Douchebags, Pt. 1

If you've ever worked in any area of the service industry, you're probably aware of the fact that even the sweetest person has an absolutely douchebag side of them that unleashes itself only in specific situations.  Namely, situations where YOU have to cater to them.  Some days, I shrug it off and laugh at the idiocy of the general masses and pat myself on the back for knowing better.  Other days, I WANT TO RIP MY FACE OFF.

Here are a few examples of people that make me want to shred my epidermis.

1) People who don't abide by the rules.

Take this sentence and study it.  

You have [x] amount of days for a full refund, and [x] amount of days for an exchange.  

Now, assuming that you've all passed Grade 3 English with somewhat flying colours, that sentence probably makes complete sense to you right?  Wrong.  When you come up to me in the store, with no tags, no receipt, on the x+20 day past a refund and are told that I cannot do anything for you besides abide by my store policy - WHICH IS A POLICY, not God's way of humouring me and finally kicking in some of your bad karma - you begin to sputter and essentially lose your face at me.  Why?  Have you been the exception to rules your entire life?  How do you have the nerve to look me in the face and tell me it's "ridiculous?" What's ridiculous?  The concept of an employee following the rules set by their employer?  Do you also evade taxes and jay-walk across highways?  Walk out of restaurants and jerk-off on the subway?  Are you... are you freaking kidding me?  

I'm guessing that the type of people who have this worthless sense of entitlement that they place upon themselves like a magical shimmering hat before they leave the house every morning are not a shade too far from the next type...

2) People who are constantly living on Bourne Supremacy time.

"I can't be bothered to answer your questions, I'm in a bit of a rush."

"I'm double-parked outside, could you please hurry?"

"Are you the only cashier available?"

Listen, I get it.  If you're shopping somewhere like Geriatric-supporting Metro and the line is moving slower than my split ends, it's frustrating.  You, however, are the third person in my line.  The third.  You see me doing my job.  I'm not dilly-dallying, yet you choose to sigh, exhale, tsk, and roll your eyes as if I was just standing there in nipple tassles... dancing to Katy Perry... in slow motion.  You're also the type to scream at your children when your wi-fi goes down for 5 minutes, or take it out on your husband's poor table manners because your Rogers on Demand is being updated while your shows are on.

Calm down.  If you don't have enough time to shop, don't come into the shop in a whirlwind of drama and frustration.  Take an extra half-hour to come in, or go the next day.  I don't work in a factory of nuclear supplies... or even a grocery store.  There can't be anything life-or-death dependent about a silk dress.  

You gay Jason Bourne soccer mom.  Life moves at a certain pace.  You're simply unhappy with your life, not my problem.   Don't make me unhappy to serve your ungrateful ass.

To be continued...