Just Telling It Like It Is

I am re-blogging this in toto from “Not Always Right” because it’s hilarious, and pretty much summarizes a huge percentage of the kind of nonsense retail workers have to deal with.


Just Telling It Like It Is

(Two customers approach the counter, the first being a tall, bald man and the second being an elderly lady.)

Customer: “Hi. I’m every customer ever, and I have a bunch of stupid questions and unreasonable demands.”

Me: “Hi. I’m every employee ever, and I present a negative attitude as well as an unforgivable ignorance of both the products my employer sells and how to conduct myself civilly with other human beings.”

Customer: “Like an idiot, I have approached you with no idea what I want. But I nevertheless expect you to keep your full attention on me while I waste your time.”

Me: “That’s fine. I’ve already tuned you out and began to sing the theme song to Duck Tales to myself in my head as you bring us collectively closer to death without having accomplished anything meaningful.”

Customer: “Regarding [liquor], I will now proceed to barrage you with questions about it that either you have no way of knowing, or which I should already d*** well know the answers to.”

(I hand him a bottle of the liquor he mentioned and start to ring it up.)

Me: “I respond to your worthless questions with vague and unsatisfying responses, as my cranial faculties are occupied with lewd and lascivious irrelevancies. That will be [price], you personification of the downfall of western civilization.”

Customer: “I object to the price quoted, even though it is clearly indicated on the shelf behind you, and suggest some sort of extortion on your part, undoubtedly fueled by prejudice towards some aspect of my appearance, race, culture, or creed.”

Me: “Although mentally I am most certainly questioning your intelligence, parentage and/or upbringing, I merely offer transparently insincere apologies.”

Customer: “I proclaim in brash and vulgar terms my dissatisfaction. I make a laughable and grandiose claim of my own importance, such as being a millionaire, the brother of your company’s CEO, or perhaps the good old-fashioned ‘Do you have any idea who I am?’ I further suggest that I could have you fired effortlessly and fully intend to do so for the insufficient quantity of butt-kissing you have exhibited toward me over the course of this transaction.”

Me: “I sadly inform you that my superior is not present on the premises and unhelpfully refer you to the company help line. Quietly I memorize the details of your face so that I can fantasize about committing acts of unspeakable and grotesque violence toward same at some later date.”

(The customer begins walking out the door.)

Customer: “Vague and impotent threat to your person and questioning of your sexual orientation!”

Me: “Sarcastic suggestion to have a nice day!”

(He walks out the door. The old lady behind him looks thoroughly perplexed by our exchange.)

Old Lady: “Who was that?”

Me: *shrugging* “My manager.”


As implausible as this representative scenario seems, it is repeated countless times in various incarnations across our nation in every conceivable retail store. I have not yet figured out what makes people act like Internet Trolls in real life to people behind counters or wearing clerks’ or servers’ uniforms; it is as though they feel empowered to treat those who serve them with all the dignity and respect that Donald Trump or Leona Helmsley would offer a trash collector.

The thing these wastes of human cytoplasm don’t realize is that their cover has been blown. They may get what they want by screaming and bullying and calling corporate (who will more than likely give them the moon to keep them as a customer), but everyone knows they’re a douchebag.

The Old Wolf has spoken.

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