Bag Hags

Hello fellow blogzillians. 😀

A lady came in the store one day and I asked her if she needed bags.

“No, I have my own bags,” she responded.

She handed me a bag and I wanted to hurl my last three suppers. It teemed with dirt, old bacterial meat stains and God knows what other type of plague crawling around inside her bag of horrors.

I just kind of dropped her items inside thinking…ew, ew, ew, ew.

Like seriously, have some self respect. Wash your shit. Then folks wonder how they get food poisoning. Perhaps it could be because you’re a disgusting pig. Reusable bags do not mean you can skip laundry day.

I wear gloves, but sometimes I feel like I need to wear an entire hazmat suit.

Then yesterday, a man came into the store and placed a few items on the checkout for me to bag. He brought out a cloth bag and It covered in so much dog hair, it almost looked like cousin IT. You could literally wire brush it and call it Fluffy.

“Um, I am severly allergic to dogs,” I explained. “So unless you want to drive me to the emergency room and put me on a life saving breathing machine, I can’t bag your things.” I wouldn’t touch that thing with a ten foot pole.

All that hair probably got all inside his food. It was just really gross. No, just……no. Yuck.

If you’re a dirty bugger, you don’t need to announce it to the world.

~GW

Phone Groan

Hello, everyone. Yeah, I’m still working at the grocery store. Necessity or insanity, I’m not sure which.

A lady walked up to my cash talking on her cell phone. Well, you should all realize by now this behaviour drives me batty. It’s beyond bad mannered.

Anyhoo…

I ask her if she would like a bag and I get completely ignored.

I repeated myself…

“Ma’am, would you like a bag?” (Insert noise of crickets chirping)

So I started shoving everything in bags anyway.

“Ma’am, how would you like to pay? With credit, debit or cash? Ma’am…Hello?”

Then she has the audacity to lift her hand in front of my face and wave it like the Queen, making grunting noises as if to say I’m disturbing her phone call. “Oourgh, oourgh, oourgh!”

Seriously? She’s ruffling my dander. Okay, now I’m starting to get pissed off. I get ornery when I’m pissed off. This means war.

So then I started talking. “How many bags would you like? How would you like to pay? Debit, credit, or cash? Cold weather isn’t it? Boy, be careful you don’t get a sore neck holding your phone like that! Would you like me to put a produce bag on your meat? Those cookies are a really good price, aren’t they? We have a lot of things on sale today. Well, thanks for the attentive conversation. You have a really nice day now!”

She didn’t look impressed but too fucking bad. She shouldn’t be so rude. Grunting is not a conversation. If your addiction to your phone is that bad, get help.

It’s my biggest pet peeve. If you do this, stop it.

Everyone knows I like to sing…

You could while away the hours
Conferrin’ with cell towers
Consultin’, rude, insane

And your head, you’d be scratchin’
While your thoughts were busy hatchin’
If you only had a brain.

Scooby-doobilly-do

Admit it, you just sang this song. Hahaha!

Honestly, get off your fucking phone~

Story of my life…

~GW

The End Is Near

I’ve been quiet for awhile because I’m wallowing in contemplation.

I’m looking for another job. One where I feel appreciated. A job that doesn’t cut my hours and have me begging for more. I shouldn’t have to beg. That makes me want to scream and stab everyone with a spork. Maybe it’s a dream, perhaps not.

I’m not sure I want to work for a company who doesn’t stick up for their employees. I’m tired of them siding with abusive customers all in the name of money. I don’t really understand that mentality and truthfully it’s not acceptable. There has to be something better than this. There has to be.

When you have to start taking anxiety medicine, you know it’s time to move on.

I am applying to other companies for a full time job. Wish me luck.

~GW

Gratitude

A lady came up to my cash at work today to pay for her groceries.

“Hi there, how are you?” I asked as I began to ring in her purchases.

“Stressed,” she replied.

“Oh, how come?” I inquired.

She told me she recently lost her job at a bank in finance, and felt really stressed because she has no income.

“Oh no. How did you lose it?” I continued.

“I had a nervous breakdown,” she explained.

“I’m so sorry. Well, you can always apply for a job here. It’s pretty much stress free. We are always looking for new employees and at least you’d have some money coming in.”

“No,” she blurted. “This job is beneath me.”

Her words caught me off guard. I just stared at her in disbelief. You know, I really felt kind of insulted, almost like I needed to defend myself. Did she think we are all a bunch of uneducated dummies or something?

Does she think I’m so poor that I should chase a garbage truck with my grocery list? I think she just made me a member of a leper colony.

“I’m educated, you know,” I remarked, trying not to seem utterly offended or that I took it personally. “I have diplomas in many different fields.”

My eyebrows raised. “You explained that you are stressed and have no money, but some money is better than no money.”

“Maybe if I got a job as the manager, but I would never do your job. It would be too humiliating,” she stated. “My bank is close to this store and if anyone saw me working here, I would be so embarrassed.”

“Okay,” I said, and continued to bag her groceries.

She paid for her food and as she walked away I muttered, “have a nice day.”

Jesus. I think this chick needs to learn gratitude. I guess she’s never been hungry. A nervous breakdown should be a hint she’s in the wrong occupation. Sometimes the money isn’t worth it. For the record, I happen to like my job.

When the universe hands you an opportunity, don’t kick him in the stars.

~The look on your face~

~GW

Customers

Have you ever had those days when you’re holding a stick, and everyone looks like a piñata?

Advantageous Bitch

A lady took an item off the shelf with an expired tag. When she realized the item would be free due to our scanning policy, she left and walked down the isle to get the other flavours. She wanted those free too. The cashier told her that isn’t the way it works.

I mean, it’s taking advantage of the store. Just because something is legal it doesnt mean it’s right, or that you should be a douche bag.

When a cashier explains that it’s not company policy, (for the customer to screw us up the ass), it doesn’t give anyone the right to call us names like stupid or dumb, and then state we aren’t trained properly. This chick started hoopin’ and hollerin’ like a truck driver on crack. She asked for the manager. He ended up giving her what she wanted just to get her out of the store. Personally, I hope she chokes on it.

The Ungrateful Wench

A customer walked up to the cash to pay for her groceries but only had two dollars on her gift card. She said twenty dollars should be on the card. She yelled, got irate and rude, called the cashiers stupid, and when she did dig up some cash out of her pockets her total remained twenty cents short.

“That’s not a big deal right?” she snapped. “I can come back tomorrow with the twenty cents.”

The cashier responded, “well it wouldn’t have been a big deal had you not been so rude. I actually would have paid for your whole grocery bill, because it’s Thanksgiving.”

The girl sneered, “oh sorry, well my boyfriend got me to talk like this.”

The cashier replied,” well, perhaps you should re-learn how to talk to people.”

The Moaner

A man walked into the store moaning ooo, ahhh,” all the way to the bathroom. He entered the facilities, grunting loudly for everyone to hear, “OOooo, Aaah, Ughhhh”…pushing and moaning. Then he leaves the latrine staring at the floor, and walks out the door. How delightful.

Remember, always be polite to your cashier, or you just might end up in this blog.

~GW

MANIFESTATION BOX

One of my readers asked me about this so I thought I’d show it~

Making a manifestation box is an exciting way to use your creative flair in order to connect with the universe. It’s also known as a creation, intention, wish box or a prayer box.

When writing notes or an intention letter for your manifestation box keep it as specific as possible. It makes a sacred place for your dreams and desires. You can add small items to represent what you wish for or pictures from magazines or photographs. This symbolic act forms a connection between the physical and the non-physical, taking the words “thoughts become things” to the next level. A manifestation box is used to attract certain things into your life. In order to do this, you need to place a representation of what you want into the box.

~ HOW I MADE MY BOX ~

I bought a box from Michael’s craft store, painted it black and then rolled sparkle paint on top of that to resemble stars. I gave it a steam punk theme, using keys – (keys to open doorways, wheels to turn direction and the eye represents the all seeing eye of the universe). I painted the words ‘HOPE – WISH – IMAGINE – DREAM and BELIEVE’ on the outside. You can put any words you want on it, such as ‘Manifest- Love’, etc…it’s really up to you. The text along the bottom four sides of the box can also read, ‘Ask – Believe – Let Go – Receive’ to correspond with the principles of the Law of Attraction. I free handed the words on my box, but you can also use a stencil.

You can add anything you like to the outside of your box such as jewels, feathers, stickers or crystals.

I painted the inside of the box the same as the outside, and then lined it with a cushioned sparkle material.

My son calls my box Davy Jones’s Locker. Ha!

~GW

Tips For Busy Assholes

DelightfuL

When I’m standing at my cash preparing to serve you, please make sure you don’t stink. By stink, I mean that you don’t have an obnoxious, biohazard stank breath. It’s fucking disgusting. I don’t want to smell the insides of your digesting gut. It makes me take a step back and I’ll talk to you from an impersonal, lean backward stance. I know I might be asking for too much, but can you please gargle with a vat of Listerine and chew on a whole bottle of cloves? Actually, just douse your throat with a jug of Clorox. Stop molesting each and every one of my nose hairs.

Tooth brushes are on sale on isle two. Or, there is duct tape to cover your gob. Even better!

This is literally my face.

I’m going to give you a little helpful exercise. Lick the palm of your hand and smell it. Take a deep and long whiff. Try not to choke on your own pong. That’s what your breath is doing to society. I’ve walked into the grocery store and the air smells toxically sour because of somebody’s back alley sewage water breath, so I have to go around spraying febreeze just so that I can get through my shift without gagging up my breakfast and lunch. It’s like an animal that climbs up my nose, borrows into my head and lives there.

Is it rude to throw a breath mint into somebody’s mouth when they are talking? Ha!

Also, after you pay for your items, please take your receipt. If you need to return something at a later date, you’ll need to have that piece of inconvienience you want to toss. You wouldn’t believe how many folks try to return food without it. I need it to refund your money, it’s company policy. For all I know you went into the store and just grabbed something off the shelf to return for the cash. How do I know you’re not a thieving plonker? Hey, there are shit heads out there that do this. Plus, something could ring in wrong when you’re paying for your processed, low calorie, all natural, locally grown, gluten free, whole food with minimal packaging. How would you even know if you don’t look at it? So what I’m trying to say is, take your fucking sales slip.

It’s funny when customers get angry when I ask for their proof of purchase. They become irrate. It’s tiring. Even if I’ve told them a million times they have to have it, they continue to return shit without one over and over again. Sometimes I wonder if some customers are brain dead.

Please stop “dirty carting”. You would not believe how many times we are bringing in the carts and there’s a half eaten apple and a dirty snot rag full of virus sitting in the buggy because somebody was too fucking lazy to throw it out themselves. It’s disugusting. Don’t do that. If you have snotty nosed brats, pick up after them. Or if it’s just you, don’t be a fuckin’ pig.

And then, there is this nightmare.

~GW

My Cat and I

I bought a new cat litter today at Pet Valu for Slushy. It has an ocean breeze scent and is encased in beautiful, turquoise packaging.

I pointed to it and said to the sales lady, “oh…that looks really nice.”

I wanted the ten pound bag. She unscrewed one of the smaller cube sized containers of litter for me to test the aroma.

I closed my eyes and slowly sniffed in a very beautiful, faint scent. Mmmm. I visualized myself on a tropical beach with sand between my toes and the wind blowing through my hair. I opened my eyes again and smiled with delight. “It’s not very strong smelling is it?”

Her eyes widened and she nodded in agreement. “No, it’s not,” she responded. “It’s good.”

I took out my money. “I really like it, I’ll take it.”

I went home, loaded up the litter boxes and then left for work.

Five hours later~

I got home from work and I didn’t smell an ocean breeze. It was more like muggy swamp biohazard.

The air around me started to borborygmusly hum like a wilderbeast. Then a windy hurricane of malodor stabbed my nostrils instantaniously like a thousand hornets ramming into my sinuses at once. I think I might have sustained a brain injury.

Jesus Murphy…I coughed, spluttered and gagged half blinded by stench as I staggered into the bathroom, one hand over my nose and mouth and the other reaching for the scooper.

I shovelled up the soul destroying chunks and flushed.

I wondered if I should be wearing a hazmat suit as I sprayed the area with heavy doses of air freshener. Great, now there’s a permeating scent of ocean breeze, pine covered shit.

I think I’m going to have to force feed Slushy ocean breeze cat food.

A Limerick for a friend…

Once a cat named Slushy,
Liked to eat food really mushy,
Her turds took my breath,
Like being poisoned by meth,
Pulled the chain and flushy.

I know, don’t quit my fuckin’ day job. Ha!

Here she is, the culprit. Mz. Slushy Stinkombottom.

And now for something completely different…

I am bitchy poop ~ how appropriate!

What are you going as?

~GW

BLUE MOO-D

Why does it have to be so hard?

Depression can make you not care.

I walked past the bakery today and noticed pumpkin cheesecake. Um…just kill me. Take a knife, stab me, beat me to a pulp with a baseball bat, chop me into little bits, then put me in the meat grinder to be made into burgers.

Seriously~it’s torture.

I wanted it. I wanted it bad. And no, I can’t have it, because I have no self control around it. I’ve been cursed with a sweet tooth. If I knew which one it was I’d yank it out!

I have to deprive myself of 3,500 calories just to lose one pound. UGH… It’s all fun and games until your stomach mushrooms like an atomic bomb and your jeans don’t fit.

It’s coming off so slowly. I know…I know, one to two pounds a week is a healthy way to take it off, but it’s going so slow I feel like I’m a hippopotamus time traveller going backward.

We live in a society where we are used to having instant results. That’s not going to happen. It could take me over a year to get to the weight I want to be. Then maintaining it is a whole other nightmare.

Yes, it’s a nightmare. Why? Because I don’t want to be freakin’ fat. Ha ha! I don’t want to gain it back. I’ve heard so many failure stories and I don’t want to add myself to that list of losers. And it’s not the good kind of loser.

I realise I should be focusing on my accomplishment of losing forty-two pounds. I should also be proud of myself for having some self control around the pumpkin cheesecake.

I just have to glance at a carb and I start to look like I belong in a Jurassic theme park. High fructose corn syrup, partially hydrogenated oil and bleached white flour seems to be in everything.

I feel a disconnect. I love food but I also fucking resent it at the same time.

I feel like a woman in labour and food is my husband. I’m crushing his hand and screaming, “YOU DID THIS TO ME!”

I wonder if I will ever have a good relationship with food or if I’ll always be headed to divorce court?

I know I can’t be the only one who feels this way.

~GW

Things That Irk Me

There are a lot of things that irritate me, but nothing boils my blood worse than somebody who is driving in the passing lane as slow as a drunken slug and won’t move over. Or even worse, they won’t let me in the right lane so I can make my turn. Yeah, I get road raged.

Don’t fucking do that…

People are STILL coming to my cash talking on their phone, and STILL completely ignoring my existence. It’s starting to happen so often that it’s making me passive aggressive. Now I purposely ask questions. “It’s nice out today isn’t it? Do you need a bag? How are you doing today? How would you like to pay for your purchase? Would you like me to put your vegetables in a produce bag? The weather is getting colder, I wonder if it’s going to rain today? Those cookies look really good.” I constantly interrupt their call. Hey, if you want to be a prick I can be a bigger one. The customers behind them always end up apologizing to me. It’s not their fault the person in front of them is a jackass. There are too many rude, idiots in the world.

STOP. DOING. THAT.

This is literally my face. “How can I help you, mother fucker?

You may not know this, but I have no interest in Aunt Hilda’s hemorrhoid surgery, neither do I care if little Johnny is an obnoxious jerk who tantrums. Maybe if you’d get off your fucking phone….just sayin’.

Also…

Adults need to stop bashing Greta Thunberg. Anyone who does that is a dick. It’s nice to see young people sticking up for our planet.

Keep up the good work, Greta. You are wise beyond your years. Many of us appreciate what you are doing.

~GW

Idiots

Ugh…please give me strength. Let me tell you what happened yesterday at work.

It’s lunch time and this young fellow walks up to my cash. He starts talking to me about how terrible it is that so much animal abuse is going on in the world. I look down at the things he’s buying. A bottle of coke – made of plastic that goes up the arses of turtles, and a sandwich encased in plastic. I’m sure that could choke a few seagulls or dolphins. I asked him where he thought sliced meat comes from.

Um….yeah. Just go and pet a few kitties, Bubbles.

“Would you like a bag?” I inquired. At this point, I just had to ask.

“Nope, I’m saving the environment,” he bellowed.

You have to fucking laugh…

Then later on in the day, a lady dumps all her groceries at customer service. Two hundred dollars worth of items on the express lane that clearly states one-eight items. I didn’t see her do it, because I stood at the other counter doing lottery.

I can’t help it, sometimes it just infuriates me. It wouldn’t be as bad if she came later in the day but four o’clock rolled around and the store was packed.

I stared at her in disbelief and said, “this is the express lane, it’s only one to eight items.”

She replied, “I know.”

Then I really felt bitchy. “If you knew that, why did you dump so many grocery items on here?”

She smirked and said, “I didn’t want to wait.”

“Please don’t do this again,” I snapped. “It backs up my line and upsets the other customers who are now inconvenienced because you did this.”

She started to bag her own groceries, as if that would make up for it. Stupid bitch. Next time I will make her collect it all and move it. Sometimes I’m too damn nice.

Honest to God. The inconsiderate entitlement of folks in my town just makes me shake my head. It’s disgusting.

Later on, I walked around the store and found eggs, milk, ice cream and strawberries just left on random shelves because somebody was too fucking lazy to put it back. Ruined and garbage. What a waste.

If you insist on being a shit-head, this is what is going to happen with your life.

~GW

Brood Over It

The worst thing about losing weight is – you guessed it – wrinkles. I didn’t even think about it until I looked at my neck in the mirror one day and noticed some vertical lines. Ugh…shit, what the fuck is that? Why didn’t somebody tell me this could happen? Oh hell no! Great, now I’m obsessed with my neck. My huckleberry chicken neck. It raised my hackle feathers.

Damn, slap some batter on my gowls and call Colonel Sanders because now he has something he can throw in the fryer. I have skinny legs too. Dammit, maybe I am a chicken. I better not cross the road, many jokes will ensue.

Here’s a picture of me, mother clucker…

Anyhoo…

It drives me bonkers. I can’t stop examining my neck. I bought an expensive wrinkle cream especially formulated for my…um, dilemma. I massaged that shit on first, and then I slathered my neck skin with vitamin E. I also bathe in coconut oil to keep my skin hydrated. I will do anything to tighten up my fowl membranes. I’ve been doing it for a few weeks. I have to admit, the creams have helped a lot.

When I’m at work I glare at other women’s necks and compare them to my own. One gal came up to the cash who looked about the same age as me. Dang, she had a huge gaping hole shape in the front of her throat, you could seriously eat soup out of it. It might even have enough room for crackers.

Later, another lady came to pay for some groceries. I observed a big cavern and deep, wrinkled lines on her throat. It looked like Freddie Kruger clawed her.

Jeeze, maybe my neck isn’t that bad after all. Am I just being vain or overly critical of myself? A slightly wrinkled neck is way better than a soup bowl neck, and…well, the other chick better try to stay awake.

It’s the Capricorn in me. I’m too much of a perfectionist and little imperfections gnaw into my brain like a gnat. It haunts me.

Please God, just give me a fucking smooth neck so I won’t go insane! I have to look good for the men, you know. Ha ha!

~GW

A Few Bits And Bobs That Bug Me

The checkout line is not a storge area. The customer has all of their items on the belt with people lined up behind them and they ask, “is it okay if I run to the furthest corner of the store and get some milk?” No, it’s the express line. When they do that and just take off it backs the line right up like a girgling faulty toilet because all their processed shit is in the way of everyone else.

It’s usually always people who insist on using the express lane with way more than their limit, too. It’s one – eight items. Forty-eight cans of soup does not equal one item. They look at me innocently. “Well, I don’t want to wait in line.” Tough shit, Sherlock, it’s one-eight items for a reason. They don’t even apologize when it happens, either, because they are entitled pieces of ignorant shit.

When a customer wants something against the store’s policy and I refuse it, it’s really annoying when they say, “well the other cashier does it for me all the time!” I just shrug and reply, “well, they shouldn’t be doing that.”

It also bugs the crap out of me when they hand back six items they decided they don’t want. I feel like saying, “WhyTF did you pick them up?” Have a little self control, holy cucumber.

Or, they load up the belt with items and then realize they left their wallet at home. Then we have to put everything back and they just walk away. If it’s night time it’s usually me who has to put it back because we have a skeleton staff. Come on, I always check to make sure I have my wallet and money before I buy anything. Don’t leave it to the last minute.

With a cart full of groceries and no wallet…You just go ahead and put them all back Ms. Whisperer, because that’s your job. To put back the groceries of all the arseholes of the world.

And what happened to please and thank you? How many folks were raised in a barn? Yup and nope are not polite answers.

Ugh!

They start early.

Don’t even get me started about the buggies. It even sends the buggy boy into a tizzy. They have to walk that way to leave the store.

Every God damn day, they do it.

A customer stood at the service counter buying his groceries. I stood at cash three and happened to notice the back of his black tee shirt. It said in big white letters, ROTTEN TO THE CORE. I wanted to run up to him and slap him with a big, red NOT FOR SALE sticker, but I restrained myself. Sometimes I have to be careful because some folks don’t understand my grocery humour. 😀

BLAM! I did it in my mind!

And lastly…

Here you go. Holy Keanu. You may as well take this one too, because, I know that’s what you’re doing. Ha ha!

~GW

Rude Dude

Folks are still walking up to the cash and ignoring me as they sit on their phone yapping. It annoys the shit out of me. They are completely clueless to how incredibly obnoxious that is. It happens so much that I wonder if society even has manners anymore. I often think it would be great if I could have a loaf of french bread on standby and belt them upside the head with it like a whack-a-mole as I say, “get off your fucking phone, you wench.”

They are usually the ones who will leave their buggy at the front of the line too, blocking everyone else in the queue. They just grab their stuff and walk away like the world revolves around them. Lazy buggers, I want to shove the buggy up their ass.

Speaking of rudeness, a few days ago I stood over on the other side of the counter helping a gentleman with his lottery. Customers also lined up at the main cash to be served. I mean, I can’t split myself into two, folks just have to be patient.

Anyhoo, I’m at the lottery machine when this grey haired shit-head starts shouting at me to serve him at the other cash register. He made the customer I was serving feel really uncomfortable. I’m not going to drop helping a customer just because some jerk can’t wait his turn. I’m nobody’s personal punching bag or slave.

I really hate it when people yell at me

I instantaniously internally morphed into bitch mode and took my sweet time scanning the lottery. I went extra slow like a tired snail on oxycontin, and the guy eventually stomped off to another cash register. Boy, his face turned red like a ripe shepherd pepper. I laughed inside with sweet satisfaction. Take that, you piece of shit! My secret revenge.

Cashier: 1 Arsehole: 0

Yeah, I felt bitchy, I fixed his little red wagon. I wasn’t feeling particually well that day to begin with. A cold virus was kicking my ass and I already felt like axe murdering somebody. He’s lucky my co-workers hid the scissors.

The good news is, now I have two days off work. Hell yeah, that doesn’t happen very often.

Time to rest to prepare for the next round of degenerates, er…I mean loyal customers.

Yeah, I’m livin’ the dream…

~GW

My Weight Loss Story

I changed my diet on April 28th, 2019. I’m loosely following a Paleo diet and so far I’ve lost forty-two pounds. As you start to get older, it’s not even about being skinny anymore, it’s all about trying to avoid disaster. My friends sometimes wonder why I’m so persistant with my diet and weight loss.

Well, let me explain my story…

My parents had a horrible diet. I say had, because they are no longer with us.

I remember visiting them, opening their deep freezer and peering down into its depths in shock. Piles and piles of Eggo waffles were crammed into it. I’d never seen so many fucking Eggos in one place.

I turned toward my mother and said, “holy shit, whose Eggo waffles are these?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, those are your Dad’s.”

Between them they both consumed a cocktail of about twenty different medications for a multitude of different conditions. Diabetes, osteoarthritis, arthritis, thyroid, cholesterol, high blood pressure, Parkensons, dementia, depression, stroke and seizures. I mean, both of them were the poster children for disease.

My Mom and Dad kept saying, “I wish I didn’t have to take so many pills.”

Yeah, no shit…

It kind of pisses me off, because many of these diseases are diet related. The Doctor who prescribed all their medications, why couldn’t he tell them to stop eating crap? I lost both of my parents far too early.

Their health scared me really badly. I did not want to go down that same road.

My blood pressure started to get a little concerning so I changed my diet and now it has returned to normal. I’m feeling a lot better and I’m not on any pills. I don’t want to be sick and I’m willing to do anything to avoid that same fate.

Pharma pills and processed foods are deadly. DEADLY! It freakin’ bothers me every single day.

It’s sad. Life did not end well for either one of my parents and it was really painful to watch. I can’t forget what happened to them.

When my mother died in agony right in front of me and I had to watch her being taken away in a body bag, a piece of me died that day too.

Yes, I know there are no guarantees in life, but there’s no doubt about it. Food is medicine or poison. It can heal you, or it can destroy you.

It’s definitely something to think about.

~GW

Pussy Perfume

I watched a show on Netflix called Empire of Scents. Well, I must say it was somewhat of an eye opener. The sense of smell is a very powerful thing.

There is a perfume called Vulva Original which is supposed to smell like the scent of a beautiful woman. They went around taking samples of women’s vulvas, and then picked the one they felt smelled the best. It’s been out for a couple of years, but I didn’t know about it. It got mixed reviews. Some men loved it, some said it smelled like horse piss.

I just wonder when they’re going to come out with an ‘Ode De Penis scent for women?

Imagine, making an aphrodisiac perfume out of your own vaginal secretions to attract men. Is this the new secret weapon for women? Mix some snatch juice with a few essential oils and voila! I have taken a few essential oil mixing classes at my local crystal shop over the past couple of years. Unfortunately though, body fluids and sweat become unstable and don’t do well in mixtures.

Damn! No pheromone potions? Ah, there goes my chances of being the next GW Potter.

Ummm…

So what is the solution? Well, you just stick your finger into the dark abyss (you know, down there), and dab it onto your pulse points. (wrists, behind the ears and cleavage), and then go out on your date and win yourself the man of your dreams. Apparently, this used to be a thing in Medieval Europe. It drives men wild.

Yes, this may seem fucking disgusting but I have read that this works to take your romantic relationships to the next level.

Will I be doing this? No. I don’t date anymore. However, one of my readers may want to take it on as their next science experiment to spruce up a boring weekend.

See what happens when I’m left alone at home? Ha!

In other news, I’m still trying to get over my cold. I have to go back to work tonight. It’s going to be rough.

~GW

Atissuew

It started off as allergies today, or so I thought.

That’s right, the Germy Whisperer is deluding herself.

I know what you’re thinking…

Ha ha! Get lost, you slags. I really am ill.

Now I know I’m coming down with something. Dammit! I bet ‘ole slimy, money mouth that I mentioned in the last blog infected me.

Ugh…Sigh.

I dragged my ass at work today. I couldn’t breathe and felt really wiped out. Every hour felt like an eternity of damnation.

I partook in Nyquil, Tylenol 1`s, chicken soup and a hot bath with apple cider vinegar to kill the pestilence. I even went all out and ate a few dry crackers. I figure at this point it doesn’t matter if I over-do it with the carbs. I’ll probably be up-chucking it in an hour anyway.

Kleenex will be my intimate friend for the next few days.

I feel like shit. No…I feel worse than shit. I feel like shit that has been rolled in shit and then left on the street in extreme heat to ferment.

Thank God I don’t have to work tomorrow. Diapers aren’t a good look with my uniform. Neither is a runny clown nose, for that matter.

I need to stay home with my kitah’s. I’m feeling very cranky and might accidentally fork stab somebody. Especially a bitch…er, I mean person at work who is really getting on my nerves lately.

My fucking stomach sounds like a hyena burping the Star Spangled Banner to a dying moose.

I will be out of commission for a little while. Send me some cheer! I need it.

~GW

Smutty Stash

A man came to my cash. I rang in his groceries and then I asked him how he would like to pay. He pulled out a twenty dollar bill, but instead of just handing it to me, he shoved it in his gob as he rummaged through his wallet looking for his Airmiles.

“Sir, no! Please don’t put the money in your mouth!” I implored. “If you knew how many germs are on that you wouldn’t do it. That’s how you can get the flu.”

I didn’t really care if he got the flu or not, I just needed to say something to let him know I wasn’t happy about his awful decision.

Disgust boroughed deep into my brain like a gnat. I didn’t want to touch that plagued spittle money. I hoped it would ignite and disintegrate. Damn, I need some super powers.

The customer behind him chimed in, “yeah man, that’s kind of gross.”

He takes the bill out of his drooly mouth and hands it to me.

I wanted to gag. I got the heebie-geebies as I tried to handle the bill from the non-wet area. My lips curled up on the sides with disgust as I shoved the twenty dollars into the till. “Thanks.” (Which really means, fuck you).

I wanted to throw bleach inside the cash register.

Later on, one of the staff members who works in the Deli approached the cash to pay for some chicken wings. She pulled some bills out of her bra.

“Ew, I don’t want your sweaty boob money,” I sneered. “Are you kidding me? That’s nasty.”

She laughed. “Well, I don’t have a wallet I have nowhere else to put it.”

My lip formed a point at one side. I carefully pinched the money only using my fingertips and I dropped it into the proper cash slot.

Jesus, what’s next? Stinky armpit money? Hairy balls money? Snatch change?

And folks wonder why I wear gloves at work.

~GW

I Loathe Salad

Hello, fine people. Happy Labour Day!

I have to admit, I am jealous of people who can eat an entire pizza and not gain a pound. No, let me rephrase that. It angers me. Dammit, it’s unfair. All I have to do is look at a pizza and I turn into Jabba The Hutt. When it’s pizza day at work, I just silently snort in the aroma of the passing deliciousness and then place the boxes in other people’s carts.

Some of my co-workers go on their breaks and buy Mountain Dew, chocolate bars, pizza and cupcakes. I admit it, I’m envious. They gorge on that shit like there’s no tomorrow. They’re as skinny as a rake and there’s no leaves to gather. It seems so unfair. It’s diabolical.

I only eat food that you can pick, pluck or shoot, and I still feel like a fairy elephant.

I don’t need a personal trainer as much as I just need somebody to follow me around to slap the unhealthy food out of my hand.

I want to work out, but then I don’t want to work out even more.

Experts say that refined sugar is like heroin. It awakens certain pleasure centers in the brain and makes you addicted. I just try to avoid it. Now I know why they call it junk food, because it turns you into an acne scarred, whale blubbering junkie.

I’ve lost thirty-five pounds thus far, so I must be doing something right. It’s just that..well, it feels like it’s taking an eternity to reach my goal. Two pounds a week is what doctor’s claim is a healthy weight loss. I don’t want to send my body into hyper-drive distress by losing far too much at once, and then end up shedding all my hair like Yul Brynner, but dayammm!

If I can’t stick to a diet, does that make me a desserter? Ha!

Why does sugar, fat and salt have to taste so good? Take Lay’s chips, for example. They come in a new onion ring flavour. I know it’s all chemicals with shit loads of artificial cancer causing ingredients, but it still brings forth a surge of excitement. I won’t eat them, mind you. God no, I don’t want to go back to my old physique. I just ask other people who buy them in line how delicious they are.

Fuck…

My nutritionist told me to eat about 1,200 calories a day. I said, “okay, so how many do I eat at night?”

Anyhoo, I suppose my health is more important. My blood pressure did return to normal, I’m not on any medications and have no issues. Knock on wood. Plus, I’m able to fit into many of my ultra cute outfits again. I really shouldn’t complain. I guess weight loss is just a waiting game.

~GW

Frenemy

I’m standing at customer service ringing through a customer’s groceries when I notice a woman in line staring at my name tag.

I stare intently back at her letting her know that she’s burning a stare-hole into my shirt.

Then I noticed something else, her teeth. Oh my God, I know those hell hound fangs. I know this chick, it’s Emma. Honestly, it’s the only way I recognized her because her appearance changed a lot.

I guess it’s inevitable. It’s a small world. I work in a local area and I sell food in a supermarket.

Her hair looked different, a little more blonde. Obviously a dye job. This girl and I were friends for many years, until the day she abandoned me as my divorce – as she claimed – made me not as upbeat as she desired.

Damn, I hadn’t seen her in twenty-three years. I thought, why is the universe sticking her on my doorstep now? Dammit, she’s not somebody I ever wanted to see or hear from again. I really regret the time I invested and wasted with her.

We used to work together too, and at the lowest time in my life, this twit dumped me like she just gorged on a fiery vat of spicy chili dogs.

She looked old and haggard, her youthful glow snuffed out. A little more wrinkly, but of course a couple of decades have passed. I have aged a bit too but in comparison I have to say I look like a beautiful goddess.

I remained polite but felt a little uncomfortable. I’m not going to lie, she really freakin’ hurt me years ago. Oh, how I would have loved to ream her out for being such a huge fucking Judas, but I remained calm.

Like a God damned plunger, she brought up old shit in my mind.

I felt triggered. I didn’t have a lengthy conversation with her, I never asked any questions. I felt no desire to care about anything she might have to say. Deep down I just hoped her life was a giant ball of scat. Maybe it is, I don’t think you get very far in life when you treat your friends like absolute puss-inflicted knicker defecation.

“I know you,” I uttered. “You’re Emma.”

“I know you too,” she sneered.

I rang in her purchases and she paid for them. I felt caught off guard and I don’t even remember what she bought, just that she paid by cash. Not that it matters one iota anyway.

Emma shook like a shaky bitch when she realized I recognized her. I’m not sure if she just became super nervous or if she suffered from Parkinson’s.

Deep down, I hoped for the latter~

Karma, cuntasaur!

The Inconsequential Employee

This has been really bothering me lately…

The worst feeling in the world is being ignored. Now mind you, I know that being a cashier may not be the most glamerous occupation in the world, but it doesn’t mean I’m not educated. It doesn’t mean I’m stupid, either.

I’m sorry that my career choice is beneath some people who can’t even find it within themselves to treat me like a human being.

I mean seriously, when I ask a question why do some customers just stand there and act like I don’t exist? Like I’m invisible? Like they can’t hear me?

Ghosted…

I must be such a hinderance to them. How dare I ask them a question about how they are going to pay for their processed crap.

Either I just get completely ignored by these folks, or they’re on their damn phone yapping with somebody about rubbish I don’t want to hear, completely unaware of anything else around them. I ask if they have Airmiles, then they look at me with an irritated glare as if I’m interupting their phone call. They attempt to dehumanize me and that is wrong and ignorant.

Sigh…

It makes the world an ugly place. It’s extemely rude. I’m standing on my feet serving people for eight hours a day. What happened to manners? I’m dedicating my time to people who treat me like absolute shit.

Sometimes I dream about snatching the telephone off their neck and smashing it to the floor like Hulk Hogan, but alas, that is just a fantasy.

It’s often times like this I wish we had self-checkout at our store, so they could take their bad attitude and crappy personality with them.

Life is difficult enough. I am a pleasant person. I work extremely hard and don’t want to have to deal with jackasses every day. Unfortunately, they seem to congregate in herds.

It makes me want to squish their bread.

Don’t make me ram my thumb into your Dempsters.

~GW

Butter Bitch

I stood at customer service helping one of my co-workers bag groceries. We chatted about different types of healthy food when this bitter, old elderly lady told me to shut the fuck up because she has a brain injury and can’t stand noise. I said, “fine.” I mimed the old zipper my mouth routine and threw away the key. I didn’t say another word.

Her son, about fifty years old, stood beside her looking like he wanted to internally combust from embarassment.

She brought six bricks of Lactancia butter to be scanned at the register and handed the cashier a rain-check. We hand those out when we run out of stock. There’s only supposed to be a limit of two, and I wondered who the hell fucked up.

Anyhoo… the rain-check wouldn’t scan. I tried to explain to the old cow…er, I mean customer that she brought us the wrong butter which is why I couldn’t discount it, and oh my God she just about had a bird, and cow and an obese zebra.

She completely freaked out, verbally ripped off my head and then body slammed it onto the counter.

“The foil butter is on sale not the boxed,” I tried to explain. I felt like I stood on top of a high mountain because all I could hear was her shrieking voice echoing over and over again about how stupid I am.

I thought, okay, what happened to the ‘low noise’ brain injury excuse? I guess that medical delusion goes right out the window when she doesn’t get her own way, because she made more of an uproar than an atomic bomb going off. Jesus, what a rude, jurassic shit-head.

She paid for the fucking butter and I sent her on her way.

I turned to my co-worker and said, “Oh my God, can you imagine living with her? Well, I better not talk about her on my blog. You know, I might look insensitive if I talk about a sour old crow with a mangled brain.”

My co-worker lowered her brow and snarled ,”screw that, she’s a bitch!”

Alrighty then

The next day when I arrived at work the assistant manager called me into his office.

That’s never a good sign~

The excitement just never ends at my job. Apparenly I locked an employee in the store and went home.

RO-oh.

I made closing announcements at 9:30, 9:45, 9:50, 9:55, 10:00pm, and yelled at the top of my lungs before I left at 10:10pm, but apparently this doofus, who I might add is as dumb as a bag of hammers, still didn’t hear anything. I don’t know what the hell he was doing.

All the motion sensors went off in the store and he called 911. Seriously, 911? A shit load of police came from everywhere. As my boss is explaining what went down, I’m laughing my ass off. He got angry that I laughed, but I’m sorry……it’s funny as hell.

~GW

Some Foods I Dig At The Supermarket

We sell over 46,000 products, but I will just mention a few that are to die for.

Yes…look at it. Gaze upon its splendor~

Portuguese flat chicken.

The first time I tried it, I couldn’t believe how amazing it tastes. Hats off to the Portuguese, that’s all I can say. I literally couldn’t stop eating it and said out loud, “where have you been all my life?” Okay, so it wasn’t a very happy end for the chicken, but if God didn’t want us to eat meat why did he make it taste so freakin’ delicious? You purchase it in a package, the chicken is already flattened like it was squashed by a run away train. You stick it on a pan and bake it at 375 degrees for 45 minutes. That’s it!

Easy peasy, stick it in my gob. Rip it apart and eat it like a slob. 😀

Then~

There’s a new grape on the market called, Sweet Sapphires. They are seedless, dark on the outside and green on the inside. Sure, they’re genetically modified, but they taste so delicious. I can’t even begin to tell you how amazing the flavour is. I must warn you though, it’s like getting addicted to crack cocaine. Once you bite into the crunchy finger shaped tubes of goodness, there’s no going back. Your brain goes into a mind-bending blur, your mouth drools like Homer Simpson, and before you know it they’re gone. You’ll be hooked for life.

Lastly~

Organic navel oranges.

They MUST BE organic because the flavour is different. They are out of this world in taste. Sure they are more expensive, but they are worth it. They transport me to a different place when I eat them. Lip smackin’ ecstasy.

And now for a public service announcement~

Many bottled waters come from the tap. Yes, you heard me right, it’s true.

Water companies like to promote their products alongside images of natural springs and ice-topped mountains, but many of them are simply elaborately filtered from the tap. Products previously implicated include Coca-Cola’s Dasani and PepsiCo’s Aquafina.

So before you start dishing out your hard earned cash thinking you’re keeping your pineal gland free of calcium and fluoride, think again. You’ve been duped. Turtles in the oceans everywhere are getting plastic up their asses for nothing.

Are there any foods you love from the grocery store? Let me know about it.

~GW

Turmeric For Cats

Hello, everyone. I hope your summer has been marvy.

It’s actually quite amazing when you look at the health benefits of turmeric for our feline friends. It’s not just beneficial to humans. You can cure your pet of so many ailments. Diabetes, cysts, cancer, infections, gum disease, auto-immune diseases, and it even helps with pain. Many folks swear by it.

Seriously~

I am tired of being raped by vet bills. It’s very expensive where I live.

I have two cats, a mother and daughter. They are starting to get older. Slushy is ten and Emily is twelve and a half.

Both of them have some health issues. One is pre-diabetic and the other always seems to have hidden issues or bladder infections.

Instead of loading them with shots or antibiotics that cause all kinds of side effects, I have been trying this. It is not toxic. I started making a turmeric tincture using the following recipe.

THE GOLDEN PASTE

4 teaspoons of spring water, 4 teaspoons of olive oil, 1 teaspoon of turmeric puree or powder, 1 small pinch of pepper.

Bring to a boil in a small saucepan, remove from heat and let cool.

Keep in a small, covered, glass container in the refrigerator. It makes enough to last four days.

Fill a 5ml oral syringe for a 1/8 teaspoon dose of turmeric. Administer twice a day. I prefer doing it this way because you are making sure they get all of it, especially if they are sick, but you can also put it in their food. They get used to the taste.

If you have a lot of cats you can follow this recipe~

1/2 cup of turmeric powder, 1 cup of spring water, 1/4 cup of olive oil or lard. 1 pinch of black pepper. Heat to a boil, remove from heat and let cool. Keep in refrigerator in a covered, glass container.

Add 1/4 teaspoon to your cat’s food daily. Or, 1/8 teaspoon in the morning and 1/8 teaspoon at night.

I will update in a few weeks to let you know how it goes.

~GW

PIGS

Are customers always right? I understand that customers are the ones that make a business successful, but come on…folks can be so vulgar, privileged and rude.

A man walked up to me at customer service and informed me of folks doing disgusting things with the fruit in the store.

I thought, what the hell?

I calmly walked over to the produce area and watched as customers opened every bag of BC cherries with their germ-ridden fingers and started flinging the ones they didn’t want onto the black showcase shelf like a bunch of barn-raised chimpanzees tossing chunks of shit at each other.

A chinese and a white chick started slinging them around all over the shelves with absolutely no regard.

I raised my eyebrows. “Excuse me, can you please stop doing that? It’s unsanitary!” I said strongly.

The white chick stared at me. “Well, some of them are wet at the bottom,” she snapped. Like that gave her some kind of right to act like an imbecile.

“I don’t care. Just stop, please!” I repeated.

Honest to God, these women are middle aged. You’d think they’d know better.

Then, later in the evening one of the deli girls came over to me to complain about a customer sticking his fingers in the olives at the olive bar, and shoving them in his gob like a starving Ethiopian at a free buffet.

She said to him, “come on, you’re a fifty year old man. That is theft and it’s unacceptable that you’re sticking your unclean fingers in there.”

He just grunted, chewing up the olives in his big hole as he walked away.

When he came up to the cash he didn’t even buy any olives. The nerve! I couldn’t say anything because I didn’t see it happen. But all I have to say is gross….just GROSS.

Folks need to give their heads a shake.

~GW

Back To Work Blues

My vacation is over. My staycation, actually, because I didn’t go anywhere. I just enjoyed nine days of bliss and relaxation. No chaos, no whining, no complaints. Just pure – vegetate until you have a psychotic break – silence.

Sigh…

No more lazing around the pool for me. Okay, it was my bathtub but the good news is I am less likely to drown. Plus, I didn’t have anybody with gold teeth asking me if I’d be interested in a time-share. Then I’d have to sit through a three hour seminar listening to their blasted, “waaah, waaah, waaah, waaah, waaah!” (Like Charlie Brown’s teacher), just to be able to go on a free tour to snorkel with sharks.

Seriously, I don’t want a freakin’ rip off time-share, nor do I need a macramé bracelet. Note to self: On future trips just pay for the tour.

Anyhoo~

I just really did not want to do any people’ing with fuck-tards. Total seclusion is what I wanted, and that is exactly what I got. Complete, elated joy.

Just a little update for those following my food allergy issues: I stopped eating wheat, gluten and dairy. The rashes have healed a lot. My blood pressure has returned to normal and I’ve lost 20 pounds. I have literally thrown two sacks of russet potatoes off my body and I feel great. I’m telling you, there is something wrong with our food. I have become addicted to organic oranges however, but that’s not a bad thing. It cleans the innards.

Blah…I go back to work tomorrow.

~ Looking gorgeous 😀 ~

The good news is, I like the people I work with. That’s the only thing that makes my job worthwhile. As for the customers, well let me just say there is a shit load of arse wipes in the world who love to aggravate me, and they come right to customer service.

Well, I guess I have to get my blog material from somewhere. 😀

Back to the hamster cage, and more stories to come.

~GW

Shrimp, Shit, And An Angry Fit.

A burley man walked over to me at customer service with three different bags of shrimp in his hands. His eyes opened as wide as saucers and he aggressively demanded that I give him ninety dollars worth of shrimp for free. He based this misguided belief on the fact that no price was listed beside the products in the seafood department. He got angry and started yelling at me because the shrimp wasn’t up for unfettered grabs.

An air hose attached to an oxygen tank protruded up his largely pored, fat snout which helped him to breathe. I didn’t think that eating cholesterol laden bottom dwelling crustations would improve his health, but hey, that doesn’t matter anyway if you’re an entitled piece of shit.

I tried to explain to him that the scanning policy is only in affect if the products are priced incorrectly, but they scanned fine and at the right price. Alas, any explanation on the subject fell on deaf ears like an attempted conversation with ding-a-ling Patrick Star. When he realized I wouldn’t cave in to his demands he stomped off.

Shortly after, a guy and a girl walk up to my cash to pay. He grabbed a Kit Kat and the girl says, “I’d like one too.”
“You can eat half of this one!” he snapped.
“I’d like a whole one,” she continued.
“You don’t need it!” he barked.
I’m glaring at the girl, looking to see the expression on her face. It’s blank. She didn’t say anything. I secretly hoped she’d say, “screw you, asshole!” But nope, nothin’. Not even a twitch. I glance over at him and he has a smug look on his face. I’m thinking, great…another narcissistic control freak. If she reacted he’d probably retaliate by leaving a bruise in a place nobody can see. What would Jesus say?

Speaking of nasty people…

A few days ago a lady walked into the store and berated one of the young cashiers. This mean-spirited cow went up one side of her and down the other like a fire ant on a mound. The cashier handled herself very well under the circumstances. She apologized even though she did nothing wrong, but eventually became so hurt it reduced her to tears. Why would anyone do that to another person, seriously? Later in the evening the same lady called the store and roasted her again on the telephone.

Un-fucking-believable!

Cashiers are not the punching bags of society. We are just there to make a living. Minimum wage does not entitle you to verbally pummel a young girl. For folks who cannot control their narcissistic anger, stay at home. Better yet, get psychiatric help because we do not want to be the brunt of your bitchy, spewing, cruel idiocies.

~IN OTHER NEWS~

I’m on holiday for nine days. Oh yeah, no more people’ing or stress caused by over-eating big-mouthed dimwits. Solitude is bliss. HAPPY CANADA DAY!

Yours truly,

~Strong Loonie.

Conspiracy, Zealots and Money…Oh My

Why do I always get the crazies bothering me at work?

I’m standing at customer service minding my own business, when this big oaf with a mouth as wide as a truck stop starts going on and on about the evils in Hollywood and that Jim Carrey is the head of a huge Satanic pedophile ring. He sold his soul to the Devil for fame. Yes, literal soul selling. Apparently it’s a thing. He wouldn’t shut up and I couldn’t get a word in edgewise because he loved to hear himself talk. I thought, this guy has a brain like Ker Plunk. Pull out the sticks and his marbles fall. His features looked like Ruth Buzzy and Pee Wee Herman had a baby.

I’d never heard of this story before so I looked it up online – because of course, if it’s on YouTube it must be true. (Sarcasm) Anyway, the only evidence I could find about Carrey is from some crazy luntic religious ding-a-ling and his so called secret informats. Okay, yeah, well, slap me silly and call me a tinfoil helmet whack job, It must be true then. If you’re going to make serious claims back it up with real evidence. In this technological age somebody must have a spy camera.

Later in the day this lady walks in and starts going on about how the world is coming to an end and everyone is going to be thrown into hell. The Lord is vengeful and is going to make things right, and all that jazz. I thought God was love? Oh well, there goes that theory smashing out the window. She’s about as annoying as a religious dude who always comes in trying to grab my hand. I don’t like people touching me. Maybe he’s hoping his crazed- eye hulk handshake will make me super zealous too. Perhaps he’s looking to make some sort of conversion transference. Dang! I might start having snack attacks for round bread and blood-wine.

I seriously don’t need a crutch to be a good person. To me, God is not in any corrupt cult organization, building nor in a man made book. He just…IS.

I don’t know why some folks are so focused on the worst things happening in society, when there are plenty of amazing things occuring around the planet. Many good samaritans still exist if you look carefully past the veil of doom and gloom.

Goodness will always prevail. Peace starts from within.

However, the cuckoos always seem to poke their snotty noses out of the closet at the weirdest times.

An elderly lady asked me for a refund today. She wanted a refund for cherries because they cost $1.80, which she thought was too expensive. It is getting beyond ridiculous. Then, she refused to sign the paperwork because her husband is a doctor. Like I care that her husband is a doctor. He’s a doctor who apparently can’t afford cherries on sale. I don’t care one iota. What you do for a living or how much money or material things you own doesn’t excite me at all.

Some folks have to constanlty rub it in your face that they have money like they are spewing some sort of God complex. I couldn’t give a shit. What does impress me? Perhaps your talent, but especially if you’re a decent human being. That is a real gift.

~GW

A Snit And A Fit From An Unpleasant Git.

HEY….It’s been almost two months since you’ve heard from me. Did you miss me? Ha!

I’m telling this story so that you can see what kind of horrible people we have to deal with every day in the grocery business. Some customers are so nasty and rude.

I stood at customer service ringing in a customer’s groceries, when this balding dick-head butts in line waving corn at me, demanding that I serve him. I told him that I hadn’t finished serving the customer in front of him and that he needs to wait his turn.

He barked, “well how many minutes are you going to take?”

I replied, “as long as it takes this customer to enter his information into the machine and pay.”

“Well, how long is that going to take?” he snapped.

I glared at him. “Sir, ask the customer yourself, he’s standing right beside you.”

The customer I was serving looked angry and said to me, “he won’t want to hear my reply.”

Baldy got aggressive. He turned toward me and continued to hiss, “I’m asking you. How many minutes is it going to take?”

“I don’t know. As long as it takes, Sir!”

Jesus, I felt annoyed. I wanted to smash him on the floor like a Greek plate. It’s too bad I can’t tell customers when they are being a fucking dickwad. I have to be nice and it took everything I had within me to contain myself. His whole demeanor felt like an annoying, circling horsefly and I wanted to slap him unconscious. What a piece of work.

We are quick at work, but we can only go so fast We aren’t aliens in disguise, although many treat us like we are.

Also this week, another piece of entitled shit griped that I took too long helping a crippled man in a wheelchair with his groceries. He complained that he waited in the lineup for forty-five minutes. This is utter bullshit. It’s like somebody describing the fish they caught, the exaggeration gets bigger and bigger.

Then to add insult to injury, he moaned to head office about it as well. Seriously, has he no heart? I helped a Vietnam vet. How impatient and low can people get? Ram a stick up his ass and call him a popsicle, cause that’s pretty damn cold.

He also called our phone at customer service as he stood in line and asked if we have an extra cashier. My co-worker answered the phone and told him, “NO, we don’t.” Do folks not realize this is rude and it delays us further? I thought, yeah buddy, we hide extra cashiers in the back and bring them out on special occasions when fucktards want their organics.

~IN OTHER NEWS~

Somebody left their hat in the bathroom today.

Jesus saved them, but he didn’t save their hat.

~GW

I’m a Leper

Not really, but I feel like one.

I changed my diet. Not because I wanted to, but because I broke out into a giant rash.

I’m one massive itch ball. I’m hoping I don’t turn into a festered blob of ooze before I can figure out what the hell I’m allergic to. I don’t want to end up at the Scabdale Home for Lepers. Eczema itches like a mosquito bite mating with a big lump of measles.

You want grocery service? Here, let me give you a hand. Hand falls off …………….SPLOINK!

I think it’s a food allergy. I have to cut out wheat, gluten, corn, dairy, soy and eggs for thirty days, then introduce each one back, one at a time. Yeah, so for now what’s left to eat? Yard waste and blowfish, I suppose.

I’m on day three of this rabbit cuisine and it went okay. I mean, eating clean isn’t exactly exciting. It doesn’t pump my nab. At least I’ve been spared of having any major cravings for chocolate or cheeseballs.

I’m taking a multi-vitamin, primrose oil, vitamin D, probiotic, antihistamine, cannabis oil in skin cream, and non-perfume everything else in my entire existence. Hopefully this little cocktail of anti-itch ingredients stops me from ripping the skin off my flesh like a zombie in Night Of The Living Dead. Okay, but a sexy zombie, let’s be realistic. Ha! I’ll tell you one thing though…

Feelin’ itchy makes you bitchy!

It’s only been a couple of days, but so far it looks like I’m starting to heal a little. Do you want to see my rash?

~GW

Vapor Caper

A lady dressed in a tailored suit and wearing a pearl necklace came up to my cash register and waited for me to ring through her groceries. This chick must have soaked herself in a vat of perfume and then sprayed it all over herself as well for good measure.

She created a deadly, toxic force field. Her offensive chemical consistancy permeated in the air surrounding her like a hog sewer and a vat of rotting onions instantly and energetically smashed together. It choked me really badly like a skunk desperately running into my nostrils looking for berries.

What happened to the idea of a little dab will do ya? Or that less is more?

This black hole stench-vortex sucked the oxygen right out of my lungs. My throat seized up like a rusty engine and I simultaneously explosively farted and choke-coughed at the same time.

Oopsie…

Yes, I felt embarrassed. I wanted to drop through a trap door beneath me. I obviously have really bad allergies. This definitely wasn’t a grocery whisper.

She took a step back, eyes wide, staring at me looking both surprised and horrified. “Are you okay?”

What I really wanted to do is curse. I felt angry because I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t actually say the words in bold, but it’s what I thought.

“Yes, I’m okay. You stupid, stinking bitch. I always like to pretend I’m an exploding balloon at least once a day. I’m big at parties!” I remarked sarcastically. “Actually, I’m allergic to your perfume,” I gasped. “You’re wearing too much. How do you not know that you reek like a pit of decaying animals covered in ammonia? The buzzards are circling!”

She looked offended and left. It wasn’t my fault she stank like a two cent hooker. I wonder to this day if she still soaks herself in lung destroying chemical. I exploded like an aerosol can on an open flame in front of her. I hope she learned this valuable life lesson:

If you wear too much perfume you’ll get a KABOOM!

~GW


Old As Dirt

I used to believe that growing older is a privilege denied to many, but I’ve changed my mind.

Let’s face it, your brain slowly fries like an egg. You forget everything and you repeat everything. You repeat everything, you repeat everything, eh?

Your joints hurt like hell, and your limbs become as weak as a boarding-house cup of tea. You fall on the floor trying to put on your clothes and you can’t get up. Ah…and dammit, the life alert is laying on the freakin’ couch. You’re left ugly-naked on the floor for a few days until somebody eventually finds you half dead on the decoratively patterned carpet.

Cooking becomes an impossible challenge. You slop tomato soup all over your cupboards and linoleum tiling like a homicidal murder scene.

You can’t see a damn thing anymore and your eyes sting so bad they’re like two fighting blowfish.

Eventually your hair turns grey and naturally backcombs itself into a witchy pooh bouffant.

You apply makeup like Tammy Faye Baker on your face that looks like a bulldog chewing on a wasp. Your imperfect pencilled in eyebrows look like two caterpillars contemplating suicide.

The day finally arrives when your body loses complete control. You explosive diarrhea and piss all over yourself like a sewage troll while you scream at everyone to fuck off.

Ah yes, the golden years.

Happy Easter, folks.

Yours truly, Smartie Sprinkles.

You Stink!

For the love of God and all that is holy, stop wearing Patchouli oil. You stink to high heaven.

Um….no. Just no.

I can’t tolerate the stench. Especially when I’m trying to work. Everyone is too polite to say anything, but I want you to know…it’s horrible.

Perhaps you’re trying to cover up the fact that you haven’t bathed in weeks. I really don’t know. Listen, if you have bad personal hygiene or if you’re just a dirty bugger, it’s your own concern. BO = bugger off. I have no idea what could possibly possess anyone to splash Beelzebub’s urine onto their body. I don’t care how much you think you like Patchouli oil. It barks like a diarrhea inflicted hell hound. You obviously can’t smell yourself.

Take a shower and scrub that shit off your body with a wire brush. Preferebly with industrial soap. You effin’ reek like a skunk’s armpit that’s been kept deep in a cave and hidden from the light. I don’t want a lingering, moldy dank-stank to hook me by the nostrils like Pepe Le Pew’s ghost. It causes internal cringing and I feel like I’m bleeding internally.

I mean, I’m sure it works great as a Jurassic fart insect repellent, but it seriously makes me want to projectile vomit like Linda Blair right into your face…and that’s pretty bad. Seriously, I can’t wait until you go away. I hate it. I don’t know why it hasn’t been banned.

Our ancestors from the seventeenth – nineteenth century used to put Patchouli oil on their dead, which is where it belongs. On a decaying, maggot infested, corspe. I retch at the smell. So if you aren’t dead, please don’t wear it around me unless you enjoy watching me get nausiated and empty my stomach onto your crunchy vegetables and soy infused meat alternatives.

As a matter of fact, do us all a favour and soak your head in rose water for a few decades. Maybe it will float a few molecules of grey matter to the surface and you’ll finally realize how foul smelling you are, making everyone want to blow chunks.

Speaking of personal hygiene, a few weeks ago I bought a box of baby wipes at work.
One of my co-workers wondered why I needed them.

“Are they for a baby?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No, they’re for me.”
“For you?” she scoffed. She looked at me like I’d lost my mind.
My eyebrows lowered. “Don’t you use wipes?”
“No, I just use toilet paper,” she replied.
I rolled my eyes. “Look, think about it. If your kitty plops shit all over the floor, do you just use a paper towel and wipe it, or do you vigorously Bee Mop the floor with scalding, sudsy water?”

She just laughed. Seriously though, everyone should know the answer. If you don’t use wipes you aren’t clean. Scrub your anal pore, folks. Nobody wants your shitty, smelly skid marks or crusty underwear.

Your ass stinks like rotten cabbage.

If you don’t stop stinking, you know the drill.

You stink when near, you stink when far. Ram a carrot up your star.

This has been a public service announcement courtesy of the Grocery Whisperer.

I’m Not Deserving?

I’ve heard some folks say, “well, golly gee willikers, why should a person working in a grocery store get the same wage as somebody who has gone to college? They don’t deserve it. They didn’t have to sacrifice any time to better themselves, or pay any money to further their education.”

Wow!

Well, let me fill you in on a little secret. I’ve graduated from college, many times. Don’t be a judgemental shit-head and assume I’m not educated. It bugs the hell out of me.

I don’ t have a fat head or anything, but truth be told, I have diplomas in many different fields. I did my time and I paid my dues over the years. I’ve accomplished many amazing things. I deserve a good wage just like everyone else. Anyone who begrudges me that, well that’s too fucking bad.

Why don’t I use my diplomas? Why am I working in a grocery store?

Because I like it!

Mostly, I like the people I work with.

It’s so hard to find a job where your co-workers are nice, thoughtful, and don’t try to throw you under the bus. I’ve worked with some of the biggest thick-headed, venomous bitches and jerks known to mankind in my trained profession, and trust me, after you experience that you don’t want to subject yourself to that kind of negative environment ever again. I don’t know why folks have to be such low vibrational mud-suckers, but they are.

No amount of money is worth that bullshit. Peace of mind is gold. I’m an educated grocery whisperer, and I’m okay with that.

Those people who think only of themselves, are hopelessly uneducated. They are not educated no matter how instructed they may be.

Here’s a wee poem I wrote. I hope you like it.

You stand in line, food on the belt,
You never knew just how I felt,
When you judged me from afar,
Ram that carrot up your star.

What can I say, I’m a talented poet. Hahaha

How To Kill A Virus.

This is not a funny blog, it’s a serious one. Seriously awesome!

Heal yourself naturally. Because inquiring minds want to know!

He’s kind of cute…but a really mean bugger!

I’m going to give you a naturopathic recipe to kill off the cold and flu virus. It’s a magical little recipe that really works and will keep you out of the doctor’s office. (And keep your money in your pocket). Plus, it will stop you from sneezing all over everyone (especially me)and spreading the nasties. Write it down.

Add:

1/2 of a pineapple, 1 large onion (in pieces), cayenne pepper (as much as you like), 4 cloves of garlic, 2 teaspoons of turmeric powder, or raw grated turmeric, 2 lemons chopped in pieces, (remove the rind), 2 tablespoons of ginger, 2 tablespoons of honey.

You can double up the recipe if you want to make more. It actually tastes better than it sounds.

Blend well. Keep in fridge. Use within 3-4 days.

Bless you! This is a public service recipe. You’re welcome!

You’re kidding, right?

Today was just friggin’ marvy!

I sat on a chair at the clinic this morning waiting to get my bloodwork done.

The fellow next to me waited to get his blood taken also. He asked me if I’d hold his hand because he felt nervous.

I said, “you’re kidding, right?”

He said, “no,” and began to sweat like a tiny waterfall just exploded in his cranium. He looked like a fainting butterfly princess ready to kiss the floor hello at any moment. I thought, this guy would never make it in the times of the gladiator. If he can’t even take a damn needle, what would he do at the sight of a sword flying toward his limbs like a giant food processor?

“You’ll be fine,” I assured him. I wasn’t about to touch his sweaty, pansy-ass hand.

Later at work, I offered this dick-head (a different man) a fork to go with his salad. Because who wants to eat a salad with their fingers? I’m thoughtful that way.

He said, “no thank you.”

I mentioned that there is salt and pepper in the implement bundle, and out of nowhere the guy cracked like Humpty Dumpty and had a major meltdown. He gnashed his teeth, “I told you I don’t want it!” he griped. Then he insisited that I call the manager.

I looked at him in disbelief and uttered, “you’re kidding, right?

He replied, “no, I’m not kidding!”

My eyebrows raised. “You want me to call the manager over a fork?”

“No, it’s because you’re arguing with me,” he snapped.

Whoa, anger issues. Okay, now this guy is really annoying me. “I’m not arguing with you, Sir, I’m just trying to be helpful,” I replied politely.

His face got really red and his anger flared. “Now you’re arguing about arguing with me. I want the manager!”

I couldn’t believe it. I just could not win. The guy was a complete shit-stirrer. I felt a little embarassed that I may be reprimanded about a plastic utensil.

The manager showed up and spoke to this ignoramous. I don’t know what was said, but as I looked over I saw Mr. anti-fork stomping out of the store like a bull looking for a red cape.

Truthfully, I wanted a gladiator to stab him in forehead with a fork. Stick the salt in his eyeballs and shove the pepper up his arse.

We need gladiators. A gladiator could get rid of a lot of the dick-wads of the world.

Do I love my job? Yeah, I’m living the dream.

The Rantings of a Cashier

Hello, I’m the Grocery Whisperer. How may I be the brunt of your life’s failures and shortcomings today?

Here’s some things that make me want to kick you in the shin.

What really peeves me is when you discard your shopping cart in front of me and block all the other customers. Seriously, do I look like your buggy maid? Don’t be lazy. Show some class and put things away after yourself. How about…I’ll show up at your place of employment and throw around a few staplers. Then I’ll photocopy my fairly large, but firm bum and gently cascade one hundred copies onto the office floor. You go ahead and pick it up though, because it’s your job and the customer/client is always right.

Another delightful experience is when you leave food behind in the red grocery basket that you decide you don’t want. Hey, I’m not going to chow off your arm like a hungry bear zombie because you changed your mind about the chunky peanut butter. Seriously, hand it to me. It saves me from rolling my eyes when I discover it. Too much of that strains them and I don’t want to end up looking like Marty Feldman.

Must you talk on your cell phone when I’m asking you how you’d like to pay?

YOU.KEEP.DOING.IT

I’d love to take your phone and smash it to bits on the counter with a six pack of Orange Crush. Then I’ll chug the frothy brew like an open keg at a frat party while you rant about your phone being ruined. Oh, so now I have your attention and you want to talk? Perhaps you don’t realize what a rude and ignorant piece of smelly armpit tuft you are.

When something won’t ring in, quit saying it must be free. Like, I’ve never heard that one before. You know what else is free? My scanning gun’s laser in your eyeball.

You forgot your wallet in the car? OMG, check your pockets before you cash out, it’s not that hard. Look, I’m on express. The line gets as backed up as a starving rhinoceros pigging out on bananas and cheese. ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t cut it because now I have to ring everything through faster than a high-strung Speedy Gonzalez on steroids, and everyone else in line is angry as a smashed hornet’s nest because they had to wait for you.

You stroll in to purchase items two minutes before the store closes. Seriously, are you going to be that person? Some folks are as smart as a box of rocks. No, no, be completely selfish and shop. I’ve only been working for thirteen hours straight with no break, ready to drop on the floor like a fly that just got her head smashed in by a paralysing Raid can, but you go ahead and fill up your cart with all your low fat, gluten free foods. I’ll just wait another fifteen minutes past closing for you…and bleed.

Oh, you’ve got a bad flu, too? Well, have a cough all over the counter before you leave. Have a good sneeze on the money before you hand it to me as well. I wanted the bubonic plague. Thank God you came in. Feel better soon.

I

Killers

What is the underlying factor?

Those mass murders that you hear about in certain parts of the world have been a topic of great discussion. Everyone wonders what causes psychotic episodes possessing certain individuals to do such horrific things. Some people say it’s mental illness, drugs or lack of drugs. A few will state that perhaps bullying played a roll in their behaviour. Many may even believe they are just evil boofheads who have no regard for life.

I’ll tell you right now what the trigger is for someone to become a homicidal maniac.

It happens because you can’t open the fucking produce bags in the supermarket!

You massage your finger and thumb along the top of the bag, over to the corners, and then you blow on it trying to separate the plastic. You turn it over thinking you have the wrong side, and it still won’t god damn open. Flipping it back over again you realize it wasn’t the wrong side after all. Repeating this process over and over again, a massive clot begins to form in your cranium and it quickly eats into your brain’s grey matter like a hungry alien on steroids. Your face turns bright red and the veins on your forehead bulge outward into massive elephant man sized lumps of anger and frustration. Losing it, you scream…………”COME ONNNNNNN! You ^%$$# piece of $%(^$%!”

The damn bag still won’t freakin’ open!

It makes you want to kill everyone around you. And that, folks, is what causes privileged white imbeciles wearing questionable polyester fashion to grab an illegal AK-47 and blow shit up.

Sad. All they want is a cucumber.

~The world may never know. But now you do.~

Secrets – DON’T LOOK!

Sucker! Reverse psychology works. Hahaha.

Some of my secrets have never been revealed….until now.

Why do I keep using every dish in the house? Every single god damn time. I can’t get angry or yell at anyone else because I live alone. It’s ME! It drives me crazy. I’m the plate and utensil dirtying idiot.

A meal here, a snack there, a cat dish everywhere. The next thing I know there’s a stack of porcelain piled so high it looks like I’ve just fed a hoard of starving Ethiopians. I have to wash them because I don’t want my kitchen to smell like I have a sewer rat as a pet. I always make it such a chore.

Seriously, why can’t I just keep using the same plate?

Yeah…don’t act like I’m the only one. Even Jackie Chan has issues.

And then there’s my cats…

I relax and sink down into my tub filled with warm water, Epsom salts and lavender.

OH YES…BLISS! Feelings of pure heaven.

Why do those two torture inflicting furballs of mine always defecate such a smelly shite every single time I’m in the bath?

My two cats probably talk to each other. “Okay, she’s in there. No…no, don’t eat the dry crap, eat a Jethro sized bowl of that wet, funky smelling food. Yeah, that’s it. Gobble it down fast. Let’s blow her out of the water with a vile submarine turd missile. We’ll target the enemy. The result will be catastrophic.”

They set their plot in motion. The foul smell eventually permeates over to the bathroom and slowly drifts up my nose like a twerking genie returning to his bottle. It hits my nostrils like a I-HISS terrorist attack. This soul destroying stench puts me into a state of septic shock almost knocking me out cold. It’s like they know exactly how to time it. When it assaults my senses I could die a million deaths.

I scream in agony. “NOOOOOOOO!”

~And then here’s my greatest secret of all ~

My bonsai tree has a penis!

Men, don’t be jealous.

This isn’t going to end well

Well, before I get into my personal story, let me start off with this image I found which I think is as funny as hell. It’s Macho Man, Randy Savage body slamming Jesus. Um, yeah…

Oh….this isn’t going to end well.


Would you care for some sweets?

Oh…this isn’t going to end well, either.


They are a little chewy.

So…on with my story. This happened on my way to work.

A big, black truck cruised along the road and then attempted to make a right turn. At the same time, a handicapped girl barrelled down the sidewalk on her red scooter trying to make the green light. Neither of them noticed each other. The scooter flew forward into the intersection with lightning speed and the truck driver made his turn.
All I could think at that moment is…

Oh…this isn’t going to end well.

It reminded me of a chicken being thrown out of a helicopter and expected to fly, the feeling of complete helplessness over the situation.

Then…..CRASH! The girl smashed right into the side of the truck, her face plastered up against the passenger door like she was auditioning for a Yop commercial. Then everything changed to slow motion. She flopped backward like a limp gymnast onto the ground. The scooter turned and did an Evel knievel maneuver on two wheels. Then it came to a stop at the sidewalk and tipped over onto one side.

Amazingly, or perhaps it was a miracle, the lady stood up on both legs and swore like a truck driver at the guy in the truck.

The irony.

“You ran me over!” She screamed frantically.

Well, technically she got smooshed. I don’t know if that term would hold up in court, but that’s my personal jargon.

I saw her a few days later riding a spanking new, blue scooter with all the bells and whistles. Insurance is a wonderful thing.

No, it didn’t end well…or did it?