...To the guy that made one of the customer service girls cry.
I just started a job at a well-known hardware store (orange aprons), and everyone here has been really nice so far. They're not really strict with the dress code, everyone's friendly and jokes around with each other, no one gets in trouble over a couple of the guys starting an impromptu game of baseball with a wadded-up paper and a pipe in the lumber section when it's slow, and while the schedule is pretty weird and sometimes downright crazy because it's done by computer, it's liveable and I'm getting decent hours. Sure, there are the dumb customers who try to put lumber in a regular cart instead of getting the carts made for that sort of thing, and I've gotten bonked on the head with dropped pipes and such from carelessness like that before (and got sick from that lady who exploded a can of bug spray under a box), but nothing terrible had happened, even with the doors creating wind tunnels that are ridiculously cold and make me anxious due to physical sensitivity issues.
Then you came along, o douchebag of douchebags. You, who came in and bought a roll of flooring, signed for it, and took it home-evidently without inspecting it at all, and then came back a few days later, full of what you thought was righteous rage. You promptly marched up to the customer service counter, spotting one of the girls that works there, and deciding that everything that had ever gone wrong in the world must be her fault, decided to take sweet vengeance upon her. You began bellowing to a degree that could be heard on the opposite side of the store, swearing up and down a blue streak, screaming and threatening and degrading her to the point that she started to cry-and you didn't stop there! You kept right on going, not knowing that everyone in the store-particularly the big, strong guys working in the paint and lumber departments-was struggling with the urge to take you down. Since our store manager wasn't there, the shift manager had to come out and try to fix the problem, only for you to start yelling at him. When he calmly and politely tried to find out what the problem was, you roared at him not to yell at you, and proceeded to become even more violent and rude.
I'm not one for foul language, but you know what? Fuck you. Fuck you, you pansy-assed, whiny little bitch. The flooring looked like it'd had a bite taken out of the end-you should have noticed that. Beyond that, how the hell was it the customer service girl's fault? She had nothing to do with it. She didn't order it or sell it to you, nor does she work in the department that did. She had no idea who you were, and you verbally thrashed her to the point of tears. Did it make you feel like a big tough guy, reducing a little girl to tears like that? Well let me tell you, you're not a big tough guy. Those men glaring at you from behind the paint counter, or the ones standing near the lumber section with looks of murderous rage in their eyes? THOSE are big tough guys, and each and every one of them wanted to kick your ass. Even us girls who were around would gladly have taken one of our display drills to your frontal lobe, you putrid jackass. And you didn't even end it there, did you? No, it didn't end until we finally had to call the cops and have them drag your sorry ass out. You probably think that we called the cops because we couldn't handle you on our own, don't you? Allow me to dissuade you of that illusion. We called them for YOUR protection, because about three more seconds and you would have had every singe one of those aforementioned guys pounding your sorry skull into the concrete floor until there was nothing but a nasty stain left, and plenty of the girls would have jumped in too!
So, in short, you got lucky. I wouldn't suggest trying your luck again. I know that losing customers is bad for business, but I hope you never show your face around here again, you slobbering moron. If you do show your face around here again, I do hope you've undergone an attitude adjustment first, or else next time the cops might not be quick enough.
I just started a job at a well-known hardware store (orange aprons), and everyone here has been really nice so far. They're not really strict with the dress code, everyone's friendly and jokes around with each other, no one gets in trouble over a couple of the guys starting an impromptu game of baseball with a wadded-up paper and a pipe in the lumber section when it's slow, and while the schedule is pretty weird and sometimes downright crazy because it's done by computer, it's liveable and I'm getting decent hours. Sure, there are the dumb customers who try to put lumber in a regular cart instead of getting the carts made for that sort of thing, and I've gotten bonked on the head with dropped pipes and such from carelessness like that before (and got sick from that lady who exploded a can of bug spray under a box), but nothing terrible had happened, even with the doors creating wind tunnels that are ridiculously cold and make me anxious due to physical sensitivity issues.
Then you came along, o douchebag of douchebags. You, who came in and bought a roll of flooring, signed for it, and took it home-evidently without inspecting it at all, and then came back a few days later, full of what you thought was righteous rage. You promptly marched up to the customer service counter, spotting one of the girls that works there, and deciding that everything that had ever gone wrong in the world must be her fault, decided to take sweet vengeance upon her. You began bellowing to a degree that could be heard on the opposite side of the store, swearing up and down a blue streak, screaming and threatening and degrading her to the point that she started to cry-and you didn't stop there! You kept right on going, not knowing that everyone in the store-particularly the big, strong guys working in the paint and lumber departments-was struggling with the urge to take you down. Since our store manager wasn't there, the shift manager had to come out and try to fix the problem, only for you to start yelling at him. When he calmly and politely tried to find out what the problem was, you roared at him not to yell at you, and proceeded to become even more violent and rude.
I'm not one for foul language, but you know what? Fuck you. Fuck you, you pansy-assed, whiny little bitch. The flooring looked like it'd had a bite taken out of the end-you should have noticed that. Beyond that, how the hell was it the customer service girl's fault? She had nothing to do with it. She didn't order it or sell it to you, nor does she work in the department that did. She had no idea who you were, and you verbally thrashed her to the point of tears. Did it make you feel like a big tough guy, reducing a little girl to tears like that? Well let me tell you, you're not a big tough guy. Those men glaring at you from behind the paint counter, or the ones standing near the lumber section with looks of murderous rage in their eyes? THOSE are big tough guys, and each and every one of them wanted to kick your ass. Even us girls who were around would gladly have taken one of our display drills to your frontal lobe, you putrid jackass. And you didn't even end it there, did you? No, it didn't end until we finally had to call the cops and have them drag your sorry ass out. You probably think that we called the cops because we couldn't handle you on our own, don't you? Allow me to dissuade you of that illusion. We called them for YOUR protection, because about three more seconds and you would have had every singe one of those aforementioned guys pounding your sorry skull into the concrete floor until there was nothing but a nasty stain left, and plenty of the girls would have jumped in too!
So, in short, you got lucky. I wouldn't suggest trying your luck again. I know that losing customers is bad for business, but I hope you never show your face around here again, you slobbering moron. If you do show your face around here again, I do hope you've undergone an attitude adjustment first, or else next time the cops might not be quick enough.
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