So I work in the wonderful (read: soul destroying) world of retail, and in my world, people seem to appear over and over in different, oddly-shaped guises. Of course there are the super awesome, make-your-day wonders that frequent my workplace, but there are also the… others. The others are the people that I will talk about today. No names and no lawsuits. Btw, if you are reading this, which you are, you are not on this list. You are on another list, full of awesome things like sloth videos and Christian Slater. Go you! Here we go:
Actually, I’m not sure if hippy is the right word, but screw it, it’s my blog, so let’s get anarchic up in here! But no, not hippies, more like homeless people with homes. Squatters, yeah, that’ll do. They don’t believe in driving licenses, paying for stuff or laws and would run a red light just ‘cause they think it’s the man trying to bring them down. I mean, who is the man anyway? By actually charging you for your shopping, am I the man? Because I don’t feel like the man. Ps. Stealing is wrong.
I feel bad, because sometimes I come under this heading; when I’m having one of those days where I’m just like ‘Kill all the poor people!’ Well, I’m never that bad, but, you know, I really hate queues, especially when it’s hot, and wish that all the other people in the world would queue somewhere away from me. But yes, snobs. They buy things just ‘cause their broadsheet told them to, they pronounce things wrong because they’ve only seen it written down, (again, guilty!) and they look at me like I’m something icky that shops in a skip. I do not shop in a skip; I am a human being with feelings and a blog, so screw you, people with attic bedrooms. You are now portrayed on the internet in a slightly negative light. Ha.
- The Coolest People You Will Ever Meet…
Here we have the glimmering light of hope in an otherwise dim world; think Simba in The Lion King when he comes back and Scar’s totally screwed everything up. I’ll admit I’m slightly biased here, but vegans are indeed ‘da bomb’. You’ll know when a vegan has entered the room because you can suddenly smell Nag Champa and awesome, they buy all of your chocolate and meat-free sausages and the world is all rainbows and butterflies. Truth fact. Unless you are a meat-eater, in which case, you will probably only notice that you are low on meat-free sausages, but only moments ago, I can assure you, magic drifted through and left, face full and grinning.
Right, right, ok, now before anyone gets all up in my grill and offers me a fist sandwich that I will have to politely, (but firmly) decline, I am not talking ALL sporty types. I’m talking about the meat head idiots that don’t understand the concepts of clothes, manners or reading. They grunt and wander around with their hands down their pants, (not in the American way) and giggle at the Horny Goat Weed, which is only funny if you’re a pre-pubescent boy. They are pure pond scum, but they spend lots so we let them in. Seriously, where DO they get their money from?! Luckily, they are interspersed by the friendly, muscle-bound folk, for whom we have plenty of time.
Don’t even get me started on these people! Ok, do, whatever, it’s your time I’m wasting, not mine. These are the women that wander in and you hate them straight away. Not because they’re pretty and skinny and blonde and practically bloody perfect in every way, but because they have all that and head straight to the weight loss section. What the eff ladies?! I have a theory that if you have something, (tiny waist, epic boobs, etc.) it makes you focus on that bit more with your critical eyes, (as opposed to your normal eyes, which are a lot more forgiving of faults). So in a way I feel sorry for these *cough* insane *cough* women, but in another way I hate them for every fairy that they kill buying their fat binders and appetite suppressants. No, women! Just no.
Now I know I’m the last person that should be commenting on someone’s mental health, but I want to, so I will. Yay free speech! These are the people that wander in thinking, “Ah! So this is what a shop looks like! I’ve always wondered, but never ventured inside! Now, I know what I need and they’ll definitely have it! Say! That person is not wearing uniform, is blasting rock music from their headphones and has a ‘go away’ glare firmly planted on their face! They must work here!” No, no, and again, NO! They do not work here. That is not our way. Also, in case you were wondering, we don’t sell: Batteries, lunchboxes, forks, syringes or mace. These are all actual requests btw, from actual card-carrying oddities.
Note the inverted commas. These are the people that should be stuck in the above category, but I’m nice, so I gave them their own. They prowl the shop, waiting for ‘vulnerable’ people to wander in. Now we all know what vulnerable means; don’t we? When they find one, they pounce, and then they will sink in their teeth and give our customers terrible, dangerous advice. “Oh, you have a fungal infection? You should soak your feet in acid for a week before taking a large amount of illegal drugs and wandering into the woods to find yourself.” Or, you know, tea tree oil is always good. Anyone can call themselves a herbalist, even without qualifications, a license or a clean police record. Be careful customers, come to us, we have certificates and will get sued if we kill you.
Specifically, rubbish old people. Now I have made myself a promise that when I am old, I shall be freaking AWESOME! I’m gonna ride a wheelchair like it’s a Harley, dye my hair rainbow colours and swear a fuck ton. Have you ever heard an old lady swear? It’s brilliant. But there are some old people that didn’t have the same dreams and have become grave-waiting leeches. Thankfully, they are super rare, but I can assure you, they do exist. They decide that they don’t know where anything is, even though they shop here EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. And always five minutes before closing. Don’t let them tell you they only want one thing. They are evil and they are lying. Lock the door. Go home. Do the same damn thing tomorrow.
- Men Who Want To See a Male Member of Staff
I know what you’re up to mister. It’s not like I was born yesterday, also I see it on a weekly basis. Don’t be embarrassed, it happens to the best of us, well, apart from me, it doesn’t happen to me, I’m as virile as a bunny, and also, I’m female. Sucks to be you. But seriously, no worries, it happens to a lot of men, and hey, at least you’re getting enough to need to medicate! Woo! Go you! You’re practically a porn star. And they get floppy too, trust me, I know, I saw a Louis Theroux documentary. Just be brave, talk to the girl, she’ll get it up for you again. And no, Horny Goat Weed is not a funny name. Ok, get out.
Ugh. Scratch the getting old and being awesome thing, I’ve changed my mind. I’m gonna stay young forever because there’s no way in hell or on earth, I’m gonna turn into a bitey, red-faced nutcase. No way. I have had a lady describe to me exactly how she wants to murder her husband. Poor bloke. He probably wants to murder her too, the amount she’s griping. Just take some soya and cheer up love. It’s not that bad. Ok, maybe it is, but don’t take it out on me. I didn’t strike you down with the menopause. And also, in case you’d forgotten what it’s like to be in serious bloody pain and bleeding through your lady parts for one week every month, it sucks. So don’t tell me I’m lucky to be young, ‘cause we’re all screwed, but you’re on your way downhill to Noworriesville.
- People Shopping For Other People
Why?! Just why? Why would you do that? You don’t know what they want. You don’t know what size, what colour, what flavour, what weight, or even which product they actually want, so why don’t you give it up right now and go home? You, man with very specific list, you can stay, we like you, well done, gold star. “She says it’s in a yellow pot.” Right, ok, thanks for that information, that hasn’t helped at all. Have you ever thought that your so-called ‘friend’ is sat at home laughing, as you cause chaos in your yellow-potted wake? Newsflash: Your friend hates you and wants you to feel like poo. That or they just suck at life. Either way go home; you’re not buying anything they actually want today.
Ok, he’s not a low note, but I just had to blog about the wonder that is lemonade boy. This boy is amazing and I love him. You don’t know lemonade boy, or maybe you do; maybe he’s an idea that’s in all our hearts, manifested in a magical, citrus form. Maybe lots of things. Ok, background: Lemonade boy was a boy my friend and I met, when he was selling lemonade in Bristol. I have since seen him EVERYWHERE. No joke. Wales and Bath, actually, but completely random places. Lemonade boy likes Neil Gaiman, may or may not be vegan and buys lemonade from my shop. The irony itself has solidified him as my number one potential BFF. But I also may be imagining him, ‘cause I do stuff like that. Do you know lemonade boy? Is he real? Does he exist purely on a diet of lemonade and happiness? Are you lemonade boy? Let me know. Seriously. Let. Me. Know.