Who knew it sparked such conflict?
So, some of you may have noticed that I have dropped off the fanpop radar-becoming a stealth Poppette, if you will (though I am annoyed at the distinct lack of forums, etc, wailing and crying about my absence-looking at you, Obby!).
Where is the wailing, the horrific, gut-wrenching wailing?
This is a direct correlation with the Scary Real Life. I got a job. I went back to college. I started working at my youth group again. I was washing my hair. And so forth.
I like my job. I meet people, I work with a lovely group, and I genuinely enjoy myself. Especially the money. I do amor the moolah, and the goods and services one can attain por exchange of the wingwangs.
Money. I like money.
However, I had conclusive proof today that humanity should be taken out back and put down.
We're a busy operation. We work hard when we're open, and even harder when we closed. See, we have to do a LOT of cleaning. And I mean a lot. So when we get the news that two managers are coming down tomorrow morning, we(myself and my co-worker, lets call her Vernbon, for funsies) decided to close the comprar five minutos earlier to give us a little bit mais time to organise the place, and allowing us and the security guards to go início at a decent hour.
See, in my world, this means mais work
No problem, except at 5:40, a queue of sorts has formed. So I go to close the queue, aka stand at the end of the line swigging a bottle of coca-cola so I can stay awake, no easy feat due to the five hours I've been standing with no break.
I'm at the back. Look for the coca-cola bottle
A few people walk up. I politely tell them we're closing, they say 'Okay so', and walk off. Until a little girl walks up. I tell her we're closing. She passes this on to Mammy and Daddy dearest, over to one side.
Daddy walks up, I explain to him. He replies (stay awake, this part is pivotal) 'I completely understand.' GOT THAT! HE said it.
Then Mammy dearest walks over, demanding to know why I won't allow her children, the little rays of sunshine that they are, to get ice-cream. I explain again that the comprar is closing. I have three teenagers in front of me, and por the time Vernbon has dealt with them, we'll be at our closing time.
Much mais attractive than the one I dealt with
Essential for buying ice-cream
12th highest cause of death in Europe
So my co-worker says (grudgingly) that she'll serve them.
She serves them, mostly to get rid of them. I walk back into the shop. At this time Mammy is demanding my name, and my manager, to complain me, after I have been subjected to a furious yet condescending lecture from Daddy about how damn lucky I am to have my job in a recession. I say I'm sorry for doing my job, noting in interest another scientific fact : creatures of limited intelligence cannot detect sarcasm, as denoted por the fact that he stated the obvious 'you're not a damn bit sorry!'
Indisputable scientific fact: Can detect sarcasm
Right now I'm looking for volunteers to form an angry mob, to hunt down these 'people', ambush them, and sacrfice them to the Ice Cream God, Milksauce. Except for the youngest child. I got no beef with her.
There's a sign up sheet posted in the common room. Torches are supplied, but must bring packed lunch and own pitchfork.
These don't grow on trees. Except in Iowa
Author's Note: If Mammy had been polite, I would have let them into the line, no hassle.
UPDATE: She came into the comprar yesterday, when my manager was in, but didn't say anything. Today, my manager asked me if I was polite to them. When I said yes, she shrugged and said 'Fuck 'em'
DO IT FOR MILKSAUCE!
