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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #651
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8 "The Ill-begotten, Psuedo-ethics
888 888 888 888 888 of Semi-janitorial Work:
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8 Cub Foods Style"
888 888 888 888 888 " by Hypomonk
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 5/22/99
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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There I was, midway through the monotony of my job at a local grocery
store. It had been an uneventful day. I redirected customers to aisles in
which their requested item wouldn't be found, as I usually do.
"Excuse me, sir (I love it when they call me sir). Can you tell me
where the Drunk Before Noon Cooking Wine is?"
(Acting confused and slightly disgruntled)
"Well, my guess would be Aisle 7." Aisle 7 is the cereal aisle. The
last time I checked, cooking wine was not a grain.
"Oh, thank you."
"Uh huh."
You dumb bastard. I aptly avoid them until they're finished
shopping. Anything to make a boring, unsatisfying, and ill-paying job that
much more workable. Fucking with customers is great.
"Excuse me, sir (I love it when they call me sir). Do you have any
more Mr. Starchy's Potato Wedges?"
"Well, we should be getting a truck in tomorrow, you can check back
then."
Of course we have more, you club-footed fuck, but am I going to stop
whatever menial task I'm doing to go through the hundreds of items in the
back, just so you can enjoy a gener-o slice of fried potato? Fuck no, I'm
not. So you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to lie to you. In fact,
I'm going to poke fun at you, to your face, WHILE I lie to you. But you're
not going to know it, because you're merely a customer. A lanky, cracker-
eating, honkey-ass customer, who's shopping for potato products at 9:30pm on
a Saturday night. So no, we don't have Mr. Starchy's Potato Wedges. If
you'd like to come back Sunday, I'm sure we still won't have them, because
we'd be getting a truck in on Monday, and you could come back then, but you
won't, because your potato conviction is less-than-extraordinary. You make
me sick.
One day, I was mopping happily in Aisle 6 (canned goods), when I was
approached by an elderly couple. Now normally, this would have made me
smile. Old people are friendly, smiley, and great at cooking. So I
thought. I came to realize that old people are stubborn, uncompromising
retards.
"Do you have this in a smaller can?" the old man asks, holding a
family size can of Cambells Pork 'n' Beans soup in my face.
"Yeah, we do," I said, smiling, and grabbing a regular-size can of
Cambells Pork 'n' Beans soup, *directly* above the family size ones. Lesson
#1: Old people can't see.
"No, that's smaller. (You can see where this is headed)" Lesson #2:
Old people are always ready to point out the obvious.
"Well, we have a slightly larger can in this brand."
"We always buy the other brand." Lesson #3: Old people are
relentless.
"Oh. Well, looks like you're fucked, huh?" Immediately, after
walking away, I asked myself these questions: WHY did he strive for the
median-sized can? WHY didn't he just buy 3 of the smaller cans? WHO the
fuck would eat so many pork 'n' beans? These questions can't be answered,
because old people are surely retarded, and I guess that someone mildly
retarded might have seen the point in buying a can half a size smaller than
the family size can, and half a size bigger than the regular can, but not I,
especially when this size can doesn't even fucking exist! And you know what
the funny thing is? They didn't even buy the fucking pork 'n' beans! All
that trouble for nothing! Old people are so irrational.
Sadder than above, this has happened numerous times, and not just
with old people. Someone asked (and I'm dead fucking serious), "Where is
the aisle where everything is big?" We don't have an aisle like that!
We've never had an aisle like that! What would make someone think that we
have an aisle where everything is big?! Retardation! People come in,
asking for 10 pound jars of apple sauce, merely to save themselves a couple
cents on the dollar. People are greedy. If they were that cost-oriented,
why not make the apple sauce themselves? It's surely cheaper. People are
lazy.
I hate my job, the people I work with, the manager, and mostly, the
people who shop there, but I've learned a valuable lesson about people who
shop for food. They're stubborn, they're unrelenting, they're
brand-oriented, they're cheap, they're lazy, they're irrational, they're
retarded, and they expect me to know where every fucking item in the store
is located. It is not in my job description to know where Cheez Whiz in a
jar is. I didn't even know Cheez Whiz in a jar existed! I'm a "courtesy
clerk". That's a nice way of saying "janitor". I sweep, mop floors, plung
toilets and run errands for those many steps above me on the ladder of food
service. I am a scrub, and you wouldn't be standing so close to me if you
knew where my hand had just been.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #651 - WRITTEN BY: HYPOMONK - 5/22/99 ]