I want to keep this short and sweet, with as many facts as possible since I tend to ramble, and give unnecessary details for the sake of transparency. If there are any questions I will of course answer them, or give clarification where needed.
Here’s what’s relevant:

• I worked at Ulta from August 2022 - April 2024
  
• I started as a PBA while I went through Cos school and transitioned into the Salon on my 1 year Ultaversary
  
• Never had I ever met our LP team, let alone director. Nor had I ever gotten a write up, a suspension, etc. (I did have a verbal coaching for attendance)
  

-My salon training consisted of 4 hours of watching videos that explained the stylist leveling system, how commission worked, how Ulta Academy worked, and how red lines/dots worked in the salon in terms of monthly take overs.
-My Salon Manager (EM I think the title is) worked the complete opposite of my schedule, so everything I needed came down to texting her, often outside of my working hours (as per her response time).

• I was not aware that you couldn’t give discounts to people you weren’t directly married to, the domestic partner of, or the parent of (I’m engaged, not married and I wasn’t corrected on this until mid-January 2024 where I promptly addressed some concerns with management and made changes)
  
• I always made sure that a manager checked out a ticket for anyone I was close personal friends or family with to avoid this exact incident happening.
  
• I only used the 10% off discount (I’m not arguing that this is theft of services, or that I did it). This discount appears 6 times all under my fiance’s name. 3/6 were first time visits. His mom and his sister booked under his name initially because they don’t have loyalty accounts and they thought using their names in the salon was signing up for one. I made management aware of this, and they said it should be fine. The other 3 discounts were “illegal” for lack of a better term.
  

On April 1st I was terminated, 2 hours into a 5 hour shift. I was allowed to finish two makeup clients (I was the only established Mua at the time). I even stopped to speak with managers about green dots when I clocked in, and then went on my way uninterrupted.
I guess I’m frustrated because all of this came to light after an internal investigation was started for theft of product off the floor discovered by another associate, and made its way into the salon. Since then I have gotten a hold of HR once due to never receiving my exit interview, and I have been contacted by a former coworker who has been told I’m blaming her for my being fired.
What should I do from here? Does any of this sound shady, or am I naively grasping at straws? (I guess this isn’t so short, but I tried to keep emotion out of it)

I woke up with a cough of blood and pain. I felt something metal with my hands as I looked down. A long stint of rebar poked out of my ribcage and through my chest plate, covered in a mix of my blood and the bile of a bug.
I reached down and grabbed my Senator, feeling its trusty weight in my hands. I haphazardly tried to place the barrel against the portion of rebar sticking out of my back. This had better work I though. I pulled the trigger once and with a loud Crack I felt the vibration from the shot in my stomach. I tried to choke down vomit and pulled the trigger twice more Crack, Crack. With the third shot the rebar gave way and I rolled to my side and collapsed on the ground. Agony shot through my body as I hit the dirt.
I realized then, Hmmph, they left me. During Extraction one of the other divers called in a 500kg as we were about to board Pelican 1. She had thrown it over one of those damned chargers in an effort to kill one last bug but... it started charging us. I was the last one in line and just as I was about to board... i was thrown 200 feet away from extraction site. I don't blame them. I'd have left me too. We had successfully evacuated a number of scientists and other military personnel, but we'd lost the planet. No hard feelings I guess.
I tried to pull my mind away from those thoughts and just focused on one. Survive. I pulled myself to my knees and looked at the rebar again. Cant park there bud I thought tryna cheer myself up. I had dropped my senator when I fell and ended up with two free hands. I reached down and with the assistance of my servo-assited armor prepared to wrench the rebar from my chest. Alright, count of three, I thought. One mye heartrate quickened. Two I adjusted my grip ever so slightly. Three I ripped the metal r9d out and felt a hot stinging pain shoot through my body. I quickly grabbed as stim and applied it.
I winced as the stim numbed my broken ribs and began rapidly working to heal them and my open chest wound. After a couple seconds, I could stand.
I took quick stock of my inventory. My Senator with 23 rounds left, two ration packs, a canteen of water, 1 stim, a knife, and a bag of oatmeal. Oatmeal? Seriously? I'd rather have ammo but... beggars can't be choosers.
I looked around me. Snow and beaten down rubble surrounded me. This was some kind of research station, I think. Didn't bother grabbing the name. Cold as hell and nothing really around to get my bearings. Great. I thought. Im gonna die inside a freezer. I started looking through the rubble for anything useful. I found a corpse of one of the scientists that hadnt made it to evac. I grabbed the ID card off his jacket. Figured id get me inside a building if there were any left standing. I crawled out of the rubble and onto the snowy tundra.
The sun had set and with it most of the light I wouldve been able to utilize. I scanned the horizon for a blinking light. Blinking like meant beacon. Beacon meant possible radio, maybe some ammo. I clocked one to the southwest and began walking that direction senator drawn.
I spotted a few distant bug patrols illuminated by moonlight but they had no interest in me. I kept my head down and kept moving towards the light. Details started to take shape and I could see this was a research station. Perfect I thought.
I reached the door and used the key card. There was a Beep and the red light flashed green. The door cracked open before jamming. Oh no you dont I thought and with one hand yanked the door open. I closed it behind me with the same hand to keep the wildlife disinterested.
Inside was dark and damp. I had list the seal integrity on my suit so there was barely any oxygen regulation. Didnt need it on this planet but still. Its a bitch to fix. I turned my flashlight on and started scanning the room for a light switch. I found one but wouldnt ya know it... dead. At least the beacon had power. I walked over to the radio and pulled off my helmet. I wedged the flashlight in my neck and leaned my head to the side. I started flipping switched and turning dials to see if there was a response. Nothing. Id have to find the master terminal. I grabbed the flashlight and donned my helmet again. I began scanning the room again before I heard it. A little shuffle behind me. I turned quickly and drew my senator raising it at the source of the sound.
It was a small child. At least... thats what it appeared to be. At first glance I could see bindings on its legs and arms. A hospital gown with little ducklings on it and a teddy bear tucked under its arm. I lowered my senator as it spoke.
"Dr. Mehon told me to wait here. He said hed be right back."
Dr. Mehon was probably dead I thought. I knelt down and put my hand on the child shoulder. "Whats your name kid?"
"3". I felt a rage build up. I swallowed it quickly.
"Well 3, what uh... why.. why do you have bin.." I stopped myself. Whatever those scientists were doing here...
3 looked up at me and I noticed it. A cat like set of eyes. Other little details started to click as well. Four fingers on each hand, slightly pointed ears, a discoloration of skin and a rigid scale-like spine on the shoulder.
"The radio doesnt work mister." 3 seemed to have understood their situation. "Dr Mehon destroyed it before he left."
I realized then that it was unlikely either of us would make it off this planet alive.
Part coming soon? Depending on how this one does.

You guys know what an alpine coaster is? They are like a small roller coaster you find in the mountains. They are also called summer toboggans or mountain coasters and I think there’s some long German compound word they are called in parts of Europe. They are like a roller coaster, but with much smaller one or two person sleds you just sit on instead of multi-person cars you ride in, and instead of being built with like a scaffolding or a framework the tracks are just on the ground, using the elevation of the mountain. Basically it’s a coaster track on the side of a mountain where you ride a sled down.
They are pretty fun. Or at least I used to think so. They are more “personal” than roller coasters and although you get nowhere near the speed on them that you do on a good traditional roller coaster and they can’t do corkscrews or loops or anything like that the openness and simplicity of the ride gives an impression of a much greater speed. You’re just sitting there with nothing but a little plastic sled and the track between you and the ground as it goes zooming by. It’s like the difference between how fast a go-cart feels compared to how fast a sports car feels. You know the sports car goes faster but the open, simpleness of a go-cart feels a different kind of fast. There’s plenty of POV Youtube videos if you want to get the basic idea of what they are.
I used to love alpine coasters. Used to.
My family used to go to Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge and up and down the Smokey Mountains for vacations when I was a kid and they are common in that area and I’d always rode them every chance I got.
But as with so many things after I grew up and went to college they just became part of my childhood that slipped away. They aren’t exactly common once you get away from the mountains.
Until one cool spring afternoon in 2004. I was in my final year at college and I was driving back to campus in Tennessee after a short visit to my folks in North Carolina. It was only like a 4 or 5 hour drive via the most efficient route and I had no need to be back at campus early so instead of taking the freeway all the way I got off and took part of my trip through the mountains. The scenery was nicer and I admit I liked pushing my Camaro just a little faster than I should through the twisty mountain roads.
Just after lunchtime happened upon one of those little by-the-highway tourist towns deep somewhere in the Smoky Mountains near the Carolina/Tennessee border. Nothing fancy, a gas station/truck stop, a diner, a couple of places selling tourist merch nestled deep in the mountains. I pulled into the gas station. My tank was getting low and I needed to stretch my legs, maybe grab something to eat. It was still early and I only had another couple of hours. I could kill an hour or so and still make it back to campus at a decent hour.
I pulled into the gas station and was filling my tank when I happened to glance across the road and… well I’ll be damned. There it was. “The Blue Ridge Alpine Coaster.” Nestled on the side of the mountain was a building, a mockup of a red barn, where a single railed track that led up into the mountains, where it soon got lost in the greenery. Wooden hand painted standees of cartoon character bears dressed in stereotypical “Hillbilly” getup stood around, some of them holding signs showing the ride hours and ticket costs and other info. I had to admit, as silly as it was, it made me smile.I finished pumping my gas and, well, nostalgia is a helluva thing. I decided then and there I could waste a little time riding an Alpine Coaster again after all these years before getting back on the road.
I parked my car in a corner of the truck stop's parking lot, put my phone in the center console, this being the days before smart phones when people didn’t keep their phones with them 24/7 and I didn’t want my old Nokia brick phone to fall out during the ride, locked my car and walked across the mountain highway to the Alpine Coaster building.
Getting closer, the place was less inviting. The half hearted attempt at a whimsical faux-Americana kitsch was far less effective when it brushed up against the actual decaying, run down wooden building. Hell calling it a building was generous. It was a wood frame holding up a long roof that covered the area where you got on the sleds. The wood boards creaked under my footsteps.
The only real enclosed structure was a shack that held, what I assumed, was a ticket booth. A door on the side had both a single occupancy bathroom with an out of order sign on it. An old Pepsi machine buzzed and glowed next to it.
Still the place looked alive. Ahead of me a bored looking attendant was helping a mother and her young son into one of the sleds while in a bored monotone repeating the safety brief. A few people were waiting in line at the ticket booth. Up in the mountains the playful shouts of people on the ride echoed down. Fond memories of my own childhood rides flooded my mind.10 minutes and 15 dollars later I was settling into the hard plastic seat of a bright red sled sat atop a simple aluminum rail.
I couldn’t help but grin as the sled slowly climbed the track up the mountains, making click-clack ratcheting sounds that hit my nostalgia centers hard. I felt good. The air was cool and crisp and smelled of pine.Higher and higher in the mountains we went. I don’t know if this is my mind trying to make sense of it after the fact but when I remember these moments, the last good moments, I sometimes think I remember a very slight, very subtle pit of fear in my stomach. I honestly don’t know if I felt it at the time or not or it’s just how my mind tries to make sense of it looking back at.
But either way mostly I was enjoying myself. I smiled. I was a kid again. I could hear riders in front of me let out that initial yell of terrified glee you get at the first drop of any good ride.
It peaked. I glanced around. I could see for miles, rolling hills and mountains. I the sled tipped over and zoomed down the mountain and I let out the same happy yell I heard from the other passengers.The ride zoomed down the mountain, catching speed. The mountain forest floor zoomed past, only a few feet under me. Trees zoomed past. I gave out a happy whoop as the ride banked hard around a curve and then looped back under itself.Another dip, another curve. I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of the G-forces pulling me every which way.
There was no one exact single moment where things started to go “wrong.” The ride kept going. And going. At this point the first creeping thought entered my head.
The ride… was still going.
It just started to hit me… this ride was going on for a really long time. I had taken a dozen rides on various coasters of this type before that day and they topped out at about 5 minutes or so, and that was the long ones. Longer than a traditional roller coaster but not that long. This one had been going on for what felt like 10, maybe even 15 minutes.
I looked back over my shoulder and could only see trees, moving too fast to really get a bearing on where I was at in relation to anything.
I wasn't exactly really worried yet. Okay so I had found a particularly long alpine coaster. At the time I wasn’t 100% wasn't sure they didn’t exist or anything like that. I was a little… unnerved but nothing was happening that was impossible. Yet.
I was trying to talk myself back into just enjoying the ride and stop overthinking it, and halfway succeeded, when out of nowhere I suddenly banked hard, the track jutting out almost over a sheer cliffside. I gripped the sled more tightly as I was whipped around. The ride then dipped hard and picked up speed, barreling down the side of the mountain.
I was pushed back against the seat by the force of the drop. Jesus I didn’t remember them being this rough. I was feeling slightly nauseous. And where had this elevation drop come from I wondered? I was still in the foothills and I didn’t remember seeing anything but gentle rolling hills and light drops from looking at the ride’s route earlier. How the ride had managed such a long, steep drop in this area I didn’t know. . For the first time I hoped that the ride would be over soon. I had no idea then how much I would want that same hope to be true so much more as time went on.
With a whiplash motion I was whipped forward and then back as the ride leveled out on flat ground again, but by this point I was going fast, too fast. My neck hurt from the mild whiplash and I felt sour in my throat and for a moment the contents of my stomach threatened to come back up. For the first, but hardly the last time the ride felt unsafe. Alpine Coasters are tame affairs, much slower and gentler than full on roller coasters but this thing was throwing me around like no thrill ride I had ever been on.
I looked around. I mean I wasn’t that deep into the woods. I should have been able to see a glimpse of something; the highway, the gas station, the tourist shops, the Alpine Coaster office, something, anything. But nothing. Just trees.
I forced back some panic for the first time. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. The ride zoomed along. I counted to 60. I counted to 60 again. And again. Okay this was getting uncomfortably harder and harder to explain.
Suddenly I noticed that up ahead the track seemed to just end, for one brief, terrible moment I thought the track just ended but I was wrong. Almost without warning the track dipped in an almost vertical drop. I almost screamed as I plummeted for 20, maybe 30 seconds before flattening out again.
By this point the voice in my head that was telling me something was wrong was louder and I could no longer tell myself it was wrong. This ride could not have been this long. I tried to make sense of it, wondering if somehow I had gotten diverted onto some kind of maintenance track or, hell for one brief irrational moment even entertaining the idea that I had wound up on an actual train track somehow. But that was absurd. The rail below me was not a train track, it was still just the simple, aluminum rail of an alpine coaster and there had been no diversions or junctions in the track. I was still on the ride, as insane as that was starting to feel. Had the ride somehow looped? Again after having the thought I immediately dismissed it as crazy. There’s no way I could have missed the ride building where I got on. And what kind of ride loops over and over?
The sled zoomed through the forest, oddly never seeming to lose speed despite the relatively flat grade of the track. I cursed myself for leaving my phone in the car and not wearing a watch. I don’t know exactly how long I had been on the ride at that point but it felt like I had been on the ride for a half hour, maybe more. But time is a funny thing when you’re in a situation you’ve never been in. Could have been more, could have been less, at that point.
My pride finally failed me. I started to scream for help. I screamed out that the ride was broken, to stop it, that I needed help. I did that for about ten minutes or so I think. The ride kept going. Mostly flat, level track with occasional mild dips and turns. But the simple length of the ride grew more and more unnerving and unexplainable.
I thought about just bailing out. But the ride, impossibly, was still not slowing down and chunks of mountain rock and thick tree trunks were all around me. Bailing out without risking smashing into a rock or a tree seemed impossible.
The ride kept going.
Up ahead the forest was clearing out some, I could see the forest brightening, more sunlight making it through the canopy.
I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.
The trees stopped and I had just enough time to take in a flat, open area of rock maybe 40, 50 yards at most before another sheer cliff. The tracks twisted and turned and then shot straight down. But that wasn’t the worst of it. For a moment, a very short moment, I had a clear view for miles and the landscape was, to be blunt, totally impossible. Any possibility that I had just stumbled on some incredibly long ride was blasted out of my head. Barren, volcanic looking rock stretched for miles. Jagged, black rocky outcroppings as far as the eye could see. I was in the goddamn Smoky Mountains. They don’t look like that.
I had a few moments for the terror of that view to settle in before the cart plunged into another horrifying drop. I gripped the handles of the cheap plastic sled until my knuckles turned white. The drop felt completely vertical, like I was falling at terminal velocity. I screamed. My stomach dropped and turned. I imagined the sled coming away from the track and me just plummeting screaming to my death on the rocks below. But somehow the ride still functioned. I closed my eyes tightly and just waited for whatever was going to happen. Eventually after several what felt like a full minute of steep plunging the track again leveled out, and I opened my eyes to see myself moving at breakneck speed over that black, rocky landscape.
Now that I was moving on a more or less flat horizontal track again I took a few deep breaths. I looked over the edge of the track. Nothing but that black, jagged rock, almost looking like obsidian, zooming past. I had no idea how fast the sled was moving now. Fast. Faster than a gravity powered sled should be moving. And the track was higher off the ground now. Alpine slides usually stick pretty close to the ground, but I was 20 feet or so in the air, the track suspended in the air, a simple metal tube tower like a power pylon every few yards.
Without any immediate threat and the sled moving fast but steadily and level I was able to think about my situation again, for all the good that did me. Ahead of me the track just continued to the horizon, nothing but the same rocky landscape as far as I could see. I craned my neck to look back over my shoulder and looked back behind me and it looked the same. Even the mountains were but distant specs on the horizon behind me.
This was insane. There’s not a giant seemingly endless field of black jagged rock in the goddamn Smoky Mountains. There’s no cliff faces tall and steep enough for a multi-minute vertical drop. And alpine coasters were small affairs, not major engineering projects that span miles with pylons and vertical tracks. It made no sense.
Sadly it wasn’t going to start making any more sense anytime soon.
The ride kept going.
I was on this rocky landscape for several hours. I feel comfortable saying this because I could actually notice the sun getting lower in the sky. And the sled wasn’t slowing down despite the grade of the track being flat. I was getting cramped from sitting and stretched my legs and twisted my back as best I could. Didn’t do much help. My eyes were starting to get irritated from the constant wind in them. Worst of all it was starting to get chilly. I only had on a light jacket, a windbreaker, just something to keep the breeze off me, no real insulation. I was cold, my joints were stiff, I was hungry and thirsty. My eyes watered and my throat was so dry it was sore.
But none of that was as bad as just how little sense this all made. There’s nothing like this place anywhere near the Smoky Mountains. This was like some volcanic rock landscape. The more I thought about it the less sense it made.
The ride kept going.
My mind didn’t even try to process this. Whatever I was experiencing simply couldn’t be possible. I was crazy. I was dreaming. The CIA had kidnapped me and dosed me with some new version of LSD and I was in a straightjacket in a padded room at Area 51.
The sled kept zooming along as the sky turned to dusk. Soon the bridge disappeared from my view and I continued on along the endless, rocky, featureless landscape.
I sat back against the sled, mentally and physically numb. I was exhausted. I was thirsty. I was cramping up. I was hungry. I had to pee. I held it for as long as I could, then had no choice but just wet myself. I cried until I had no more tears left. Then I just sat there.
The ride kept going.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon my throat felt like sandpaper. I dug around in my jacket pockets hoping to find a stick of gum or piece of candy. Nothing. I checked again, having nothing else to do. Under a crumpled store receipt in the inner pocket of my jacket was a single old, forgotten cough drop. I unwrapped it from the paper and popped it in my mouth. Saliva flooded back into my mouth and I was overwhelmed by the methanol and medicine taste. It was something at least, although I knew it would be a brief and temporary fix at best.
I felt my eyes get heavy. It was getting colder. That mountain cold. That deep cold the mountains have even into the early spring when the sun goes down. That kind that just pulls the heat right out of you. I shivered. A terrible, horrible certainty came to me. I would ride until I passed out from exhaustion or the hypothermia set in. My body would tumble off the sled to fall and skip across the rocky ground like a stone skipping across a lake, my bones breaking as I tumbled until my body finally came to a stop. If I was lucky I would be killed and not have to lie for days, broken and bruised, on the ground until death took me.
The ride kept going. The ride kept going. The fucking ride kept going.
“Fuck you” I said to the ride, my voice a horse whisper. I pulled my jacket closer around me, for all the good it did. The cold wind was slowly but surely pulling my body heat away. My shivering got worse, crossing the line from a simple normal shiver into those deep, almost violent full body ones.. I wasn’t anything you could call an experienced outdoorsman, but I knew enough to know that wasn’t a good sign.
It was getting dark. There was a full moon at least so I wasn’t totally in the dark.
About then I noticed something. The landscape, what little I could see in the fading light, was changing. It was smoothing out, becoming less rocky and craggy. Up ahead an odd, shimmering light was starting to appear on the ground.
I was over it before I even realized what it was. The tracks were going over a smooth surface.
Water. It was a lake. The odd lights I had seen were the moon, reflected in ripples on the lake.
Within minutes I was out of the view of the land. After the nearly endless rocky landscape and everything else I had seen, it scared me how little I was shocked. I didn’t like how mentally numb I was getting. I leaned over. There was enough moonlight to see the water, 15 or 20 feet below the track. The pylons holding up the track went into the water, the light wasn’t good enough to even make a guess at how far they went down or how deep the water was.I leaned back in the sled. My eyes were red and bloodshot from the constant wind. I closed them. This was a mistake.I jerked awake. I don’t know if I dozed off for a split second or an hour. My weight had shifted and I caught myself as my center of gravity was in danger of sending me off the sled and into the water.
I screamed in anger. A deep primal scream. I hurt so bad. My joints felt like they were full of glass. My limbs were full of pins and needles. I glanced over at the water. For the first time on the very edges of my brain a tiny voice started to speak up, telling me that I could be all over if I just jumped. I shut the voice up, but it scared me still.
I sat there as the ride went on. It felt like hours. Eventually the lake ended in a rocky shore line. The damned ride. There was no safe place to bail out. If the ride slowed down, it was high in the air, if it moved toward the ground it sped up. Sharp rocks, big trees, nothing you could safely bail out into.
I kept having to force myself awake. I kept dozing off. Once I felt myself falling asleep and drove a vicious uppercut into my own nose to stave it off.
I seriously started to think about how much longer I could hang on. The voice came back again. This time I didn’t shut it up. I wasn’t admitting it to myself yet, but I was starting to think about the best way to land that would end it quickly if I needed to.
Something was ahead. The track seemed to dip into the ground. I was too tired, too beaten to even get scared. I was just resigned to whatever happened at this point.
With little warning the track took my sled into a tunnel in the ground. Everything went completely pitch black. After several moments even the dim moonlight was gone.
This was the worst part. The creepy forest, the immense rocky landscape, the eerie lake… those were bad. But this was just nothing. Nothing to look at, nothing to hear, nothing for reference or sense of where I was going. The walls of the tunnel felt like they were inches from me in every direction. The air felt thick, like there wasn’t enough oxygen.
With every moment I was in that tunnel I lost a little more hope. After a long, long time I made a decision. When I got out of this tunnel, I would jump. I didn’t care anymore. Hopefully there would be a spot where I could be certain the fall would instantly kill me. I was done. The ride had beaten me. I sat there, waiting for a chance to end this on my terms. That was all I had left.
Eventually up ahead, a tiny speck of light appeared. I gathered my strength, ready to end it. I sat up, getting my legs under me so I could jump as soon as we were clear. The sled burst out of the tunnel. The dim light of the full moon was enough to be momentarily blinding after the pitch black of the tunnel.. I gave my eyes a moment to adjust.
I was back in a normal looking Appalachian forest. Rolling hills, green trees. The air smelled of pine again. I heard an owl hoot off somewhere.
Slowly I lowered myself back into a setting position, in shock. At first I refused to believe it but the ride was slowing down. I held still, making sure my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me, but no, the cheap plastic sled that had been my world for what felt like an eternity was slowing down.
Up ahead, a structure was visible, peeking out from among the trees in the dim lighting as the sled moved down the track.
It was the Alpine Slide building. The crappy fake red barn where I had boarded this cursed ride so long ago. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, sure it was either my mind or the cursed ride playing tricks with me. But the building stayed there.
It grew closer and closer. The track leveled completely out. The sled slowed down more. Before I had the time to really come to terms with it I arrived back at the building.
The sled slowed to a stop, gently pumping against another sled parked on the track. I sat there for a few moments, gasping in great big gulping fear breaths, trying to assure myself the ride didn’t have one last trick of its sleeve.
I looked around. The place was empty, deserted. The overhead lights were still on and the old Pepsi machine still glowed and buzzed, but the ticket booth was dark and empty, a metal gate pulled down over the ticket window.
Suddenly it hit me that I was free and I practically leapt out of the sled and onto the platform. I immediately collapsed. My legs were jelly and my head was spinning. I tried to stand up again and doubled over, dry heaving. Have you ever been out on a boat for a day and have that weird reverse motion sickness when you’re back on solid land? It was like that times a hundred. My inner ear was literally pounding, all the motion had really done a number on it.
I laid there for a few moments and eventually forced myself to stand up on my two wobbling legs. I looked around, a horrible certainty creeping into my mind that there would be no exit, no way off the platform but to my relief an exit turnstyle, one of those full height ones, was set into the fence that surrounded the ride property.
I went through it and found myself back on the main road. The truckstop was still there, still open but far less busy. My car sat in the same corner of the parking lot I had left it.
I allowed myself one look back, just one quick one. The metal skeleton of the Alpine Slide track sat there, dark and quiet but otherwise normal.
I stumbled-ran back to my car, dug the keys out of my pocket, and collapsed inside. When the door shut I let out a primal scream, the tons of fear and confusion and anger all fusing into a single, raw emotion. I screamed again and again.
After a few moments I felt like I was emotionally at least back to a place where I could act, although I wasn’t sure yet what to do next. Not really knowing what to do I cranked the car. The A/C had been on low when I shut off the car and it came roaring back to life and cold air blowing on me almost sent me back into a full on panic attack. I fumbled with the climate controls until the air stopped blowing directly on me, then calmed down enough to turn the heat on, helping to get the chill out of my bones. There was a half full bottle of water in the center console cup holder and I grabbed it and chugged it. Nothing ever tasted as good before or sense as that few ounces of water.
That was when I noticed the clock on the radio head unit. It was 4:17 in the morning. It had been about one, one thirty or so in the afternoon when I got on the accursed ride.
Over 15 hours. I had been on the goddamn ride for over 15 hours. Over half a day.
I just sat there. Warming up. Calming down. I was exhausted. I was dehydrated. I can’t even describe how my head felt. I probably had at least a minor case of hypothermia. I thought about going into the gas station and asking for help but what would I even say, and more than anything I just wanted to get away from this place. And I just wanted to get away. I wanted to be nowhere near that damn ride.
I put the Camaro in gear and pulled into the street and in panic I immediately slammed on the brakes. I was lucky there was no traffic on the road at that moment. The feeling of accelerating to just normal surface street speeds made me sick to my stomach. I gathered myself and very slowly accelerated the car I usually treated with a very heavy foot up to 30 miles an hour. Every time I tried to accelerate at a pace faster than “Old Lady Going to Church, Uphill” I would have a panic attack. I was okay once I was up to speed, but accelerating freaked me out after being on that ride.
I drove about 30 minutes, putting some arbitrary amount of distance between myself and the coaster. Eventually I made it back to where the twisty mountain road met back up with a major road that would eventually meet back up with the highway. After a few more minutes of driving I saw the onramp for the highway. There was one of those big truckstop travel plazas and pulled in, parking right up at the door. I smelled like pee and I can only imagine how I looked, but I didn’t care.
I kept a couple of emergency 20s in the back of my wallet and spent it on the biggest bottle of water the store had, an overpriced bottle of eye drops, and a huge travel mug of coffee. The clerk looked at me as if he was expecting me to either drop dead or rob him the entire time.
Back in my car I downed the coffee. I put a few eye drops in each of my eyes and sat there as the caffeine took effect until I felt like I could make it back to my apartment. The sun was just coming up when I finally pulled out of the truck stop and got on the freeway. I slowly, very slowly, accelerated up to highway speed, put the Camaro in cruise control, and let the miles start to drift away. I turned on the radio, I needed to hear human voices. Every time my mind went back to what had just happened I turned the radio up louder, eventually drowning it out with painful levels of rock music. I wasn’t ready to think about it yet. Yes looking back I know I was just in denial. I finally made it back to the crappy little apartment I had off campus, a little two story walk up studio. I let myself in and collapsed on the cheap couch. I was asleep before I even had the time to decide whether or not to do anything else. I woke up later that afternoon. I took a shower and ate a meal and didn’t think about the ride. I washed the pee stained filthy clothes I had been wearing and didn’t think about the ride. I went back to class and didn’t think about the ride. Every time I thought about the ride I forced it out of my head. I’m sure this wasn’t the most mentally healthy thing to do but what can you say?
I didn’t forget about it, don’t be silly. This isn’t the kind of thing you forget. One day while looking up something else in the university’s library my curiosity got the better of me and I looked up the Alpine Slide. No website but a few Google Map and Yelp mentions. None of them mentioned anything weird, certainly nothing even remotely like what I experienced. Near as I can tell it closed sometimes in the winter of 2012.
Life went on. I mean, that’s what it does. The next day was a little better. And the day after that a little better. And the day after that a little better still. I met a nice girl. Graduated. Got married. Got a nice house in the suburbs. Got a dog. Had a daughter. Spent a lot of time happy and not thinking about being trapped on an endless alpine coaster.And that was my life for many, many years after that.
Until a few weeks back when as a very different person I found myself driving a boring and safe mid sized family SUV through those same mountains. My wife Carol, 5 months pregnant, sat in the passenger seat, our 6 year old daughter Emily in a booster seat in the back, and Max our mixed breed mutt next to her. It had been a nice pleasant trip, driving back from visiting her folks.
I hadn’t thought about that fucking ride in so long I barely registered that I was in the same general area until it was too late. Suddenly I realized that little mountain tourist trap town was only a few minutes down the road. I swallowed hard and gripped the steering wheel hard. Carol was looking out the window at the scenery and Emily was deep into some kid’s Youtube video on an iPad. I forced myself to keep my breath steady as we rounded the corner.The town was still there, sorta. Time had not been kind to it. The gas station was still there, at some point it had been bought out by Shell. The tourist trap shops were still there. One of them was now a vape shop. The diner was closed, the building looking like it sat unused for a long time.
But of course that’s not what I cared about. A looked over at the site where the Alpine Coaster once stood. It was gone. The kitschy fake barn was gone. The site was just a bare concrete slab with a chainlink fence around it. Faded “no trespassing” and “for sale” signs hung off the fence. A pile of old, decaying lumber that might have once long ago been part of the structure covered part of the old lot. No sign of the track remained outside of some old concrete support posts dotting the side of the mountain.
I exhaled out a breath I hadn’t even realized I had been holding in. Soon the little town disappeared in my rear view mirror.
About a half hour later we stopped for gas. I pulled up to a gas pump across from a massive motorhome. Max stuck his head out the window and started barking at a little white dog, a toy breed of some kind, in the window of the motorhome. Carol and Emily immediately headed into the store to restock on snacks while I fueled up.
I stood there, a half smile on my lips as Max barked and wagged his tail in an attempt to attract the attention of the other dog while I filled up the tank, said dog doing an admirable job of ignoring him.
Right about the time I finished fueling up and cleaning the bugs off the windshield Carol returned from inside the store, Emily in tow, arms filled with two full sized bags of Salt and Vinegar Potato Chips and what looked to be a half dozen individually wrapped pickles.
I raised an eyebrow at the collection of food but knew better than to question a pregnant woman's snack choices.
“Should we take Max for a quick walk?” Carol asked. The travel plaza had a nice little gated dog walking area off to the side.
“Yeah probably not a bad idea, he’s been cooped up in the car for a few hours.” I said. Max, upon hearing his name and the word “walk” , forgot about the other dog and upgraded from wagging his tail to wagging his entire body while making whining sounds and staring right at me.
About this time I became half aware that the big motor home next to us was pulling away. I didn’t think much of it, outside of doing a quick automatic mental check to make sure Emily was well clear of the moving vehicle, but she was safely between me and our SUV, well out of the way.
But that was when Emily looked behind me and cheerfully yelled “Daddy look a roller coaster! Can I ride the coaster?”
It’s cliche as fuck I know but my blood went cold.
I turned around slowly, certain in my knowledge that terrible old decrepit Alpine Coaster would be there, having just popped into existence to trap me again.
That.. is not what I saw. Sure enough there was a coaster there, one I hadn’t noticed earlier because it had mostly been blocked by the motor home, but there it was. It was even an Alpine Coaster.
But it was not the same coaster I had encountered those years ago. That was immediately obvious. It was a small but modern and newish looking setup with neon lights and a bunch of people. There was an actual building where you bought tickets and a little snack stand.
“Daddy! Can we go on the coaster!” Emily asked again.
My mouth made motions but no words came out. I glanced over at Carol, hoping she’d say we didn’t have time but to my horror she smiled and said “You know what? That does sound like fun. Daddy will take you while I take Max for a walk.”
My mind raced, trying to think of a way to get out of it. But Emily was already dragging me across the parking lot to the entrance.
I patted my pocket, making sure my phone was in it. Every fiber of my being was screaming to run away. I slept walked through the line and the ticket booth while Emily bounced happily.
We got into a two seat plastic sled. This one was actually a lot nicer than the one my mind wouldn’t stop thinking about. It had two nice cushioned seats, big grab handles, even a nice rollbar.
The sled started up the track. I fought back the panic. I swerved my head around, keeping the building in my view. I was terrified of losing sight of it. We made it to the top and Emily did a happy squeal as we started down the side of the mountain.
My heart raced. Any second, any second my mind told me we’d lose sight of the building and then the ride would never end. The ride sped down the mountain. My mind tortured me with thoughts of not only going through it again, but seeing Emily go through it. The ride went around a big, banking turn. Emily kept shouting happily. How long before Carol reported us missing I wondered? Could I keep Emily calm? What if it lasted even longer this time? What if this time it never ended?
And then we were back at the start of the ride. The same attendant who had helped us into the sled was helping Emily out. I stepped out. The attendant gave me a brief look but said nothing. I guess I looked a little wild eyed.
I was fine. Emily was fine. It had been a perfectly normal, fun ride.
“That was fun Daddy! Thank you!” Emily said. I forced a smile back. “It was fun.” I responded, hoping like I sounded like I meant it.
I took Emily’s hand and we walked back to the car. Max saw us coming and barked happily. Carol looked up from the pint of Ben and Jerry’s she had somehow acquired and added to her snack collection while we were gone and smiled at us.
“Did you have fun?” she asked.
“It was so fun Mommy!” Emily said.
Carol smiled down at her, but then looked at me and frowned. “Are you okay?” Carol could read my face a lot better than the attendant could. “You’re pale.”
I smiled and this time the smile felt real. “Ya know what. Yeah, I think I am okay.”
Carol looked a little puzzled, but didn’t press it. We loaded Emily back in her booster seat, stopped Max from trying desperately to eat half a discarded gas station hot dog off the ground and got him back in the car. Carol and her small collection of snack food took her place in the passenger seat and I got in the driver's seat.I smiled. I cranked the car. I put it in gear. I pulled out of the gas station and back on the road, this time accelerating just a little faster than I had in years.

I messed up. I messed up bad.
“Never get high on your own supply”. The human who sold me this data told me it was a saying from his world. But I had to be sure it was the real deal. After all, data drugs that worked on people without a brain interface installed? It was unheard of. But here I am [30 hours] later, and I no longer doubt. I feel utterly exhausted despite having barely moved. My every neuron feels fried. All 6 grasping appendages are sore from the repetitive motions, and my eyes are dry and unfocused from the long strain I have put them through. I feel intense pangs of hunger and thirst, as I haven’t eaten or drank since I started this test.
I still want more. But with a great effort of will I force myself away from the screen of my computing terminal and stumble to my pantry so I may attend to my body’s needs. As I gulp down nutrient drinks and chew some dried fruit, I reflect on the trance I’ve somehow barely managed to pull myself out of.
Simulations. A useful tool for engineers, scientists, and military strategists. We had never thought to teach storytellers or artists to use them. Humans had. And what they created was both miraculous and monstrous.
Humans decided to use simulation technology to create art and craft stories. It seemed that there was a human simulation… no, hundreds of human simulations, designed to invoke whatever feeling or emotion you could imagine. And possibly some you couldn’t.
I had started simple. A basic test of spatial reasoning, and later quick thinking, expressed through the medium of stacking colored blocks formed into geometric shapes. While comparable at first to a children's toy, as the speed and challenge increased I became increasingly hypnotized. The feeling of lining up and clearing four rows at once with the all too rare straight piece was intensely satisfying. Making a mistake, leaving a gap caused frustration and incompleteness like I had never felt before, and eventually fixing it gave a feeling of relief, of rightness. As the game sped up, I found myself more and more frantic to try and find places for every piece. The rush of success and agony of failure only increased as I prided and chided myself on my quick decisions.
Eventually, I could keep up no longer, leaving me only with a number. A score.
Could I push that score higher?
[4 hours] went by, and I barely noticed.
I should have stopped. I knew that what I had was genuine. But I wanted to know what else this data was capable of.
I navigated a colorful landscape, defying gravity with every action and finding joy in exploration and collection.
I slaughtered demons with a chaingun, turning the fear of being devoured into a rising sense of conquest and bloodlust.
I failed a single test of dexterity, sending me tumbling down a hole and erasing hours of progress, and I nearly knocked myself out from the shock of frustration.
I defeated a hulking warrior with a team of other adventurers, and the triumph of it was only amplified by the sting of failing several times before.
Freedom and entrapment.
Horror and domination.
Elation and sorrow.
Every new experience was an emotional high of a kind I’d never had before, and my hearts were racing with the myriad of feelings rushing through my mind. My imagination was going wild with the possibilities of all these new worlds of data and programming.
My self-reflection comes to a grinding halt. I need to stop. If I’m not careful I’ll get addicted and end up like one of those mindjackers, burning their brains out on data drugs. Supposedly these simulations can’t do that, but I wouldn’t have put it past the seller to lie about that kind of thing.
Well, one way or another, I’m gonna make a [alien animal that shares many traits with both giant squids and magpies]’s hoard selling these. Time to call my best clients…
[Time skip: approximately 25 solar years]
The Rise of the Galactic Game Industry: Fluke of the Black Market, or Human Marketing Genius? You Decide!
Dr’k-Nam, Head Investigative Critic for the Arts and Culture section of Twin Suns Newsgroup
Simulation games, also known as “video games”, have taken the galaxy by storm ever since their controversial introduction and subsequent series of bannings and legalizations across the galaxy. Simulation technology is nothing new of course, but galactic newcomers from the Sol system, Humans, used it in an extremely novel way: art and entertainment. According to their historical records, a significant amount of their entertainment industry is based around simulation games, and that portion has grown even further with their introduction to the galaxy at large.
At first, however, no one was interested. A simulation with little or no practical application, designed only to entertain? Most people preferred to stick with the entertainment they knew, or seek new experiences outside of sims. So what changed?
Simple: some anonymous human decided to sell them as data drugs instead of simulation games; data drugs usable by simply interacting with a computer program, rather than having to inject the data directly in through a neural interface. With this small, but completely false new branding, video games were ready to start spreading across virtual black markets like spoilers for the latest episode of Ace Flyer Kr’t-Kah on the galnet (side note: please have some courtesy to others and tag your spoilers).
Human governance and society at large had been reportedly as surprised to see a lack of simulation games from other species as they were that humans had them. But they were even more surprised when they started getting accused of pushing the latest data drug. This was an especially confusing accusation because neural interface technology was not widely adopted by humanity at the time, and only a fraction of a percent of their population even knew of the existence of data drugs in the first place. The revelation that most humans had video games of some sort on their PPDDs (personal portable data devices) threatened to cause an uproar in the galaxy, as paranoia around data drugs was at an all time high among many species.
After trying and failing to ignore the problem for long enough for it to go away, human governance, as well as human corporations producing video games, were forced to release statements, acknowledging that:

• Yes, video games were human productions.
• Yes, they could be addictive in the same way that any other pleasure-seeking activity could be addictive.
• Yes, there are games that even humans ban. Adult subject matter is restricted from youths, but additionally, games could be made manipulatively to exploit or develop gambling addictions, which is banned outright. Technically this ban isn’t even for games specifically, but instead falls under the purview of their laws against taking advantage of the mentally unstable.
• No, they did not “hack your brain” to cause neural impulses, unless you’re a a Syns-nah, who only partially exist in our dimension and are not used to any 3-dimensional sensory inputs, to the point where eating an unflavored [grain product resembling a cracker] can cause them vivid hallucinations.
• If other races want to ban them, go ahead, but humans can’t really stop data from spreading (their government has tried, believe me), and they’re not going to stop making or distributing them where it’s legal.

Ironically enough, the controversy made them much more popular, even in places that decided on banning them. The idea of a simulation that could act like a data drug without the risk of frying your mind like the real thing was enticing to many. The lack of side effects and ease with which the games could be distributed only increased both their spread and unregulatability. In short order, races throughout the galaxy were trying out a new pastime, and galnet connected multiplayer games were bridging the gaps between the stars. Now, several other races, including my own, are seeking advice from human developers in starting their own simulation game projects. Only time will tell what kind of games their unique perspectives will produce, but it’s unlikely that humans will lose their position as the most powerful and profitable storytellers through this new medium; they have generations of experience to draw upon, after all.
Rumors that the data drug sales pitch was a deliberate ploy by the human game industry (to drum up intergalactic sales) or by human governance (to spread human culture and influence) are still under investigation, but solid evidence for either has yet to emerge.
Edit: anyone posting untagged Ace Flyer Kr’t-Kah spoilers in the comments section of this article will receive an immediate, no-warning permaban.

Yeah I know it sounds confusing but I am the type of person to name their Pokemon to get better connected with them and I just wanted to get a magearna with a name for one of a regular kind as I just wanted to try and search for one with a name so I could play it online and enjoy the fun with a fully named team. Again sorry for the weird request I know it might be odd to ask for this sort of thing but I didn’t really know where to make a post like this

I feel like i am drowning and am starting to get really scared and depressed. I got cancer in 2019 and went thru a major depression so i was unable to work all while my husband was trying to start his business so it was very tight at that time so we were racking up our cc’s… then covid happened and he ended up closing his business while i worked my low paying job to build experience in a new industry.
Fast forward- the house we live is in probate (we are in so cal/la county). We have not been able to do loan modifications and forbearance because we were waiting for the letters appointing my husband as the executor. During this time our loan got bought out by selene. They requested a birth certificate which we ordered but will take maybe another 2 weeks to get. During this time, we received a notice that a notice of default was entered. There is currently 2 properties- 1 is paid off and a rental currently with a tenant that isnt paying with a pending eviction case. The home we live in is the main we want to stay in but has a delinquent mortgage of 150k out of 280k remaining. The plan was to sell the other home and pay off the remaining balance but our target end date for probate is next year sept and our foreclosure is set to kick in end of Aug. We wanted to do the covid forbearance and do loan modification but since my husband was not appointed to be executor, we were unable to do so until now but it seems like all the protections are all expired?…. My husband and I make ok income combined but we are having to choose between our high cc payments + mortgage but clearly id much rather choose a home than my credit. We can try to do a probate sale but we need to evict the tenant first… so we are currently looking into all options such as chapter 13 while waiting for my husbands birth certificate to arrive. Any advice or personal experience would be greatly appreciated.

I asked for a quote and this is what they sent me.

The Salmon Father in Inuit folklore is the representative of all salmon like many other animal spirits and deities found in Inuit mythology. Other examples from that list include the Raven, the indweller of all ravens, the Bear (Nanuq), the indweller of bears and the Eagle Mother, the indweller of all eagles and the bringer of song and dance.
The Salmon Father (called by many names, Iqallijuq, Putulik, Eχaluqdjung) wields a great axe which he uses to chip a tree somewhere in the Land of the Birds. From the wood shaving come forth all fish, in other tales even reindeers, mountain sheep and other game animals. He is the helping spirit of the shamans, regulating the flow of fish and other game animals.
The Salmon Father isn't described in the most flattering way. It is said that he is hollow, empty where his entrails should be. When anybody approaches him, the Salmon Father asks in which way they've come. If they answer from behind, the Salmon Father guts them. They have to look at him from the sides. There are similar characters who are portrayed as hollow or skeletal, these include Siqiniq, the Sun Woman and the Disemboweling Woman. For the Sun's case, she was cut multiple times by angry people for making the days shorter during winter, causing her blood to spill out in the skies every evening.
In one of the many episodes of Kiviuq (one of the most popular heroes in Inuit mythology), he tries to find his wife, a goose spirit that has fled to the Land of the Birds. Kiviuq encounters the Salmon Father and tells him that he approached from his side. Appeased, the Salmon Father helps him on his quest by granting him a giant fish that becomes his ride to see his wife again.
Sources
Boas, F. (2013). The Central Eskimo.
Merkur, D. (1991). Powers which we do not know : the gods and spirits of the Inuit.
Saladin d'Anglure, B. (2018). Inuit Stories of Being and Rebirth: Gender, Shamanism, and the Third Sex. Canada: University of Manitoba Press.

One thing I want to make clear before I start writing is that I love my mother with all my heart and I would give my life for hers, that being said she has always displayed some traits that have always seemed weird to me. She hates and when I say hate I mean HATES anything to do with combat sports. I will give some background round on this as my father was a boxer with a amateur record of 95-5 and Professional of 17-0. But anytime I say something related to combat sports she freaks out and acts like I’m throwing my life away to violence or I’m going to be a fighter myself. She also gets very weird and somewhat creepy with the girls I like. I am into Asian women but my mother gets mad at me for this and she is always asking me what type of women I like and when I say Asian she gets pissed and refuses to talk to me until I apologize. Another thing is I do not feel comfortable discussing my future life with her as she will get pissed at me for not living the life she has pictured for me like being a doctor or lawyer. When I brought this up to her she got mad again. Earlier this year I asked if I could go to a sleepover and she said no because she thinks sleepovers are gay for boys. I also asked her if I could join the wrestling team and she asked if I was gay and wanted another man’s crotch in my face. Another thing she does is sexualize everything, for example I used to have a buddy on Xbox Named Gerbals ( yes that is how it was spelt ) and she asked if he liked to shove gerbils up his rectum as that is something that she heard of in the 70s ( I still have no clue what she was referencing ). This list doesn’t mean I have any Ill will towards my mother as I love her and she loves me but I just wanted to get this off my chest. Thank you for reading this and have a great day.

I don’t know who needs to hear this but the ninja creami is on sale today for $139.99 US, which is $50 less that i paid 6 mo ago 😡. Think i just paid mine off.
Anyhow i think that’s a great deal if you are on the fence! It comes with 5 pints.

As you're aware from the numerous daily posts we get about housing, traffic and requests for help etc., many people are doing it tough in Brisbane.
In an effort to reduce the amount of repetitive posts in /Brisbane**, we are trialing a daily thread for the following topics:**

• Renting and moving house
• Rent rises
• Landlord/real estate/property manager complaints
• Moving to Brisbane
• Requests for financial assistance resources
• Traffic and public transport complaints
• Stuff for sale

We don’t want to discourage people from posting and reaching out for help, however, we want to maintain the quality of /Brisbane content. If you have questions about any of these topics, we encourage you to use the search function or to Google your question and tack on reddit to the end of your search first.
The mods will be removing low-effort posts related to these topics and redirecting users to the daily thread. If a post is popular, we will consider leaving it up on a case by case basis.
We’ll be doing our best to encourage users to abide by this rule and keep on top of it. However, we're a small team, so please bear with us.
This sub belongs to the people of Brisbane, and the users of /Brisbane, so we’d like your thoughts and feedback. Thanks 🙏

Are you new to the world of fitness and looking to get your foot in the door despite your busy schedule? Personal training can be a great way to get a grasp of the basics of fitness while getting professional advice from trainers with years of experience. My name is Jaedyn and I offer an affordable, welcoming, judgment free, personal training experience, now at The Pump Republic in Calgary, Alberta. Join now and get four classes for the price of $99. If this is something that interests you, contact me at [jcarefoot12@gmail.com](mailto:jcarefoot12@gmail.com) for any questions or inquiries!

Imagine being told the house would take 10-13 months to build. And then imagine being assigned a crappy construction manager named Kevin Thornton and waiting 18+ months for the completion of your home, who seemed to only been hired because his brother Chris Thornton was already a construction manager for the company.
Being told 4 false closing dates. Having to lose a good interest rate because they don’t know how to build a house within a reasonable time. I’ve seen whole apartment complexes built in the time we’ve been waiting.
Having to reach out to said construction manager and the sale consultant Zac Davidson every single month to get an update when you were told you would get an update roughly every two weeks. Being lied to every single month. Trish is also a dishonest unprofessional woman who constantly dodges phone calls and lies about everything.
Finding a crappy job being done in the primary bathroom shower and them having to rip it out and start over again, because part of the shower wall was bowing out into a triangle shape and the small square tiles were not flat and straight with tons of extra grout around them. Having a crappy grading job where 1/3 of the back yard is unusable. And nothing can be done about it, Holiday Builders just loves cheap labor.
Going through a full roll of blue painters tape to point out all the flaws in the construction, where the manager will run out of tape, but luckily we brought some to continue using half the roll. And they still didn’t fix everything the first go around, where we had to call them back multiple times to fix the issues described at the first walkthrough, after closing. You’ll find paint on every single door handle in the house. And paint splatter all over your floors. Different caulking colors used on the countertops right next to each other. You’ll ask them to paint the water access water into the home because it looked like crap the first time and then they’ll make it worse and also paint the grass and gutter runoff as well because they simple don’t give a hoot about anything.
They even had to rip up two parts of the yard to have water and septic lines in place inspected because they forgot and now we’re stuck with even more shitty grading and yard work because of that.
They’ll schedule exterior stuff after laying sod down that end up leaving the yard dug up and not manicured and looking like trash. And then you’ll wait weeks for them to come fix it.
They give you a smart door lock that’s supposed to come with the Rekeying tool, but they won’t give it to you for unspecified reasons, even though you paid for it. You’ll ask if the front door lock is a smart/Wi-Fi compatible one. They’ll say no, but after reading the manual you’ll find out it is. They don’t even know how the products they’re installing works!
Being told a shower door for the primary bathroom isn’t even included after finding out 1 week before closing, seems like their architects failed physics, because water still gets out the shower with a door there if it’s it recessed. Finding out that something as inexpensive as cabinet handles are not included and finding out after the first walkthrough that they’re an “expensive upgrade”, when it was never mentioned during the upgrades selection. Why would I upgrade to 42” upper cabinets and soft close but not op for handles, does that make sense to you. Paying nearly 400k for a house and they can’t even do these simple thing’s correctly or offer these simple things as standard. What if someone had a disability and opening cabinets without handles is extremely difficult for them. Holiday Builders doesn’t give a single hoot about you if that’s the case.
When blinds and a refrigerator and a washer and dryer and a garage door openers are already not included. I would expect the said things above be STANDARD! And a sales consultant that only cares about his paycheck and his ego, than the customer named Zac Davidson, who won’t let you know certain basic things are an upgrade. Zac Davidson is a man that gets his feelings hurt when he gets caught in a lie and starts to be disrespectful when he doesn’t agree with something you’re trying to explain to him.
Holiday builders doesn’t care about the customer. They only care about their wallets. They’ll rush to get the CO before having everything installed. In hopes of you signing before notice they put a hole in your drywall while installing your shelves. Or better yet the construction manager won’t even walkthrough the house prior to have any touch ups or fixes done before the first walk through. We found out our water heater wasn’t even hooked up correctly after closing. Holiday Builders are real comedians.
The trades that they hire can’t even get simple things done like paint and caulking and not painting the floor and door handles, we basically covered the whole house in blue tape and only 50% of it was taken care it. 50% of the trims around the door frames were missing paint and the other 50% looked like a blind man painted the door frames, thick goops of paint and splatter everywhere. They’ll even make sure the caulking where the base boards meet the dry wall has spider web cracking in every single ROOM. Every single one of these trades and construction managers need glasses because I do not honestly understand how you can be proud of your work and let customers find this type of garbage work.
We were so fed up with this process we ended up just fixing all of the issues ourselves. Don’t build with them unless you’re okay with paying for upgrades on basic things that should be standard and you’ll have to ask the construction managers like they’re a 4th grader if they completed their homework. And having to do all the basic touch ups yourselves. It’s extremely frustrating and sad that I can’t be excited about being my first home because of this shitty fucking experience. Also any response to this review will be taken as passive aggressive, if you state that this was taken care of because it wasn’t, everything still looks like shit.
The plumbers and septic company they use suck too. We’re still dealing with sewage smells in our home that they can’t figure out. Constant back ups due to poor plumbing ventilation and workmanship. The plumbers came to investigate and didn’t even have any of the right tools or equipment to do anything and had to borrow my equipment. If you’re wondering which clowns they use. Naber Plumbing and Brain David Septic.
They even under size the AC unit tonnage for the home. Your AC will run for 18 hours a day. I found that they didn’t even seal the area for where the cold air comes out the air handler. It was just blowing all the cold air into the AC room and into the attic. Mechanical One don’t know what they’re doing and Holiday Builder takes shortcuts everywhere they can with undersizing your AC unit and going with the cheapest labor.
Every single builder in the area builds homes faster than these clowns.
Holiday Builders suck. Ever heard the saying lazy people work twice. Everything about their workmanship is trash. The construction managers do not inspect work done by the trades after it is completed. Their scheduling sucks too. They lie about everything, every step of the way. Don’t build with them. We’re still finding issues every single damn day with this house. Don’t make the mistake of building with Holiday Builders. Build with Maronda or anyone else other than this clowns. Zac Davison sucks. Trish sucks. Chris Thornton sucks and his brother Kevin Thornton sucks even more, Steve Pettko sucks. Chris Cubillos Suck.

Hi everyone,
I wanted to share with you my response to the introduction found in the only edition of Use of the Self currently in print. I believe it's a rather misleading intro to FM Alexander's work, so I'm sharing this in the hope that I can help clear up misconceptions people may have about the Alexander Technique, not derived only from Anthony Kingsley, but many bland blog posts one tends to encounter when researching the Alexander Technique. That said, this is not intended to be an introduction of its own, but rather something experienced students, teachers, and anyone enthusiastically learning the Technique may find useful. In the tradition of Alexander himself, I've included extensive footnotes, some painfully long. I'm happy to answer any questions or otherwise discuss what I've written. Understand these are my own interpretations and opinions about what some call "the work," so take them as you will. I've taken lessons for a number of years and currently am training as a teacher, so my view of the Technique is based on these experiences, as well as my interpretations of Alexander's writings. Some of these interpretations you may object to, but I hope you find my arguments reasonable.
Response to Anthony Kingsley's Introduction to The Use of the Self
The Use of the Self may be FM Alexander's most important work, since it contains his own account of how he developed what is now called the Alexander Technique. While Alexander's other volumes are available from Mouritz, the only edition of The Use of the Self currently in print is published by Orion Spring. This edition replaces the philosopher John Dewey's introduction—which praises the technique's "genuinely scientific character"—with one by the contemporary teacher Anthony Kingsley, who is heralded on the book's front cover as a "leading Alexander Technique teacher." Therefore it is probable that many readers' first impressions of the Alexander Technique will be framed by Mr. Kingsley's opinions. I submit this is problematic, since his introduction is in my view contradictory to fundamental principles of the Alexander Technique. I write this response to address the introduction's two most dire faults: Kingsley's misrepresentation of the concepts inhibition and direction, and his dismissal of the concept of the primary control. I'll begin with the second, since it is a more straightforward error.
Primary Control
Kingsley opens his paragraphs on the primary control with the opinion that the concept should be "recast," then describes Alexander's definition of the primary control as a "particular relationship of his head, neck and back [that] acted as a master reflex that conditioned his whole organism." Then he discards this definition, claiming the head-neck-back relativity should instead be "regarded as an indicator[sic] of overall health rather than an area considered in isolation." He concedes the "region of the neck and back is a [...] barometer of our state of being," but concludes that "no single element is actually primary," since our eyes, breath, digestive system, and all other psychophysical elements are "simultaneous and interdependent" and also like barometers. Finally, he reveals his "recast" of the primary control, defining it as "the unknown and unseen self-righting and self-healing mechanism that can be restored and vitalized."
In sum, Mr. Kingsley has presented the primary control—which Alexander wrote extensively about and considered central to his technique—with an ill-defined mystical force which, accordingly, Alexander must have unwittingly stumbled upon and mistaken for a certain relativity of the head, neck and back.
Ironically, it is in The Use of the Self where Alexander wrote of discovering the necessity to first free his neck in seeking a better condition for his vocal apparatus, since that was the sine qua non of taking his head forward and up, of widening the back, and so forth, which are in turn the necessary conditions of freedom and stability in the limbs. This is the genesis of Alexander's use of the word "primary" in describing the head-neck-back relationship, and in my experience, as in Alexander's, it holds true: the sequence of directions given to oneself matters greatly, since tense feet, for example, can hardly flatten on the floor if the head is taken back and down, whereas the head can be taken "forward and up"1 to a fine degree even if there is tension in the lower extremities, particularly while sitting. Further, and maybe most significantly, the relativity of the head-neck-back rarely need change during any manner of activity, whereas the arms and legs are constantly bending, rising, stretching, and so on. Small wonder Alexander considered this relativity primary.
Of course, Kingsley is not wrong to point out the interdependence of all processes in the body. It is certainly true that undue tension in the feet creates a downward pull on the head, neck and back. Yet what is crucial to understand here is that in the context of learning and teaching the Alexander Technique, the primary control is an indispensable concept. It instructs the pupil to guide his or her attention through the body in the sequence most fit to facilitate proper relativity of all the parts, and it names succinctly that natural, visible, dynamic yet enduring relativity of the head, neck and back observable in little children and animals as well as many great musicians and athletes. Thus Kingsley discards a practical concept in favor of a truism about "interdependence;" and so we come to his second, graver error.
Direction
Here it begins to seem that what Kingsley writes of in his introduction is not the Alexander Technique at all, but in fact the Kingsley Technique, since he has redefined not only the primary control, but two other conceptual pillars of the technique: inhibition and direction.
First, he takes aim at direction, neglecting to elucidate Alexander's own definition of the concept before setting out the axiom that "aiming for postural improvements using postural directions leads to a bodymind[sic] attitude of effort and trying, which simply reinforces the problem." Dismissing as superfluous all "ideas and images about heads, necks and backs," he declares that "the trying[sic] self is the obstacle, and the shift towards a non-trying[sic] self is the solution." Finally, he offers his own definition of the directions as "the natural flow of energy and vibrancy that exists within the organism," directions which are interfered with "when we are in a condition of stress and reactivity."
Here, again, Kingsley takes a practical concept which Alexander developed based on careful observation of his own muscular action, and replaces it with a kind of mystical or spiritual phenomenon which, implicitly, only the initiated can perceive.2 Thus the famous directions are not, as Alexander described repeatedly, a series of mental orders or intentions projected to oneself before and during muscular activity along lines one has reasoned out in advance, but a "natural flow of energy and vibrancy"—just as the primary control is not, as Alexander saw it, a concrete, observable relativity of the head, neck and back, but an "unknown and unseen self-righting and self-healing mechanism." These pseudo-spiritual definitions do a massive disservice to neophyte readers, and reveal Kingsley's muddled seeing in relation to the central problem addressed by the Alexander Technique: how to shed habit and coordinate the bodymind through reasoned conception and conscious awareness.
But for a moment let us leave aside direction, since a subtler and more misleading error still lurks in Kingsley's presentation: his dismissal of conception itself. He explicitly warns that "ideas, concepts and cognitive efforts reinforce the very mental instrument that is the problem in the first place," he advises us to simply trust that "the prevention or inhibition[sic] of reaction, maintains or liberates this stream of energy [or direction] in the body."
To understand Kingsley's error, we must return to Alexander. In Man's Supreme Inheritance, Alexander sets out four stages to the "performance of any muscular action by conscious guidance and control:"

1. The conception of the movement required;
2. The inhibition of erroneous preconceived ideas which subconsciously suggest the manner in which the movement or series of movements should be performed;
3. The new and conscious mental orders which will set in motion the muscular mechanism essential to the correct performance of the action;
4. The movements (contractions and expansions) of the muscles which carry out the mental orders.

Alexander considered "conception of the movement required" the very first stage in his technique, to precede even inhibition. Thus he made clear, if indirectly, that in the context of his technique, clear conception is essential to achieving a desired end. Incidentally, this is a fact any competent artist can attest to; if a composition is not unambiguously understood and organized within one's memory, it cannot be brought to fruition. Even the most simple act, such as extending one's arm to grasp a nearby object, requires a detailed conception of distance, weight, strength, and so forth; if the object turns out to be heavier than expected, the conception of these variables and their relation to one another, and hence the muscular action, must change. This is direction in action, albeit subconscious.
Yet Kingsley belittles conception, instead leaning on concepts like "ease," "letting go" "acceptance," and the like. He is not alone in this among teachers, but in my opinion, they overlook the influence of what Alexander termed "erroneous beliefs," a concept closely related to that of "unreliable sensory appreciation." Both could be read in the spiritual lexicon alongside "letting go," etc.; but that would place their referent outside the realm of what words and concepts can describe. On the contrary, Alexander was pointing to something concrete and empirically observable: to errors of spatio-motor perception able to be observed phenomenologically and in other people's behavior; not to transcendent truths about observation itself. Thus the classic example of an Alexandrian "erroneous belief" is a person who raises their arm and believes their shoulder has remained still when it has not. The key for the pupil in this instance is to gain an accurate conception5 of their own muscular action, in reference to bodily sensations; not to simply "let go" or "do nothing."3 And this conception must come about through active tutelage—e.g. Alexander Technique lessons—or, dare I say, the way Alexander himself did it: by reasoned experimentation, conceiving hypotheses based on careful register and analysis of his own sensations, and also by watching the behavior of others. John Dewey called the technique scientific for a reason.
All of this is not to understate the importance of concepts like "release" and "effortlessness," including in the context of the Alexander Technique. Seeing more or less what is meant by them is doubtless the key to mastery of all activities, all practices, all techniques. Yet those spiritual concepts should not blot out the very concrete technique Alexander developed for improving what he called "the use of the self:" that coordination of the muscular system, achieved through conscious reason, which influences for better or worse the functioning of the whole organism.4
Inhibition
So much for direction. What about inhibition? Under the heading "Inhibition and Non-Doing," Kingsley describes Alexander's understanding of inhibition as "an artificial pause between stimulus and reaction," after which he could "give directions to himself." Then he lays down the gauntlet, stating that in the "real world […] life does not offer us the choice to inhibit:" since according to neuroscience research, "neural reactions take milliseconds and are faster than conscious thought processes." In other words, "we either react to the stimulus, or not." So, with inhibition proven impossible, Kingsley is left with no choice but to "reformulate" another of Alexander's concepts, offering us a supposedly scientifically enlightened6 view that inhibition is really "a quality of non-doing[sic] that needs to be already available in the organism before the receipt of a stimulus." This is "a way of being[sic] rather than a way of doing[sic]."
This Kingsleyan inhibition turns out to be the essence of the technique, since it is this very "condition of non-doing[sic]" the teacher is supposed to transmit, through a touch Kingsley describes as "a dance of poetry and a symphony of silence." With it, the teacher imparts a "deep sense of acceptance" by which "change emerges in the pupil."7 He goes on to compare the Alexander Technique to "Zen Buddhism, mindfulness and the philosophy of non-duality," identifying the uniqueness of the Alexander Technique in "the transmission of immediate experience." In fact, there is no Alexander Technique as such, but only inhibition:
The Chinese Tao has a concept of Wu Wei[sic], which translates as surrendering to the effortless flow of life[sic], or non-doing[sic] action. Ultimately, the Alexander Technique needs to reinvent itself and relinquish the Technique. The Alexander Teacher really teaches nothing[sic!]. But this nothing or emptiness is in fact the deepest essence of being and the fullness of life. Like grace, it drops onto us and into us when the conditions are ripe.
The problem is that Alexander's own writings indicate that inhibition is not a "quality," a "condition," or a "surrendering to the effortless flow of life." On the contrary, according to Universal Constant in Living, it is "the act of refusing to respond to the primary desire to gain an end, [which] becomes the act of responding (volitionary act) to the conscious reasoned desire to employ the means whereby that end may be gained." As clear as day: inhibition is an action in response to the stimulus of conscious desire: a conscious, continuing refusal to do a thing the way one normally does it. Alexander saw that this inhibitory act had to precede in every instance any attempt to change his habits. Everyone is well familiar with the inhibitory act. The act of not indulging an immediate desire, however small, is it. So, inhibition is not an "artificial pause," but a phenomenologically observable process within the organism, a process that can be made habitual through practice. It is no more abstract and transcendent than blinking or moving one's finger.7
Here Kingsley again takes something ordinary and concrete and makes it mystical, going so far as to "relinquish the Technique." The trouble is that there is a good reason the Alexander Technique came to be known as such. A technique is a skillful way of doing something; a mental tool; a procedure. Ways of doing can be found everywhere: techniques for dance, for romance, for healing, even for attaining nirvana or enlightenment. Each has a goal in mind and is based on what worked in the past; each resorts to concepts to explain itself; each prescribes action, or doing something a certain way. Yet Kingsley dismisses the idea of doing anything at all. Equating the Alexander Technique with "nothing," he tosses out the concepts Alexander spent decades refining, when Alexander's genius was precisely to conceive a useful, coherent way of doing things through patient observation of the phenomena he termed inhibition, direction, primary control, and the rest.
So, the technique may encompass all the acts of living, but it is still a technique. Alexander often used the term "procedure" to describe it, and I think procedure is as apt a word as any to describe the application of his technique to the acts of living. He constantly stressed the technique's sequential, stepwise nature and recorded countless practical examples of it in action, both in hypotheticals and accounts of lessons. The technique is not a metaphysics or a philosophy like non-duality; it is a practical procedure with a clear purpose: restoring
advantageous, natural relativity of the head, neck and back.
Conclusion
The technique is blindingly simple but surprisingly subtle and difficult to master; and, as far as I am aware, it is unique. Unfortunately, Kingsley is not alone in overlooking the uniqueness and subtleties of the technique in favor of spiritual truisms and platitudes. I suspect there are two main reasons for this.
The first is the tendency of serious pupils of the technique to become more open to "spirituality," both philosophically (e.g. non-duality) and in terms of sadhana (e.g. meditation, yoga, self-inquiry). Many are enthusiastic about the similarities between the Alexander Technique and, for example, mindfulness practice. It is certainly true that the technique requires the pupil to have some degree of "mindfulness," or the ability to realize when the mind has wandered; and it is also true that a few people who devote themselves to the technique come upon some of the same insights one might find in spiritual practice. Yet spiritual insight is not the purpose of the technique. In my opinion, the Alexander Technique is a relative of energy practices such as Hatha yoga, qigong, and TRE (trauma release exercises). Such techniques are often used in tandem with spiritual practices meant for the cultivation of insight, but their purpose has traditionally been preparatory and salutary, not "spiritual." One need not stray too esoteric to encounter the idea that the real goal of spirituality has nothing to do with "ways of doing." On the other hand, Qigong explicitly aims to regulate qi in the body; kundalini yoga is concerned with the flow of prana; the Alexander Technique seeks to restore the good use of the primary control. More practically, the technique teaches mental discipline, and ultimately the ability of the nervous system to regulate itself. Such a practice may lay the groundwork for spiritual realization, but it is by no means indistinguishable from it.
While there is no point speculating about Alexander's private insights, one thing can be certain: he left us a definite procedure with a practical, concrete purpose—not a transcendental one. Yet Kingsley's introduction continually implies the Alexander Technique is an essentially spiritual practice with heavenly fruit. Disparaging the core concepts that constitute the Alexander Technique, he invites us instead to simply "surrender," "let go in faith," and blindly trust that its real essence—nothing less than Wu Wei—will be transmitted through the "rare, "unconditional" touch of the teacher.
The second, more obvious reason Alexander has been so misunderstood is that he rarely wrote concisely, and in any case, recognition and conception of the primary control can never be refined through words, but only through unfamiliar sensory experiences—either reasoned out, as Alexander did, or in the hands of a good teacher. Hence there is more than a kernel of truth to Kingsley's view of the "supreme value of guidance with the hands;" yet I differ from him in that I insist the Alexander Technique cannot be divorced from intellectual understanding and, indeed, conception.
The Use of the Self and Alexander's other works certainly were not without their flaws, but at their best they illuminate concepts which are nuanced, rich, and useful when applied. Primary control, direction and inhibition are three such concepts. Whatever their flaws, Alexander's books point the way to a wonderful technique, and they deserve thoughtful, probing introductions like Dewey's—not dismissals.
1 Like many other Alexandrian terms, the concrete meaning of "forward and up" seems incredibly controversial among Alexander Technique teachers. While I conceive it roughly as freedom of the atlanto-occipital joint, the term cannot be understood in isolation from the rest of the parts—namely, from one's conception of the primary control. It seems to experience it, one must discover it, as Alexander did, or be shown it by a teacher.
2 This is not to say there are not phenomena only some people perceive.
3An overemphasis on "letting go" and the like obscures the fact that Alexander always described the technique as consisting of stages or sequential steps, which in my opinion constitute the "means whereby" he wrote of.
4 "Use of the self" is another problematic term. Related to the concept of "good form" and "good technique" among athletes and musicians, it refers essentially to coordination of the musculature along reasoned lines, which is not separate from conception of the primary control. Equal and opposite is the term "misuse," since one's idea of misuse depends on one's idea of good use. Different teachers understand the term differently. Kingsley states that "bodily tensions and distortions become fixed and reinforced as we react to the general stimuli of living." True enough. Yet he goes on to imply it is associated only with fear, anxiety and distress. Again he couples this concept to the language of contemporary spirituality, trumpeting that it "alienates us from our own true nature." This is to completely ignore the point Alexander returned to again and again in his own writing: that the use of the self is inextricably linked with conception. No doubt, tension and imbalance are very often inextricable from fear. But there may be another class of misuse: one based on misconceptions about the body, unexamined movement patterns from childhood which have little or nothing to do with manifestations of stress or emotions in the body. I suspect one may experience profound psychophysical quietude yet still tend to throw their head back and down in relation to their neck and back, especially in movement.
5Kingsley writes that the teacher's touch indicates the "negation of trying and doing within the pupil." Even a token mention of guidance viz. the relativity of the body parts is nowhere to be found. Yet in my opinion this discussion of touch is misleading, since nothing like it can be found at all in Alexander's writings. On the contrary, Alexander stressed that the teacher's role was to demonstrate manually the proper relativity of the pupil's parts, with the means whereby of the technique; not to transmit "a way of being," nor indeed enlightenment or gnosis.
6 Neuroscientific findings relating to will and volition have proliferated in recent years. They may raise fundamental questions about the nature of self and will, but in my opinion they have little to do with the Alexander Technique, no more than they do with dancing or playing an instrument. If there are really recognizable activities Alexander termed "inhibition" and "direction," then his writings are timeless, since they speak from direct observation and experiment, not philosophy about "free will" and the like.
7 In spiritual literature one encounters, almost universally, the idea that there is no "doer" of action, or no "doer" but God. Hence Kingsley is implying that Alexandrian inhibition is somehow related to this concept, which Buddha famously summarized: "Events happen, deeds are done, but there is no doer thereof." In my opinion, the Alexander Technique has nothing more to do with this than does reading, writing, or playing a game. There may be "procedures followed, but no follower thereof."

Honestly why couldn’t team free will be Rufus/ Bobby/Sam/ Dean… didn’t the four of them make great team 🥹

• Rufus is one my favorite characters, every-line he says is funny “ This can't be my afterlife cuz the three of you are here” 😂
  
• Dean “ welcome to next time” and being ready just to kill Samuel is my favorite badass Dean moment .
  
• i love the contrast between soulless Sam and our Sam, while Soulless Sam did in fact have Deans back, he was the crazy one who wanted to kill Samuel when he saw Crowley. But Now regular Sam is back, so Dean gets to be the crazy shoot first ask later guy.
  
• I loved watching Sam and Dean against Samuel, Loved how both brothers are protective of each other.
  
• The iconic “ Bobby my ass…..”😂
  

The only horrible part about this episode is killing off Rufus 🥹