[Image Description: Background is several triangles in a circle like a pie alternating from true red, scarlet and black. A robin is sitting on his perch looking to the right.
Top Text: “About to lock the doors at closing, customer pushes past into store”
Bottom Text: “I have three minutes”]
Well, if we’re going to talk technicalities, you have exactly a minute and a half to shop, fifteen seconds to walk from the back of the store to my register, and one minute for me to ring you up before my register SHUTS DOWN and I can’t do anything for you, and then fifteen seconds for me to push you out of the door and lock the doors, which I was originally intending to do before you rudely pushed me out of the way. It’s seven pm on a Sunday, for fuck’s sake. We’re nice enough to stay open until seven when the rest of the plaza closes at six, so how about you come back when you have some fucking time, and not during your wait at the goddamn Olive Garden.
I love my job, but working in an area (Cape Cod) where customers are much more likely to be self-entitled pricks who think the world stops for them, sometimes I can’t help but want to beat my head with a shoe.
THIS PERSON WORKS AT COLONY PLACE!
THIS PERSON WORKS AT DSW BECAUSE WE’RE THE ONLY STORE THAT CLOSES AT 7 ON A SUNDAY OH MY GOODNESS ONE OF MY COWORKERS KNOWS ABOUT THE INTERNET