Tuesday, December 13, 2005

There for the grace of God goes my eye

It just shot out, my eyeball, it shot right out of the socket when someone seriously wanted to pull a book out of my ass, she had seen this book at another bookstore and this book was about some guy and of course it was blue. All books are blue when you can't remember the title or what the hell the book is about. I avoid making snarky remarks about customers anymore, I don't want to encourage my employee's to do the same...so I bite my tongue, a lot. Why is it people armed with small pieces of paper in their hands are so damn bitchy? Keep in mind that the majority of the people shopping in the malls this time of year never leave their homes prior to the two weeks before Christmas. AUGH! I absolutely love when a customer brings back everything they purchased the prior day because they've changed their minds, a mind is a terrible thing to waste people, please think more efficiently next time...mmmmkay?? And as if desperate people weren't enough, every piece of electronic equipment that helps us to run the store went tits up over the last week...this is not a good thing...it was a very bad thing, it made for constant stress for a two week period. So if you add a dollop of inane customer requests, employee's that give notice for the week prior to the holiday and a dash of computer collapse you get a totally trashed and bitchy me.

Collecting loose gray matter that shoots from my ears has become a daily task for all my employee's, God forbid the boss lose what's left of her mind. I found a medical text shelved in Sci-Fi Fantasy, *splat* or the guy rubbing Rachel Ray's 365 cookbook on his crotch (a recipe I wouldn't recommend to anyone this side of sanity, because if I catch another adult male getting a boner just thinking of the perky Ray, I will give them a paper cut they'll never forget.) ***SPLAT***! Occasionally someone will walk up and attempt to shove the gray matter back inside my ear canal, at which time I thank them, quiver a bit and then move on to the next task. For whatever reason, this holiday is totally trashing me and the suits have now asked that managers take their holidays after January 7th, fuck me with a fork and call me done and hey, could somebody grab that piece of my brain stem, thanks. It's not enough that I'm working 11-12 hour days, "they" (the suits), would like managers to work 6 days next week, Merry Christmas to you and a hearty fist full of humbug to the people running our business, lol, Holly Jolly times! WOoOoOoOooHooOOOoOoo, woo.

Ahem, okay, everything is going to be okay...all after all it is Christmas and a certain Santa Aimee (with the help from a Santa Sister) sent a surprise gift that will ward off all Humbug dimbulbs, fucktards and defective electronics for the remainder of the season:

I now have turbo HOLLY JOLLYitis whether I want it or not and if you don't like it, I'll kick the spirit of Christmas right smack into your ass. Ho, ho, ho.