The Christmas 2008 Edition of Confidential
Confidential to the Arsehole at the Bank: They are collecting gifts for children and adults that live in our community who are “less fortunate” as the sign said. The suggestions listed at the bottom were intended to give people an idea of what was needed. Your scoffing (and loudly snorting) at the idea that they need hair conditioner was completely out of line. To exclaim, “What do they need conditioner for?!” as if it’s a luxury that you weren’t interested in funding, just made you look like a callous jerk.
Confidential to the lady at Bob Evans: Saying that you can “barely afford to buy gifts for [your] own brats let alone someone else’s”, upon seeing the giving tree was totally not cool. Maybe your kids wouldn’t be brats if you spent less time bitching at them and more time teaching them how to behave. Also, how much did that lunch set you back? I’m guessing at least $20. Which means I’m guessing you could have bought something for someone who is less fortunate than you are. Or at the very least you could have kept your mouth shut about it.
Confidential to the lady at Walgreens: Huffing and puffing that I was cutting in line in front of you was a little over the top, don’t you think? I mean, I would have known you were in line if you were…well…in line. Instead you were casually browsing the last minute gifts and standing about 15 feet away from the last person in line. When I realized you were ahead of me, I let you go first. You were buying a dozen eggs and some pantyliners. Perhaps your period was to blame. Merry freaking Christmas.
Confidential to every single customer that waited until the day before Christmas Eve to get your tires replaced and then got pissed off that the wait was over an hour: CHRISTMAS IS THE SAME TIME EVERY YEAR. PLAN AHEAD. COME IN EARLIER IN THE MONTH. Or, hey, get crazy and get your tires replaced in November. At any rate, don’t wait until the freaking last minute and bitch at me because the wait is too long. You procrastinated. Not me.
Confidential to my neighbors: Whichever of you called the owners of our delightful little trailer park to complain that our garbage can is not “taken in in a timely manner”: SCREW YOU. Who are you people? You would waste a long distance call (four states away) to complain that the garbage can is at the curb the day after garbage pickup?! How sad that you have nothing better to do. The thought never occurred to me to call and complain when your dogs bark before daylight…but perhaps I better get them on speed dial. I’m glad I didn’t take any of you bastards any Christmas cookies. That would’ve pissed me off.
Today I found myself stranded on the toilet with no toilet paper. (Thanks for that one, Mom.) Nora was in the room with me…because I’ll be damned if that kid ever misses a chance to witness someone else going to the bathroom. You’ve never seen someone so excited to watch someone else take a pee. Or in the case of today, a poop. So as I was saying…I was stranded on the toilet. We had just returned from the store (where we had purchased toilet paper). But in my haste to get to the bathroom I didn’t grab it. Of course I would have brought it with me if I had known that I was completely and totally out…as in my mom didn’t even save me a measly sheet or two. Luckily Nora followed directions beautifully to go get me the package of TP from the grocery bag on the kitchen table. Can you believe it?! She’s not even two. I figure at this rate, by the time she’s three she’ll have herself a paying job. Maybe at IGA. Lord knows she practically runs that place already anyhow.
Note to the waitress we had for lunch today: Your tip sucked because you did. You managed to get the drink refills…but left the empty glasses. You managed to get our food out in a decent amount of time…but the time it took you to bring three desserts was equal to the amount of time it took me to deliver Nora. In fact, I might have delivered Nora in less time than it took you to bring the dessert. We would have cancelled the dessert orders…had you shown your face within 45 miles of our table. The time it took you to bring our checks was closer to the amount of time it takes to paint a house. Supposedly it was due to the fact that you had to split them. However, I’ve been to restaurants before…splitting checks is pretty common. Not sure what the hold up was with that. My guess? You were using an abacus. Which you first had to locate in a nearby antiques shoppe. My bill was $9.92. I considered rounding it to an even ten so that it would be easier to remember. Plus I thought it would be a total pain in the ass for your establishment to take an eight cent tip off of a credit card. I also thought it would make a nice blog post for you…if you have a blog. I can see the title now…One Time This Bitch Left Me an Eight Cent Tip. To save you that embarrassment (and blogging material) I left none. I don’t usually do that. I’m generally pretty understanding. But, really…the service was that bad.
Note to the Supremo Asshat Sales Manager at ABC Warehouse: I don’t appreciate your freaking attitude. I am thankful that the salesman I talked to was of a higher class than yourself…even if he couldn’t work the TV I was looking at…which is strange since he told me TVs are his specialty. Something tells me that washers would’ve been his specialty if I were shopping for one of those…but I digress. After completing my browsing, where I had told said salesman that I was price checking and I’d have to check with my husband, I was headed out the door to the next place on the list. This is the moment that I was slapped in the face by your dumb ass comment of, “What’s the matter, ma’am? You have to wait for your husband to pick a TV? Can’t you make that decision yourself?” And you know what? You said it in a rather snotty tone…that was borderline bitchy. Gotta tell you, that did nothing for me. In fact, it helped make my decision about purchasing the TV much easier…it eliminated the possibility of buying the TV from your store. It turns out I could make the decision of which TV to buy by myself. I am capable of deciding things. However, a $700+ purchase is not something that our household takes lightly. A $700+ TV is probably not something you’d want your wife picking out (assuming you kept your trap shut long enough to snag someone of the opposite sex), and buying without your input. We actually bought a TV that cost more than yours…at your nearby competitor…because they treated us respectfully. Your smart mouth cost you the sale. So put that in your pipe and smoke it, jerk.
Today’s posting is short. It’s actually a revisiting of a previous Confidential story. Remember the Reckless Grandmother at the post office? If not, you can read the story here.
Think of today as an update of sorts. Today, again at the post office, I saw this lady…with Ben…her charming grandson. (Note: ‘charming’ in the previous sentence should be read dripping with the most sarcasm you can possibly muster.) Well, I have to tell you, the update on their situation is short…she’s still an irresponsible imbicile. Turns out Ben won’t just come over and stand nicely next to her…even if she calls his name a half a million times. I guess one has to be a little more hands-on and actually go retrieve the child instead of calling, “Ben, come over here. It’s our turn. Ben it’s our turn. Ben come here. It is our turn, Ben.” As soon as I saw her grandparenting tactics I immediately remembered, quite vividly that I had posted about her before. It’s nice to know that almost 7 months later things haven’t changed one bit. At least little Ben has some consistency, right?!
Note to the guy at the bank: Charging $7 to cash a check when you aren’t a bank customer is their policy. It’s their rule. No amount of arguing and bitching will change their policy of charging to cash said check. All you accomplished is belittling a very nice lady, and making yourself look like an asshole. If you wanted to cash the check without having the charge, perhaps you should have gone to your own bank. Would that not have been easier than holding up the entire lobby for ten minutes so you could tell her all the reasons why she should cash it without charging you? Didn’t you notice that she didn’t care that it was drawn at that bank? You aren’t a bank customer…the check writer is….therefore you are subject to a $7 charge. My favorite part was when, after ten minutes of complaining, you demanded to speak to the bank manager…boy oh boy were you surprised when she told you that she is, in fact, the bank manager. Found out real quick that she has the final say in charging or not charging you, huh?! Don’tcha just hate when you make a scene about talking to the boss and turns out that you’ve been bitchin’ your head off at her for the last ten minutes? I probably would have just left and went to my own bank…but not you…you stuck around to get your check cashed…minus the $7 check cashing charge, of course.
A customer was calling her daughter to come pick her up and give her a ride home…she ended up getting her husband on the phone…she told him, “Please explain to her where I am and how to get here…and tell her to leave right now…tell her to just leave and don’t be dickin’ around.” Don’t hold back lady….say how you really feel.
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