Please donīt misunderstand me, I have had my share of women scream at me over the phone; and my share of overly tan, middle age men in gold chains speak only to my breasts, call me missy, snap their fingers at me because I am not moving fast enough and actually throw money at me. Most of these people are just assholes; when they go home at night, after a long day of shopping, they are still assholes. You and I have to deal with them for five minutes one day at work, but someone has these assholes for neighbors, or in-laws, or bosses or their childīs bestfriendīs parents, and that person has to see them all the time. The world is unavoidably full of them. Making assholes work retail for three will not change that fact. The two people who are the rudest to waitresses, the two people who I am most embarrassed to eat out with, and who, when I am out to dinner with, I am the most worried about receiving shit in my food, both worked as waitresses themselves.
Get over yourself. You are in your situation only because you put yourself in it. Either quit your job or stop whining about. It is not just in the context of retail work in which dealing with people sucks, it sucks to deal with people anywhere. Your middle-class hating emulation of hepatitis causing, employees who add shit to food is played out, Tyler Durden; Youīve watched Fight Club one too many times.
I am told that this is basically the gist of The Retail Manifesto, part two: If the Customer is Always Right, You Can Suck My Cock. Unfortunately, I myself, was unable to wade through the vague twisted pimp metaphors and half innuendos. Maybe this is because I too dumb to understand it, maybe it is because it is jumbled and confusing, or maybe it is because in my white-guilt, college educated twenty-something emulation of the lower class, I refuse to read anything longer than 100 words or containing complex sentences.
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