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