones your giggled at in sixth grade? ‘And the cock crowed three times.”Hey, the cock the cock crowed three times. It’s in the bible.’ There are some Two-way words, like it’s okay for Curt Gowdy to say ‘Roberto Clemente has two balls on him.’ But he can’t say, ‘I think he hurt his balls on that play Tony, don’t you? He’s holding them. He must have hurt them by God.’ And the other two-way word that goes with that one is prick. It’s okay if it happens to your finger. Yes, you can prick your finger, but don’t finger your prick. No, no.”

Black folks, gather ’round. We need to chat.

Now, before I start let me say, I love the black blogosphere. I really do. Intelligent, witty observations, sitting side by side with insightful commentary dealing with everything from world politics, feminism, religion, all the way down to local happenings. I love it.

However…

Some of ya’ll…you’ve gone off the nut this week. So let’s chat a bit, shall we?

The Obama Father’s Day speech. If it doesn’t pertain you, your father, or the fathering style of your male friends..why be upset? Yes he did it while campaigning for President. Yes it reeks of political game playing. But was it really wrong? Was anything he said actually incorrect?

Not from what I heard.

Though I will say, I hope that, after they’re elected, Michelle Obama does a Mother’s Day speech that goes after Baby Mamas the way Barack went after Baby Daddies. In all honesty, it needs to be done. It’s long over due.

Let’s stop deifying single mothers like they’re infallible. Please. I don’t mean all single mothers. As someone who has friends and relatives who are/were single mothers, I can say for certain there are many who deserve nothing short of sainthood.

However the ones I’m talking about are the Baby Mamas. The ones who make good single mothers cringe. The ones who take their child support payments and use it to get their hair and nails did. The ones whose kids spend more time with Grandma than they do with their own moms; not because she’s out working her ass off, but because she’s out shaking her ass at the club. The ones who lie to Friend of the Court and use their children as pawns to manipulate fathers who, otherwise, would be more than happy to be in their child’s life as more than just a name on a check. The ones who spend more time looking for a man to “take care of” them instead of taking care of their children.

These triflin heffas need to be put in check. Being in ownership of a uterus does not give you the right to reproduce just for the hell of it or to manipulate someone.

Forget about the father for a moment, consider the child in the middle of all this. You bring a life into this world for petty and selfish reasons, lie to it, manipulate it, expose it to a parade of temporary daddies and “uncles” but never to its birth father. Basically you treat this life like an object; like some thing with no thoughts, no feelings, no desires, no wants or needs. Just a thing for you to use, and, if you don’t get your way, use against someone. You take a blessing and twist it into a punishment. But then can’t figure why, for the life of you, men don’t want to stay around your triflin ass. Why they’ll screw you but not marry you.

Yeah, these chicks need to be chin checked. Hard.

I love my single parent sistren and brethren who take care of their kids. Seeing you juggle all those responsibilities and wear all those hats give me hope for this sad excuse we call human kind. I love single fathers who struggle to be more than just a Baby Daddy, especially in the face of a Baby Mama who does everything in her power to make it hard for him to be even that much. It’s heartbreaking to hear stories from men who want to be there for their kids but the mothers block access to them unless they play by their rules.

So I say, whoever the next First Lady will be (please God not Cindy McCain…if she can’t be trusted to not lie about a damn cookie recipe, I don’t think she can be trusted to do anything this important), she needs to do a nationwide address calling out Baby Mamas and demanding reforms in the legal system so that it stops leaning so heavily towards the mother always being the victim of some unscrupulous man’s penis.

Drop a dime, get a grand

The Detroit News ran an article today talking about how Crime Stoppers is seeing a jump in tips due in Michigan due to the steadily falling economy and poor job market.

Sumayyah (read the Cast of Characters page), says it stinks of Orwellianism. Personally, if the only thing standing between me and my lights getting cut off is tipping the cops that it was RayRay up the street who robbed someone at gun point…fuck RayRay. You can say I’m a snitch, you can say I’m a sell out, but you can’t say I’m sitting in the dark.

A grand for a tip on a homicide that leads to an arrest. Forget all the moral stuff. Forget doing your duty as a good citizen of whatever city you live in. It’s a grand for making a phone call. Now, that may not sound like a lot to some folks, but that’s rent, electricity/gas, phone and cable with plenty left over for groceries.

So, once again, fuck RayRay.

And while I’m on the subject of crime and criminals: Black people…cut this shit out

(hat tip The Smoking)

WTF kind of Smurf do you skin for hair like that? More importantly, who the hell lied to her and said it was cute? Blue is not the same as blue-black.  Stop this shit now.

Well…he DID say it.

This hasn’t gotten a ton of airplay on the news, but, yes John McCain called his wife (the one he cheated on his first wife with then turned around and married a month after their divorce was final because she was wealthy and politically powerful) a cunt. Granted she’s a recovering drug addict that stole drugs from her own Volunteer Medical Foundation, was subject to a wrongful termination lawsuit after firing the director of said foundation in order to cover up her addiction, and admitted her addiction only to keep an Arizona newspaper from having a field day with the story. And yes, she stole recipes from Food Network and claimed them as her own (who doesn’t? Well…I don’t…I steal them from cooks.com and claim them as my own, but not in a nationally distributed newspaper or on my husband’s campaign website). But even for ALL that…she doesn’t deserve to be called a cunt. A bitch? Maybe. A husband stealing whore? Not so much…McCain had several extramarital affairs so he was more whore than she was.

And even though she gives me the same creeps I get when I see Laura Bush smile (you know the smile…that vapid one that looks forced and dull and gives her eyes this weird lunatic gleam), she doesn’t deserve to be called a cunt.

Hat tip to Post Bourgie for the video below (NSFW)

Cops shoot mentally ill man over FEMA trailer

WTF YO?

NEW ORLEANS, Louisiana (AP) — A man fatally shot by police after a 10-hour standoff Wednesday had suffered with mental illness for much of his life, and it worsened in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, a family member said.

Eric Minshew, 49, ordered Federal Emergency Management Agency workers to leave his trailer when they arrived for an inspection Tuesday afternoon, according to accounts from police.

Later, police said he fired at them several times and was fatally shot after pointing a handgun at officers who tried to arrest him. No officers were injured.

Rosemarie Brocato, who lives about a block away from the house, said she had told police, “He’s sick. Please don’t shoot him. He needs help.”

The man had moved into the family home about eight years ago, with no money and no job, his brother, Homer M. Minshew III, said Wednesday. He survived the hurricane, but the family was awaiting government aid so they could either pay the house off or fix it up and sell it.

He suffered for years with mental problems that “got a lot worse after the storm,” his brother said. He felt his hopes of inheriting his parents’ home — a place he’d felt a strong connection to — diminish, he said. He owned a gun because he had gotten a job as a security guard, according to his brother.

“He had a lot of serious mental issues and would all of a sudden go off on a rant about the government, the local, state government, the feds and everything else,” he said. “He has some issues. He just snapped. Thank God nobody else got hurt.”

James Arey, commander of the police department’s crisis intervention team, said the man had not been treated and that the case “doesn’t have anything to do with Katrina.” Police did not officially release Minshew’s identity.

The trailer was near the family home on a block that appeared abandoned. Many houses have gone unrepaired since the storm, and have broken windows. Taped to Minshew’s front window were a USA Today front-page article headlined “Do you have a legal right to own a gun?” and a no trespassing sign.

The porch held a wreath, a cross and a plywood sign with “Jesus is my Messiah” in green paint. A car in the driveway had two flat tires.

Brocato said Minshew lived alone after the storm and that his short temper seemed to get worse. He seemed very lonely, she said, often stopping her to talk for a half-hour at a time when she passed his house.

“He just needed someone to talk to, I guess. I felt sorry for him,” she said.

The FEMA inspection was a first step toward reclaiming the trailer. The federal agency has been pushing to get residents out of trailers across the Gulf Coast, in part because possibly dangerous levels of the chemical formaldehyde have been found in many of them.

FEMA spokesman James McIntyre said the agency cannot release any specifics about the case, such as when the man got the trailer or whether anyone else lived there with him. The officers involved in the shooting have been reassigned to administrative duties during the investigation, said Officer Garry Flot, a police spokesman.

“This is a very unfortunate situation and our prayers go out to the family of the deceased,” he said.

Lakeview, one of the city’s more affluent neighborhoods, was under as much as 11 feet of water after the levee on the nearby 17th Street Canal broke during Katrina on August 29, 2005.

While it has been one of the fastest to recover, it is not without scars from the flood. Some trailers were still parked outside homes under renovation, schools and firehouses have been slow to reopen and there are many vacant lots where homes were demolished because of damage suffered during the storm.

——————————–

Because Katrina victims aren’t suffering enough from the neglect of their government, a man who was obviously disturbed before the storm and became more so afterwards needs to get shot over a damn trailer when the government hasn’t done a damn thing to fix his HOUSE?

Oh hell no.

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