Retail Hell Underground

NC Tony's Retail Slave Wish List 2011

After all the positive feedback I got from last year's list, I decided to make another one for this year. I promised it, so here it is, the Retail Slaves Wish List 2011. This is by no means a complete list, so let me know what I may have forgotten.

Baby pictures: For those of you who don't (yet)/don't want to have children, you can now have wallet sized pictures of adorable babies to carry around. Why? For the next entitled idiot that threatens to get you fired!

Crusty: I don't like the way I was treated, I want to talk to your supervisor. I'm going to get you fired.

You (pulling out baby pictures): Could you do me a favor?

Crusty: What?

You (showing her pictures of adorable babies): Could you explain to my son(s)/daughter(s) [insert appropriate guilt trip such as baby needs an operation, why they won't be getting any presents this birthday/Christmas, basic needs like food and shelter]?

Those of you with children simply need to carry around pictures of your kids when they were babies, even if they are old enough to have jobs and families themselves. If you look too old to have young children simply refer to the angel faced cherubs in the pictures as your grandchildren. Available in boys and girls (mix and match for multiple children to heap on the guilt).

Fake smile: Does your face hurt from having to paste on a fake smile for every entitled asshole that comes through your line? Are you sick and tired of having to grin and bear it when some dickhead yells and screams at you for upholding company policy? Does your jaw ache from having to smile while some fuckface tears into you because you can't do the impossible? Now simply wear a fake smile over your own grimace of anger while your eyes convey all the hate necessary. Available in all skin tones for men and women.

Spawn B-Gone: Hate screaming, unruly children? Of course you do! Now with Spawn-B-Gone you don't have to deal with them. Developed by scientists, Spawn-B-Gone is a odorless gas that flows through the vents into the store and harmlessly puts small children (newborn-toddlers) to sleep. Older children (4 and up) will feel lethargic and listless, and less likely to get into shit. The effects wear off as soon as the children are out in the parking lot. Note: Spawn B-Gone does not actually make small children disappear.

Trash magnet: So there you are cleaning up, and you find an empty Starbucks cup stuck on a shelf. There's a garbage can five feet away. Ever wish you could find the responsible party? The trash magnet (an odorless spray that coats the customers clothes when they enter the store) will force their own trash to stick to their clothes unless it's deposited in an appropriate trash receptacle.

1,001 Ways To Get Revenge: This is more for your coworkers and managers who are out to get you, or prefer to throw you under the bus to save their own ass. 1,001 sneaky, devious, underhanded ways to get revenge on them that can never be tracked back to you. From simple things like keying their car, to kidnapping their pets for ransom. Also going to extreme measures like putting them on the mailing list for the Westboro Baptist Church or hiring an ex-con to rob their house while they're at work. Also available: 1,001 Ways To Get Revenge: Corporate Edition.

Terry Everton and Burger Bitch's Big Book of Insults: Tired of calling someone an asshole or a stupid bitch? Let RHU's experts in new curse words give you the arsenal to unleash as soon as Fuckneck McCockknuckle's back is turned. Let that dicktooth know exactly what you think of them, even if you can't say it to their face. Also good for the coworkers described above.

How to Be Condescending and Get Away With It: Along with the Big Book of Insults, this book gives you scathing ways to tell customers and asshole coworkers to fuck off and die without actually saying "Fuck off and die". Now you can let customers and idiot coworkers know exactly how you feel about them without getting in trouble for it. Now you can insult customers intelligence, upbringing, education level, and even their looks right to their face without them being any the wiser that they've been insulted. Special index: 20 ways to flip someone off right in front of their face. Includes the old favorites of scratching your face, adjusting your glasses, and new sneakier techniques of careful hand adjustment so that your middle finger is always pointed at the customer (but not so they'd notice).

Closing Time Stun Doors: It's two minutes to close, and here comes some asshole who decided to wait until the last minute to come shopping. They promise to be "real quick" but you know that "real quick" turns into you staying a half hour past closing time. Well now, anywhere between ten and two minutes to close the doors go into stun gun mode. With all the voltage of a police tazer, anyone waiting until the last minute to come in "real quick" will get a real quick jolt of 50,000 volts (customers exiting will not be affected). Can also be adjusted to stun anyone other than an employee trying to get in before the store officially opens.

Trapdoors at closed registers: Don't you hate it when your register is closed and some brain dead cockslap comes up and dumps their shit on your register despite the CLOSED sign? Well a simple push of a button will render your line closed again as a trapdoor opens under their feet. For those of you who don't want to hurt anyone, the space under the trapdoor can be equipped with a mattress, and an escape staircase that lets out in the parking lot.

Coffee Call-Back: Hate it when coffee customers yell at you for screwing up their orders, when it's their fault because they weren't specific? Now with Coffee Call-Back you can nip this annoying problem in the bud. Coffee Call-Back records the customer's order, and will play it back as soon as the customer complains that you screwed up their order. The crusty then has two choices: take the drink that they ordered, or pay half the cost of the drink to have it remade. Deluxe model comes with video playback.

Hounds: So you've made the announcement that your store is closing in 15, 10, 5 minutes. The Stun Doors have kept out the riffraff, and now the store is closed. Final announcement; "Ladies and gentlemen, we are now closed, please take your final purchases to the nearest register or we will release the hounds. Thank you for shopping at The Big Fancy." Hounds will be trained only to chase but not attack custys unless they're provoked. Hounds will also be trained not to attack retail slaves.

Baseball bat clue-by-fours: Now there's no need to carry around a unwieldy piece of wood. All new clue-by-fours have been turned into easy to carry baseball bats. Still with the same ability to knock sense into even the dumbest customer.

Real life censor/mute: Tired of customers calling you a stupid asshole or (even worse) a dumb cunt? Well with the real life censor their insults get turned into grade school insults that make them sound stupid. How funny would it be to hear "stupid asshole" turned into "stupid airnose"? "I can't fucking believe how fucking stupid and incompetent you are" becomes, "I can't fudgecicle believe how Frosted Flakes stupid and inclockable you are... wait, what the french toast did I just say?" For those more severe insults (being called a cunt, or having your race or sexual orientation insulted) the real life censor simply bleeps out the words. Can also be adjusted to mute the crustys voice altogether.

So there you have it thirteen brand new items that if they existed would make our lives so much easier.

-NC Tony

 

CLICK HERE TO SEE TONY'S 2010 LIST!

 

 

THE BENEFITS OF BEING A SHOPPING ASSHOLE – RULE #1

Seldom does a day go by anymore without someone asking me so what exactly do I have to do to be an asshole when I go out shopping, anyway?

It’s a valid question. After all, shopping assholes go directly to the front of the line without having to mingle with the likes of us.

Major corporations reserve their deepest discounts to the nut nuzzlers who complain the loudest, and minimum wage lackeys are required to pose as subservients to the lowest common denominators who have every intention of spending the least to receive the most.

Middle Managers are conditioned to cower before the biggest jerks, District Managers roll out the red carpet to the most unreasonable taint twizzlers and CEO’s insist on corporate cultures centered around catering to the whims of douche nozzles who demand on paying for as little as they can possibly get away with.

Is it any wonder then why the line to learn how to be a shopping asshole is as long as Ron Jeremy’s marketability? So as a public service, I proudly offer the following tips on how to get what you want by being the biggest jerk in the room.

Rule #1 – Try something you’ve never tried before, and if you end up not liking it, return the unused portion and demand a refund.

The world is your perpetual buffet, and you have every right to sample its bounty as often as your discretion allows. Should you see something resting on a shelf that piques your curiosity, cave in to your every whim and satiate your sensory craving without hesitation. The piece of cellophane doesn’t exist that isn’t meant for you to unwrap, the bottle of wine hasn’t been produced that you aren’t supposed to sample and the latest gadget is anxiously awaiting your uninhibited test drive. And remember…The primary function of service industry workers is to not only meet but exceed your expectations, however over the top and unrealistic they may be. Should these minimum wage peons fall short of this basic job requirement, by all means reserve the right to bubble up a complaint to the corporate office along with your demands to get whatever the hell you want at either a discount or damn near free. You see, big box corporate retailers are primarily in the business of catering to the people who bitch the loudest, and the easiest way to get what you want is to launch threats their way laced with how you intend to badmouth their company to all your friends real or imagined. Remember, the louder you are the more you get.

Your personal mantra should resonate with tributes to your self-indulgence and entitlement, and anyone who stands in the way of your getting to try whatever you want whenever you want it should be viewed as the impediment to your progress that they undeniably are. Retailers build into the their budgets dollar amounts they fully expect to absorb through theft, waste and product returns, so not taking advantage of their generosity is the same as allowing them to keep money they had already planned to lose anyway.

So you owe it to them – and yourself – to benefit from the generosity they’ve already planned to bestow upon you. After all, life’s bounty is as diverse as Charlie Sheen’s multiple personalities, so why should you be required to languish in the muck of mediocrity reserved for shoppers who are too timid to demand what is rightfully theirs? So what are you waiting for? Get out there and expand your world by sampling stuff you’ve never tried before! The only one stopping you is…you

--Terry Everton

 

Corporate Bullshit Rant: Non-Empoyee Employers vs. Anti Employee Employers

I’M A DIRTY THIEVIN’ BASTARD.

AND SO ARE YOU.

Most corporate retailers rely and count on maintaining constant environments of mistrust, fear and turnover of the people they employ to boost their profitability. By avoiding anything resembling allegiance among their staff, these barons of modern day capitalism turn and burn personnel while avoiding costly expenditures such as benefits and pay increases, instead transferring that money into their already-bloated coffers. If you’re unfortunate enough to have chugged a six pack of big box corporate Kool-Aid propaganda you may temporarily fall under the spell of their we’re one big happy family façade, but it’s only a matter of time until the we care about you only as much as we’re required to by law antidote will be shoved down your unwilling throat instead.

Most corporate retail employers view their employees as an unfortunate expenditure they haven’t quite yet figured out how to function entirely without. If they could invent a way to convince their customers to give up their money without having to provide service in exchange, they would discard you and your subsistence-level wage faster than a drunk high school cheerleader dropping her panties on prom night. There’s a good chance your employer keeps just enough low-rent help around to maintain the illusion of a well-stocked store filled with vibrant and eager sales associates who are chomping at the bit to make sure the CEO’s kids are able to keep driving their late-model BMW’s. But a sneak peek behind the Wizard of Oz-like curtain reveals an industry thriving instead on requiring more for less from the very people they claim to care about the most.

Corporate retail employers essentially fall into one of two categories: The Non-Employee Employer and the Anti-Employee Employer. Here’s a brief and thoroughly incomplete summation of the two.

The Non-Employee Employer

The Non-Employee Employer actually does employ people, but views and treats them as non-entities. In the Non-Employee Employer world you exist but rarely matter. Your schedule requests are little more than puffs of wishful smoke and should you require a day off other than what is bestowed upon you from the schedule maker on high you are required to beg and/or bribe a fellow wage slave to cover your shift or shut up and show up. Any on-the-job training beyond the bare minimum or long-term professional development is solely your responsibility to source out, because chances are you aren’t going to be around long enough to advance in the company anyway. Your expendability is ongoing, because there’s a slush pile of resumes and applications backlogged in the manager’s office as a reminder of the desperate souls just waiting to fill your temporary shoes. Holidays are little more than another opportunity for you to serve the customer, and weekends are those mythical moments in time reserved for people with real jobs. You are required to park as far away from the job site as possible, regardless of how well lit the area is and how that may potentially factor in to your safety. Benefits are for wimps, and the best and most affordable health insurance is you not getting sick. Closing late one shift and opening early the next is a job requirement, and you’re setting yourself up for disappointment if you expect everyone to be treated the same. Consider yourself lucky if the managers know your name, and don’t expect them to ever - ever - come to your defense should you find yourself on the receiving end of a customer complaint. The Non-Employee Employer likes you as much as your ability to make money for him, and the entirety of your relationship is based on that unspoken premise.

The Anti-Employee Employer

The Anti-Employee Employer ups the ante in the I don’t give a fuck about you sweepstakes immeasurably. This inflamed hemorrhoid not only distrusts you, but goes out of his way to remind you that you are one evolutionary step above common pond scum in your current retail predicament. Before you even begin your employment tenure, your new boss will imply that he suspects you of being a borderline crack addict and will require you to prove otherwise by demanding you subject yourself to the humiliations of a urinalysis – all so you can prove that you possess the moral fortitude to make minimum wage selling overpriced claptrap.

This paranoid nutdrainer has convinced himself that everyone under his employ exists for the sole purpose of robbing him blind, and he’ll be more than happy to tell you just how much he doesn’t trust you while simultaneously cutting you a paycheck. Walk into any employee break room in the Anti-Employee Employer’s environment, and you’ll be regaled by corporatespeak signage encouraging you to spy on and anonymously rat out your coworkers for the inevitable theft they’re apparently powerless from stopping themselves from plotting. This dumbed-down verbiage usually consists of something along the lines of theft affects us all or join the obsessed with shrink club.

And those eyes in the sky called security cameras? They exist primarily for your employer to keep tabs on you; not potential shoplifting customers. Mention the words union or organized labor in his presence, and you will be targeted, ostracized and legally terminated before the words have barely left your mouth. This is the same employer who keeps a rotating tab of potential “high shrink candidates” on hand and periodically kicks an hourly employee to the curb for the smallest infraction to keep the remaining staff afraid enough to stay in line and do as they’re told. Within this fetid world, anticipate being occasionally berated in front of your coworkers, humiliated in the presence of customers and reminded of your insignificance on an ongoing basis. Here managers are reduced to spending their hours babysitting systems instead of developing personnel and are incessantly threatened with unemployment behind the scenes if the store’s profitability drops below a certain ratio, regardless of whether they are responsible for the reduction in sales.

Shit rolls downhill at an ever-increasing pace within this format, because managers are placed in the precarious position by their bosses of finding someone to blame when sales expectations fall short - and that someone is the next low wage hourly scapegoat who happens to have won the next in the corporate crosshairs lottery. In the Anti-Employee Employer universe, weekly corporate-generated newsletters are rife with examples of customer complaint letters littered with details of customer service failure and all around employee ineptitude. All the while, you and your coworkers are getting paid the bare minimum you’re willing to settle for, and the real prerequisites for anyone’s advancement are kissing ass or being a two-faced unconscionable prick.

Allowing you to work overtime is this taskmaster’s version of giving you a raise, and even though your monthly bills likely won’t fluctuate that dramatically from week to week, your scheduled work hours certainly will in accordance to projected business levels and what is most advantageous for the company’s bottom line. The Anti-Employee Employer has all sorts of inherent punishments and humiliations built into the system with which to randomly bestow upon you, and these usually come in the form of various third grade level write-up documents and other generic papers designed to fill your employee file to be used as a case against you when the time comes for your inevitable termination.

Overall, today’s average corporate retail job carries with it about as much satisfaction as the average root canal or un-lubricated prostate exam. Far too many of those charged with safeguarding corporate profit margins do so at the expense of the individuals they employ through intimidation and disregard of anything resembling basic human decency. For the average hourly worker, a career in retail is about as likely as a Southern Baptist signing up for dance lessons, so an underlying mentality of I’m only here until I find something better or they shit-can me first permeates most stores and is often passed on to the very customers whom these ingrown testicles profess to worship.

And as long as we continue empowering these ballscrapers with our subservience, there will be little impetus for them to regard us with little more than the disdain they’re currently allowed to get away with. In the end, how we allow ourselves to be treated is ultimately up to us. If we can somehow summon the wherewithal to abandon our collective hubris and band together for each other’s common good, the sort of workplace environments we envision and deserve aren’t as farfetched as they sometimes currently seem. If.   

--Terry Everton

 

Corporate Brainwashing: Who Needs Decent Pay When You Can Have A Fancy Title Instead

One of the things the corporate retail employer does best is constantly remind it’s workers just how insignificant and wholly dispensable they are. Of course, they don’t quite phrase it like that. Instead, they tell you what they really think of you by offering bogus “benefits” in place of the one thing you need the most – money. Here are a few things these greedy fucks try to pass off as reasons why you should be so eternally grateful to them for employing you while paying you a subsistence wage that affords you a gourmet diet of cardboard and paste.

Titles Over Wages

Any time an employer attempts to give you a title without an accompanying raise in pay, the fix is in. Some of these amazingly specialized job positions include the moniker of Supervisor, Key Holder, Lead, Head, Senior, Assistant, Director, Coordinator, Planner, Technician, Liason, Representative, Strategist, Analyst, Designer, Architect, Producer and of course Manager. Most of these titles are handed out for one sole reason – to make the existing manager’s lives easier by redistributing some of their duties onto up-and-coming hourly workers who hope to eventually be sucked into the ranks of management themselves.

Any time you are given the keys to the store, the duty of supervising your fellow cohorts or the responsibility of handling the daily deposits of the store’s receipts then you have crossed over into the realm of needing to get paid more. Remember, the company is first and foremost concerned about padding its already significant bottom line, and one of the primary ways it does this is by getting YOU to do more for less. So the next time your cable gets cut off for late payment, just remind the cable company that they’re dealing with a Supervisor – and I’m sure they’ll immediately come to their senses and turn your channels right back on.

Pizza Is Not A Benefit

Contrary to what some store managers seem to think, buying pizza or having monthly cookouts for the staff on the loading dock next to the trash dumpsters is not a benefit of employment. In fact, managers should probably provide their staffs meal subsidies out of gratitude that they’re even willing to show up relatively on time and endure their shitty jobs for the menial pittance corporate calls a wage rather than force them to pay for and choke down the caloric, preservative-laden swill offered by the plethora of gourmet fast food mall joints that are often the only option between increasing one’s cholesterol rate and going hungry. More often than not, these donations of culinary mediocrity show up during holidays when most employees are working 60 hour weeks to begin with and are dangled like a carrot in front of them that really says hurry up, choke this down and get your ass back on the sales floor so we can meet our quota so I don’t get my ass chewed out by the District Manager. This food-reward stuff also applies to holiday parties, birthday cakes and any other extra grub that gets provided as a “reward” for meeting some stupid sales quota that really just allowed the owner to stay on vacation for another two weeks while you continued to be on the shit-eating receiving end of the twatmobiles your company calls customers. Here’s something to try…The next time you come up short on your car payment, tell the bank you have some leftover sales quota pizza in your refrigerator you can give them instead. I’m sure you’ll keep on driving. Straight toward the abyss.

Attaboy

Attaboy’s are schwag – most often promotional materials provided by vendors that your company doesn’t even pay for – that your employer will bestow upon you for going above and beyond the call of duty. This is potentially the most insulting of all the pseudo-benefits in the corporate arsenal, because attaboys are supposedly rewards for actual accomplishments with dime store trophies that add up to less than nothing at the end of the work day. If you make such an amazing impression on a customer with your unbelievable service that that customer is compelled to write a letter to your corporate office singing your praises to the highest heavens – attaboy – here’s an inket printed Certificate of Customer Service Excellence for you to hang on your wall (though you’ll have to provide the frame yourself). If you come in on your day off even if you’re supposed to be attending your mother’s funeral – attaboy – here’s a Cuervo Gold T-shirt that’s two sizes too small for you to commemorate the occasion by. If you single-handedly unload ten pallets of boxes weighing fifty pounds each in an eight hour shift – attaboy – we’ve got a five dollar gift certificate to the mall food court just waiting for you to take to the bank. If you come up a couple of hundred dollars short on your rent at the end of the month – gather up all the attaboy’s you’ve collected over the past thirty days and present them to your landlord instead of actual money. I’m sure he’ll understand and not insist that you summarily join the ranks of the homeless.

Giving Them Back Your Money At A Discount

Being provided the opportunity to give the store back the money you just earned from them under the guise of employee discounts is not a benefit. Rather, it’s a way for the company for screw you twice – once through ridiculously low wages and the second time by conning you into believing that you’re getting a better bargain than the regular customers on the same overpriced slop. Your measly discount is little more than the very same rebate periodically offered to the general public via couponing; the primary difference being yours is available with a little more frequency. The only difference between your daily twenty percent and the ten dollars off of every fifty dollars the customer spends coupon is that the customer isn’t recycling the company’s money back into itself. The next time you come up short on your electric bill, offer the utility company the benefit of your employee discount to make up the difference and see how long you can continue keeping the lights on and surfing the interne

Schedule Me A Better Lifestyle While You’re At It

Some companies equate honoring schedule requests as a substitute for giving you stuff - like money - that you can actually live on when you get a day off. Periodically being on the receiving end of a favorable schedule is not a benefit. Though they may sometimes give lip service to the contrary, most managers who make your schedule don’t give a crap about your existence other than how it fits into their budgeted hourly scheme. Your existence is tolerated as long as you effectively contribute to the one unspoken goal of every employee in your store – making sure the CEO and his lovely bride or mistress are able to continue affording the mortgage on their third vacation house somewhere in the Caribbean. Of course you can average just under thirty hours a week, because the company doesn’t have to cough up health benefits at that point. Of course you can have a Saturday off every now and then, just so long as you don’t plan on ever spending another holiday with your family again in exchange. Of course you can close the store one night and open it the next a couple of times a week, because sleep is overrated anyway. Just because you’re given the one night off you had to request six months in advance doesn’t mean the company is on your side. What it really means is that it periodically forces someone else to cover your ass so that you remain just happy enough to keep showing up to keep the transactions and profits flowing. And only you can decide who really gets to call that a benefit at the end of another ten to twelve hour work day.

-- Terry Everton

 

 

Terry Everton Rants: Time-Wasting Customer Comments That Make Me Want To Throw Up In My Mouth

It always amazes me the amount of spare time some customers find in their busy days to conjure up the most time-wasting, whatthefuckareyouthinking questions and comments when addressing retail employees.

You can always identify the morons who lead the most unproductive, vacant and boring lives by how they interact with service personnel. Rather than getting to the point and engaging in relatively normal adult conversations, these sissy-smeared baconstrokers instead regale service workers with the sort of irrelevant minutiae usually reserved for members of Congress or other carnival barkers.

They apparently entertain themselves by imposing huge amounts of ridiculousness on people who are basically just doing their jobs, and in so doing expose themselves as the fraudulent consumers they’re pretending to be. 

Here are a few examples I’ve fielded in the last week or so.    

 I don’t see a price tag on this so it must be free, right?

Abso-fucking-lutely, you pockmarked-imbued pustule. In fact, the way we remain in business is by buying shit and then giving it away for free. It’s a cutting-edge business model we’ve instituted to lure the likes of you into the store with the sole intent of slathering you with our socialistic generosity. The only thing more annoying than your unoriginal attempt at failed humor is, well, nothing. Just because crap periodically makes its way to the shelf without a price tag doesn’t mean you just stumbled upon an unclaimed lottery ticket, you crusty vaginachute. The unpriced widget you just grabbed from the shelf isn’t the same as the treasure chest of a nickel you just scored on the parking lot pavement on your way in. And in what alternate reality have you been finding these stores that give unpriced merchandise away complimentary, because I’d sure as fuck like to hitch a ride on that goodie gravy train myself. So how about if you either a) ask for a price check on the damn thing or b) reshelve it up your sphincter so I can go back to ignoring you, which is more than twice the level of service you deserve.

I’d buy more of these widgets if you’d give me a quantity discount.

And I’d probably shit more if I ate bran muffins every day for breakfast, lunch and dinner. But my colon needs that kind of workout like speaking to you benefits me in any way possible, with the end result of both equaling one big pain in my ass. You see, this here fancy place you just stumbled upon is one of those modern thingys called a retail store. We sell shit to you for more than we paid for it, generating this crazy ass thing called a profit which pays both the bills and our employees’ wages, slim though they may be. Besides, our loving and overly-generous CEO just added three new rooms to his third vacation house in Barbados, and any discount I extend to your cheap ass dramatically cuts into his paycheck-to-paycheck lifestyle. Trust me on this one, dick trickle…I’m neither persuaded nor lured by your enticement to enhance our bottom line by giving away our profit margin by selling you shit at the same price we bought it for. You’ve apparently mistaken us for an online auction site, in which case feel free to select the non-negotiable “buy it now” option and cough up the asking price or log the fuck off and go waste someone else’s time with your ridiculous haggling, you wrinkle-lipped knobeater.

How dare you run out of the one piece of shit I drove through three different time zones just to get here and buy because you sell it for two cents less than the store next to where I live!

Congratulations…You’re the grand prize winner of our daily I’m admitting to being the cheapest fuck you’re going to meet today drawing! I understand that somewhere in the vast void where your brain didn’t finish growing that spending ten dollars on gas to save fifty cents on a can of cat food qualifies as bargain shopping, but it’s not my life’s sole purpose to ensure that the shit which satisfies your bargain-basement jones is readily available 24 –7. We’re in the business of actually selling the stuff we put on the shelves, and as shocking as this may be, other people periodically buy the same stuff as you which means we may run out of stock every now and then. Now I realize that in the grand scheme of your daily routine of masturbating to internet porn and checking your current ebay bid outcomes every five minutes that the universe revolves around your amazingly precise lifestyle and that the tiniest unexpected bump can throw you for a mental loop the likes of which would rattle Nurse Ratched herself. But being that the rest of our lives don’t revolve around your narcissistic discount-phobia, please either purchase a substitute something-or-other or enjoy a long walk off of a short pier.

I didn’t buy a newspaper today…Do you have any of your ads here in the store with your coupons in them?

And it slipped my mind to put on underwear before I left the house this morning…Will you hold my dick the rest of my shift so it stops banging against my kneecap when I walk? Excuse me while I place a call to our corporate office and inform them that the thousands of dollars they spend on advertising every couple of weeks to attract new customers is no longer necessary, because we’ve decided to discount the entire store for everyone regardless of whether they want to participate in our programs or not. I understand that you’re entirely too busy and important to be held to the same standard that we require of everyone else, so fuck it…You can have the whole goddamned store for free. In fact, let me pay you to shop here because you obviously are doing us a favor by allowing us the opportunity to make less money on your purchases because you’re too lazy or full of hubris to meet the same requirements as the rest of our customers. Let me make sure I have this right…You’re aware that a coupon exists, but you’re admitting that you’re exempt from tracking it down like we require everyone else to do in order to receive the discount. Your sense of entitlement is surpassed only by the size of your surgically-enlarged scrotum, you cheap-assed cockwit. 

Will you throw away these three trash bags full of garbage I brought into your store with me?

How awesome is this…You mean, I not only get to put up with your shit, but I get the privilege of having to throw it away for you too? Actually, today is your lucky day because we’re giving away a complimentary steaming hot cup of blow me to the biggest spunkwhore to walk through the door, and you just won. Just because ninety percent of your daily caloric intake originates from a drive-thru doesn’t make me responsible for the carbon footprint you’re trying to kick my ass with. I have about as much desire to dispose of the three-week-old contents of your minivan as a Christian Fundamentalist being forced to sit through a Village People reunion tour sponsored by Keith Haring and Robert Mapplethorpe. Fuck me, but I must’ve been absent the day they released the memo announcing our conversion from a retail outlet to a city dump. I’ll tell you what. I’ll make a deal with you. How about I show up on the doorstep of your office cubicle or wherever the hell you work tomorrow with a few yards of booger-filled Kleenex, toenail clippings, used condoms, crushed beer cans and whatever other refuse I can scrape up and see if you wouldn’t mind getting rid of it for me. Until then, feel free to bend over so I can properly recycle this pile of McCrap you just dropped off in the one place it belongs more than anywhere else.

-- Terry Everton

 

NO-TOUCHING 101: Sexual Harassment Training Videos

One of the things the corporate retail employer does amazingly well is come up with creative ways to waste lots of your time. And I can think of no better example of this than those ridiculous mind-numbing Sexual Harassment Videos corporate lawyers force new employees to endure.

The next time I hear some bimbo who can’t get laid in real life spout the words hostile work environment, I’m going to throw up in my mouth. Not only is this a bogus accusation 99.99999% of the time, but now the rest of us are forced to walk on eggshells and watch videos geared toward the average five year old because creepy old Uncle Bob may or may not have been inappropriate twenty years ago with Betty Lou who now works in the same building as the rest of us.

Now let’s review these fucking ridiculous videos they force us to watch. The entire experience basically consists of some putzy manager who has better things to do sitting your ass in front of a 12”x12” computer screen in a dingy break room, hitting the “on’ button then walking away to let your ass be mesmerized by two hours’ worth of cartoons and fairy tales that make Saturday morning network TV look like a Ken Burns PBS dissertation in comparison. To call these videos the epitome of toilet soup is as understated as accusing a Christian Fundamentalist of being tolerant of gay marriage or an Arizona congressman of championing cultural diversity.

Here’s an example of one of these video questions to test how well you’re grasping the material: Jenna shows up at a mandatory employee meeting topless.

You a) Think about excusing yourself to go to the employee bathroom and masturbate, b) Go to the employee bathroom and masturbate, c) Sit there with a boner and hope to Christ no one asks you to stand up to participate in a stupid customer service role play, or c) Ignore her and kiss the Manager On Duty’s ass.

The correct answer is obviously d) Will you loan me a gun so I can just shoot myself in the fucking head now and get it over with?

These videos teach the unsuspecting employee as much about gender differences as Pee Wee Herman is qualified to give a public service announcement on proper movie theatre etiquette. Look, I’m the first to admit there’s a fine line between you look nice in those jeans and I’d like to wear your ass for a hat, but forcing me to watch a cartoon character lecture me on the negative impact that jerking myself off in the middle of the sales floor can have on my career isn’t teaching me anything I haven’t already filed in my “no shit Sherlock” folder.

How about this. How about if you treat those of us who choose to act like adults accordingly and leave the third grade to the video-game addicted skatr boyz who come to job orientations wearing their baggy ass-crack showing jeans halfway down their bungholes? Of course the lawyers won’t like that because they get paid to assure their client – our employer – that our intellects remain in full subservient mode and that we stay malleable enough to check our common sense at the time clock and salute the corporate agenda like the pliable automatons we’re paid to be. That, and the company has to protect itself these days from Betty Lou’s lawyer when she tries to sue the first person who has the audacity to harass her by asking her how her weekend was.

Damn. And all this just when I was getting ready to offer a complimentary mushroom tattoo to the first coworker I came in contact with today.

--Terry Everton

 

 

 

 

 

Corporate Hell: Blaming Shrinkage and Theft on Young Retail Slaves

 I should’ve checked the weather forecast before leaving home this morning, because I got caught in a full-blown shitstorm without an umbrella as the turd drops began falling. Just when I think I’ve read every chapter in the moron book of dumb, another corporate halfwit comes along and decides what we really need is another sequel because apparently there’s no such thing as too much stupid.

Here’s what I mean.

The store in which I work has been recently targeted by our company as a high shrink store. What this really means in non-retailspeak is that we’re in a crappy neighborhood and a lot of shit is getting stolen by freaks and opportunists masquerading as customers.

And when I say shoplifted, I don’t mean crazy Aunt Hilda getting her ripoff jones on by cramming a candy bar in her panties on the way out the door. No, I’m talking about the kind of brazen heister who walks into the store, grabs a shopping cart, fills it to the brim with 1.75ml bottles of Grey Goose, Johnnie Walker Black and whatever other top shelf liquor catches his eye at the time and nonchalantly wheels it out the front door while all the managers and sales associates are on the sales floor assisting customers who actually came in to give us their money. This is the sort of professional thief who, in all probability, resells the stuff from the back of his trunk or hawks it to mom and pop restaurants at a cheaper price than they can buy the stuff from their local distributor, and is brazen enough to do this while knowing he’s being recorded by the store cameras and obviously has decided that the gain outweighs the risk of being caught at this stage of his career choice. Which in my limited mind makes him potentially dangerous to the long-term health of the store employees should he ever feel threatened.

Now, if you’re like me you may be thinking so why don’t the store owners protect their investment and employees by hiring a security guard to stand at the door and act as a deterrent?

The simple answer is because that would actually require them to pay someone more than the subsistence level wages they’ve so far been able to get away with, which is the source of a good chunk of their profits. That, and they’ve already budgeted a certain percentage of loss they’re willing to endure as the cost of doing business. They won’t admit this, of course, and have instead concocted an alternate reason for their sudden spate of losses…

And that reason of course is us. 

So today the District Manager shows up and announces that the reason we’ve been unable to prevent most of these thefts is that we don’t have a mature enough workforce! Apparently the mind trust at corporate has decided that the majority of our ill-gotten ills stem from our propensity to employ the 21 – 25 year old male demographic, and the solution is to replace them with men in their 30’s and 40’s. The reasons given are twofold: a) older dudes are less likely to steal and b) older dudes are more likely to prevent other people from stealing.

Hmmm…Let’s review. We’re supposed to recruit respectable middle-aged dudes with mortgages, wives and kids to work part-time as cashiers and security guards for minimum wage and no benefits while simultaneously kicking our current crop of students who are willing to work for that to the unemployment curb. Even though I’m in no imminent danger of being confused with the greatest minds of our era any time soon, this sounds about as feasible as Casey Anthony authoring a how-to bestseller for prospective parents. It’s not as if there’s a line of middle-aged guys banging at our door and wrapped around the block salivating for the privilege of applying for a job that pays less than unemployment benefits. Besides, if I’m halfway home to the great beyond and the best I can procure at this stage of the game is eight or nine bucks an hour, won’t I have more of an impetus to supplement my poverty with the periodic register pilfer? And where the hell will I summon the minimum-wage motivation to take a potential bullet or knife to the gut by confronting someone stealing crap that doesn’t belong to me in the first place?

I told you I was ducking major doo-doo.

So here’s a thought or two. How about cultivating a culture of allegiance from your employees by making their safety and economic well being as much a priority as the mortgage on your third house? Instead of creating an environment centered around mistrusting the very people you’ve taken as part of your team, how about respecting them as those you’ve entrusted to advance your agenda and lifestyle? Or you could just continue to be the equivalent of a poop-nuzzling dung beetle while discarding individuals through your rotating door of low-wage subservience, disrespect and abuse.

Either way, you’ll end up with what you deserve at the end of the day. 

--Terry Everton

 

Crazy Custys: The Wonderful World of Shout Shit Out At You Guy

From Terry Everton:

It’s always a special treat whenever I come in contact with Shout Shit Out At You Guy. Shout Shit Out At You Guy is the inflamed hemorrhoid who marches into the store, walks up to you and randomly barks out the name of a commodity like Shoes, Bourbon, Left-Handed Screwdrivers or Gay Porn!

You notice there’s no question mark at the end of the above sentence. That’s because Shout Shit Out At You Guy is entirely too fucking important and busy to insert the words excuse me, can you please tell me where I can find in front of the drivel he is there to buy. Like the heat-seeking missile of customer doom that he is, Shout Shit Out At You Guy scopes out the first person he sees wearing a name tag and drops the syllabic version of Hiroshima on the innocent bystander who just happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time unaware that he is about to get verbally nuked.

Imagine someone you’ve never met in your life walking up to within four inches of your face and hollering Tomato Juice! If you’re like most upright homo sapiens, your initial reaction to this encounter would be to either a) run, b) duck or c) kick this psychotic in the nuts and then duck and run. But since you work in the retail industry and are regularly required to deflect as much shit as a hockey goalie, your primary duty is to point Shout Shit Out At You Guy in the general direction of the thing he’s barking out.

Look, I’m the first person to admit that there are many mysteries which will forever remain unsolved. It’s the inherent nature of existence. So when some semi-developed representation of the species glances at me with a hoot of Bourbon, I realize it’s left up to me to speculate whether this partially-completed DNA experiment in front of me is inquiring whether the beverage actually exists in and of itself or if we actually sell the shit.

Look here, Shout Shit Out At You Guy, contrary to the apparent ridiculousness of whatever evolutionary muck you emerged from, people in positions of providing you service actually appreciate being afforded occasional respect. How would you feel if you brought your widget up to the cashier and instead of being told how much the thing costs the cashier yelled out Money Now in your face?

So how about throwing in the occasional  few extra words in your limited vocabulary from now on and actually forming a complete sentence or two to accompany the rest of your semi-literate prose? Maybe then you’ll get more of a response than me silently pointing down aisle six where you can find whatever crud it is you’re looking for along with my sincere wishes that you fuck yourself on the way there.

-- Terry Everton

 

Bullshit Retail Propaganda: Tricks Corporate Uses To Brainwash

From Terry Everton:

TRYING TO LEVERAGE A WIN-WIN SITUATION THAT WILL

ALLOW US TO TAKE IT TO THE NEXT LEVEL BY

STEPPING UP TO THE PLATE AND BRINGING OUR A-GAMES

THROUGH AN INTEGRATED BEST PRACTICES APPROACH

So when exactly did these corporate cocknobs decide they were going to start speaking a different language than the rest of us, anyway?

All I know is I can’t decipher half of what I’m being told by the higher ups anymore, and the half I can make out is usually shit I already know or don’t want to hear anyway. Either way, the corporate voice from on high increasingly sounds like that indecipherable “wah wah wah” noise the teacher on the old Charlie Brown cartoons used to make.

Here are a few examples of this workplace white noise that has morphed into what used to be known as decipherable dialogue.

This Isn’t The Super Bowl, Sport.

Can we please do away with the clichéd sports references at work? You’re not Bill Belichick, I’m not Tom Brady marching us toward the end zone with two minutes left in the game and none of us are in the middle of a fucking championship run with half the civilized world rooting us on while the other half hope we circle jerk each other in the huddle. I don’t need to get in the game, we’re assuredly not heading toward the goal line and I have no intention of hitting the ground running any time soon. And the only thing your we need to hit one out of the ballpark today speech is motivating is my foot to want to become intimately acquainted with your ass cheeks. The only finish line I’m heading for is Friday, when you present me with another edition of that ridiculously insufficient piece of paper you call a paycheck. And the next time you tell me that I’m required to take one for the team, I’m going to drop back fifteen yards and punt…Your gonads through your spleen

We Need To Think Outside Of The Box.

Oh, really? And which fucking box is that…The one that currently rests between your shoulders and warehouses that mud puddle sloshing partially cooked ideas around between your ears? Since when did it stop being okay to merely say let’s try and think of a better way to do what it is we’re doing while foregoing this Marcel Marceau masquerade we’ve apparently mimed ourselves into? You want to know what I think? (Fuck you, I’m going to tell you anyway). I think the most uncreative and lazy managers and executives who haven’t shit out an original idea in - oh, I don’t know, let’s say forever - are the ones who primarily spout this sort of nonsensical verbal diarrhea instead of just coming to the point because it a) is an attempt to make themselves sound more insightful than they’ll ever be, and b) masks their not having a goddamn clue to begin with. And that goes double for the next pubic-hair-tooth-flosser who tells me we’re in dire need of a paradigm shift which will allow us to push the envelope. Whatever the sweet Christ on a cracker that is.

We Need To Start Giving 110%.

Please enlighten me as to how this stretching of the continuum is remotely possible. So let me get this straight…You want me to contribute my entire carbon-based essence to whatever unrealistic bullshit sales goal you’ve conjured up, and then kick in a little more of me on top of it? That’s like me demanding the twelve ounce barley pop I’ve just polished off to cough up a few more swallows because it was the last one in the now-defunct six-pack and I’m too morphed in my sofa to get up and go fetch some more. And why stop demanding a mere extra ten percent out of me, anyway? Aren’t you selling yourself a little short? If you’re going to attempt to regurgitate parts of me that don’t exist, why not insist that I give you a full 200%…It’ll be like getting twice the work with only having to keep one of us on the payroll! Or how about we grow the fuck up, move beyond the nonsensical hyperbole, start speaking to each other like adults and kick in an I need you to give it everything you’ve got every now and then? Maybe then I’ll be a little more inclined to actually go above and beyond and take it to the next level, you pint-sized one-eyed wonder weasel.

We Need To Employ A Value-Added Approach To Upselling.

I get it. As the employer you reserve the right to advertise loss-leaders on stuff everyone recognizes to get them into the store so you can then rely on me to convince them to buy something else that you make a higher margin on. However, it seems to me that the only value getting added from my upselling is more profit into the company till from your cloaked, barely-legal bait-and-switch charade. Look, if your company culture involves employing feel-good phrases like we treat our customers like they were guests in our own homes, then that’s all hunky-dory, even though I have to floss the vomit chunks from my mouth every time I hear it. But when these guests show up at your doorstep and you slap them with a I know you were expecting filet mignon, but I really think you’ll get a bigger culinary kick out of my new and improved Spam soufflé, then you’re about as credible as Tiger Woods showing up for a therapy session on Cialis.

We’re Going To Have To Agree To Disagree.

No we’re not, especially if you’re too stupid to be counted among the living. The problem with this modern day insistence that we all adhere to political correctness while giving equal credence to all opinions regardless is that it too often leads to being tolerant of intolerance. Bullshit should always be identified, categorized, isolated and eliminated whenever the opportunity presents itself – for the better of us all. This especially goes for any partially-developed upright stem cell who implies things like homosexuality being a product of mental illness or suggesting that reliance on fossil fuel will not inevitably lead to climate change. This is also the same hypocrite who champions abstinence while holding the newborn who is a byproduct of any one of fifteen different sperm pools. If you’re that guy, then fuck you, the only thing we’re going to agree to disagree on is which one of your siblings or cousins gave birth to you, because your inbred mentality is holding the rest of us back like the doomed slob who doesn’t want to get sucked into the quicksand alone. You’re already a goner, so step aside and let the rest of us pass please, before evolution decides to flick us all aside like the fleas we’re in danger of becoming. Fuck me, I forgot…We have to agree to disagree about that evolution thing, too.       

We Need To Focus On Right-Sizing And Be Headcount Conscious.

Sounds to me like someone’s about to get fucking fired. Unless, of course, you’re interested in relocating to Taiwan and working twelve hour days in a windowless, unairconditioned factory for five cents a week with the rest of your company’s dedicated workforce who proudly produce half the crap you’ve been selling for the past couple of years. That is, unless you work for one of these moronic faux-patriotic companies who have now taken up patting themselves on the back by posterizing their walls with All our shit is proudly made in the U S of A, as if generating non-unionized subsistence-level manufacturing jobs here at home while the CEO takes home more than several third world countries combined should bring a tear to our eyes while we choke on the background muzak soundtrack of The Star Spangled Banner droning throughout their sanitized stores. Hey Mr. CEO, how about if you instead work on right-sizing the economy of this country you so conveniently embrace by reducing your lifestyle by three vacation homes and pay the people who work for you an actual livable wage so they can in turn go out and buy more of the shit you’re trying to inundate us with, because the only thing that seems to be currently trickling down with any consistency is the content from your semi-erect beef bayonet every time you stroke yourself off to your latest monthly P&L statement. 

- Terry Everton

 

Customers From Hell: Bring My Pet Into The Store Guy

From Terry Everton:

PET THIS!

One of the biggest losers who failed to finish cooking in the womb is Bring My Pet Into The Store Guy. This upright example of partial evolution can’t seem to leave the nest without Fifi tagging along as an extra appendage, usually either being forcefully drug along by a diamond-studded leash or cradled in a basket lined with gold, frankincense and myrrh.

And I’m not talking about the Pets-R-Us retail chains that encourage the losers of the world to take their pet tarantulas on a stroll throughout their stores, either. On a certain level I actually get the concept that markets to the crazy catlady down the street who hasn’t had a meaningful relationship with another human being in thirty years and is looking to emotionally bond with a multi-million dollar corporate conglomerate where she can parade her pets around while buying them cat scratchers, kitty litter and stuffed mice replicas at twice their intrinsic value. That’s actually a business model that makes a certain degree of sense, given its seemingly significant built-in client base.

But Bring My Pet Into The Store Guy doesn’t chauffer his iguana to the store that caters to iguanas. Rather, this herniated ballsack accompanies Fido into outlets that cater to animals as much as I’m likely to get blown by the next superskank who graces the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. And invariably the one thing that seems to give Rover a hard-on more than any other visual stimulant in the liquor store is my pantleg while I’m debating the merits of either Absolut or Stolichnaya as the ideal compliment to my morning Bloody Mary. Look here, Corporal Taintscrub, there are these things out there called health code regulations that for some wacky reason the city is adamant we adhere to, and Little Miss Muffy’s dander, vacating fleas and whatever other parasites hitching a ride on her that are ending up on the endive tend to get our good friends at the Department of Public Health a little worked up. And the smell of the shit that Barney just deposited next to the Gucci handbags isn’t doing much to drive sales either, as strange to you as that may seem.

Now don’t get me wrong. I love animals. They taste great. I even own two Manx cats who, if you saw how I fawn over them in the privacy of my own home, you would probably come to the conclusion that I’m either a pussy or gay. But the key phrase in that sentence isn’t pussy or gay, it’s the privacy of my own home! I need to be subjected to your pets at my place of employment about as much as you would welcome my taking a crap on your front porch or rinsing your coffee cup out with urine. And I’m not talking about Blind Bob who relies on his German Shepherd to keep him from getting run over by taxicabs or help him make sure he doesn’t mistake his underwear for his ski cap before leaving the house. Service animals don’t count in this equation, unless of course you’re the douchebag who tries to pass off the parrot on your shoulder as a seeing eye bird.

What’s this obsession with carting your animals around with you in the public arena, anyway? I’m almost positive Muffy isn’t pointing out the best laxative prices or calculating a theorem on the cost-comparison of tampons. So why exactly do you need to cart around a dog, cat or any other domesticated critter in a goddamn grocery store, or any other retail environment for that matter? If your self-esteem is perpetually sitting on the under-inflated setting to the point that you have to draw attention to yourself by pimping out Princess, then perhaps it’s time for your to either a) Go on a pilgrimage to acquire something resembling a life, or b) Pay for some fucking therapy.

Either way, keep the four-leggers at home the next time you run low on ass wipe and Cheerios, willya? I sort of enjoy collecting this thing called a paycheck every couple of weeks, and don’t need the store I work for getting shut down by the state just because you’re too emotionally unstable to go five minutes without Liam The Prince of Persia licking your balls or kissing your ass.

Or if you’d like, you can substitute my barking at you as a placebo instead.

-- Terry Everton

 

(SOMEWHAT) HONEST ANSWERS TO STUPID INTERVIEW QUESTIONS

From Terry Everton:

The only thing more enjoyable than interviewing for a job is a thorough prostate exam. That, or a good dose of chemotherapy. The joys of unemployment and job hunting are stressful and degrading enough by themselves, but when you are fortunate enough to actually score an interview, your reward is more often than not a series of mind-numbing irrelevant questions that have little or nothing to do with the job for which you are applying that are administered by some semi-conscious twat puddle reading from a corporate-generated standardized form authored by a borderline retard in some corporate home office three continents away.

Here are a few of my favorites. You’ll notice that none of these are in any way job-specific, relevant or worth the time you took to get a haircut, put on a tie, sniff the armpits of your one semi-clean shirt and show up fifteen minutes ahead of your scheduled interview for.

Why should we hire you?

Because I’m running out of recipes to accentuate my steady diet of ramen noodles. I also promise to never, ever come to work packing a semi-automatic assault rifle even though the abuse you’ll subject me to would probably warrant my periodically considering it. I just knocked-up the CEO’s daughter, but he doesn’t know it yet. I’ll stop writing crappy anonymous reviews about your mediocre company on Yelp.com. I’m running out of money for this meth stuff I like to buy occasionally. I’ve acquired these crazy fucking things called bills that I’m chained to which will require me to feign allegiance to whatever ridiculous bullshit you’ll require me to push onto the suckers you refer to as customers.    

Where do you see yourself in five years?

Off probation. Hopefully not still working at this dead-end piece of shit job for your dumb ass. In a different career as far away from this ridiculousness as I possibly can be. On a remote island snorting cocaine while getting hot oil deep tissue body rub-downs from hookers and downing mai tai’s after winning the lottery. Anywhere but in this same room breathing the same regurgitated oxygen as you. Let me consult my astrological chart and get back with you, you crotch-enamored taint-waxer.

What is your greatest weakness?

Other than looking at internet porn on the company computer and stealing as many office supplies as I can fit in my pockets? Let’s see…Single barrel bourbon, tits and the occasional Nestle Crunch come to mind. I also like to call in sick on Monday after my favorite NFL team loses and I’m ridiculously hungover. In addition, I have a tendency to hold periodic masturbation marathons in the employee restroom, stealth-fart during group discussions and then walk away, wipe my boogers underneath other people’s desks when they’re away at lunch and boycott deodorant. Or I could just give you the standard I’m a workaholic bullshit answer to your stupid fucking waste of my time question like everyone else does so we can move on to the next mystery of the universe you’re undoubtedly set to hurl my way.   

If you were an animal/brand of tampon/someotherstupidfuckingthing, what would you be and why?

And if my grandmother had a cock she’d be my grandfather, you saliva-laden muff-diver. If I could wish to be anything at this moment, I’d opt to be a pigeon so I could randomly dive bomb your stupid ass with the same sort of nonsensical shit you’re shoveling at me in this interview. Sartre, Nietzsche and Kierkegaard struggled to comprehend and define the essence of who and why we are, and here you sit asking me to get all Freudian on your ass just so I can qualify to make minimum wage and deal with the assholes of the world who left their coupons at home. How about I wish for a time machine to take me back to the moment just before your conception where I ring the doorbell of your parents’ house, causing dear ol’ Dad to freak and pull out just before the money shot that spawned your uncreative ass? Then we’ll all be saved from enduring the stupidity you were apparently destined to propagate. 

Do you work well as part of a team?  

If by team you mean hanging out with coworkers until four in the morning drinking and drugging and talking shit about how the job and management can nuzzle our left nutsacks then yes, go team. If, on the other hand, by team you mean tolerating the same coworkers I just threw up with two hours ago who call in sick while I show up and am forced to do double the work while they sleep the booze off as management rides my ass about working harder and faster, then fuck the team. I’ll be returning the favor on their sorry asses the first chance I get. Which, knowing these jerkoffs, will be tomorrow.

How would your last manager describe you?

As the guy that scored him the best pot whenever he ran dry. I’m also the guy who came in even when hungover, as opposed to the majority of the other cretins I worked with who just blew the shift off altogether which compromised customer service by making the rest of us work twice as hard. I also traded the majority of my weekends and holidays - as is standard in the industry - for days off in the middle of the week, and seldom got two days off in a row. I’m the guy who sometimes ran out of money the day before payday and worked without having eaten for 24 hours, and I also walked the tightrope of hoping not to get too sick because I couldn’t afford the suck-ass insurance plan offered by the company. None of which my former manager will acknowledge if asked, but you’ll hopefully at least get the substitute he showed up on time for the most part and basically did what we paid him to do.

What interests you about our company?

I’m currently unemployed and you’re currently hiring. The capital you seem to regularly generate that allows you to write me a paycheck that won’t bounce every couple of weeks. It’s within walking distance of where I live. You’re still in business, and you seem to have a track record that suggests you’ll be staying that way into the foreseeable future. There hasn’t been anything in the news recently about your being a proponent of sweatshop labor and shipping the majority of your nickel and dime jobs overseas, though I suspect that’s merely because you haven’t discovered a way to benefit from that yet. None of my friends have warned me against applying here. Your CEO hasn’t been summoned to any congressional hearings regarding wage and labor abuses that I’m aware of. Yet. 

Have you ever lied?

Fuck no. And I invite you to prove otherwise.

--Terry Everton

 

 

8 Custy Questions I Love To Hate

From Terry Everton:

There’s a saying among service industry workers, and it’s this…This wouldn’t be a bad job if it weren’t for the customers! Like most things, it’s only funny because it’s true. After enduring humanity in all its profound socialization in a retail environment, these are the repetitive questions that keep bringing me back to that one universal question of my own…What the fuck are you assholes thinking, anyway? 

1. Do you work here?

No, you ridiculous waste of oxygen. I always go out in public wearing this stupid uniform that, coincidently enough, looks just like the one every other employee here is currently wearing. It’s how I pick up chicks and impress every power broker with whom I come in contact. And just in case I forget who I am, I never leave my house without additionally slapping on this nametag that also happens to have the store’s name emblazoned on it, too. Of course I work here, you barely upright halfwit. Now ask me your silly question so I can crack the apparent indecipherable code of your dilemma and move on to the next Rhoades Scholar who can’t seem to figure out that vodka is located in the aisle marked – oddly enough – vodka.

2. Can you tell me where you’re located?

I continue to be amazed at the amount of people who, in this age of GPS and Mapquest, choose to leave their homes and call me from their automobiles so I can act as their personal navigation system. Hey, butt nougat, there’s this really cool new technology out there called the interweb and it actually gives the addresses and directions of places you’ve never been! You should check it out before leaving home sometime rather than risking everyone’s lives on the road while talking to me on your cell phone, you ridiculous half-baked stem cell. Besides, I have absolutely nothing better to do with my time other than acting as your private road guide, especially when you can’t even pronounce or remember the name of the street you’ve just turned on. Get a cab, moron. Or a computer. Or a smartphone. Or a magical time machine into the current century. Dumbass.

3. Is this (fill in the blanks) good?

Fuck, I don’t know. You tell me. Good is relative and contingent on what you intend to use it for. Though judging by that multi-colored ensemble you’re wearing that resembles the last time I vomited, I’m guessing that my definition of what’s good wouldn’t be caught dead in the same room with yours. So here’s how I’m going to answer your vague and silly question – Absolutely, it’s good. It’s the best fucking thing you’ve ever had. It will change your life and make you crave it moving forward over orgasms. Now get the hell out of my personal space so I can attempt to assist someone who may actually need something other than vindication for buying useless drivel and tasteless crap.

4. Can I use the bathroom?

Hell, I don’t know. Can you? Not having earned licensure in the field of colorectal surgery, I don’t feel adequately qualified to speculate on the performance potential of your bowels or urinary tract. Now if what you really meant to ask me is where the location of our public crapper might be, you can find it by exiting out the same door you just entered, walking three blocks to the nearest interstate and throwing yourself headfirst into oncoming traffic. You illiterate douche nozzle.

5. Is this a fun place to work?

What are you, an unemployed census canvasser? And if by fun you mean standing on my feet ten hours a day while bending over and lifting heavy boxes of mediocre shit while trying to speculate which personality my schizophrenic manager brought to work today while I navigate the unrealistic sales expectations dictated by some corporate knumbnut sitting in an office ten states away and trying to ascertain which customers are genuine and genuinely insane while worrying about how I’m going to eat for the next two days because this fucking job barely pays over minimum wage and I’m out of money until next payday and I sure as fuck hope I don’t get sick anytime soon because who can afford our crappy health insurance, then yes. This is a fun fucking place to work. Anything else I can help you with today?

6. Do you know how much I spend here every month?

No, Mensa candidate, I don’t. I don’t have access to your credit card receipts. And I assume the only reason you’re asking me this is because…a). You’re a pretentious vacant fuckwad who derives validation from assuming your loyalty to our overpriced crap deserves a reward in the form of some sort of discount not extended to the rest of our less frequent clientele, or b). There is no fucking b.

7. (Fill in any question you have here) while simultaneously talking on your cell phone.

I get it. You’re fucking important. In fact, you’re so damned important that you can barely make time in your day to be bothered with the likes of a subservient such as myself interrupting the enlightened discussion you’re having with the fool on the other end of your cell phone regarding the bra you walked in on your husband trying on in your bathroom this morning. Here’s a news flash, you bare-knuckled sausagedwarf…No one but you gives two shits and a flying fuck about what pathetic existence you attempt to lead outside of our store’s four walls. If you want my help, then treat me with respect and give me your undivided attention so I can try to adequately decipher what minutiae you want to bother me with. Either put the cell phone down or ram it up your ass, which would be appropriate because most everything coming out of your mouth is bullshit anyway.

8. Why can’t you get (fill in the blank) product? If you did, I’d come in and buy it all the time.

I bet you would. Unfortunately for you, there doesn’t seem to be a sizeable market for bullshitcrapfuckshitpiss. I certainly sympathize that you seem to be the only person on the entire fucking planet who seems to have an insatiable need for the one thing that no one else has any use for, but that doesn’t inherently default to my being responsible for bogging down my inventory with the one piece of shit that only you will come in to purchase every couple of months or so. You know, there’s this crazy thing out there now called ebay. It’s where half-sane people such as yourself congregate to sell each other a lot of weird shit that no one else in their right mind would even think of spending money on. You should check it out sometime, provided you have access to that crazy modern electricity thing most computers seem run on these days.

--Terry Everton

 

 

REVENGE OF THE I’M HERE ALL THE TIME GUY

From Terry Everton:

One of my least favorite customers is the I’m Here All The Time Guy. This repelling bucket of yuck is usually setting foot in the store for the first time and has caught wind through the grapevine about a current promotion requiring a coupon – which of course he isn’t in possession of.

The I’m Here All The Time Guy usually introduces himself with I’m here all the time. There are variations of this, including I shop here all the time, You’ve probably seen me in here before, I’m sure you recognize me, This has become my new favorite place to shop and the ever fabulous I was here just last week and spent a trillion dollars. His initial fabrication is always followed by And I forgot my coupon at home, in my car, at the last charity event I hosted, on my nightstand or up my ass. This is then inevitably followed by the obligatory request/demand that you cough up a reasonable facsimile of the heretofore forgotten document so the big savings can promptly begin.

Hmmm. Now let’s see…I toil here anywhere between 50 – 55 hours in an average week, sometimes six days per and usually during the most traffic-laden, customer-infested times. You as a customer would literally have to intentionally try to avoid bumping into me during any of your excursions through our hallowed aisles of mostly overpriced dreck. Consequently, for better or worse, I establish a superficial recognition relationship with most of our customers I encounter on a regular basis. These include various variations of nods, winks, waves, grunts and good to see you agains, some which are reciprocated and many which are ignored. Whatever.

And oddly enough, Mr. I’m Here All The Time Guy, I can’t for the life of me summon one recognizable print of you within the deep recesses of my admittedly challenged memory banks. So that must mean that a) you manage to magically shop here weekly on the one day when I happen to not be around, or b) you are an insufferably bad liar.

By the way, I don’t mind being lied to. To master the art of lying well has always been the epitome of storytelling in its highest form. Even when recognized as a lie, the craftsmanship and creativity that define a well-fabricated shitbomb has to be acknowledged with an unspoken ovation of we both know you’re full of crap but by god you at least took the time to put some real effort into that line of pure manure. Just don’t insult my already-limited intelligence with an obviously sub-par transparent story you made up two minutes before dropping it my lap. Well-crafted poop earns my admiration over spontaneous diarrhea every time.

Which brings me to the real problem I have with I’m Here All The Time Guy. Look, I get the coupon thing. It’s annoying as fuck and I wish retailers would just cut the crap and give you the absolute lowest price they can afford to and forego the unnecessary deforestation that accompanies their trying to build their propaganda-ridden brand loyalty nonsense through newspaper clippings and juvenile membership cards. But that ain’t gonna happen anytime soon, and we’re all aware of that. I also understand trying to hang on to as much of your money as you can, especially in these times when corporations have transplanted our government, the Supreme Court is waging war on the common worker and politicians have been relegated to little more than minions of special interest bribery. I just don’t like being lied to - badly - by some crater-dicked nutroll who is basically simmering in the same shit stew as myself; trying desperately not to get overcooked in the corporate crockpot.

I consider both my time and intelligence to have a little more value than being randomly rented out to spineless sockbreeders who can’t somehow summon the stones to merely say hey, it’s my first time here and I hear you have some really awesome deals and you wouldn’t happen to have any spare coupons you could turn me on to, do you? So show me a little respect, please, or the next time I see you you will have graduated from I’m Here All The Time Guy to Oh Fuck, Here Comes That Lying Sissy-Spined Vomitbasket Guy Again.

-- Terry Everton

 

5 CUSTOMER TYPES WHO MAKE ME CRAZIER THAN I INHERENTLY ALREADY AM

From Terry Everton:

Now don’t get me wrong. Not every customer who comes through the door walks in with the singular goal of leaving with as much free stuff as humanly possible or the intention of humiliating you and making you wish you could introduce their crap-filled craniums to the nearest toilet bowl. Some people actually go shopping to buy shit at the advertised price, have a good time and treat everyone they encounter with courtesy and respect. These people, however, are in an ever-shrinking minority.

Here then is a list – though far from comprehensive – of some of the evolutionary-challenged shoppers who have recently graced me with their presence while simultaneously confirming my atheism, because if these dim bulbs are representative of what the supposed creator chose to produce in his or her likeness, then we’re all basically doomed at the end of the day anyway.

1. The if you don’t cave in to my ridiculously unreasonable demands then I’m going to threaten to call your corporate office on you custy.

 You’ve undoubtedly encountered this turd stain on numerous occasions. He’s the guy who knows exactly how much he’s going to get away with spending on whatever overpriced claptrap his heart is set on before he sets foot in the store, and often time that amount is nothing. He’ll tell you about the expired coupon he forgot to bring with him from three promotions ago and insist that you honor it. He’ll demand and expect to return shit that has obviously been used on numerous occasions that you won’t be able to resell. He’ll insist that you price match some remote internet offer from a non-competitor two continents away. And should you decide to go down the go fuck yourself you lame-limbed nutjuggler road, this opportunistic wanker will be more than happy to play the trump card of fabricating to the cowards at your corporate office a bunch of shit that you never said and how you blatantly went out of your way to be rude to end up getting his intended price anyway.

 2.      The I’m going to give you shit about things you have absolutely no control over custy.

You’re right. It’s too fucking hot in here. You can, however, attempt to cool yourself by blowing either a) less hot air, or b) me. And yes, I agree that we bait and switch you by offering the one widget we only have two of at a ridiculously low sale price just to get you in the store to buy other shit we make more money on. Congratulations, Sherlock…You’ve cracked the heretofore indecipherable retail code that has consistently stumped lesser mortals before you. And no, I can’t stock the one insignificant piece of discontinued minutiae that you remember seeing on some remote island somewhere twenty years ago that no one but yourself would ever consider buying. Now move along, Captain Spoonfluid…There seem to be other shoppers who actually didn’t come here with the sole agenda of wasting my time.

3.      The I’m going to bring a lot of shit up to your register and not buy half of it custy.

There are these really cool, modern-type thingys in most stores these days. They’re called shelf tags. They’re those weird-looking strips attached to the shelves that give the prices of the shit directly above them. So why in the name of Jesus H. Peterson Christ are you standing at my register asking me to price check half the crap in your basket with my scanner while telling me you’ve decided not to buy every other item after all? Are you maybe literate in hieroglyphics alone and couldn’t grasp the modern numerical complexities of the shelf pricing, or did you perchance leave your abacus at home? Or could you instead be a compulsive sludge-laden pantybiscuit who proudly parades their hubris in front of the other five thousand other paying customers waiting to check out behind you? Perhaps we’ll never know… 

4.      The I’m going to take up oodles of your time and buy the opposite thing you recommend custy.

This is the anustrap who has sussed out the magic formula that your one ultimate goal in life is to fuck them over by selling them shit that ultimately isn’t in their best interest. He or she will seek your opinion in any obscure genre, bathe in the seemingly endless fountain of your knowledge, bask in the newfound enlightenment that you have bestowed upon them, regail you with praise normally reserved for royalty and heads of state…and then purchase the one diametrically different thing from the one you just spent thirty minutes showing them. Look, sploogecanal, I’m actually okay with your not trusting me. After all, most of my job security is based on increasing the store’s profits – which is pretty much entirely opposed to hooking you up with what’s in your best interest – so I’d probably be suspect of half the crap I lay on you, too. But seeing that my job is probably either commission or quota based, could you at least give me the courtesy of telling me to go fuck myself with the proverbial no thanks, I’m only looking comeback the next time I ask you if you need any help? There are other people here who want me to sell them shit they don’t really need.

5.      The isn’t my snot-nosed brat the cutest fucking thing you’ve ever seen custy.

I’ve always been amazed at the custom of congratulating couples who successfully reproduce. Being that any halfwit with a hardon and enough alcohol can get a female pregnant, I fail to grasp the supposed “miracle” of the end product of fucking. I’ll reserve my congratulations to the blessed parents when the fruit of their loins turns eighteen and hasn’t ended up either in jail, hooked on meth or as vacant and self-absorbed as mom and dad and isn’t destined to be a parasite on service industry workers – which is the true golden miracle at the end of the birthing rainbow. Let’s get this clear…The only one who finds the miniature version of you cute who is currently running through the store screaming at the top of their lungs knocking shit over that someone else has to pick up is you. The rest of us would like to boil little Blayne or Lu Tasha in their own embryonic fluids to save them the much worst fate of being raised by a queefchute such as yourself who unfortunately wasn’t required to meet specific IQ requirements before spreading her legs. In the future, either hire a babysitter, pawn the brats off on your parents or chain the little darlings to a bedpost before you go out shopping if you are incapable or unwilling to teach them common etiquette and how to properly behave in the public arena. This, of course, after you do the rest of us the favor of opting for sterilization.

-- Terry Everton

 

Entitled Custys: IT’S ALL ABOUT ME GUY

From Terry Everton:

Just when I think I’ve seen all the variations of assholes the universe is capable of defecating out, some skinny-jawed tinkleface comes along and takes being a douche to a place I’ve yet to visit. Take, for example, my recent encounter with It’s All About Me Guy.

There are various incarnations of It’s All About Me Guy, all of which involve a level of self-indulgence and hubris that leaves little room for either tolerance or courtesy. The particular clitheap to which I refer marched into the store the other day around three in the afternoon looking like he’d slept in his clothes five days running and hadn’t introduced his hair to a comb for just as long. Moving briskly through the aisles, he picked up three pieces of overpriced flimflam and hustled them onto the conveyor belt at checkstand #2, which was the only checkstand open in the middle of the afternoon. Two other customers immediately followed behind him, waiting for the opportunity to cough up their cash as well.

The cashier rang his crap up and announced his total, which came to blah blah dollars and five cents. The hygenically-challenged dingleberry rummaged through his pants pockets, pulled out a wad of bills and mumbled, “I don’t have any change on me and I have waaaay too many coins in my car already and don’t want any more by having to break a dollar.”

He gave the cashier one of those can’t you just kick in the change for me looks that cheap-ass whiskey-skinned fartrangers come up with from time to time, and she responded in kind with a pay for your shit or get the fuck out glare that the best cashiers keep in their arsenals specifically for moments like these.

Realizing he was getting nowhere in his nickel quest with the cashier, the lame-smeared odormachine turned to the guy behind him and asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have a nickel on you, would you?” The guy gave him a are you fucking serious look of his own before telling him no.

At this point the crusty-knuckled spunkboy announced to everyone within earshot, “Watch my stuff. I have a nickel in my car. I’ll be right back.”

And out he walked, leaving his inconsequential ridiculousness sitting on the conveyor belt and the two other customers still waiting to pay.

The customers gave each other a should we waterboard this limp-dicked sausagedwarf or merely pull out his fingernails one at a time look as the cashier stood there with a register wanting some form of payment tender entered into it. After about a minute, the fish-lipped hymentunnel reentered the store, brushed past the two customers still waiting in line, handed the cashier a lint-covered nickel along with the rest of his wadded-up bills, picked up his treasure and left without saying a word.

No Thank you. No I’m sorry to keep everyone waiting. No Why don’t you go ahead of me while I go fetch a nickel out of my car.

What he did instead was leave us with a feeling that we’d just shared a group rectal examination with a hot tire iron. Because what It’s All About Me Guy does best is make everyone around him realize that the most excruciating pain imaginable would be preferable to having to endure another single moment watching him take a dump in your to go lunch sack. This pock-marked pussflame is partially a product of the corporate culture telling customers that they’re always right and caving in whenever these yellow-bellied crotchnuzzlers insist on being treated like the fucking center of the universe regardless of their bad manners or unjustified entitlement demands.

So now the rest of us get to hunker down and try not to get hit by the shrapnel they spew from their over-inflated egos that the corporate money machine is too pussified to puncture. So take cover, kids. And try to stay out of the line of fire as best you can, because a similar clone of It’s All About Me Guy is sure to make an unannounced guest appearance at a store near you soon!

-- Terry Everton

  

More of The Customer "Isn't" Always Right

Hello RHU readers!

I thought I would write in response to Terry Everton's "Customer is always right" post. I'm an overnight doughnut fryer and an amature cake decorator selling cakes out of my home. I love my job because I get to hide in the back away from customers and I'm an insomniac. You can call me Sugar Moon.

I don't really have any complaints about my job. I actually enjoy it very much and have only had to deal with 1 angry customer so far. Lucky me, right?

So anyway, I was reading Terry Everton's post and it reminded me of this owner of a small chain of local fitness clubs around here. They're a really great deal for only 10 bucks a month and I seriously want to sign up not only because of the price, but because this guy is a bright shiny beacon of hope for retail slaves everywhere.

This is one of the pages on his website. It's titled "Customer Service Cinema".

I swear, it just might bring tears to your eyes.:
 
"-- We have created a small theater complex called “Customer Service Cinema” to illustrate our radical position on customer service.

Customer Service Cinema is comprised of two theaters that are identical with one exception. One theater operates under the axiom “The Customer Is Always Right” (CIAR) and the other under the axiom “The Customer Is NOT Always Right” (CINAR).
If you choose the CIAR screen, you will encounter customers who think as you do.  One or two of them have brought laser pointers and a few will text and talk on their phones – all while the movie is playing.  Expect to have at least one cell phone ring and to be answered.  The person answering may even talk loud enough that you can share in every detail of their call.  While there may be a few empty seats in the middle of the theater, when you asked about sitting in those seats you were told those seats were “taken”.   Only after the movie started and you look back from your front row seat do you realize they were “taken” by the coats of the people in the seats next to them.  You should also expect that someone about three rows behind you has seen the movie enough times that they are able to deliver key lines just a few seconds ahead of the actors in the movie.  And they do so through the entire movie.

On the other hand, if you visit the CINAR screen you will find something quite different.  Laser pointers, text messaging, cell phone conversations, and talking during the movie are not allowed nor tolerated.  Patrons are not allowed to reserve seats.  Theater staff enforces these rules.  The first time you deliver lines others will shush you.  The next time the theater staff will ask you to leave.  If you do manage to get tossed, you will not be given a refund.

Which theater would you prefer?

I have yet to have a single customer tell me that they would prefer to attend the CIAR Theater.  Most are actually adamant that they would want to attend the CINAR Theater and there is usually an “Aha” moment when they realize the insanity behind the axiom, “The Customer Is Always Right”.

As a business owner, I have tried to follow “The Customer Is Always Right” approach for too many years.  It has been a no-win proposition for thousands of good customers, hundreds of well-intentioned and hard-working employees, and for me.  We have all suffered because I tried to serve what more and more has become the lowest common denominator. No more.

With every fiber of my being, I do not believe that the customer is always right. I believe that the customer is always served. For some requests the answer will be no and for some it will be a resounding and unapologetic “No!”  Most customers applaud this approach.  You can probably guess which ones do not.

As a business operator who represents the interests of my good customers, my good employees, and my own sanity, I respectfully ask anyone who believes that the customer is always right to take their business elsewhere.   I promise that I am not changing my position no matter how much you voice your dissatisfaction with my approach. "
 
Pretty freaking awesome, huh?
 
--Sugar Moon

Additional note:

Sugar sent more info about the writer of Customer Service Cinema: His name is Joel Potter. He's been in the business for 30 years and until a couple of months ago, ran Gold's Gym. Now he's changed it to Blue Moon Fitness and is catering to people who are scared of going to the gym because they won't fit in. His website is www.bluemoonfitness.com and there's even more great stuff along with the "Customer Service Cinema". It's really quite awesome. He also has a website with more information for first timers at www.fithappens2you.com.

Terry Everton's Webcomic Christian Angst

"Living Like a Retail Slave Wage" From Terry Everton. You can check out Christian Angst and more of what Terry has to say on his website Working Stiff Review:

You'll be reading more from Terry in the future here on RHU as well!

 

Fed Up: Why The Customer Isn't Always Right

From Terry Everton:

So let’s get something straight here and now. This the customer is always right horseshit is a myth created and perpetuated by corporate dickwarts designed to keep mostly minimum wage subservients indoctrinated with the company line so they’ll sell more shit. Period. Not only is the customer not always right, they are often – if not mostly – wrong, and the biggest troublemakers are actually empowered by the store to behave like spineless douche nozzles in the first place.

Big box corporate retail upper echelon decision-makers are some of the biggest wimps, pussies and losers this planet has ever produced. They are solely responsible for creating, nurturing and enforcing a culture whereby the lowest common denominators of society are encouraged to prey on those who deserve it the least, i.e. minimum wage hourly workers. In their brave new world of catering and caving in to the asswipes of the world who bitch the loudest, the lowest paid people on the food chain have to daily endure the abuse of sadistic morons who perpetually insist on their right to use expired coupons, return crap that has obviously been used, change prices to coincide with their particular budget and cave in to an endless list of other ridiculous and unrealistic demands. In the modern retail environment, any psychotic prick with an invisible chip on their shoulder is wholeheartedly invited to take as much as they want while simultaneously dictating the amount they’re willing to pay merely by raising their voice and insisting on speaking to the manager on duty whose balls have been effectively neutered by the fear of having the loudmouth dingleberry screaming at them elevating their psychosis to “corporate."

And by the way, these magical invisible midas-fairies at the ethereal all-consuming “corporate” are little more than underpaid soulless underbellies who long ago sold what was left of their consciences to the monthly bills they’ve burdened themselves with. How can some testicle drip sitting in an office half a country away come close to making an educated judgment on whether a particular situation that occurred at a particular time involving people he or she has never met in a state they’ve never visited before has any merit one way or another? The simple answer is…they can’t. And they aren’t fucking paid to. What they are paid to do is perpetuate the customer is always right empowerment memo by lending their low-rent ears to and sympathizing with any mediocre minimalist looking for a coupon or anything that can be acquired for nearly free.

Even though it employs and ultimately relies on you, the corporate entity is far from your friend and actually has branches built into it that exist solely to turn on you should you commit the one unforgivable cardinal sin of the service industry – letting an asshole escape your clutches without letting them continuing to be an asshole while you simultaneously validate their assholeishness. When some cunt-trickle plays the give me what I want no matter how unrealistic it may be card on your ass, you are cornered and better give in or risk the repercussions of having some semi-literate branch of your employer reign down holy whatthefuck on you.

When a customer attempts to return an obviously used item while pretending it’s new, the customer isn’t right. The customer is a thief and a fuckwad. When a customer insists on purchasing 30 items in the 10 items or less line, the customer isn’t right. The customer is an egocentric inflamed hemorrhoid with a challenged penis size. When a customer tries to personally blame you for something that you have no responsibility for – such as what certain crap costs or the way the store is merchandised – the customer isn’t right. The customer is a vacant cretin with a penchant for sadistic narcissism. When a customer threatens to take their business elsewhere because they can buy the same mediocre widget you’re selling for thirty cents less at a competitor’s store halfway across town, the customer may have the facts right – but they’re also a bully with way too much fucking time on their hands and in dire need of something resembling a life.

By encouraging a sense of entitlement among those who deserve it the least, the big box corporate retailer encourages the most unrealistic of expectations to undermine and permeate the culture of the store environment. If the buttmunches of the world know that they can liberally feel free to insist on – and receive – their most absurd, over-the-top demands by merely threatening to raise the volume of their complaining, then there is no legitimate recourse left for the hapless hourly sap who has to just stand there and take it. The losers of the world who are given carte blanche by the stores they “shop” in to freely abuse and humiliate the employees of those stores are actually the biggest cowards evolution has deemed to unleash thus far. Their abuse is little more than a byproduct of convenience. Removed from their pseudo-perches where they freely walk the tightrope of bitchery with the safety net of corporate entitlement to catch them on their way down, these chickenshits would no more have the balls to be confrontational on a neutral playing field than would a single Christian fundamentalist show up to protest at a gay pride parade. Do you think that for one minute these same discount soldiers would have the fortitude to walk up to you on the street and pick a fight for no good reason? Without the backing these upright-challenged mental midgets feel from the omnipotent invisible corporate hand, these spineless stalwarts would fall in line with the rest of humanity and either learn to behave like decent citizens or be castigated to the outer depths of I hope you die a slow and painful death where they surely belong.

If you take a swing at someone who you know can’t fight back, you’re not a warrior. You’re an opportunistic schmuck who in all likelihood got picked on as a kid and now everyone has to pay, dammit. Everyone has to pay.

The customer is encouraged by corporate greedmongers to find the most despicable internal place within themselves and go there with regularity. Consequently, the customer is tolerated by the very people who are ultimately paid to endure their seemingly never-ending penchant for cowardice disguised as thriftiness. But in the end, the customer is the furthest thing removed from always being right. Unless by right you mean padding your ridiculously undernourished ego with a healthy dose of fail.

--Terry Everton