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Working for Wal-Mart, I have one for all of you.
Idaho's answer to Veruca Salt: Wal-Mart is stock full of these good for nothings. They stand there all day, chatting with friends and jamming up the walkway, not just for me as a janitor desperately trying to do my job before the next Idaho moron spills something on purpose, but they also refuse to make up their mind when they're making a purchase and will stand there for fifteen minutes, unable to decide between two items, neither of which they actually need. But they expect me, as an employee, to smile and be friendly and pretend I care one drop about them. Or more precisely, they demand I cater to them . . . constantly. Forget it. I have to deflect corporate and mismanagement if I want to do my job. I don't have time to pretend I care about you. Instead of going all I'd "Like to say . . . . . . to the new girl in town," I'd rather just say (though I haven't yet) Oh, go shop at K-Mart! What I mean is that, here where I work, nearly to a consumer, because that's all they really are, these monkeys in human guise merely jam up the walk ways so even other consumers can't get through, let their kids run around the store like savages, refuse to make up their mind with purchases, or at the very least have the courtesy to get out of the way, and pretend I'm supposed to treat them like the British Monarchy. Sorry, I'd do that for Princess Di, but I won't do it for you.
The ignore the janitor variation: I have a second type. They ignore the janitor. I shut the bathrooms down so I can get them clean, these barbarians storm right in anyway. "No, you can't use the toilet right now. It's hot with active disinfectant that hasn't dried yet . . . No you can't come in because some good for nothing Idahoan has intentionally missed the toilet with their human waste . . . No, you can't come in because the floor is soaking wet from being mopped and it hasn't dried yet."
"But I've really got to go."
"Yeah, you've really got to go . . . to the other bathrooms!"
"I don't care how the bathroom looks . . ."
"Guess who'll be complaining to the managers that the toilets are disgusting if I let you in."
"I promise I'll be careful on your floor . . ."
"No you won't, and I won't allow you to purposefully slip so you can steal a fortune in damages and take my job away. Now go shop at K-Mart."
"Oh, I'll only be a minute . . ."
"Yeah right. Not only will you be at least ten minutes, but you've brought your filth-wearing kid in, too! That'll take even more time! Not to mention every time one of you cretins storms in, I have to start all over again because you've undone all my hard work! Sometimes I feel like handing these good for nothing Idahoans the mop and telling them to clean up after themselves!
Ignore the janitors types don't stop there, either. They'll purposefully cut me off when I'm sweeping, knowing they're walking right through the trash I'm sweeping up. All they're going to do is spread it, and they know it. But they don't care. They'll deliberately miss the trash can, and throw the garbage into the empty container when I'm switching the full bags for new ones but don't move fast enough (because I am autistic) for their liking.
The only thing they do that cheeses me off even worse is, when I'm mopping up a spill some SC has made, usually on purpose by either dropping their drink, throwing something on the floor - Hey you jerks, this isn't the wild west anymore - or letting their kid touch/taste/mouth everything, then let the kid drop it so I have to mop it up . . . that's not so bad. I don't mind doing my job. What I resent is these brainless Idahoans just walking through as I'm trying to mop. They pretend they can't see the cones, or I'm supposed to quit mopping and let them through. They even complain to the mismanagement that I'm rude to them, not because I say anything (I never do, which is part of why I'm so mad), but because they can't get to the cookies or the chips or the ice cream immediately. Of course you can't. I cannot allow you to slip and fall on ammoniated water as I'm trying to mop, can I? But they don't care.
You can just see these brainless hicks, nearly all of them with their million children, refusual to bathe, and insistance on bringing Republican/religion into every conversation, no matter what, standing up there as I'm trying to work screaming "Don't care how. I want it now!"
You creeps know what I would love to do to you now?
Thank the gods I'm a writer. I can take my anger out on characters I can create and control instead of these consumers. It's a crime to hurt a consumer, but I never heard of anybody going to jail for hurting a fictional character in their own novel or poem before.
Idaho's answer to Veruca Salt: Wal-Mart is stock full of these good for nothings. They stand there all day, chatting with friends and jamming up the walkway, not just for me as a janitor desperately trying to do my job before the next Idaho moron spills something on purpose, but they also refuse to make up their mind when they're making a purchase and will stand there for fifteen minutes, unable to decide between two items, neither of which they actually need. But they expect me, as an employee, to smile and be friendly and pretend I care one drop about them. Or more precisely, they demand I cater to them . . . constantly. Forget it. I have to deflect corporate and mismanagement if I want to do my job. I don't have time to pretend I care about you. Instead of going all I'd "Like to say . . . . . . to the new girl in town," I'd rather just say (though I haven't yet) Oh, go shop at K-Mart! What I mean is that, here where I work, nearly to a consumer, because that's all they really are, these monkeys in human guise merely jam up the walk ways so even other consumers can't get through, let their kids run around the store like savages, refuse to make up their mind with purchases, or at the very least have the courtesy to get out of the way, and pretend I'm supposed to treat them like the British Monarchy. Sorry, I'd do that for Princess Di, but I won't do it for you.
The ignore the janitor variation: I have a second type. They ignore the janitor. I shut the bathrooms down so I can get them clean, these barbarians storm right in anyway. "No, you can't use the toilet right now. It's hot with active disinfectant that hasn't dried yet . . . No you can't come in because some good for nothing Idahoan has intentionally missed the toilet with their human waste . . . No, you can't come in because the floor is soaking wet from being mopped and it hasn't dried yet."
"But I've really got to go."
"Yeah, you've really got to go . . . to the other bathrooms!"
"I don't care how the bathroom looks . . ."
"Guess who'll be complaining to the managers that the toilets are disgusting if I let you in."
"I promise I'll be careful on your floor . . ."
"No you won't, and I won't allow you to purposefully slip so you can steal a fortune in damages and take my job away. Now go shop at K-Mart."
"Oh, I'll only be a minute . . ."
"Yeah right. Not only will you be at least ten minutes, but you've brought your filth-wearing kid in, too! That'll take even more time! Not to mention every time one of you cretins storms in, I have to start all over again because you've undone all my hard work! Sometimes I feel like handing these good for nothing Idahoans the mop and telling them to clean up after themselves!
Ignore the janitors types don't stop there, either. They'll purposefully cut me off when I'm sweeping, knowing they're walking right through the trash I'm sweeping up. All they're going to do is spread it, and they know it. But they don't care. They'll deliberately miss the trash can, and throw the garbage into the empty container when I'm switching the full bags for new ones but don't move fast enough (because I am autistic) for their liking.
The only thing they do that cheeses me off even worse is, when I'm mopping up a spill some SC has made, usually on purpose by either dropping their drink, throwing something on the floor - Hey you jerks, this isn't the wild west anymore - or letting their kid touch/taste/mouth everything, then let the kid drop it so I have to mop it up . . . that's not so bad. I don't mind doing my job. What I resent is these brainless Idahoans just walking through as I'm trying to mop. They pretend they can't see the cones, or I'm supposed to quit mopping and let them through. They even complain to the mismanagement that I'm rude to them, not because I say anything (I never do, which is part of why I'm so mad), but because they can't get to the cookies or the chips or the ice cream immediately. Of course you can't. I cannot allow you to slip and fall on ammoniated water as I'm trying to mop, can I? But they don't care.
You can just see these brainless hicks, nearly all of them with their million children, refusual to bathe, and insistance on bringing Republican/religion into every conversation, no matter what, standing up there as I'm trying to work screaming "Don't care how. I want it now!"
You creeps know what I would love to do to you now?
Thank the gods I'm a writer. I can take my anger out on characters I can create and control instead of these consumers. It's a crime to hurt a consumer, but I never heard of anybody going to jail for hurting a fictional character in their own novel or poem before.