When you approach my lane and see that I’m not waiting on anyone else, please, for the love of God, DO NOT make that, “I’ll guess I’ll give you something to do, uh huh huh huh” joke. Seriously. It wasn’t funny when I first heard it. It wasn’t funny the next five thousand times I heard it. It’s not funny now. It’s especially not funny when you say it right after I’ve handled a giant rush of customers and I’m finally taking a second to breathe.
And another thing, that jackass grin on your face when you make that tired old joke as if you’re some genius bon vivant who’s told me that joke for the very first time is sickening. In my six years of customer service, I’ve heard it enough times to make me want to leap over the register and tear out your throat with my teeth. But I plaster on a smile and laugh a little. But only because I have to. Inside, I’m trying to set you on fire with my mind.
So please, for your safety and mine, just stop it.
That, or maybe he and Ensign Edison can get together and have a rage-off. See which one can be the first to make his own head explode like the guy in Scanners.
When I go to get a new pair, please don’t announce to the entire store just how damned nearsighted I am in a very loud voice. Please don’t continue in that vein for several minutes, remarking over and over again how rarely you see such high numbers in a prescription. Four strangers did not need to know exactly how poorly I see without my glasses. Please don’t sit there going on and on about the lousy state of my current frames and lenses or how negligent I’ve been in not coming in sooner.
Even after the stupid 20% discount by my husband’s so called insurance, I still paid over $400 out of pocket to your store for lenses and frames. I am picking up my new glasses. But that is the last time I ever have anything to do with the Pearl Vision store in W. Caldwell, NJ again. Ever.
You are rude bastards who probably broke quite a few HIPPA laws and utterly violated my privacy. I hope Lenscrafters grinds you guys into bankruptcy.
I may be blind as the proverbial bat but I know bad customer service when I see it!
But it’s hilarious every time the scanner doesn’t recognize something and you answer “It must be free.” It’s very original and all checkers love to hear it.
Well, yes. If Nancy can spread the bomb out over a wider area, it won’t explode as hard in any one given place, limiting the damage. Quite brilliant, actually, I want to see her do it.
A big middle finger to the jerk who sat down just a seat over from me at the movies today.
You want to talk to your friend and belch out loud all the way through the previews? Fine. But after the “Silence is Golden” spot, you STILL wanted to talk and burp out loud. Once the feature presentation began, I shushed you quite vehemently.
Your reaction? Rather loudly, you declared "Fck this guy!"*, and moved 3 seats down in the row. Of course, you continued talking and belching throughout the rest of the movie.
Sorry, no link, but we’ll all probably see this press conference a gazillion times over the next few days.
Re the recently foiled plot to blow up JFK Airport. A big middle finger to the woman at the press conference who said that losing JFK would send the entire nation into mourning, because it would be like losing Kennedy all over again.
*You, Co-worker, who cannot seem to abide silence. It’s slow, and all of the staff is sitting around, mostly reading. Or staring off into space. And you must, must, must make “Hmmm!” or “Oh, no!” or “Nooooo!” noises every thirty seconds in some sort of attempt to make someone else initiate a conversation. (This is one of those people who talks to herself constantly, which I can understand, but it seems like her self-talk is much louder than normal.) If you want to talk to somebody, talk. If nobody wants to talk, read something. I personally want you to shut the fuck up so I can read the Middle East studies reading I’m behind on. Ok? I like you, I really do. You’re really funny. Please don’t make me stab you.
*You, Fellow Students. You’ve had a week to do this project. I know you know how to use email and the internet because I’ve seen you checking myspace on the school’s computers during class. (Personal peeve, I know - I wouldn’t mind so much if it were a laptop but for some reason using the school’s computers for non-class stuff bothers me.) So why the fuck are you now working on it, in class, right behind me, so that I can hear you and not the damn professor. (This is a small class, too, not a lecture, so it’s much more obvious. And there’s nowhere to move.) But it’s not just you two; there are constantly talking pairs and groups, and after the prof shushes you, you just go back to it. I guess he could send you out in the hall or something, but he’s asked you courteously like, I dunno, a grownup? Could you fucking act like one, and shut the fuck up in class before I start graphing functions with your intestines?
*Stop checking your cell phones and sending text messages during class. Just stop. And that goes doublety-fuckin’-triple for you! You answered your phone during an English discussion class! And didn’t even look sheepish afterward! Aaaaaargh! Smash!
How about when there was obviously a major glitch while checking me out, and my total for a couple bags of groceries comes to $6,000? Can I still make a joke about, “Wow, prices have sure gone up!”? Is that ever funny, or have you heard that one a thousand times, too? I can work on some new material for that one - “I think I’m going to need to put a few things back.”
As I understood it, she was reading from something one of the alleged terrorists wrote. Apparently that was their idea of how to hurt us. Uh…right. Everyone really connects an airport named after his death that closely with President Kennedy. Yeah, sure.
To me, it just confirmed the idiocy of that particular terrorist.
NO, YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO HAVE A SENSE OF HUMOR WHILE CHECKING OUT.
Understanding that cashiers, while requiring the precision of surgeons, have stress limits likened only to those of air traffic controllers, it is not advisable to distract them from the task at hand with your humor. People could die.
Well, it’s either try to make a joke or grab you and grind your face in the conveyor belt screaming, “Just key in the fucking codes, asswipe. If the previous 23 attempts to get it to scan did not cause it to ring up, what makes you think the 24th will? I’d like to get home before the expiration date of the food you have already bagged.”
I want a new gas grill, so I’ve been scouting them out at Lowes and Home Depot. My needs are modest. I want a smallish, decent, high-quality grill on which I can cook a hamburger or steak and some ears of corn. So how come my only choices seem to be cheap ugly pieces of crap that look like they’d collapse if I put an abnormally heavy burger on the grill, or humongous contraptions of shiny, shiny stainless steel that could cook forty steaks simultaneously and cost more than most kitchen ranges? I don’t want a gas grill that’s bigger than an SUV!
And how come no windows? OK, windows aren’t super-useful, but I kind of like the feature.
Fuck you, drivers who go into an intersection when the light is green knowing that cars on the other side are so backed up that you’ll end up occupying the box after the light has turned red and now you’re blocking traffic from the intersecting road and making the congestion twice as bad.
Fuck you, Southbound Interstate 95, for being congested on a fucking Sunday and costing me a half hour of my life that I’ll never get back.
Fuck you, 100.3 for playing “Waiting is the Hardest Part” while I was stuck in traffic. (Honestly, I could still smile at this because it was early in the traffic situation and I hadn’t gotten really angry yet).
Sorry, babe. I will refer to my husband as Ivylad and the kidlets as Ivyboy and Ivygirl. I’ve done that ever since I’ve been a member and I see no reason to stop now.
A hospital’s parking garage. A decent number of empty spaces in the full-size slots, but they’re apparently too far from the stairs(horrors! An extra 20 yards or so!) for this jackass.
I’m patiently waiting for the day- and we all know it’s coming- when he/she forgets him/herself and refers to the new baby as VC03-P0 and is consumed with self-loathing as a result.
