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

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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