Sometimes I want to...
Kill our customers. Literally reach over the counter and stab them in the throat. I'm soft-spoken and sweet, but underneath I'm an angry, bitter person because of my work and the side of people I've seen.
I shouldn't have to tell them to form an orderly line, wait their turn and watch their language around kids. Didn't they learn this in preschool?!?
They wait in line without having filled out their forms, even though there's a table with pens - and the forms are on it! You can't miss it! It doesn't take a genius to figure this out. But no... they have to bring the mess to the front, then take up my counter filling it out while everyone behind them gets p***** off. They always talk about how hard the form is to fill out. If you can read English (or Spanish) you should have no problem! Put your name where it says "name." If you can't figure it out, you need to sit in the rain with your head up and your mouth open, and save me the trouble of strangling you!!
They hate our safety policies, but if we didn't enforce them and it turned into fraud, they'd be beyond angry and I'd be fired. When I tell them I'm required by law to do something, it's like it doesn't matter that I'd be facing fines and jail time if I skip it, they just want to get out of here two minutes earlier. And to top it off, so many of them say their social out loud or leave sensitive documents behind where anyone could get them. And if their identity is stolen, guess who's going to be investigated!
Why can't they use their *$#@*& brains!?!?!? Add the fact that I've been slapped, had things thrown at me, threatened and came out to find people actually waiting for me in the parking lot (what are we, in grade school?) and ask me why I drink.
I should collect all the info that people leave lying around and sell it. Run an electrical cord into my pens - which are attached for a reason, people! Stop yanking on them! - and shock people who p*** me off. Tell people with screaming kids and loud cell phone conversations to get the $^@& out of my store and never come back. And if you don't comply, get smart with me, won't take no for an answer, pick a fight or take too long, I'll have you escorted out while I tell everyone why you're being kicked out.
I hate your guts and I hope you get hit by a bus and drug past your family, leaving a strawberry-jelly trail on the asphalt. And I hope you live, and loose all of your limbs, and your entire savings and income are used up on your care until you end up in a disgusting care facility where they beat you with coat hangers and put cigarettes out on your stomach. I hope bedsores rot you in half. And I hope that through it all, you're consciously reminded that you're there because you're an idiotic $#@!*&%.