September 5, 2001: Customers, DIE

I work in a grocery store in Mississippi, and are infamous for its remarkably high amount of dumbasses. But I swear, when a dumbass gets near a grocery store, (or worse, in a car near a grocery store) it triggers some chemical in their brain that increases the dumbass quotient in their blood by fifty percent. Here's what I'm talking about. (All of the following are examples of things I have actually seen)

When the sale has a limit of three of that item, they buy six.
When the sale has a limit of six, they buy twelve.
When the sale is only effective with a fifteen dollar additional purchase, that item is all they buy, and it comes to maybe six dollars.
When the sale paper gives prices for a sale, clearly stating that this sale starts three days from now, they come that day and load up on items that won't be on sale for another three days.
And when all of the above happens, they make it their duty to talk shit to the cashier, saying things like "well, there wasn't a sign that said that," or bitch about advertising one price and having another. If you stupid pieces of shit could read, you wouldn't always be making an ass of yourself at the checkout stand. Die.

Them: "Do you know how much this is?"
Me: "Well, ma'am, I don't work in this department, but I can get some to check it for-"
Them: "Hmmph. You work here, why don't you know the prices?"
If I had the ability to learn every price for every one of the tens of thousands of items in this goddamn store, I would use my superior mental power to crush your head like a swollen grape. Die.

(And I'm a damn retard!)

I remember once when a woman was checking her groceries out, she tried to pay for it with a paycheck from work, which was close to five hundred dollars. Obviously, we couldn't do something like that, and store policy has never allowed us to do so. But of course, this woman made us call the manager, thinking she was going to get some cashier fired, and when the manager politely explained things, she got all indignant. She started saying (making up) how she had always done this in the past, and if we were going to be like this, she would just go to the Kroger store in Greenville from now on.
Number one, don't you realize that stores in the same chain follow the same procedures, you stupid bitch? Number two, if you're willing to drive 45 minutes out of your way just to prove a point, when you were clearly wrong anyway, we don't want to serve dipshits like you, anyway. Die.

If you enter the store and get a shopping cart, if you see a guy in a Kroger shirt holding a line of carts at the little door to that area, please move promptly, so he can push the carts inside, instead of him standing there, having to wait for you to move, while you adjust all of your earthly possessions for no fucking good reason or hold some stupid ass conversation about bullshit with some other Mongoloid, you worthless piece of poodle excrement. Die.

Those big metal fence things in the parking lot are there, so you can push your cart there when you're done using them. If I see you haphazardly push it out in the road or push it directly behind the car next to yours, I will kill you. If you push your cart to the nearest handicapped space, I will maim you, and then kill you. Die.

(Standing under a huge, well-lit "Open 24 Hours" sign) "Hey, are you still open?"
Yes, we are, but not for people like you. Die.

The next time I see a healthy-looking teenager step out of a car in a handicapped space, that teenager will have to spend the rest of his/her life with a size 12 New Balance® sneaker permanently wedged in their colon for eternity. Die.

"Hey. Psst. Hey man. Look. This chicken is $4.95, but all I got is three dollars. C'mon, man. Help a brother out, man."
I'll help you. I'll help you DIE.

I know it's nice and comfortable for you to rest your big fat arm on your cart while I bag your groceries, but as long as you keep it away from me, you better not complain when you have to put the bags in the cart yourself. Also, when you unload your groceries, what makes you think that If you put your child in the cart, I will magically find some way to collapse the volume of your items to fit them in half the space when I put them back in? Oh I know. You're too stupid to live. Die.

If I'm pushing carts in from the parking lot, and your car is parked directly in front of the cart door, in the clearly marked "No Parking - Fire Lane" area, I will find you, drag you out of the store, then tie you to a brick pillar and ram you with shopping carts until the streets flow with your blood. And you might just DIE.

Originally, I had intended this page to just be about my experiences with dumbasses at Kroger, but in light of recent events, I had to include a few customers at my other job, a pest control service. No one is safe.

If you make an appointment for me to be at your house at a certain time, I will do everything in my power to be there on time. I go through a lot of trouble to make sure I'm there on time, and it is often quite stressful when I'm on a tight schedule. So if you make an appointment for me to be at your house at a certain time, yet you decided to be somewhere else at that time, I will wait in your driveway for you to return, no matter how long it takes, and when you arrive, I will break your knees with vicious, repeated blows with my spray can. Die.

When you have a service performed, it is expected that you pay for that service. That's just the way society works. So when you're behind two months on your bill and I politely ask for payment, do not respond in a harsh tone, or I will grasp you by the throat and squeeze until your quivering body is forever still. You are a piece of shit who expects something for nothing. So you must die.

"You haven't done anything in here! I can't smell any spray at all!"
The chemical we use for indoor treatment is odorless when used in the proper amount, you paranoid shit. Next time, I'll use a spray that you'll be able to smell just fine. Pepper spray. In your face. Die.

"Well, I don't need you to spray my house anymore, because I found this product on TV, that I'm very satisfied with."
So should I go ahead and set up an appointment for two months from now, when the roaches get immune to that crap, just like they did with the last product you saw on TV? Die.

I need a real job.