Kustomers are kunts.

Fuck I hate customers. Well, not all of them. Just a large proportion of them. They waltz in or call in an order for Faceless Corporation's^TM patented Product^TM and pay with cash, credit card and/or general nastiness. To the woman from Victoria who sprayed me with abuse this evening: fix your fucken phone line. Don't get all shirty with me because I couldn't hear your fucken order and had you repeating things so I could get it right. Ahem.

And there was this other man who was rude from the get go, kept changing his mind and had a go at me for not keeping up. He carried on and argued about prices, and disputed the quoted total on my register screen. Up the wall, he drove me. Something big must've crawled up his arse and died. Maybe something like Amanda Vanstone, deporting various organs from his digestive tract. Hmm. In that case, I suppose I'd be a little miffed, too.

I saw bits of my Dad in that last obnoxious customer, I must admit. My Dad just generally has a nasty demeanour. It's totally unintentional, but he never fails to rub people up the wrong way, even those who know him well. And gosh, how ever hard I try to bear that in mind, I just can't deal with him.

Gah, I hate idiots. Hence my unsuitability for customer service.

Listening to:
Title: Had Enough
Artist: Frenzal Rhomb
Album/station: Shut Your Mouth (2001)
Length: 2.48