This is getting old.
The Ghost Of Christmas Gas
There's a reason I often refer to senior day as "The Swamp Smells Like Ass Day." When you get a bunch of people whose control over their bladders and bowels is tenuous at best together in a confined space, sooner or later it will smell like a national park pit toilet.
And then you have people, like the guy right next to me as I was working in household chemicals, who lift their leg and make a slide trombone of their butt right in my face. Gee, with all the gas being expelled in this store I could resurrect the Glenn Miller Orchestra and have them play "(I've Got a Gal In) Kalamazoo."
I'll admit I am sometimes a bit too free and easy with my breaking wind, but at least I'll try to get someplace unoccupied before letting fly. Next time at least try to pretend you're not going to play your stinky rectal music.
Dear Whomever Keeps Taking The Broken Scanner I Keep Leaving For The Receiving Clerk To Fix and Returning It To The Cabinet:
Next time you do this I'ma try some percussive maintenance to fix the scanner. On your head. Until you die.
I've left notes twice. I'm not doing it again.
Reindeer and elves and candy canes and hot chocolate,
Dear Service Desk People:
Next time you call me to bring up a raincheck item for a customer, I need vital information about the item such as its SKU or model number or something.
Not "that leather recliner that was on sale a while back." We only have about three of them, and they're always on sale.
Snowflakes that freeze on your nose and eyelashes:
Dear Electronics People:
There are three of you in the department. You do not need one scanner for each of you. You can get by with only one. One of you is just running the register anyway.
If you expect me to schlep out the TVs you sell today, I'ma need some way to find them in the stockroom.
Brown paper packages tied up with string:
Dear HBA/Grocery Specialist:
Next time you decide play babysitter and tell me what time I can or cannot go on break because you don't feel like actually helping customers, at least let me take a nap or something.
Crisp apple strudel and schnitzel with noodles,
Gee! I feel like a musical interlude right about now:
Irv's getting nuttin' for Christmas
All his co-workers are mad
Irv's getting nuttin' for Christmas
Because he's been nothing but baaaaaaad....
Dear Salvation Army Bell Ringers:
When you tell me "We're going to keep saying good morning to you" as I'm in and out with carts, and actually do that, that really makes me want to give money to your charity. If by money you mean "death" and "your charity" you mean "you."
Let me fetcheth my carts in peace.
When the bee stings think of me,
You who drove up in a Monte Carlo to pick up two recliners: No. Not even trying it. You can get a hold form at the service desk.
And to the woman who snottily told me your long storage cabinet would fit in you back seat; just angle it--Just to humor you, I tried. It may surprise you to learn it didn't work. Hold form. Service Desk. Now.
To that other guy who wanted me to take his recliner out of the box and fit the pieces in his Buick Geezermobile: No. I'm cold, and there are wolves after me. I have your merchandise and you don't. SO YOU WILL LISTEN TO EVERY DAMN WORD I SAY.
Get a hold form at the service desk. We'll hang on to your recliner for you and not sell it to somebody else. I promise.
Dear Mother Nature, Who Decided To Make It Snow Lightly And Picturesquely, But Also Enough To Force Me To Run Outside And Sweep It Away And Put Down Salt:
Eat my ass with a side of au gratin potatoes and creamed corn. Seriously, why must you always do this on my days to do carryouts?
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens,
Aaaaand I get to do more of the same tomorrow because we're starting a loyalty coupon. Joy. If anybody needs me I'll be curled up drinking heavily.