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

Advertisements

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