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

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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?

A Day In The Life Of A Cashier

A feral woodland creature with big hair, all decked out in her leopard coat, walked up to the grocery store cash register pulling her shabby wheeled cart behind her. She sluggishly pulled out each of her items one by one and dropped them on the conveyer belt.
I rang in her purchases, but then she decided that she didn’t want some of them and I deleted them from her bill.
By this time it started to get busy and the lineup curved around the corner of the store. Folk’s eyes started rolling with impatience as she leisurely took coins out of her purse. I felt trapped in a Looney Tunes cartoon with granny counting pennies.
One…..two……three.
Well, it wasn’t really pennies but it felt like it.
Then Ms. Indecisive realized she didn’t have enough money so she chose to pay with debit instead. With immense difficulty, she finally pried the debit card out of her wallet using her talons. She tapped it too quickly. Two beeps!…NO!!! Holy mother of all shite that is holy. The tap didn’t work, so now she has to insert her card.
She stood there with a vacant look on her face. OH MY GOD…She can’t remember her pin number. She wasn’t just missing a screw, the whole toolbox was gone!
At that moment, I just wanted to die. I literally wanted to internally combust and explode into flame…at this point I’d even be willing to pray for the naked rapture.
At the same time customers started to line up at the opposite lottery counter. Some dick-wad wanted me to serve him immediately. He lowered his eyebrows and his mouth curled into a sneer. “Miss, can you get me some lottery tickets,” he snapped.
“Sir, you have to wait your turn. There are other people ahead of you in line,” I politely replied. “I can’t let you butt in, that wouldn’t be fair.”
His eyes grew wide as saucers and his face turned red. “Well, I’ve been waiting here for twenty minutes!”
Okay, now he’s getting my dander up. The next part that is bolded I didn’t really say, however, it’s what I screamed to myself inwardly with the intensity of a nuclear bomb.
“First of all, that is not true – You ignorant piece of shit on a rope – It’s been about three minutes. Secondly, although I’d be delighted to serve you all at the same time – I’d like to serve you a brick thrown directly at your forehead – I am not an octopus. Please be patient.”
Actually, I really wished I was an octopus so that I could slap eight people at once. I have one hundred billion nerves in my body, and some people have the ability to irritate all of them.
Mr. lottery entitlement buggered off into the distance in a huff because his privilege didn’t work with me, and the slow-witted wildcat finally paid for her food and pounced off into the distance to catch her bus.

Pandemic

Do you believe you can’t be exposed to an infectious disease outbreak? All you have to do is spend a day at a grocery store to change your view on this subject and learn what the word “contagious” really means.
I hate to say it, but the behaviour of the human race is revolting. Villiage idiots grossly pick through the food at the salad bar with their fingers. Virus infused shit-heads sneeze on the grapes and into the meat bunkers. The bacterial infested grunters even spit into their hand to open a bag.
They’re like junior high school nerds with a buck-toothed overbite, splattering the customer service counter with their regurgitated spew. I know there are a lot of anti-vaxxers out there in the world, and honestly if you want to die in a pandemic, God speed. Hand me a hazmat. We’ll fire up the furnaces!
~You can’t get autism if you die from the plague.~
What about the small doses of mercury to prevent the contamination from microbes? What about the formaldehyde that inactivates the virus?
Folks, In this case I’d be willing to drink it in a cocktail glass, shaken…not stirred.
Yes, seriously.
Let me make one thing very clear about myself. If I see even one diseased person screaming in pain from a noxious pathogen and blisters exploding from their skin like a Hiroshima rhino ejaculation, I’ll be brutally stabbing myself with a vaccination needle as fast as Freddy Krueger goes after a sleep deprived virgin.