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Who knew it sparked such conflict?
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Its been a while since I wrote one of these doodads, so excuse the rusty-type phrasing.
So, some of you may have noticed that I have dropped off the Fanpop radar-becoming a stealth Poppette, if you will (though I am annoyed at the distinct lack of forums, etc, wailing and crying about my absence-looking at you, Obby!).
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Where is the wailing, the horrific, gut-wrenching wailing?
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This is a direct correlation with the Scary Real Life. I got a job. I went back to college. I started working at my youth group again. I was washing my hair. And so forth.
I like my job. I meet people, I work with a lovely group, and I genuinely enjoy myself. Especially the money. I do love the moolah, and the goods and services one can attain by exchange of the wingwangs.
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Money. I like money.
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However, I had conclusive proof today that humanity should be taken out back and put down.
We're a busy operation. We work hard when we're open, and even harder when we closed. See, we have to do a LOT of cleaning. And I mean a lot. So when we get the news that two managers are coming down tomorrow morning, we(myself and my co-worker, lets call her Vernbon, for funsies) decided to close the shop five minutes earlier to give us a little bit more time to organise the place, and allowing us and the security guards to go home at a decent hour.
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See, in my world, this means more work
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No problem, except at 5:40, a queue of sorts has formed. So I go to close the queue, aka stand at the end of the line swigging a bottle of Coke so I can stay awake, no easy feat due to the five hours I've been standing with no break.
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I'm at the back. Look for the Coke bottle
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A few people walk up. I politely tell them we're closing, they say 'Okay so', and walk off. Until a little girl walks up. I tell her we're closing. She passes this on to Mammy and Daddy dearest, over to one side.
Daddy walks up, I explain to him. He replies (stay awake, this part is pivotal) 'I completely understand.' GOT THAT! HE said it.
Then Mammy dearest walks over, demanding to know why I won't allow her children, the little rays of sunshine that they are, to get ice-cream. I explain again that the shop is closing. I have three teenagers in front of me, and by the time Vernbon has dealt with them, we'll be at our closing time.
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Much more attractive than the one I dealt with
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Mammy doesn't like this at all. Tells me smugly that it is only 5:40 (thus displaying a miracle of evolution: baboons can tell time), and demands we serve her.
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Essential for buying ice-cream
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By this point, I'm pissed. The three teenagers has actually only been one, with assorted hangers-on (people need an entourage when buying ice-cream). The eldest child is snidely remarking what a great example I am for kids. I wonder if someone can 'accidently' be hit in the face by a tub of sprinkles.
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12th highest cause of death in Europe
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So my co-worker says (grudgingly) that she'll serve them.
She serves them, mostly to get rid of them. I walk back into the shop. At this time Mammy is demanding my name, and my manager, to complain me, after I have been subjected to a furious yet condescending lecture from Daddy about how damn lucky I am to have my job in a recession. I say I'm sorry for doing my job, noting in interest another scientific fact : creatures of limited intelligence cannot detect sarcasm, as denoted by the fact that he stated the obvious 'you're not a damn bit sorry!'
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Indisputable scientific fact: Can detect sarcasm
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Right now I'm looking for volunteers to form an angry mob, to hunt down these 'people', ambush them, and sacrfice them to the Ice Cream God, Milksauce. Except for the youngest child. I got no beef with her.
There's a sign up sheet posted in the common room. Torches are supplied, but must bring packed lunch and own pitchfork.
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These don't grow on trees. Except in Iowa
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Author's Note: If Mammy had been polite, I would have let them into the line, no hassle.
UPDATE: She came into the shop yesterday, when my manager was in, but didn't say anything. Today, my manager asked me if I was polite to them. When I said yes, she shrugged and said 'Fuck 'em'
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DO IT FOR MILKSAUCE!
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Invite friend
Join this Club
I'm heading to the common room now.
;D
:D
:)
one 99er with a flake pleeeease
*strokes imaginary beard*
can you wash icecream?
I can top that try having a lady come in on thanksgiving day eve at 5:55pm to be told we are closing and she says that's okay I will only be a second then my manager tells her it is thanksgiving and my employees have plans we are closing *lady says that's fine I will be quick* an hour later she finishes and leaves a huge mess, and complains about the lack of help, and we are still left with the mess to clean up...
I really hate some people...
Or I can shower them with my own salty milksauce. Oh wait, I think I'm talking about something completely different now. :p
Good to hear from you dazl! =)
This may cheer you up.
I was waiting for a table at my favorite restaurant, with another single-luncher, and ahead of us was a couple, also waiting for a table. They were crazy busy, and said so to us, and me and my single-lunch buddy nodded. But the couple complained, because they asked to sit in the bar. They didn't seem to understand that the bar was as full as the restaurant. Finally, the host found time to seat them, and they made a snide remark about how they should have gone to another restaurant, and how their drinks should be comp'd. The host politely takes this (but does not offer to comp the drinks, or anything) and walks away to seat my single-luncher buddy.
My buddy says to the host as he's being led to HIS seat, "Thank you. I hope I'm more polite than some of your customers."
The host beamed and was about to respond, when he snapped his mouth shut and nodded instead, showing the man to his table.
But I snickered.
My point in telling this story is, most people recognize bitchy clientel who are just bitchy because they know they can be, and because they know that the people they abuse can't (technically) retort, because "the customer is always right."
Chin up and head high. Pour a little liquor into the shrine of Milksauce to ease his thirst for blood for the moment.
Because unfortunately, you'll find other souls worthy of sacrifice. And a mass murder says so much more than serial kills. ;o)
PS: This may be out of line, but I think that several people would line up to be showered by YOUR milksauce, john. Some may even be here, typing responses to your silly comments and encouraging your naughty behavior. Or, you know, maybe not.
*noticed cinder's last paragraph*
*walks away whistling innocently*
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