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