I know what you're thinking, asswad. (or, Blinkie's day at work)

So, wad – may I call you wad? – I see you standing there, setting your keys and possibly every possession you own that you couldn’t stuff in your ugly SUV on the counter, and giving that look. I know what you’re thinking.

You’re thinking “Wow, all those people standing in line are so clueless! They’re standing in front of the register that has an employee behind it, smiling and taking orders, while this empty register has no line at all! Obviously any second now, an employee will come running to assist me, as I am first in line here at this register no-one else seemed to notice!”

Sometimes, wad, I will lean over from where I’m slaving over a hot espresso machine, and politely indicate the location of the real line, or just “She can help you right over there.” You give me this look of MUCH indignation, sigh heavily, pack up your keys, wallet, checkbook, passport, warranty, registration, and Gods know what else and huff off to the other line.

But sometimes I don’t bother. And you stand there, getting more and more impatient that us insolent brats are helping the people who are actually standing in line! That we won’t drop whatever we’re doing to rush to Your Royal Highness’ aid! Finally, either the heavens open and you are zapped with a Mighty Iron Clue, or you storm off in a huff. What a shame, I didn’t feel like making your drink anyway.

On a side note, if you are fortunate enough to have been gifted with a Clue, and you order from the register with the smiling employee behind it, and she sets your drink in line to be made, you come over to where I’m working, lean on the counter, and bloody STARE at me!

What the gibbering fuck! It’s not as if we haven’t given you a million other things to do while waiting for your damn drink! Read the damn bulletin board! Look at our Starlight Foundation poster and consider for one split second in your weasel-nipping yuppie life doing something for someone ELSE! Grab a seat! Look at the crap we’re selling! If nothing else, start a yak-shaving conversation with me (Yes! I talk! You don’t need to push a button or anything!).

Look, asswad, if I wanted to spend my days being stared at by vapid idiots, I’D BE A MOTHERFUCKING STRIPPER! Hell, I’d be making more money. This is a coffee store, not the smegging L.A. Zoo! Either hit on me or take your bulging eyeballs somewhere the fuck else!

pant pant pant re-reads rant gives it a 1.2 because it’s well spelled and grammatically sound

Sorry, folks. I’m just cranky after the Shift that Wouldn’t Die. My next rant will be about something interesting, intriguing and important, I promise. My apologies for wasting your electrons. I think I’ll take some drugs and go to bed now.

You coffee shop workers absorb the caffeine through the skin, don’t you? So I guess it’s no use suggesting decaf?

Good rant. It lacked a certain profane vim, but withal was very well-crafted. I give it an 8.0.

BTW, is there any chance Mr. Asswad Carkeys is related to Jarbaby’s “Mrs. Twatplug Elf-Balloon”? 'Cause I detect a definite family resemblance. “I’m special–me first.”

I reckon it was a great rant, and justified. The customer strikes me as a classic TWOMAL (pron. ‘too-mal’, where ‘mal’ rhymes with ‘pal’ = ‘The World Owes Me A Living’ – my contribution to the language). Why does he think that he should get served before the other people???

But then I never could understand how so many people would happily race to a register/window that suddenly opens, leaving the other poor sods who were ahead of them in the original line, seemingly accepting the situation; I suppose because it is ‘unseemly’ to object when it is not absolutely obvious the opportunists are jumping the queue.

I’ve discovered the answer to this.

It came to me after untold millenia of working in the service industry (in varied areas) and commuting long distances by freeway and train.

These people are “special”. They have problems. They can’t cope with the thought that they aren’t the most important being in the world. They have a medical condition which not only makes them completely inconsiderate of others, it also makes them forget their special “S” sign, so that we’ll know they’re not just plain rude !

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr !

Who gave you the right to push in front of me ? Who made you more important than me ? Who made your time worth more than mine ? Who made you…

Ohhh, you have an “S” sign, well go right ahead, I know it’s something you can’t control.

My SO has a temper, and when he is subjected to this sort of behaviour in the car, he can become real scary. The one thing that never fails to get him to laugh, is if I say, “hon, he just forgot his “S” plates, so it’s OK” or “he’s the one who got that invisible set of “S” plates I heard about on the radio” He calms down then, realising that nothing he can do will change the asshole or his behaviour. For some reason this still works, when all else has failed. :slight_smile:

I recommend reading “Is that what people do?” by Robert Sheckley, in particular the story about carrots and onions, for an indepth analysis of this phenomenon. In short, you’re a carrot, he’s an onion.
:slight_smile: