Look, I know that you wrinkled, dessicated, dust-spunking bastards and your lizard-queen, jersey shore, bleached- out, plastic trash wives think that you own our town when you show up for a few months each year, but seriously try to engage whatever neurons you have left sparking in the festering meat jello of your minds. First off, I am not a “kid”. You do not need to look to my 50- something employee for confirmation when I tell you something. Your first clue was when he brought you to ME to get the answers to your dumbass questions. Your second one was when he told you that he would have to ask *his *boss about your request for discount on already dirt-cheap items, and introduced you to me as such. Your third one was when he brought you back for a third time for design help since I have multiple degrees in those fields and he does not. Normally I do not mind looking young for my age. Since I’m in my thirties now it actually kind of nice. The thing is, equating me to some minimum wage high schooler just because I look good for my age isn’t just stupid, it’s downright insulting. I just took the better part of an hour walking you through a lot of material, answering rather technical questions and even had a nice chat with you about my wife and the real estate market while your husband tried to remember where he put his credit card. (amazingly it was in his wallet!) After all that you still feel the need to look for reassurance from someone “more experienced” eh? The same guy who bluntly told you he was out of his league and summoned me to assist you properly.
Sigh. It’s going to be a long winter here in Florida.
Most of them are just fine. It’s just a small subset of the MOB (Mean Old Bastards) that make life rather difficult. Unfortunately we get a very high percentage of them here for a few months each winter.
To add to this one, please stop thinking that my boobies mean that I don’t know my job. When my minion walks up while we are talking about YOUR problem, don’t just start talking to him. Minion is just going to ask me what to do.
What ticks me off even more is that when its obvious that I’m the one who did all the work, don’t shake my minion’s hand and tell him thank you for all the help. Next time you come in, you will get to deal with minion or SG.
It’s going to be a long life. Then, suddenly, you’re going to look about you and realize that people are looking a lot younger than they used to. “Where the hell did all these kids come from?” you’ll ask yourself.
Listen, Sonny Jim. I don’t need your smack mouth talking punk ass giving me lip. Get your manager over here right now. Obviously the milligram of power you’ve been given in this job has gone to your head and I need to speak to someone above your menial ass because you aren’t capable of working in Customer Service.
Many of us are guilty of ageism, which is right up there behind sexism and racism.
Why would they think “Can I talk to someone older?” is so much better than “Is there someone whiter who could help me?” or “I’d really rather hear this from someone with a dick”?