I'm in mourning. My boys let me down. Ok, my boys let me down big. (hanging head) It will be a sad, sad Superbowl Sunday. Very sad. Eh, I'll just have to drink heavily :)
After a weekend of retail hell I think I can safely say that I FUCKING HATE PEOPLE. No. Really. I do. Every freak on the planet showed up at my register. Here's the interesting thing. This seems to occur one a month, and it happens to coincide with my period. Hmmmm. Could it be that I just have less patience then? Nah. People are just freaks. Yeah. That's it. Being the resourceful woman I am I find little ways to deal with the assholes who frequent Cumby's, or Crumby's as we like to call it.
One of the beauty's of working at a store which is pre-pay only for gas is that unless you pay with a card at the pump, I have to authorize your gas purchase. Now, knowing this, why, just why, would you give me shit? I hold the key to you getting gas, or not getting gas. And frankly, I'm a bitch and it's not a power I'm afraid to yeild. It was probably 15 degrees this weekend, 0 or less if you factor in the windchill. Basically, it was fucking cold people. Way fucking cold. Do you know what happens when you come to my register and give me attitude? Do you know what happens when you come to my register while talking on your cell phone? I'll tell you.
I don't authorize your pump in a timely fashion and you end up standing in the freezing cold for an extra two minutes. Why? Because I can and there ain't nuthin you can do about it. Bwaaahaaaahaaa. Go ahead, come in, be an asshole, and then try and pump gas. I'll let you. Eventually (evil cackle)
As to othah mattahs, all quiet on the western front. No drivebys, no phone calls, no sightings. You would think that this would make one feel relaxed. It does not. After the non stop barage of calls and visits the silence becomes eerie. You start to wonder what she's plotting. You look over your shoulder, you check the back seat of your car before you get in. In short, you start to become a wee bit paranoid.
I don't know what she'll pull next, but I know this. She isn't done yet.
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4 comments:
I'm in mourning today. I'm wearing black with the old fashioned veil and everything.
As a survivor of convenience store cashiering myself, my only suggestion is that you start keeping a writer's journal on your time at The Farm and think of these freaks as material.
I understand the paranoid looking around for psycho ex. I do.
I laughed and laughed at the thought of assclowns standing at the pump freezing their attitudes off. Too funny! Were you wearing your Shanequa badge?
"I'm a bitch and it's not a power I'm afraid to yield."
Is that available in a counted cross-stitch pattern, you think?
Oh, I almost forgot.
Da Bears.
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