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And then some. 
This week has SUCKED!
You FAIL!
This one chronically annoying crapstomer (alas, who is a regular), after doing the usual nitpickery and buttfuckery over the (small) order, pays for it with several methods, leaving for last but certainly not least, a .50 balance. Which is paid in cash.
Oh, but not just any cash. Can you guess what it is, boys and girls?
Why yes! Yes, it was a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL.
I should also add that it was late and the tills at that hour are typically whittled down by management as per their usual operating habits. So odds were good that I might not have had enough change to give back. Fortunately, luck did not see fit to piss in my Cheerios (yet) and there was enough change to return.
But Crapstomer still fails at shopping and most likely at life too.
(Helpful hint: If someone says to you with that shit-eating grin, "You're going to hate me for this..." odds are very good that yes, yes indeed you will be silently wishing for fire ants to eat their entrails. While the crapstomer is still sentinent.)
--
How 'Bout I Stuff YOU Into The Bag, Snotrag?
Luck saved the worst for last and instead of a piss let loose with a nice 'ol diarrheal dump in my aforementioned Cheerios. When it gets busy we are to pull people from lines so that The Exalted need not wait in line any longer than necessary. So okay, that's what I do. I'm working at the self-checkouts temporarily because the person slated to work those tonight is on break. And herein is where it goes downhill very, very fast.
Crapstomer is not exactly thrilled by the self-checkouts. Which would be more understandable, and I more sympathetic, if crapstomer was not starting to pitch a toddleresque temper about it. Nevertheless I explain that I am here to help, and begin scanning items.
Crapstomer demands certain bags a certain way in a certain tone of voice (y'all know the one). Okay. I put aside my rising irritated thoughts of bloodthirsty carnage and fetch the correct bags and set them up the correct way. I continue scanning; crapstomer resumes complaining and is unhappy because I am apparently bagging the stuff incorrectly. Incorrectly in this case does not mean soft stuff beneath hard stuff, or chemical nasties with edible goodies. No, what it really means is I'm not doing it to crapstomer's anal-retentive liking.
Between crapstomer's spiel and fighting with the self-checkout (the scales piss and moan about EVERY goddamned thing which means it takes longer, especially if UR DOIN IT WRONG (which crapstomer was, not surprisingly), it took way too long to finish that order, during which time crapstomer earned a permanent spot on my shit list for being such a
about the whole deal. Later after venting a quiet spleen to coworkers I learn that this is standard OP for crapstomer. Joy.
This week has SUCKED!You FAIL!
This one chronically annoying crapstomer (alas, who is a regular), after doing the usual nitpickery and buttfuckery over the (small) order, pays for it with several methods, leaving for last but certainly not least, a .50 balance. Which is paid in cash.
Oh, but not just any cash. Can you guess what it is, boys and girls?
Why yes! Yes, it was a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL.
I should also add that it was late and the tills at that hour are typically whittled down by management as per their usual operating habits. So odds were good that I might not have had enough change to give back. Fortunately, luck did not see fit to piss in my Cheerios (yet) and there was enough change to return.
But Crapstomer still fails at shopping and most likely at life too.
(Helpful hint: If someone says to you with that shit-eating grin, "You're going to hate me for this..." odds are very good that yes, yes indeed you will be silently wishing for fire ants to eat their entrails. While the crapstomer is still sentinent.)--
How 'Bout I Stuff YOU Into The Bag, Snotrag?
Luck saved the worst for last and instead of a piss let loose with a nice 'ol diarrheal dump in my aforementioned Cheerios. When it gets busy we are to pull people from lines so that The Exalted need not wait in line any longer than necessary. So okay, that's what I do. I'm working at the self-checkouts temporarily because the person slated to work those tonight is on break. And herein is where it goes downhill very, very fast.
Crapstomer is not exactly thrilled by the self-checkouts. Which would be more understandable, and I more sympathetic, if crapstomer was not starting to pitch a toddleresque temper about it. Nevertheless I explain that I am here to help, and begin scanning items.
Crapstomer demands certain bags a certain way in a certain tone of voice (y'all know the one). Okay. I put aside my rising irritated thoughts of bloodthirsty carnage and fetch the correct bags and set them up the correct way. I continue scanning; crapstomer resumes complaining and is unhappy because I am apparently bagging the stuff incorrectly. Incorrectly in this case does not mean soft stuff beneath hard stuff, or chemical nasties with edible goodies. No, what it really means is I'm not doing it to crapstomer's anal-retentive liking.
Between crapstomer's spiel and fighting with the self-checkout (the scales piss and moan about EVERY goddamned thing which means it takes longer, especially if UR DOIN IT WRONG (which crapstomer was, not surprisingly), it took way too long to finish that order, during which time crapstomer earned a permanent spot on my shit list for being such a
about the whole deal. Later after venting a quiet spleen to coworkers I learn that this is standard OP for crapstomer. Joy.
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