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Please go die in a fire
After this, I really wasn't in the mood for any other bullshit.
But I got it anyway. Lucky me.
I should've known; it is, after all, Sunday, and right at 10 or 11 everybody comes streaming in from church forgetting their preacher was preaching to them about. No, I take that back. Forgetting requires that it registered someplace in their brain at one time.
A woman summoned me for help with our sleeper sofas. Her hubby was standing next to them. They wanted to know if the sofas came already assembled. I told them they did, except for the arms, which just slide on.
"Go find out for sure! I don't wanna put it together!"
Yeah, that's right, don't trust the guy who's forgotten more about the furniture department than you'll ever know. BTW, if you don't want to be bothered putting a sofa together, then why the hell are you here instead of buying your sofa from a nice, full-service furniture store who'll even deliver it to your home for you?
I stomped off to the backroom, found a boxed sofa that was ripped open, and discovered that yes, it is pre-assembled, except for the arms.
I went back and told the customers that. "You better be right on that, (obvious look at my nametag) Irv. I don't want to have to return it. Load it up and bring it to us at the front doors, Merv."
That's right. The asshole deliberately screwed up my name. Plus he ordered me around like I was his personal slave. Okay Bucky, you know what happens when you do that? I find the most ripped-up, beat-up sofa we have, slam it down roughly on my flatbed, take the most circulatorius route to the front doors, bang into a couple things along the way, and if you complain about the shape it's in I give you a cock-and-bull story that it's the last one we have in stock.
So I brought it out to their truck and we loaded it in. "What, you mean you don't come with us to bring it in the house? We're only four blocks away? What the hell kind of service is this?"
*snap*
Well what kind of a store do you think this is, fuckface?! You think we're going to send some underpaid, underappreciated wage slave to ride along with you in your stinky truck and wrestle your damn sofa up the stairs for you? I hope you fall through the floor as you're carrying your brand new sofa into the house, land on the cold, hard basement floor with the sofa on top of you, and nobody can hear your cries of pain and agony, and you die. You go to hell and you die.
I am so sick of customer service, and vacation is over a month away. Halp.
But I got it anyway. Lucky me.
I should've known; it is, after all, Sunday, and right at 10 or 11 everybody comes streaming in from church forgetting their preacher was preaching to them about. No, I take that back. Forgetting requires that it registered someplace in their brain at one time. A woman summoned me for help with our sleeper sofas. Her hubby was standing next to them. They wanted to know if the sofas came already assembled. I told them they did, except for the arms, which just slide on.
"Go find out for sure! I don't wanna put it together!"
Yeah, that's right, don't trust the guy who's forgotten more about the furniture department than you'll ever know. BTW, if you don't want to be bothered putting a sofa together, then why the hell are you here instead of buying your sofa from a nice, full-service furniture store who'll even deliver it to your home for you?
I stomped off to the backroom, found a boxed sofa that was ripped open, and discovered that yes, it is pre-assembled, except for the arms.
I went back and told the customers that. "You better be right on that, (obvious look at my nametag) Irv. I don't want to have to return it. Load it up and bring it to us at the front doors, Merv."
That's right. The asshole deliberately screwed up my name. Plus he ordered me around like I was his personal slave. Okay Bucky, you know what happens when you do that? I find the most ripped-up, beat-up sofa we have, slam it down roughly on my flatbed, take the most circulatorius route to the front doors, bang into a couple things along the way, and if you complain about the shape it's in I give you a cock-and-bull story that it's the last one we have in stock.
So I brought it out to their truck and we loaded it in. "What, you mean you don't come with us to bring it in the house? We're only four blocks away? What the hell kind of service is this?"
*snap*
Well what kind of a store do you think this is, fuckface?! You think we're going to send some underpaid, underappreciated wage slave to ride along with you in your stinky truck and wrestle your damn sofa up the stairs for you? I hope you fall through the floor as you're carrying your brand new sofa into the house, land on the cold, hard basement floor with the sofa on top of you, and nobody can hear your cries of pain and agony, and you die. You go to hell and you die.
I am so sick of customer service, and vacation is over a month away. Halp.
. 
and it's not for making mulch and cotton out of their old couch if ya know what I mean. 
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