The Horror

I wish there was a theme to this week's blog, but I'm afraid there isn't. Today I did my closing shift after only 4 hours of sleep and an entire afternoon nursing a weird-feeling hangover after playing games and guitars with friends until indecent hours, holding myself up by sheer force of will and back-to-back energy drinks that probably should not have been consumed on an empty stomach. As a result, despite my usual cheerful demeanor, I was easily irritated by everything today, and this unfortunate circumstance was compounded by the fact that every obnoxious douchebag within a ten-mile radius decided they needed to buy booze from me today.

Oh, Patience, you and I have never been friends. But today especially, I couldn't stand your company. And now, let us rant.

-Listen, lady. Just because your boyfriend came in earlier to buy something and I called him "hun," does not mean I was flirting with him. I just called you "darlin'" and I clearly don't want to have anything to do with you outside of this transaction. I'm friendly. Get over it. You don't need to come into a liquor store to buy a soda so you can get your eyes full of the harlot who apparently can't get enough of your premature-balding boyfriend with the beer gut and the flip flops.

-Get off your phone when you get to my counter. I know that "Kevin said she was a bitch and I was all like oh. em. gee. Really? I can't believe Kevin said that, did he totally say that or was he like, saying something similar to that but not really saying that?" but you have a transaction to carry out with me, and I have a series of questions to ask you that will get longer the more you pretend I can't hear about forgetting to remove your false eyelashes before sleeping with the guy and waking up with your eyes glued shut somehow. Now you have to give me TWO forms of ID, your date of birth, the zip code on the card, tell me what year you graduated high school, and the capital of Estonia. Answer wrong, and your beer stays here. Just hang up already and treat me like a human being.

-For the fiftieth time, you cannot have my phone number. You smell funny. Like kerosene and despair.

-It is not my fault that we are out of your favorite cigarette. It's called supply and demand. Sometimes we sell out of things if there is more demand than supply. I certainly wasn't sitting in the back of the store chain-smoking your precious menthol shorts while chuckling darkly to myself about how this will really ruin your day, Random Douche #87.

-You are not funny. When I ask if you have your ID on you, take it out of your wallet or purse or pocket or cleavage and hand it to me politely. The next time you respond "No, just my fake one," or give me a completely different birthdate when I ask you for it, I will confiscate your driver's license and proceed to make a Private Party Arrest while we wait for APD to send us an officer in response. Think you're funny now? The police won't think so when they see you've wasted everyone's time trying to outwit a fucking stand-up comedian with a college education. I are smartest. Duh.

-I really don't want to hear about your personal life unless I ask for it. When I ask, "Will that be all for you today?" I'm not really asking, "And tell me everything you've ever done for the last 5 years, and be descriptive." I don't care that you're buying this beer because you've been in the garden all day and you can't wait for your prize azaleas or begonias or whatever it is that gardeners plant these days. Just buy it and get out so I can get back to Facebook on my iPhone.

-Facebook for iPhone, you SUCK when it comes to your chat function. Either that or all my friends suck for not responding to my chat messages while I'm at work feeling miserable and downhearted because I hate my job and miss my friends. Either way, someone out there is doing a great job sucking.

-I had a customer actually tell me today that I was too cheerful for my own good and that I shouldn't be this happy to be at work. Trust me, darling. I'm NOT happy to be at work. I'd rather be anywhere else than behind this counter, dancing stupidly to "Poker Face" by Lady GaGa for the thirteenth time this shift because it plays ALL THE TIME on EVERY STATION we're allowed to listen to at the store, but such is my current lot in life so shut your face or I'll unleash The Horror of my True Feelings upon you. Trust me, you don't want that.

Dammit, I'm all worked up now and I've got to get some sleep.

WANTED: One new job that doesn't suck ass and smell like unwashed miscreants.