Friday, November 26, 2004

The world doesn't revolve around you, bitch.

Yes, you.

You know who you are.

You're the petite priss in the jeans and loafers, the lady who paid her colorist way too much money for those blonde highlights that make you look like a mid-life crisis trying to recapture her bygone youth.

Yes, you.

You are the lady who had to wait for more than 15 minutes for your prescriptions today when the pharmicist told you five to ten. You are the lady who felt the need to get in the girl's face and scream how rediculous it is that she couldn't just tell you the correct time to begin with, even though she explained that she THOUGHT it would be ten minutes, until she had to answer another customer's questions about his medications, because if you'd have known, you could have gone to another store and got more of your prissy, stuck up, bottle blonde shopping done for your probably equally arrogent family. You are the lady who asked for her name and her manager's name, then got pissed when they told you that the manager's name and a phone number to call and complain was on the wall in the waiting area.

You're the one who ruined my day by making an already bad migrane worse, and by forcing me to watch as you tortured a substitute pharmicist from another store who looks like she graduated just last spring. All because you wern't getting your prissy bottle blonde way. All because you could have hit two more sales instead of spending twenty minutes waiting for a prescription. Thank you for making my eyes want to burst from their sockets because of the sheer pain of listening to you scream and whine in public like an over-tired three year old.

I'll only say this one. And I'll say it very slowly, because you're obviously not very bright. The. World. Does. Not. Revolve. Around. You.

There, got it?? Ok. Now I want you to internalize that, and for one moment of your freaking petty bottled blonde life, think of someone other than yourself. You may wish to start with the poor girl behind the counter, or if you can't do that, hows about the guy who was still getting his medication explained to him, who had to listen to you berating this girl because of him. Or, if that's too frigging difficult, think about the other holiday shoppers who're trying to do marathon shopping for the sake of a few deals. If not, take some pity upon me, because I didn't even want to go out today, and wouldn't have, if I wouldn't have taken the last thwak off my inhailer half an hour before.

You make me need coffee. Coffee with brandy in it. And a shot gun. Have I mentioned that you make me also need a shotgun?? Y'know to make up for the fact your ugly behavior made me puke. I'm not sure how the shotgun will help, but somehow it'll stop the burny I keep feeling in my throat because if I chew one more antacid I will probably puke from that, instead of you.

Get out of my sight. You make me sick.

**author note: please be nice to your customer service representatives. Yes, you have needs. But so did the other 100 customers before you, and so will the 100 customers after you. Get your shit, don't make a fuss, and get the hell out so they can move on to the next schlub with a migrane**

3 Comments:

Blogger Abby said...

I hope the Blonde Nightmare was waiting for her birth control prescription because God forbid that woman spawns more of herself.

5:19 PM  
Blogger Gretchen said...

I live in a world full of this kind of person. And my husband works for them. You think one is bad? Try hundreds! :)

7:06 PM  
Blogger Erin said...

Just bounced over to this blog and thot this post was really, really funny. I work at the Gap, so I know allll about this bottle blond. A version of her is in my store almost every day, usually with two or three toddlers in tow, expecting me to babysit while she tries on every bloody thing in the store. I hope you gave that woman in line a piece of your mind!

11:57 PM  

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