People Are Bastards

For those of you not in "the know" about my day-to-day stuff, it might come as a surprise that I've worked as a cashier in a grocery store for the last six months or so. I know, I know, I did apply to NASA for going to space, saving alien planets and boning hot alien chicks, but then I realized I did that last year. Same goes for dragonslaying and all that jazz.

Anyways, Saturday was my last day behind the cash register, chained like the veritable slave I am. The clock was ticking steadily closer to 23.00, which is when we close the goddamm doors and push the bastards out - except this night was different.

As usually I watched as the last customers (aka "annoying stragglers") left for the exit, and as usual I began cleaning up around my register - which at this point in the evening is the only one still active. Then after this is done, I take a walk along the aisles to make sure there are no one left, and usually there aren't. 23:05; I see a woman squatting in front of the Christmas-department. F**k!


"Hey there, mrs. I am afraid we're going to have to close now, we're already overdue, sadly," I said. Except in Norwegian. Which by the way is awesome. It's like having a golden toilet. Yeah - every day's a privelege.

Anyway's, this woman simply stated that we had so many great tings for Christmas - to which I politely thanked - not that I really give a flying intercourse. She then said that she should be finished in a moment. I didn't really think she needed further urging, and left for my register, to clean up more stuff, like removing the cash from the lottery machine, counting receipts, closing the tobacco closet, etc. After this was done, I realized that the woman had yet to appear at the register. 23:1o; F**k.

A little trip to the candy aisle reveals here, strolling along as if she owned the place and had put an order to keep it open 24-7. Well, not on my watch. - That last sentence would have sounded more badass if not for the fact that I was a cashier, but still.
"Eh, we really have to close now. It's getting very late," I said with a nervous smile. To be honest, what I was nervous of was if I would be able to keep my hands from grabbing her throat and giving her some proper parenting; Home Simpson style. ("Why, you little!")

Again, she gave me the "Oh, but there are so many great things here!"-crap. Well, why don't you check it out DURING THE DAY!!?? HUH???? ANSWER ME THAT!!!!! I almost regret not saying it aloud.

My partner (not that kind) walked up and asked why I hadn't locked the doors and checked out. To which I replied that "There's someone left." I must admit, I wanted his reply to be; "Let's toss the twat out," but he chose the somewhat more erudite "Oh." and left to count the bread. Thanks for nothing.

Finally she was in the register - HOSANNA THANK THE LORD! - and I speedily put the stuff through, to the annoying sound of her explaining she was just buying some things for a friend as a gift. But suddenly she realized things were costing more than she had expected, and wanted to put some things in return - WHY GOD OH WHY DO YOU PUNISH ME LIKE THIS!!!



After I had done this, the woman had the nerve, the audacity, to ask if whether we had any wrapping paper and the likes; I simply shrugged and said that what's there was there. No really, at this point I honestly couldn't care less if I was coming off as brusque.

Anyway, I had stuff to do now as she was out - I logged my register off, and printed the overall receipt from the computer and stuff like that, and then left for the office to put in my numbers - trusting she wouldn't take anything while unsupervised.

Okay, so it's done, and when I return into the hall - MY PARTNER HAD SUPPLIED HER WITH WRAPPING PAPER AND GIFT BANDS!! Seriously man? Really? You Quisling! JUDAS!

23:17

She's wrapping.

23:20

She's wrapping, and excusing herself for being a "bit inconvenient".

23:25

She's wrapping still. Seriously, the Nazis were "a bit inconvenient"; this is preposterous.

23:29

SHE'S DONE!!!!!!

At this point I had honestly considered making an animal sacrifice to the Dark Gods of the Netherworld. But Billy Goat was lucky and got to live another day. Touché.

23:30

My mate Harry is asking where the hell I am, and if I'm coming to town to hang with him. At this point the whole affair behind me appeared like a bad dream, and I gave him a short resumé.

Kudos to Harry for getting me in a better mood that evening; and kudos to my work-partner who was so kind as to give a lift downtown. Thankfully restoring some of my faith in humanity, although I fear it will be forever marred.