Monday, March 12, 2007

Wrathos Round-Up

They're just messing with me. I'm ready to binge eat and shave my head.

Instead of my usual short story of retail hell, I thought I would put a few people on notice:

* Lady at the salad tosser counter. I know you didn't ask for beets and I know he tried to trick you into taking the beets by pretending he didn't understand you. But, I'm not your friend. I will not help you with your beet issue. Don't look to me for support, b/c if i don't get my turkey/bleu cheese/cranberry/pine nut salad in record time, you're dealing with the business end of my skechers. Oh and I hate your "shushushuh" laugh; Find a new one.

* 98lb. girl at the post office. Look, I'm with ya, that line suuuucks. But do you really need to put all your materials together while shuffling in line? Do you really need to be in line to put a box together, tape said box bottom, fill with miscellaneous items in plastic grocery bag, squat on floor to fill out crappy 99cent precious moments card, use teeth to rip more packing tape, squeeze box with thighs (soliciting growth from all pants within 10 ft), then lazily kick box down the line for a half hour, all emo and shit? Stop it. PS: I like your gold bag.

* {blank} online store {redacted b/c boyfriend hasn't gotten his birthday present and frankly? Not ruining it for you guys.}
Listen, B.O.S.: I know, get what you pay for and yeah, I saved a couple of bucks ordering from you. But if you're calling me to check whether my bank's address is the same as the address on the order form I'd filled out Friday....because you're concerned that someone had stolen my card....don't you think you should WAIT to take that money out of my bank account? You asshole. So, when I call you on it, don't get all "Ma'am" on me. Because I'm right.

* 973-322-2312. What kind of number are you anyway? Yeah, I had the wrong number and thought I was calling my landlord. But when I ask for "Mario," just say "you have the wrong number." You know he's not there, you know I don't have the right digits. So, why put me on hold and then come back for clarification and then hold again and then back to your manager who FINALLY tells me my mistake? Wait, you're an emergency room at St. Barnabas? Alright, pass. For now.

* Ass Family, party of 4. First of all, shout out to Daisy Buchanan, who'd recommended "Music & Lyrics." Bravo. Bravo, In. Deed. Anyway: Ass Family. Movie's at 4:10, which means the previews start at 4:10, so by my count you've decided to mosey on in at around 4:30 and sit in front of me. AND TALK LOUDLY TO DECIDE WHO WANTS TO SPLIT A DIET COKE? "I'll go get it!" offers Pa. "No, you sit, the kids will go," suggest Maw. "Chortlegibberishfuckheadmeh," go the kids as Pa slllloooowwwly makes his way to the aisle and out to concessions. I get that it's a matinée. But, Fools, I'm there b/c I want to avoid fuck heads like you. Oh, am I being hypersensitive. NO, because your loud ass came back with two WATERS, which you know is going to piss off the teens. And sure enough, they're whining about your beverage choice and while you're explaining the economics behind concession stands, I'm missing Hugh Grant's formulaic stammer! Sit. the. fuck. down.

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