I wanted to share something with you tonight. It wasn’t much, really. Just a little image to let you know that I was thinking of you. This is what I went looking for:
I figured that you needed an image of a tasty fried burrito, golden and delicious. Taste the greasy goodness, it’s not made right until you feel yourself having heart troubles just by touching it.
While looking, I also stumbled upon this website. It’s a story about this guy:
He’s a real winner, isn’t he? If, when you think the phrase, “When I grow up, I want to be…” you follow it up with a picture anything similar to this photo, what you need to do is, you need to go out and practice your hobby of swallowing rusty nails and glass.
As I think we all know, I hate customers. There’s this part in that movie Mallrats, one guy goes, “Whatever happened to ‘The customer is always right?’” The other guy goes, “Hey, you wanna know a secret? The customer is always an ASSHOLE!”
And it’s true. Yeah, the Allsup’s guy was a dick. Yeah, he was probably wrong. But so what? I’m with him, man. I wish I could call the cops on every customer that walks into the store. “Hi, I’m looking for-”
“Yeah, hang on a sec, would’ja?” BEEP BOOP BOOP (That’s the sound of 911 being dialed, in case you’re confused) “Yeah, hey Mike. I have another customer. No, yeah, I’ve asked her to leave. Won’t do it. Is your taser charged yet? Bring it—she looks like se might have some fight in her.”
You know what my first customer was today? An old lady that signed up for a credit card with my store. She gave this salesman every bit of her information—social security number, home phone, home address, date of birth, closest living relative, place of employment, and much, much, more, as the TV commercials say. She gave this guy all of her info, she signed the credit form with all of this info printed legibly on it, and she used the card to charge over a thousand dollars worth of computer equipment.
That was on July 31. Today, she came in, angry because she got a bill. WHAT?
I’m serious, man. She got upset by the bill. She says that she was misinformed, that nobody said anything about a credit card. She wanted to use her Mastercard for this purchase. She didn’t understand why she was being billed for a thousand dollar computer that she walked out with over a month ago. She thought we were just going to let her leave, and then come in and pay for it when she was ready, I guess. Whatever.
This isn’t some poor old confused woman, either. Sharp as a tack, and twice as hurtful, she was. The only thing that finally shook her up was when I asked her if she had her driver’s license. I needed to check it before I could give her any of her credit car information. She paled a bit, got quiet for a second, and then pulled out a driver’s license that has been expired for over a year. I acted like I didn’t even notice. My ace in the hole, as it were. I kind of dropped hints, though.
Like when she’s yelling, “I wasn’t told about this, I didn’t sign the paperwork, I won’t pay!”
I go, “I can make you copies, if that’s what you need.”
“Damn right! Make me copies of all that paperwork! You’re trying to trick me!”
“No, ma’am, I’m not trying to trick you.”
“Get me that paperwork, I’ll show you that it says nothing about a credit card!”
So I go back, I eat a honey bun, watch an X-Files rerun, make a copy of her stuff, and bring it back out. “Here you are, ma’am. I brought a copy of all the paperwork, I’ve highlighted everyplace that it says you agree to these credit terms for your credit card, and I’ve highlighted everywhere that the word ‘credit’ appears.”
“I think you went back there and typed this up! This isn’t the paper I signed”
“I’ve also made an extra copy of your expired driver’s license. If you have a problem with this paperwork, I will gladly call the authorities to come down and make sure that none of these documents are fraudulent. I didn’t see anyone with you, though. And I know that you didn’t drive all the way down here, what with not having a valid driver’s license.”
I lock eyes with her, and she thinks she’s going to stare me down. Sure, she’s got like a hundred years on me, but I’ve been dealing with bitter old women for years, and she’s not winning this match. She could start crying right now, talking about how since her kids never come see her anymore, blah, blah, blah. She could have a stroke, fall to the ground, and shit herself. She could drop dead on the floor, and you know what I do? I would do a whole lotta shit. One thing I won’t do, though, is back down from this old lady. You’re dead? You’re still not staring me down.
She doesn’t die or anything, though, which is sort of too bad, because I just really can’t see her being beneficial to the planet in any way, shape, or form, but whatever. Instead, she scurries out of the store, only to come back later and harass a weaker customer service associate.
Which is cool, because at least it’s not me.
Hey, did you ever wonder why I wanted to show you a picture of a deep-fried Allsup’s burrito? I’ll tell you: because deep-fried Allsup’s burritos are freakin’ AWESOME!
I haven’t read the entire post about Allsup’s yet, but it looks like they gave up. I swear, man, if I had known about this earlier, I would have started my own movement, protesting all the little bitches who thought the customer was right. I would have sent hourly e-mails, talking about how the clerk was the man, and if they folded, I would blow up the entire city. “I hid in the bushes during a war, and now I sit around smoking weed and getting pissed off that my local convenience store won’t give me cheap soda. If you don’t bend to my will and offer an apology, I will stand on the sidewalk.”
As opposed to:
“I’m a complete fucking lunatic. I love that you denied that lady, but I wish you had made her at least cry. That war guy, he smells like week-old shit. If you bend his will, I will burn your store down, kill your family, and then blow up the planet…because that’s how right I feel you are in denying him his 2 for 2.”
All right, so I have no idea what I’m talking about, and I’m having flashbacks of subway dreams, which is always a bad sign. I’m going to bed now, kids. But before I do, let me just tell you this, my little Strangelanders: I’m very glad that you are all real people—not just gutless punks that have nothing better to do with their lives than whine at customer service or protest Allsup’s. I’m proud of you.
Night, li’l homies.