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Too Bad About Reproduction, Sometimes by Ray Printer Friendly

Man, the things I do for you people. I’m sleepy and my eyes feel like they’re on fire. I want to just turn off the computer, go to bed, and wake up feeling refreshed tomorrow. But no.

Instead, I will open this bottle of whiskey, and I will write and write, until I forget what I was talking about, until my fingers won’t even hit one key at a time anymore. And then I’ll post it. And then I’ll wake up tomorrow, the first thing I’ll do is turn on the computer and check for typos, kind of hoping that no one has seen it until I get everything fixed. And then maybe I’ll make some scrambled eggs, I don’t know.

I got yelled at by a pregnant lady today, and that kind of sucked, even though it was extremely funny. To fully understand, we must start the story before the breeder even approached me.

See, there was this guy, he came in and was like, “Yeah, I came in last week and got a receipt re-printed for an insurance claim, but I lost it. Can you print me another one?” He’s dressed in a relatively nice suit, but you can tell he’s a moron because he can’t hold onto a piece of paper for more than seven days without losing it.

My coworker prints out another receipt, and then this guy proceeds to ask her something like a thousand mundane questions in a row, everything from where he’s supposed to send this receipt to how to get out of the parking lot. He finally leaves, and I tell my coworker, “Yeah, the great part about this job is you get to see people, you have to wonder how they even manage to dress themselves in the morning.” It was a passive-aggressive insult to his intelligence, just in case you didn’t catch that.

This scenario is one that plagues me, by the way. I see people come in and buy three thousand dollar TVs, and then you have to show them where to sign on the credit card receipt four times. Or you’ll say, “Yes, your merchandise will be coming out in just a few minutes—just park out in the loading area and they’ll bring it out.”

“The loading area?”

“Yes, right there, those two big sliding glass doors, it’s marked with white paint everywhere, it says ‘merchandise pickup’ on the sign. Just pull your car up over there, they’ll load up your TV.”

“I just wait over there?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t need to ring the bell or anything?”

“Just pull your car up there and wait—they’ll bring it out.”

“How will they know?”

“A ticket prints up back there.”

“And I just drive over there and wait?”

“Yep. Drive right there and wait.”

“And where do I wait? Over here, or over there?”

“Just wait in your car. Or beside it, if you want.”

“But where at?”

“Right there in the loading area.”

“And then how will I get my TV?”

“They’ll bring it out to you.”

“Where will they bring it out?”

“Right there, loading area.” This can go on forever, man. And you’re sitting there wondering how someone this stupid could possible earn enough money to buy this TV. And then you start wondering who dressed them, because they sure aren’t smart enough to do it themselves.

Want to hear something terrifying? And I promise you that I’m not making it up. The customer service counter is just to the left of the front door, right?. I have had people ASK ME HOW TO GET OUT OF THE STORE!

I’m trying to think of a way to put this. Say like you had to pee. Not real bad, but sort of, and since you’re passing a restroom, you figure what the heck. You walk in, you pee, and you wash your hands (because here at The Strangelands, we all wash our hands after peeing, right?). And then, instead of just walking out the door that you’re standing in front of, you get lost! Oh, how I hate humanity.

Anyway, so I was commenting on this topic to my coworker and this pregnant lady walks up. She’s all fat and nasty, not like a pretty pregnant woman at all. She looks like maybe she just got out of the women’s prison, and then maybe went shopping at a K Mart…dumpster. Nasty-ugly and with an albino kid. She looks like the type of person who would smoke on the way to the delivery room, and the kind that will pawn off her baby’s bed at least twice before the kid learns to walk. I realize that I’m judging a book by it’s cover here, and I know that that’s wrong.

I’m just telling you what she looked like, though: exactly like a white-trash ho-bag that probably even has a bad reputation at the trailer park. She buys her shit, I stand there patiently and try to ignore the smell, whatever. I smile, bag her stuff up, and tell her to have a nice day. And then she just unleashes on me.

“You know, I don’t know who you were talking about, but as customer service manager, you should really watch what you say!”

I’m perplexed. “Excuse me?”

“About people not being able to dress themselves. I just think that’s really rude!”

And I suddenly realize that Ms. Contraception-Is-Too-Confusing thinks that I was talking about her. A little egotistic, really, even if she does have thirty pounds of future farm-animal rapist hanging over her kneecaps.

I apologize profusely: I didn’t mean to be insensitive, I was actually referring to a co-worker (a lie, because I can’t tell her that I was talking about a dumb-ass customer), it was an on-going inside joke, I didn’t mean to offend her in any way, shape or form, blah, blah, blah. She refuses to accept my apology, and so I refuse to apologize any more, and she leaves the store, which is really good, because I’me about to die laughing. Because I have all sorts of horrible insults forming in my head, and they’re all hilarious, and I’m cracking my ass up. She leaves, and I bust out laughing.

I immediately tell a coworker the story. “Is it my fault that she’s self-conscious about being a nasty trash bag that can’t stay closed?” I ask. “I understand that it must be humiliating to have to give three dollar blowjobs so you can afford cigarettes for you and baby, but does she have to take it out on me?” Stuff like that for a long time.

But here’s the thing: I couldn’t do shit abut that chick going off on me. I had to stand there and apologize. Being behind that customer service counter, it’s like being the “Shoot The Freak” guy at Coney Island, but without the glory. It’s like anal sex with sand as lubricant and a needle in the eyeball as foreplay. Painful and stupid, but something you’ll always have a story about.

I wasn’t even talking about her, man. She was just some nasty trash that had actually managed to fly under my irate radar. And then she has to open her mouth and spout a bunch of nonsense that would get her smacked around by Billy Roy Bob if she tried it at (trailer) home.

Well, whatever. She looked like maybe she had about two months to go before the baby escaped her nicotine-stained womb. And once again, I have all of her customer information, as well as the phone number for the Department of Health and Human Services. I’m not saying that I would try to get her kids taken away…I’m just saying that I could.

See, these are the things you should think about when you go out into public and try to shit on someone that is temporarily less powerful than you. They can destroy your lives in ways that you’ll never realize. And I promise you this: they all think about it. They sit there, day after day after day, thinking up evil shit to do to customers. Nope, it’s not just me. It’s everyone, man. You walk into your average retail store being an asshole, you probably walk out with three to five people thinking up some of the sickest, most evil shit on the planet to do to you. You might think these people are stupid, but at my job, even the guy with the IQ of like 18 has some really ingenious ideas about messing your shit up beyond recovery.

I’m here to help you, people. This is like a public service announcement about how to stay a safe public.

Trailer-garbage girl, I don’t forgive her, but I’m letting it go. Her life already sucks pretty bad, and judging by the look of the little girl she was hauling around, it’s only a matter of time before the government takes her children away, anyhow. Am I a cruel, heartless bastard? No way, man. I’m just looking out for my kid. I didn’t knock up her up, but I practically guarantee that I’ll be paying to raise her children. Rock on, welfare!

Okay, so I’ve vomited my poison out all over this page, and I feel much better, and now your eyes and soul burn. Sorry. I’ll let you go rinse, or whatever. But before I go, you want to know what she was buying? A wireless router. Man, I wish pregnant trailer girl would stumble across this website tonight. That would make the entire incident worth something. She’s trying to find some weird porn site where she can sell photos of herself, and ends up stumbling across The Strangelands. The name’s Ray, lady—I saw you lookin’ at my name tag today. Reckanize!


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