Retail Hell Underground

Queer Geek's Custy Hell: The What Are You Question

Since the dawn of time, Man has asked any retail slave the inevitable question:

What are you?

In all seriousness folks, since I’ve been in retail this question comes up many times which puts a damper on ol’ Queer Geek’s day when a custy decides to break out the million dollar inquiry. To answer the custy’s question:

It’s none your damn business!

Let me say that it’s rude to ask that of someone especially from a complete a stranger. Secondly, what does that have to do with me servicing you? Does knowing a retail slave’s background going to positively impact your shopping experience? HELL TO THE NO!

Now before I go any further let me explain my background. I consider myself a bit of a mutt with this interesting exotic appearance. For those that love to fill out those long applications that require you to check off the race portion on the paper, I cover all the bases: INDO-EUROPEAN ASIAN PACIFIC ISLANDER SPANISH CREED WITH A JUST A DASH OF ANGLO-SAXON AFRICAN AMERICAN DESCENT. Hence, check off OTHER!

To illustrate my point, I will refer to colors to get a better understanding on how rude it is to impose the What are you? question. Unfortunately, all are true instances that have happened to me over the years in retail.

Custy: What are you? Are you purple?

Me: Yes, I’m purple.

Custy: I’m purple too! Do you think you can give purple a discount?

Me: Sorry no.

Custy: Come on. We’re both purple. We purples stick together. Give me a discount.

Me: I’m sorry but no.

Dealing with this for years, I resorted to lying to avoid the question. Here’s one that blew up in my face.

Custy: What are you?

Me: I’m pink.

Custy: No you’re not! You’re too big and too dark to be pink. I know many pinks and they look nothing like you! You’re not pink! (WTF? One, you insulted my weight! Two, you made it sound like my skin tone is a bad thing! Well fuck you buddy!)

This last one took the cake for me. Once again I used a lie which turned into this weird backhanded compliment.

Custy: *Starts speaking to me in a blue language* Don’t you speak blue?

Me: I’m sorry I don’t.

Custy: I thought you spoke blue. You must be red then? I mean you reds look all the same. (We reds look all the same? Do dumbasses look all the same because I’m talking to one.)

Me: No I don’t think so.

Custy: What do you mean you don’t think so? You don’t know if you’re red or not? I mean what are you?

Me: Well you see I was adopted. (Again this is not true but I’m hoping this will shut the custy up.) I don’t know who my real parents are. It’s a long sad story so truly I don’t really know. My adoptive parents didn’t get much information from the orphanage about my birth parents.

Custy: No, you definitely look like a red. Maybe a little bit of green you. It’s the eyes. Greens are known for having those type of eyes and you’re big and dark so that means you might be a green...

To make a long story short, this custy went on and on to trying decipher my background constantly making gross assumptions based on my physicality. Over time, I’ve learned to ignore these ignorant asses and simply say to them in my head as they constantly keep asking me: What are you?

IT’S NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUSINESS!

--Queer Geek

Queer Geek's Food Court Encounter With A Salesman: This Explains Why I'm Single

RHU, since Valentine’s Day is around the corner I thought I post this since it goes hand in hand.

RHU, I’m going to ask the inevitable question:

Why am I single?

Is it because I keep a comic book collection, attend geekfest conventions, play endless hours of videogames, watch fantasy sci-fi shows, love being a retail slave forum troll, worship Big Bang Theory, Stephen Hawkins and love all things nerdy? By all dorkfest standards, I consider myself a pretty interesting dude! I never had to question bachelorhood until recently when a salesperson decided to explain why I’m the pathetic loser that I am today.

I was sitting in the food court during my lunch hour the other day stuffing my face with saturated fats, overprocessed ingredients, and bad calories (please don’t tell Weight Watchers or they’ll deduct points from me) when a handsome gentleman decides to approach me at my table. As I admired his beauty from afar, this good looking suitor gives me the worst pick up line ever.

"Excuse me, do you buy cologne?"

"Come again?" I ask him miffed by his approach.

"I asked if you ever buy cologne," answered the gentleman.

"Yes I do," I tell him.

"How would you say you spent on your fragrances?"

"Approximately $40-$80 depending if it is a designer scent and I like it," I reply still unsure of where this conversation is heading.

"What if I told you that you’re spending way too much for designer fragrances and that the only difference is the amount of oils being used in those bottles," he purrs.

"Ummm...uh...I’m not sure where you’re getting at." I say to him.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bottle of cologne with no label, sprays a piece of paper, and hands it to me.

"I work for an independently owned company and we manufacture fragrances that are exactly similar to designer fragrances but at much lower cost. The secret is the amount of essential oils used in the product in producing the scent. Try it."

He explains this to me as I take a whiff of the sample. Immediately my nose starts to burn and my eyes water as I take in an aroma that can only be described as a musky mildew flowers being plucked from a sewer drain and used as someone’s toilet paper.

"What do you think?" He asked me.

"It’s...quite...interesting," I lie.

"It’s only $20 much cheaper than those designer colognes you buy," he continues. "Interested in buying a bottle?"

"No but thank you," I politely decline.

"Oh come man," he starts. "Don’t you want to smell good for your girlfriend or wife?"

Obviously, he doesn’t know that I’m gay. Damn.

"I’m fine. Thanks." I tell him. "And I’m not married or have a girlfriend."

The salesman picks up his cologne leaves in a huff but not before getting in the last word edgewise.

"No wonder you’re single," he tells me walking away. His hotness disappearing among the crowds of foot court patrons.

WTF? Well we’ll always have the foot court.

--Queer Geek

 

Funny Custy Tales: Sugar Baby Needs Cash

OMG Y’ALL!

I just had an Anna Nicole Smith encounter!

She’s not dead people but merely reincarnated into another body of some Sugar Baby ! Here’s how it went down.

After the holidays, most retailers have dip in sales with January being the slowest month of the year so all things were quiet on the retail front.

I was manning the counter as usual but who should come in but Sugar Baby and her satchel of gifts given to her from her meal ticket.

Knowing the drill, she drops her bags on the encounter and requests a return. After throwing her receipts at me totaling close to $1000, I begin to process her request.

Normally, I ignore such rudeness from custys and avert my eyes while I finish the job at hand but some voice in my head told me to look up.

To tell you the truth RHU, I shouldn’t have because the moment I gazed at Sugar Baby she turned into Medusa from Clash of the Titans! I mean she turned me into the stone by having me transfixed on her appearance. Okay, have you ever seen a really bad car accident on the road that you could not help but stare at it? Well this was one of those times! Sad to say, Sugar Baby had some really, and I do mean really, bad plastic surgery!

The woman was nipped, tucked, pulled, and implanted to the point that she looked like a space alien getting off the mothership. Put it this way, Sugar Baby made Joan Rivers and catlady socialite Jocelyn Wildenstein look normal. My eyes burned as I stared into the eclipse. Solar flares were shooting out her eyes causing me to believe that 2012 was happening early As I began to process her return, the alien began to speak.

Sugar Baby: I bought these for son but he obviously does not like them. I want to return them for cash. (Translation: Take me to your leader Earthling or else I will anally probe you.)

Me: No problem. Receipt is here. Check. Tags attached. Check. (A thousand dollars worth of designer stuff that your spoiled Hellspawn does not want. Check.) Okay, let me take care of this for you.

I start to do the return when Sugar Baby gets on her cell and dials her Sugar Daddy. Oh RHU this is when Anna Nicole Smith starts to bust out of the alien’s body. (Where’s Sigourney Weaver when you need her?)

Sugar Baby starts to speak in a baby voice for her Sugar Daddy. I shit you not! It was this high pitch infant voice the appeared too paranormal for words. (Perhaps it was some alien language like Pig Latin or a Kardashian.)

Sugar Baby: Oooooooooh Honeeeeeeeey! This is your Sugar Babeeeeeeeey! My son does not like any of the stuff you bought him. (Pouts.) I’m sorry to bother you in your meeting. I know you’re really busy. Look I have to return them because I don’t have any cash on me. (Starts to whine.) Your Babeeeeeey does not have any moneeeeey! I need cash babeeeeey because I’m hungreeeeeey. I need to eat Honeeeeey. I’ll see you later. Okay love you. (Makes kissing sounds on her cell.)

I finish the return and give her a large wad of bills from my register. Apparently, Sugar Daddy does not feed his Sugar Babeeeeey. Sugar Daddeeeey, take note. Feed your Babeeeeey so she doesn’t have to carry a large wad of moneeeey and get mugged like some dummeeeeeey! Honeeeeeey, that would be a tragedeeeeeey!

On the upside, the alien can now use her new elastic skin as weapon to whip away potential robbers or wear it as a designer belt accessory!

--Queer Geek

 

Letter To Lunch-Stealing Coworker

Helloooo RHU! Thought I’d a post a rant in letter form about a coworker I’m sure many of you can relate to. Ahem...

Dear Thieving Coworker,

I realize with this tough economy right now that many of us are in financial straits and have to resort to desperate measures to put food in our bellies. You and me are no exception since I’m living off my credit cards and you are dumpster diving for your latest meal. Though I commend your efforts for attempting to curb your starvation, let me make one thing clear. You, Sir or Madam, are nothing more than a Nasty Ass Lunch Thief! (NALT) Them’s fightin’ words and yeah I said it! Allow me to explain douchebag!

I don’t get many pleasures in life especially this week being extra stressful at work with me handling multiple departments, office duties, customer problems, employee issues, special events, and assisting my new manager in being acclimated to our department and company position. Simply said, my stress level has gone from zero to sixty in a matter of days. Once again. Thank you for making my day fucktard! Therefore, lunch is the one time of day I look forward to for a moment of relaxation and enjoying my time away from the office. 

Well NALT, you ruined that for me by taking what does not belong to you! Motherfucker! You stole my shit! To think, I was heading to the employee breakroom ready to consume my low calorie wrap and apple when lo and behold my lunch bag containing my antique Tupperware which has been in my family for generations missing from the fridge. You owe me a Rubbermaid lime green plastic container moron! It has been discontinued by the company so you better look it up on e-bay. In a panic, I scoured the appliance searching for it but came up empty. Thus concluding that someone stole my lunch and ate it. Watch your back! Cus’ I’m gonna kick your ass when I find you!

I hope you are happy with yourself NALT! Because of your inconsideration, I had to spend money in the food court adding further debt on my credit cards to grab a bite to eat! You have ruined my health because I took the time and effort to pack a healthy lunch that was low on calories and high on nutritional value because I’m trying to shed the weight off my fat ass by forcing me to go buy a greasy, gut busting pizza in the mall, which, by the way, was delicious but beside the point! Lastly, you violated my trust in the people I work with and now I’m suspicious of everyone around me by keeping the police on speed dial. What you’re taking an extra box of pens? That is illegal! I’m calling the po po!

Thanks to you I have to write this passive aggressive letter detailing my frustration aggravating my OCD and anal retentive personality. One thousand fifty three characters. One thousand fifty four...aw shit I lost count. Now I have to start again. One...two...three...Did I dust off this keyboard? Why didn’t I dust off this keyboard? Anyone have Pledge or lye soap on hand? Anyway NALT, I hope you are happy that you have ruined a working man’s lunch break and enjoyed that healthy wrap that tasted like cardboard. For the record, that is not deli meat tucked into the folds of the lettuce but vegetarian soybean tofu slices. Leaves a bizarre aftertaste don’t it fucker? Oh and the multigrained tortilla I wrapped it in is especially high in fiber so you might experience a bad case of the Hershey squirts. It was important I keep myself regular. Serves you right fucker that you got Montezuma’s Revenge for stealing from me! No one steals from me!

With no sincerity,

--Queer Geek

Okay RHU, I know I’m not the only one who has had their lunch stolen at work. Anyone else?

Queer Geek Finds Clever Way To Shut Up A Bitchy Custy In Line at The Grocery Store

Queer Geek gets a Retail Balls Award for his quick thinking LOL response to a custy on a tirade in line at the grocery store. Enjoy:

Wazzup RHU!

I wanted to share another one of my high-larious stories in the world of custy (or crusty) service relations! This one takes place in line at my local grocery store.

So here is the situation (and no not that idiot from The Jersey Shore), I had left work, still clad in my office clothes, and shopping for some produce because I am trying to stick to my New Year’s resolution of eating healthy and shedding the beer gut this year.

This was round 5:00 in the evening and the grocery store was packed. Since I had five items in my basket I opted to pay in the express lane.

Understand the register lines were long, including my own, with five people ahead of me and two people behind me. The cashier seemed to be moving pretty fast so I thought no biggie I’ll wait like a good custy until my turn comes up and began reading the tabloid headlines off the checkout stand.

Everything was coming up roses until some grouchy lady in front of me decides to bitch to me her complaints about the grocery store.

Apparently, the customer being service four people ahead had tons of coupons (luckily it wasn’t one of those extreme couponers) and one of them was not scanning properly so it took some time for the cashier to get assistance from a supervisor to finish the transaction.

Everyone in my line was being understanding and patient with the cashier as they tried to rush the line along but the grouch felt the need to throw a tantrum to anyone within earshot. I just happen to be her whipping post for the day. I guess I have that face that says. Air out your grievances and bitch out to me about the world’s problems!

Let’s get one thing clear here RHU. I don’t mind small talking with strangers outside of work as long as it is something agreeable but the last thing I want to deal with is someone I don’t know complaining to me about things that are beyond my control.

Grouch: "I can’t believe this! They should open up another register for their customers! I have been shopping here for many years and the service is always the same! LOUSY! They need to hire people who know what they’re doing! That cashier is incompetent! He should not be on a register! You look like you’re a business man? You agree that they need to better train their people, don’t you? No wonder the economy is bad! People are struggling for jobs and the hire stupid people like him! Don’t you think so?"

She looks at me as I stare at her dumbfounded. 

How was I suppose to respond to her? I mean usually when custys complain to me I’m being paid for it. I don’t give my advice and listen to her problems for free! Therefore I did what any wicked, comical person would do in this situation.

I PLAYED THE RACE CARD!

Yes folks. I DID IT! I PLAYED THE RACE CARD! Queer Geek admits it was a bad thing to commit such a heinous act of dealing my hand of ethnic poker and Hell is certainly holding a private purgatory for me in eternal damnation as a retail slave ringing up endless discounted merchandise and listening to lost custy souls arguing for a refund. However, in my defense, the grouchy lady did put me in between a rock and a hard place.

Technically speaking I am the custy now and I’m just doing what many custys have done since RHU was born. Let me explain how it works. You see RHU, I am a minority and because of my exotic appearance often get mistaken for another ethnicity so obviously the grouch is going to assume that I am exactly what I am impersonating to be. With that in mind, I confused her ignorance by responding to her in a foreign language. Spanish.

Now understand RHU, I am not a native Spanish speaker. I did take the necessary courses in high and college but by no means do I consider myself fluent but I know just enough to survive if I’m visiting a Latin American country like asking where the bathroom is, where I can find a bar, and all the necessary swear words if you happen to get into an argument with a local.

As the grouch began her tirade of the cashier and kept insisting on getting my opinion on the matter, I replied with the following statement in the most kindest, sweetest, friendly shit eating grin ever.

"Lo siento. No hablo ingles cabrona. Callate la boca. Esperar tu turno." (Roughly translated: I’m sorry. I don’t speak English bitch. Shut your mouth! Wait your turn!)

Grouchy old lady realizes her error that she is griping to a (supposed) non-English speaker and embarrassingly mumbles an apology while she stews in line waiting for it to move. (Luckily for me, she does not understand what I just said. If she did, boy would the shit have hit the fan and splatter into some serious dookie!)

Meanwhile, the two customers behind me happened to be native Spanish speakers and began snickering behind the grouchy lady’s back and high fived me with their eyes as they tried to hold back their laughter.

The line eventually moved fairly quickly as grouch finally paid for her groceries and left not knowing what transpired between us.

On the upside, I made one bitchin’ low calorie salad for dinner that was mucho delicioso!

Hasta la vista slaves!

--Queer Geek

 

Return City: A Poem Parody On Holiday Returns

Hello RHU!

With holidays over and everyone returning their gifts, I thought I would do a return song parody in the style of Guns and Roses’ Paradise City. Enjoy!

 

Return City

 

Take me down to Return Hell City

Where we take unwanted gifts

And treat a Retail Slave so shitty!

Oh Custy! Won’t you please go home?

   

Take me down to Return Hell City

Where we take unwanted gifts

And treat a Retail Slave so shitty!

Oh Custy! Won’t you please go home?

   

Christmas sweaters! Grandma’s got no taste!

$10 Walmart Waffle Maker! What a waste!

Lost the receipt? It’s been misplaced!

Behind the counter retail slave is doing time

Black Friday deals should be a crime!

   

Take me down to Return Hell City

Where we take unwanted gifts

And treat a Retail Slave so shitty!

Oh Custy! Won’t you please go home!

   

Challenge the policy of 30 days to return

Custys don’t respect it or ever learn

The package’s been open, used and looks like trash!

You argue for a refund for your stash!

 

You don’t want store credit! You want cash!

   

Take me down to Return Hell City

Where we take unwanted gifts

And treat a Retail Slave so shitty!

Oh Custy! Won’t you please go home!

   

Ain’t got no receipt! The tag is torn!

It’s obvious that shirt’s been worn!

Demand a manager! Put him on the horn!

It was a gift! Let’s be precise!

No proof of purchase! I can only give the clearance price!

   

Take me down to Return Hell City

Where we take unwanted gifts

And treat a Retail Slave so shitty!

Oh Custy! Won’t you please go home!

   

Holiday gifts are coming back!

They’re coming back!

Oh crap!

   

The returns are piling up!

Piling up! Piling up!

Oh No!

   

Someone help me!

Help me!

How could this be?

   

Look at the stack!

At the stack!

I have to put back!

   

Take me down to Return Hell City

Where we take unwanted gifts

And treat a Retail Slave so shitty

Oh Custy! Won’t you please go home?

 

The returns are comin’ in...

This should be a sin...

I’ll be here until next year...

 

--Queer Geek

 

 

Queer Geek On Custys Who Accuse Couriers of Ruining Christmas

This is in resonpse to Coffee Slinger’s post on the custy who claimed the retail slaves ruined her X-mas.

First off all, let me say this is a public forum and everyone has a right to agree or disagree with the poster on RHU but when it comes down to name calling, berating and bullying then I have to say something. Calling Coffee Slinger a cunt or an ass a few times in the comments section is not exactly getting your point across and makes the commenter look like exactly like the words he/she splashes the on the site so in defense of Coffee Slinger, "I’m Rubber You’re Glue..." Coffee Slinger, it get’s better so give a finger to your RHU bullies!

With that said, I want to rant about the whole "you ruined Christmas" on behalf of the all the courier services. Look X-mas is the busiest time of the year and we all know the shipping companies have their work count out for them. Mishaps and mistakes happen! CUSTOMERS GET OVER IT! It’s just material things! Isn’t Christmas about spending time with love ones? Holiday spirit? It’s better to give than to receive! That is why there is a Christ in Christmas. I highly doubt Jesus wanted his birthday celebrated with Black Friday sales and holiday retail discounts!

Being someone who deals with packaging, I can’t believe the number of custys who rip me a new one because something unfortunate happened to their package.

ME: Hello. Queer Geek speaking.

CUSTY: I’M UPSET! THE PACKAGE I ORDERED FOR CHRISTMAS IS NOT HERE YET!

ME: Let me see what I can find out. (Look on the computer.) I apologize but due to weather conditions in your area packages have been delayed. I’m afraid the package won’t make it by Christmas. 

CUSTY: WHAT KIND OF SERVICE IS THAT? YOU BETTER FIND SOMEONE TO DRIVE THROUGH THAT SNOWSTORM AND DELIVER MY PACKAGE! I’M EXPECTING TO SURPRISE MY DAUGHTER WITH DESIGNER BOOTS! YOU’VE RUINED MY CHRISTMAS AND HERS!

ME: Again I apologize but weather conditions do affect delivery. I would gladly refund you the shipping you paid and even will cancel this order since we cannot guarantee it by Christmas.

CUSTY: NO DON’T CANCEL IT! JUST REFUND MY SHIPPING! I’M GOING TO CALL THE COMPANY AND COMPLAIN! I’M NEVER SHOPPING WITH YOUR COMPANY EVER AGAIN! *CLICK*

(Phone rings.)

ME: Hello. Queer Geek speaking.

CUSTY: I’M ANGRY! THE DESIGNER HANDBAG I ORDERED HAS A DEFECTIVE CLASP! It’S A CHRISTMAS GIFT FOR SOMEONE!

ME: I’m sorry about that. We can replace that for you and send you another one. However due to the fact we have reached the shipping deadline to guarantee package delivery by Christmas it will arrive a few days after.

CUSTY: THAT IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH! I PAID #### DOLLARS FOR THIS AND YOU SOLD ME A DEFECTIVE ITEM! I SPEND #### MONEY WITH YOUR COMPANY AND EXPECT YOU TO PERSONALLY FLY THIS PACKAGE TO ME BY PRIVATE PLANE!

ME: Again I apologize but that is not something we can do. I can refund your money or send you another one but I’m afraid that the new item will not get there in time.

CUSTY: IS THIS WHAT YOU CALL SERVICE? YOU’VE RUINED MY CHRISTMAS! YOU CAN STICK THIS BAG UP YOUR *&%! *Click*

(At this point I’m now become an automaton. Phone rings.)

ME: Hello. Queer Geek speaking.

CUSTY: I want to order this designer dress but I need to get it to the person I’m giving it to by Christmas.

ME: We can certainly process your order but because we are now down to the wire this season our package delivery won’t make it by Christmas.

CUSTY: *snorts* SOME COMPANY YOU GUYS TURN OUT TO BE. YOU SUPPOSE TO BE KNOWN FOR EXCELLENT SERVICE AND CAN’T EVEN SHIP THINGS BY CHRISTMAS. I’LL SPEND MY MONEY ELSEWHERE WITH A STORE THAT DOESN’T RUIN CHRISTMAS FOR It’S CUSTOMERS. *Click.*

Somebody shoot me! When did X-mas become only about consumer superficiality and material stuff?

--Queer Geek

Crazy Custy Lectures About Smoking

Ho ho ho this Christmas season RHU!

Thought I share a funny story that happened recently where a custy decided to act like our mother and ground us like the bad slave seedlings that we are. Now this anecdote is dedicated to all the smokers out there who are trying to quit, are covered in nicotine patches or substituting cigarettes for something else like food. I completely understand what you’re going through. Though I was never a long term tobacco junkie, I have lit up a ciggie butt at some point in my life (as well as a touch of herb...for medicinal purposes...but I digress) to cope with stress. The point is there are coworkers who choose to take up the vice of smoking; hence, establishing the term smoking breaks.

Many of you I’m sure work with coworkers who take smoking breaks. They go outside, light up, do their thing, and go back to work. No biggie. It’s their prerogative! Well what would happen if a custy decides to bitch call you out on it? That is exactly what happened to my coworker Dorothy (not her real name). So it was a busy day and Dorothy goes on smoking break and returns. Enter mother custy.

Custy: Hello I have a question.

Dorothy: Sure, how can I help you?

Custy: (sniffs the air) *GASPS* HAVE YOU BEEN SMOKING?

Dorothy: Umm...uh...no. I was outside.

Custy: I’M ALLERGIC TO SMOKE! YOU KNOW YOU CAN GET LUNG CANCER AND EMPHYSEMA FROM SMOKING! CIGARETTES ARE BAD FOR YOU!

Dorothy: I realize that. I was with a group who were smoking. Maybe that’s why I smell like smoke. (Seriously, are you my mother?)

Custy: YOU SHOULDN’T SMOKE. IT’S BAD FOR YOUR HEALTH! YOU’LL AGE PREMATURELY!

Dorothy: *turns red* Uhh...thanks for the advice. (What are you? A cop?) How can I help you?

Custy: I’M LOOKING FOR THE RESTROOM.

Dorothy: Down on the other side of the store. (Now go away and let me smoke my cigarette in peace.)

Custy: ALWAYS REMEMBER THAT SMOKING IS BAD FOR YOU! SO DON’T SMOKE! *leaves*

Dorothy: *turns to me* It feels like I just got busted by my mother for smoking. I think she wants to ground me.

Me: You should have told her that you’re a recovering alcoholic and you’re substituting one vice for another. Better yet, tell her to mind her own damn business!

--Queer Geek

 

Black Friday Poem: 'Twas The Midnight of Walmart

By Queer Geek

‘Twas the midnight of Black Friday for Hell hath reached Walmart For retail slaves scheduled dreading of being torn completely apart;

Thanksgiving with family and friends is now no longer the norm, As Capitalism now controls consumers with their endless sale storms;

The poor workers should be nestled all snug in their beds, Not bombarded by NATS, ghetto hoodrats, and redneck inbreds;

And the store manager in his frustration takes a swig of his flask, Loathing his job while plastering a fake smile on to his mask-

When at the stroke of midnight there arose such a ruckus, Custys stampeded through the entrance while others fell on their touchis.

Already the first fight began on a discounted Christmas wreath, Between two Jerry Springer rejects who were missing some teeth.

But employees were too busy being nauseated preparing to hurl, After witnessing the booty shaking ho’s dancing to Wally, Wally World!

When, to the store manager’s ears that he feared he would see, But a riot breaking out over $10 T.V.’s!

Then some baby mama drama as two bitches yanked on each other’s weaves, Arguing over $100 Wii consoles, X-Box 360’s, and acting like thieves.

Like ants coming out of the woodwork by the millions they came, Shouting their demands and calling them by name:

"Give us the $500 flatscreens! $50 stereoes! $200 laptops!"

Where’s our $50 I-Phones? I-Pods? And cheap ass clothing to shop!"

"To the front of the store! To stockrooms, check around!"

"Give us what we want or we’ll burn this motherfucker down!"

From one end of the store to the checkout stands lines were busy, As the disgruntled custys grew impatient and got themselves in a tizzy;

"Can’t you ring up any faster? You’re running so slow and boring!"

"I want to be able to make it to the Black Friday sales in the mall this morning!"

With a silent grumble, the cashier finishes the transaction "But the worse is yet to come for the cashier who is starting to cramp, The custy from Hell who wants to pay her shit with WIC vouchers and food stamps.

Placing a television on the conveyer belt getting ready to pay, This bitch is thinking she is going to get her way.

Rejecting the tender, the bitch acts like she’s been kicked in the caboose, That is when all Hell breaks loose. "Get me the store manager! Y’all racist up in here! This is whack!" "Y’all took them at the other

Wal-mart! It’s because I’m black!" With a sigh and another swig, the store manager answers the distress call, As he listens to this bitch with some balls;

Even after telling the custy no to paying with WIC and EBT, Bitch attacks the store manager with the fury of a banshee;

Security and the police are called over without delay, As this crazy bitch is arrested and carted away.

Meanwhile Black Friday madness at Walmart continues on With more custys exploiting the holidays all wrong! The store is in shambles. The shelves are a mess. Piggy custys all around. It’s Black Friday I guess.

Packages are opened. Boxes shoplifted off the floor. Not to mention someone just stole a swing set in the store.

Custys’ tempers are flaring. Employees are fatigued. Working for minimum wage can make anyone want to grieve. Yes it is Black Friday.

When will retail make an amend. Especially next year when you have to do this shit all over again!

--Queer Geek

 

The Real Housewives of Military Groupies Sending Their Husbands To The Poor House

What’s happening RHU?

We’ve all heard of rock groupies (I’m sure Justin Bieber is learning his lesson about paternity suits), sports groupies (Basketball Wives anyone?). Well there is a groupie in just about every organization including the military. Military groupies? Whoever heard of such a thing? Basically, these are your run of the mill gold diggers from small towns who flash their cans at every base hoping to trap a soldier husband. Thus, this is where this story takes place.

Now before I begin, let me give you an insight into my background. I’m a former Navy brat. My dad was in the Navy and we were shuffled around before he retired and settle in one location. I have relatives serving in the army and currently stationed overseas in Afghanistan and the Middle East so it is in my blood to support the troops. My brother in law is a former Marine who also has friends serving so I’ve been closely reading and watching what happens with the government’s plans to bring the soldiers home next year. With that said, I’ve been fed numerous stories of these so called military groupies but I’ve never seen one up close. It is kind of like the Loch Ness Monster, you might never see one but you know it might exist!

This brings me to my story. My sister’s BFF works in a government sponsored retail store on one of the bases in the credit union department and deals with approving loans and financing credit availability to soldiers and their military families for big ticketed retail items like furniture, electronics, or fine jewelry. BFF shares tons of crazy stories of military custys but the ones she reveals are the military groupie wives that come in that add that special touch of wackiness to retail hell. Here’s how it went down.

BFF was manning the credit desk when Military Groupie Wife comes in. Military Groupie Wife is dressed to the nines, dripping in jewelry, sporting a designer handbag, and had enough plastic surgery to make Joan Rivers look normal.

BFF then looks at the three hellspawns she drags in and gasps. THEY LOOKED DIRTY! Food stuck to their t-shirts, dirt on their faces, clothes not laundered with holes. They looked like the could be poster kids for Child Protective Services. As the three hellspawns start beating the crap out of each other, Military Groupie Wife ignores them and approaches BFF’s desk.

"Hello, I need to upgrade my credit by $4000 because I want to trade in my diamond earrings for bigger ones," she tells BFF.

"Let me see what I can do," replies BFF who checks her computer. Meanwhile, dirty hellspawns are destroying the office and Military Groupie Wife is doing nothing about it.

"I’m sorry but the extension on the credit offered is only for $1000. Three months ago we extended your credit by $5000 and you’re already exceeded that amount," BFF tells the custy.

"Oh it’s okay," Military Groupie Wife tells her. "Just let them have raise it up another $4000. My husband’s credit is good. That shouldn’t be a problem."

"Well I have to make some calls because they are only allowing up to $1000 only," informs BFF.

BFF calls the main branch office and is put on hold. During this time hellspawns are hurting each other and Military Groupie Wife is not lifting a finger to break it up. The main branch finally gets in touch with the husband who is the main account holder and puts him on the line.

"Hello General sir, I apologize for bothering you at work but your wife is here and wants to raise your credit limit another $4000 and we calling you for approval," BFF tells him.

"TELL HER NO!" the General husband states. "SHE’S PUTTING ME INTO THE POOR HOUSE! SHE’S ALREADY PUTTING ME IN DEBT! THE ANSWER IS NO!"

BFF explains this to the custy but Military Groupie Wife is not having it and grabs the phone.

"LISTEN I WANT THOSE EARRINGS!" She yells at her husband. "I NEED BIGGER EARRINGS! THE ANSWER IS YES! I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU SAY! I DESERVE NICE THINGS!"

Discovering that she is not going to get her way hangs up the phone. BFF is stunned and confused.

"Just ignore him," the Military Groupie Wife tells BFF. "Just raise it up anyway."

"I’m sorry but since he is main account holder, he has to approve the credit increase so my hands are tied and we won’t be able to grant your request," explains BFF.

"BUT I’M THE WIFE! I’M TELLING YOU TO RAISE UP THAT CREDIT! YOU CAN DO SOMETHING!" the custy screeches.

"I’m sorry but no we can’t," BFF responds.

"Fine!" snaps Military Groupie Wife. "I’ll take my business elsewhere. There are other credit unions that will grant me an increase." She grabs her hellspawns and leaves in a huff.

Sadly, I’m familiar with scenarios like these all to well. I deal with credit situations at my job and I can’t begin to tell you how many soldiers return overseas and discover that their wives (soon to be ex-wives) have ran up their credit and put them in debt while they were away fighting. It is even sadder when a groupie gets in the mix and ruins these poor guys’ lives. What is the world coming to?

--Queer Geek

 

Queenie, the Dumbass Slayer: Savior of Attention Seeking Halloween Idiots

For all you Whedonverse fans, this reference will make sense.

In every generation, there is a Retail Slave.  He alone will stand against the custys, evil corporations, and the faces of dumbass people.  He is Queenie, the Dumbass Slayer!

Okay seriously I feel an asshat needs to be slain just for being dumbass.  Case in point happened this past weekend involving some weirdo on public transit just because this month is Slutoween. 

What is Slutoween, you say?  It is the time of year women have an excuse to hooch it up, get wasted, hook up with some Coyote Ugly, and regret their actions the next morning.  It is also the time of year that the general public become total douches taking all the fun out of a kid’s holiday.  Here’s the story.

I had to work during the weekend at the butt crack of dawn because my office slave job requires I prepare the registers for the store opening.  Now I am not a morning person so thanks to several cups of Java and energy drinks I was tweeking on some serious caffeine. 

Anyway, I left work in the late afternoon to go home accompanied by my galpals Mixie and Trixie (not their real names) who left early as well because the store was slow and their sales were low.  Since we work in the city, we take the public bus to avoid the price gouging of parking prices, gas, and traffic which is great if you want to chill on your way home.  Everything was fine until a passenger came on who I shall name Mr. Attention Seeker.

Let me explain Mr. Attention Seeker.  He meanders close to our seat looking like a possessed demon bearing fake monster fangs and growling at passengers.  Though I admire Mr. Attention Seeker’s good make-up job, I am not in any mood to deal with this idiot’s shenanigans especially when I’m dead tired.  He starts to growl at me and my friends and other passengers freaking out the little kids sitting nearby forcing me to turn into the superhero Queenie, the Dumbass Slayer!

Mr Attention Seeker: *Growl*  I’ll swallow your soul!

Queenie: Boy, puh-leeze!  You have to learn how to spit before swallowing.

Mr. Attention Seeker: *Growl* Are you afraid?

Queenie: Why should I be?  I live in a barrio.  Try walking down my neighborhood at midnight amid the sounds of gunshots.

Mr. Attention Seeker: *Roar* I’ll steal your soul!

(At this point, my sidekicks Mixie and Trixie come to my rescue.)

Mixie: *Shakes her water bottle.*  The power of this holy water compels you!  Go away!

Trixie: *Rolls her head around*  Look I’m can play possessed too!  *Growls* Your mother sucks cocks in Hell!  Now exorcise me!

Queenie: Somebody get me a stake or better yet a pocket rocket so I can kill this fool!

Mr. Attention Seeker: *Breaks character.* You guys are no fun.   You all suck!   Come on it’s Halloween.

Mixie: Whatever dude.  We’re not in the mood.

Seeing how Mr. Attention Seeker is getting nowhere with his antics, he arrives at his stop and gets off.  Queenie, the Dumbass Slayer has saved the day!  The other passengers cheer.

Passenger: Weren’t you scared at all with all those scary teeth?

Queenie: Nah, I’m a Retail Slave.  This is Halloween.  I’m use to seeing a bunch of wackos in the city.

It is true.  Working in the city has made me desensitized to the nutjobs around me.  Slutoween is not any different.  I’ve seen zombie protestors march around the city.  I’ve watched the homeless run around naked and defecate in public.  I’ve even seen Slutoween get even skankier every year with pasties and band-aids serving as a costume.  Still, when such horrible evil custy monsters come out of the woodwork it is Queenie the Dumbass Slayer to the rescue!

Batteries and accessories sold separately.  Action figures manufactured in China may contain lead poisoning.

--Queer Geek

 

Waiting on Monster of the Bride

Hello again RHU!

A few weeks ago I posted a story about an Auntzilla, well this one involves a Momzilla! Here goes!

Recently, I received a call from an irate custy who ranted about a dress order she had made. Apparently this was suppose to be a Mother of the Bride dress that she was going to wear for her daughter’s wedding that was to happen in a few months.

"Hello Retail Hell, how can I serve you?"

"I’m really upset! I ordered a Mother of the Bride dress for my upcoming daughter’s wedding and it hasn’t arrive yet!" She roars.

"I’m sorry about that. Let me look into this," I tell her. I do some digging and find out some info for her.

"Miss, the dress you ordered is being specially ordered. It will arrive in four weeks. Will this be an inconvenience because we can cancel your order and find something suitable in time for your daughter’s wedding?"

"No, no," she says calmly. "I really want THAT dress! How come it takes so long?"

"It is a limited edition item," I explain to her. "The manufacturer only made a small amount from the factory as a seasonal purchase. The company is sold out I’m afraid but it looks like we had to special order it for you that is why it takes four weeks for delivery."

"That is fine," she tells me. "Just call me when it arrives so I can pick it up."

"We certainly will," I tell her. *Hangs up.* 

(One week later. Phone rings.)

"How come no one called me that the dress is here?" the custy yells.

"It is has only been one week Miss," I tell her again. "It is a special order that takes up to four weeks to arrive. If this is too long, we can help you find another dress to wear for the wedding."

"No, no," she replies. "I want THAT dress. Just call me when it arrives." *Hangs up.*

(Second week. Phone rings.)

"Okay now I really mad!" She shouts on the phone. "No one is calling me that the dress is here!"

"Miss, I told you that is special order that will arrive now within two weeks since you last called," I tell her. "Look this dress won’t arrive until that time. Why don’t we get you a different dress or I can cancel the order and refund your money."

"No, no," she protests. "I really want that dress. Just call me when it arrives!" *Hangs up.*

(Third week. Phone rings.)

"This is ridiculous!" The custy is livid. "What kind of business are you running? No one is calling me about my dress order arriving! I’ve talked to six managers in your store and they keep telling me that the dress is not there yet? I want answers!"

"Miss, you talked to six different managers and the answer is still the same." I reiterate. "The dress will be delivered in one more week because it is being specially ordered for you."

"Let me see what I can do," I sigh.

I phone in the Special Ordering department to see the progress of this dress and do you know what I discovered? THIS BITCH CALLED THEM AND CANCELLED HER ORDER! THE BITCH IS PLAYING MIND GAMES WITH US! Oh now I’m pissed so I phone Momzilla back.

"Hello," she answers in her fake sweet voice.

"Miss, I just called the Special Ordering department." I tell her. "They informed me you called them and cancelled your order so obviously it is going to take longer for this dress to arrive."

"What!?!" She screeches. "That’s a lie! No I didn’t! I need for you to reorder it so I can have the dress in time for my daughter’s wedding! You have to reorder it again!"

"Let me get this straight," I flatly tell her. "You want the dress after all? But you cancelled it!"

"I don’t care!" She snaps. "Just get me that dress and get to me fast!" *Click.*

In the end, we reorder the dress again for rush delivery and receive it. Momzilla gets her dress even though it took EXACTLY four weeks of waiting for it to arrive. I feel bad for the future groom since he is marrying into the family with crazy Mother-In-Law who enjoys playing mind games with people. Run buddy run!

--Queer Geek

 

Jesus Christ is a Retail Slave! Just Ask Walmart or Nintendo

From Queer Geek:

Guess what RHU?!?

The second coming of our Lord and Savior has finally arrived! Yes, Jesus has made his appearance known by showing up in the clouds, window panes, a tortilla, and even a potato chip. Now he is conquering the retail world by making a surprise cameo for consumers. Check it this story out as he surprises an old school gamer on a Ninetendo box!

A Maryland woman said she was surprised to find what appears to be an image of Jesus Christ on the top of a used Nintendo Entertainment System she purchased on eBay for $31 this week.

Brittany Wampler, 24, tells Kotaku she noticed the image shortly after unpacking two NES consoles, she purchased from an eBay seller. Story here: http://kotaku.com/5844362/jesus-appears-on-miracle-nintendo-says-maryland-woman

Then again, he did pop in Wal-Mart a few months ago:

 

 

See even Jesus is a retail slave!

--Queer Geek

 

Radio DJ Uses Wallet as Fake Phone To Try and Get Out of Tipping Valet

Hi-dee ho RHU! This story is dedicated to all those slaves who bust their humps for tips. It is a tale of payback for all those times you wished you could call out that custy that decided to stiff you.....and so our tale begins.

There is a popular, local radio duo that had been broadcasting on the air for 20 plus years called Johnson and Junior (not their real names to avoid any potential slander) who have a morning show sharing funny anecdotes about their lives. On this particular day, Junior decides to reveal to his listeners how he attempted to get out of paying a tip to his parking attendant in the most hilarious way. As insane as this story is, it is sadly true.

So Junior was running late that day for his doctor’s appointment and as he was reaching the parking lot he noticed that the structure was packed. Already he was fifteen minutes behind and prayed to the gods of radio to find a spot but no such luck until he saw the valet parking service. Pulling his car in, he has the parking attendant park his vehicle as Junior makes his way into the hospital.

An hour later, Junior leaves the doctor and goes to the valet to retrieve his car. When he digs into his pockets, he realizes that he only has enough cash to cover the valet parking fee service and no extra for tipping the valet. Desperate times calls for desperate measures as Junior devises an elaborate story to get out of paying a tip.

Here’s how the scenario goes down, he would fake a conversation on his cell phone that he has an emergency so that the valet parking attendant will feel so bad for him that he will not ask him for a tip.

This would have worked except for one detail. 

JUNIOR LEFT HIS CELL PHONE AT HOME. Once again, he resorted to Plan B. Grabbing his black wallet from his pocket, he holds it to his ear and starts talking just as he gets his car and peels out of the lot,

"What!?! A fire? I’m on my way. I hope no one is hurt!"

Meanwhile, the valet parking attendant is shocked by what he hears and prays that everything is alright with Junior. You would think Junior got away with murder.

WRONG! His radio partner Johnson decided to invite the listeners of the hospital to bitch call out Junior’s ass for his doucheness. Sure enough, the calls began pouring in.

"Hello. I work for security at the hospital and we have Junior on surveillance tape talking into his wallet. We’re all thinking that this guy has lost his mind. You should not paid the tip."

Finally, the valet parking attendant in question called further humiliating Junior.

"Yeah, I work as the hospital valet putting myself through Bible school (TRANSLATION: You’re going to hell buddy!) I thought something happened to Junior’s family after I overheard something about a fire so I prayed for him. Then I saw Junior talking into his wallet and I’m thinking he is getting out of the hospital so he must having some celebrity meltdown. I’m thinking he might be going to the psych ward or something."

"Well in my defense," said Junior. "I didn’t want to feel like a douche by stiffing a tip."

"Dude, seriously you shouldn’t have paid the tip then instead of having to lie about it. LAME!"

BUSTED!

For all you tip slaves, any unusual stories where a custy tried something just as elaborate to stiff you?

--Queer Geek

 

 

Checkout Lane Drama: Hilarious Tale of An Overwhelmed Newbie At The Register

Hello RHU!  Ever had that newbie hire that made you go WHERE DID THEY FIND THESE PEOPLE? 

A co-slave related this story to me when she was at the grocery store recently and was saying this to herself while waiting in line to pay.  Here is how the story goes.

Co-slave was waiting as the fourth person in line at the local grocers when she spotted the newbie cashier ringing people up.  How did she know she was a newbie?  Well, let’s look at the evidence.

Exhibit A: Her line starts to get longer.  Newbie goes on the speaker system and announces the following.

“Ummm…uhhhhh…I like need help or something.  I like need another another person at the register…to ring up and stuff…Thanks.”

Immediately, co-slave does a double take.  Did she just announce that to world?  However, her questions are answered as newbie decides to make another announcement in the most professional behavior.

“Ummm…uhhh…like I said I like need another cashier or whatever.  Also, can anyone ring up like a coupon or something?”

Co-slave decides to suck it up, ignore this little teenybopper’s attitude and pay for her stuff.  That is when she notices the next shocking thing by the newbie.

Exhibit B: Newbie is ringing up two custys head of co-slave.  Newbie is caught up in her own conversation that she is literally ringing up the same product more than once and not realizing it even after it is beeping in front of her.

“Yeah I love this thing…blah blah blah…(beep) and he said blah blah (beep)…and to like top it off blah blah blah (beep)…why isn’t this thing not scanning blah blah blah (beep)…I hate how it tastes…blah blah blah (beep) and I don’t know why there is not price on this blah blah (beep).  That’ll be $60.15!”

“$60.15 for one jar of pickles?” The shocked custy says.  “I only wanted one $3.00 jar of pickles!”

Newbie gets on the speaker.

“Um…uh….can like someone come over and void out a sale?”

Meanwhile, co-slave is banging her head against the candy aisle hoping the torture is over.  Luckily, another cashier steps in and speeds through the line telling newbie to take a break.

Anyone have similar experiences with a newbie?

--Queer Geek

 

Retail Slaves As Custys: Hell With Dell's Outsourced Reps From India

Here’s one RHU where yours truly almost transformed into an apeshit custy at the service call in center. 

Recently my Hell laptop went kaput (plus it had nasty worm I couldn’t get rid of thanks to all the illegal bootlegs I kept downloading) so I took it into Breast Buy to get it serviced at the Nerd Herd desk.  After finding out I needed to change the hard drive, I agreed to the terms but the repair rep recommended I order the current utility disks to start up my laptop.  They gave me the serial number and the company of Hell to order the disks.  No biggie right?  WRONG!

Now you know as anyone that using the automated system is a nightmare because the computer does not know what fuck you’re saying.  If you’re calling to order supplies, please press one.  If you’re calling to spend more money and not get your questions answered, please press two.  If you’re calling and have no clue who should be talking to, then press some random number.  If you’re a dumbass, then speak to some monotone computer voice about your issue then dumbfuck talk into the phone.

“I want to order utility disks.”

“I’m sorry I can’t understand you.  Please repeat that.”

“I want to order utility disks.”

“I still can’t under you.  Fucking speak up!”

“I WANT TO ORDER UTILITY DISKS!”

“Fine then, please wait while I connect you to one of our outsourced operators.”

(Fifteen minutes on hold.)

“Hello this is Punjab from India.  How can I help you?” (Holy shit!  Outsourcing was right.)

“My laptop is being repaired and they said I needed to order the current utility disks because Windows 7 is now outdated.”

“Do you have a warranty plan with us?

“No and no thank you I just want to order the disks.”

“Very well, let me connect you with another one of our outsourced representatives.”

(Another fifteen minutes go by.)

“Hello this is Kali from India.  How can I help you?” (This cannot be real.  Isn’t this a television sitcom or indie comedy?)

“Yes, I need to order utility disks.”

“What is the serial number?

“123456.”

“Sorry, we do not recognize that number.  Are you sure you do not have a warranty with us?”

“I’m sorry I don’t have warranty.  I just want to order the disks.”

“Would you like to purchase a warranty?” 

“I’m a retail slave.  I barely make enough to pay for internet gay porn.  No thank you.  Just the disks.”

“Well sir, without a warranty we cannot help you.  Goodbye.” (Hangs up.)

THE BITCH JUST HUNG UP ON ME!  OH NO SHE DI’NT!  I dialed again, wait this time twenty minutes on Hell’s computerized menu and get someone on the line.

“Hello you’ve reached Vishnu, another outsourced agent, how I can help you?”

“I don’t want new bells and whistles!  I don’t want a warranty plan!  I just want to buy the updated start-up disks!  Can you please help me?”

“Of course sir, what is the serial number?”

“123456.” 

“I’m sorry sir but that number is registered for the Company of Defense.  We can offer a new number for you if you purchase our warranty plan.”

“I don’t want the warranty plan!  How can this be possible?  I registered this number two years ago when I got this laptop as a Christmas present?  It is the same number that is always been?”

“Well sir looks like Breast Buy made a mistake and gave you the wrong serial number so you need to check with them.  Goodbye.” (Hangs up.)

So now I’m stuck calling back Breast Buy who tells me that this is EXACTLY the right serial number.  Frustrated, I ask if I can just use my old start up disks even if is outdated and they agreed. 

So RHU, I finally understand why the Hell’s spokesperson Ben Curtis (you know Slacker Steve) got caught with marijuana.  You have to be high to get through Hell’s customer service line!  Ugggggh!

--Queer Geek

 

The Wild World of Retail Hell Custys: Auntzilla

Everyone has heard of the grotesque behemoth known as the Bridezilla or even worse, the Momzilla but how about the new Leviathan rising from depths of the ocean The Auntzilla! 

I had the pleasure of observing one the other day that could very well be part of an Animal Planet episode!
 
Yes, welcome to the wild safari of retail hell.  Come and watch the big fancy department store where the Auntzilla breeds and it hunts for its prey:  the helpless retail slave! 

Notice how she decides to call half an hour after closing demanding to be helped roaring for assistance. 

Watch as the helpless slave is forced to cower in fear of this she-devil listening to her rant about how she was shipped the wrong order for an evening dress which she needed for her niece’s Super Sweet 16 event.

Observe how the vein in her neck is ready to burst as she nearly devours the poor slave into oblivion.
 
However, the attack of Auntzilla has not stopped there.  After finding the correct dress at another location near where she lives at and making arrangements to tailor it at the store’s expense and have it ready in time for her niece’s function, Auntzilla’s appetite for destruction still has not subsided.  She needs to satisfy her exploitation of the retail slave the day after her niece’s Super Sweet 16 party! 

Watch as Auntzilla calls the big fancy department store threatening to call the company if her demands are not met. 

Observe as she screams at a retail slave demanding she get freebies and extra perks because according to her she had to miss her nail appointment to pick up the dress. 

Listen as she mauls the slave to death with her endless prattle about not looking good at her niece’s Super Sweet 16 event making it impossible it for her to enjoy it. 

Sigh and roll your eyes as it sounds like Auntzilla wanted to take all the attention away from her niece even though it is supposed to be her niece’s special day!
 
Yes folks Auntzilla exists so if you ever run into one, run as fast you can from one! 

This Auntzilla stalked off to find another prey to harass leaving with nothing but a million apologies and her idle threats of suing the company. 

Crikey!

--Queer Geek

 

Just Another Day In Retail Hell

A poem about about last week in Retail Hell:

 

Oh what a week it has been!

Where do I begin?

So much to see and to tell

From a slave in retail hell!

 

The Freaks Come Out at Night!

A Whodini song so perfectly right

To describe the endless custy jerks

The pervs coming out of the woodwork!

 

Let us begin with the old male NAT

Attempting to return stolen clothes from whereat?

But his worst offense is much more grave

When he makes a pass at another pretty retail slave!

 

So when old male NAT asked her for a kiss

Pretty retail slave responded with an EWWW and a hiss!

Pretty retail slave simply came up to get office supplies

Not to be sexually harassed by some gross old guy!

 

Off she ran like the wind with no time for a chitchat

Can you blame her after encountering this NAT?

Still pervy old NAT could not take a hint

As he left to pick up another slave; his eye showing a glint.

 

After the gross old NAT came the rambunctious teens

Their hormones all raging lacking some personal hygiene,

A busty custy passed them looking all attractive and pretty

And paid her compliment by shouting, “NICE TITTIES!”

 

To which the busty custy replied with a confident air

Blew them a thank you kiss and tossed up her hair,

Gee who said chivalry was dead?

When a woman wants to be called a ho instead!

 

Then what really took the cake for me

Was this senior custy that did something you wouldn’t believe!

Resting in one of our lounge chairs we didn’t have a clue

Until we smelled something foul.  Yikes, he did a Number Two!

 

Damaging the chair with a filthy brown stain

I almost upchucked my lunch that remained

I felt sick to my stomach this I can attest

Feeling bad for the cleaning ladies who had to deal with this mess!

 

Yes, it has been a crazy week for this retail slave

Dealing with all these antics you have to be brave!

Just another day in retail hell is all I can say

So tell me how was your day?

 

--Queer Geek

 

 

Queer Geek's Custy Mantra for Apologizing

 

From Queer Geek:

In my line of work, I often have to apologize for things which are out of my control.  Saying I’m sorry to custys seems to be a like a broken record so I thought I would list a few of them for your enjoyment. 

I’m sorry for…see how easily it rolls off your tongue when you don’t mean it?

 

I’m sorry that you called our company and couldn’t get anyone on the line especially when your call wasn’t during normal business hours.  I’m sorry that no one was available at 3:00 a.m. in the morning.

*

I apologize that we turned down your NAT return especially when we never sold that product and that it was used beyond anyone’s recognition.

*

I’m sorry that everyone is watching you like a hawk especially when your picture is on every America’s Most Wanted List and you’ve got a felony record longer than most repeat offenders.  Of course it is not your fault that you’ve decided to come back to the same place you’ve been arrested several times before.

*

I’m sorry that your (insert relation here) was caught shoplifting and now is in custody.  Even though videotaped evidence and being caught red handed with the goods I’m sure the courts will sway in their favor.

*

I apologize your package is going to arrive late.  I guess we should blame God for deciding to have a natural disaster in your area during the time of the delivery.

*

I’m sorry we had to evacuate the store in the middle of your shopping time because we were in the middle of a natural disaster.  Dying is not that important when you’re in the middle of a sale.

*

I apologize for the homeless sleeping across the street.  We purposely put them for decoration because we want to reduce the beauty of our store.

*

I’m sorry that we had to get law enforcement involved especially when you threatened our workers with bodily injury if we didn’t do what you said.

*

I apologize that we could not accommodate your high maintenance personality with requests for limo service, champagne and Godiva chocolates, free merchandise, private jets to fly your packages to your residences, or treat you like royalty even though half of your luxury purchases you bought are used and returned by you.  We were not trained to deal with your entitled presence.

*

I’m sorry that we can’t close the business down for one day so that a pseudo-reality celebrity like yourself can have a free shopping day for themselves.  We just don’t know how to treat famous people.

*

I apologize for ruining your holiday event because you decided to order stuff last minute and didn’t realize that the postal service will have delays in deliveries.  Yes, its our fault we could not make miracles happen.

*

I’m sorry we are not perfect.  Yes, accidents will happen.  Mistakes will be made due to human error so I’m sorry that we broke the illusion that we were perfect!

--Queer Geek

 

Checkout Lane Hell: Bloodsucking Old Ladies Writing Checks In Slow Motion

From Queer Geek:

Ever had one of those moments where you’re the custy and you want to slap the retail hell off another another custy?

I have this week and it involves one of those slower than shit kind at the checkout line.

Now normally I’ll be a patient bastard waiting my turn while the poor slave does their thing until it is my turn to pay. However, I had to be stuck in the long ass line with the one ancient motherfucker in front who decides to stop time with their stupid ass idiosyncrasies.

I am at the Bullseye with my three year old nephew running errands and I’m at the checkout line ready to pay for my shit when I see three custys ahead of me being held up by none other than Whistler’s Grandmother who is taking her precious time trying to pay for her $3.00 catfood by check.

Now let me explain something. I love my nephew but he is one of those Hellspawns that we talk about here at the RHU. Blame my sister and my bro-in-law, who were teen terrors, for breeding. Payback certainly is a bitch when you become parents especially if you begat demon leprechauns from your loins. Yes, that is my nephew in a nutshell! He’s the reason why I never want to adopt, raise kids, or become a sperm donor. I don’t want to corrupt the world with my gene pool!

Anyway as my nephew is attempting to dismantle the candy aisle, the old crone in front of us is taking forever trying to pay with a check. The poor cashier slave is doing her best not to lose her patience as she is trying to move the line along.

Already one custy gets fed up with old lady and moves to another checkout line. Still it does very little in getting grandma to finish her payment. Meanwhile, my nephew had discovered origami with the magazine rack as I try to stop him from destroying the register. Old lady still will not budge. 

Old Lady: I have a manufacturer’s coupon. I want to use this.

Cashier: Ma'am, this coupon is expired. We can’t use it.

Old Lady: Are you sure? They would take it at Hellgreens.

Cashier: I’m sorry but no.

Old Lady: I guess I’ll have to try another coupon. (Digs into her purse for two minutes.) I know it is in here somewhere. How much was that expired coupon I gave you?

Cashier: 50 cents off.

Old Lady:(Digs into her purse again.) I know I have one for 75 cents. Somewhere in here.

As she does this, World War III took place. 2012 destroyed the world while aliens built slave colonies with the survivors of humanity but still this lady simply will not budge. The custy in front of me finally had enough exiting to another checkout aisle leaving me and another couple forced to wait out grandma. My three year old nephew by now has now turned a year older, is potty trained, and probably apply to Bullseye as a retail slave at the rate this old broad finishes her business.

Old Lady: I guess I don’t have that coupon after all. Oh well I’ll have to pay by check. How much was it?

Cashier: $3.97.

Old Lady: $3.00?

Cashier: And 97 cents.

Old Lady: How much was it again? 

Cashier: $3.97

Old Lady: (Writes in checkbook) One....Two....Three... How much was it again?

Cashier: (Sighs) $3.97.

Old Lady: One...Two...Three... and how many cents?

Cashier: 97 cents.

Old Lady: Three....dollars...D...O....L...L...A....R...S...and...97...cents. How do you spell Bullseye?

The cashier finally finishes up with this old crone finally giving me the opportunity to pay. By this time, my balls have gone gray and I’m going bald thanks to grandma who took her precious time paying. I charged my shit, drag my demonling of a nephew with me who by now has torched the magazines and candy at the checkout line, and split. I almost made it out when I overhear the old lady return.

Old Lady: (To the cashier) Excuse me, I saw this catfood is on sale for $2.00. You overcharged me. Could you tell me what check number I used? I also have a coupon...

UUUUUUUUUGGGGGGHHHH!

--Queer Geek