You know what I hate worse than – well, than almost anything? I hate going to the cobbling farmacy. Seriously. You pull up to drop off your prescription, or – if you’re like me and actually get off your lazy ass – go inside and wait at the counter. You wait while someone says, “Someone will be right with you.” Then you stand there watching them act like they’re doing something really important. More important than you, the customer. Which is the whole reason for their existence.
So after standing there for a pre-determined amount of time that only they can deem appropriate, someone finally decides to walk over and take your scrip. So you stand there while they key it in, then ask you when you’d like to pick it up. Wait. What? Mother cobbler, if it’s gonna be ready in ten minutes, you tell me to come back in ten minutes. Don’t ask me so I might say twenty which gives you a ten-minute break! Cock! Tell me the soonest possible time I can return and pick it up. That fries me, seriously. Then they tell you it will be ready in an hour (after you’ve requested a ten-minute return time). So you return in an hour only to stand there and wait another twenty minutes while they get ready to serve you. Then they finally come to the counter, get your name – as if they don’t remember it – and then say, “Oh he’s filling it right now. It will be ready in just a moment, please have a seat.”
I also hate those assholes at the fronts of electronics stores who try to insist on seeing your receipt when you walk out (which is pretty much accusing you of being a thief right off the bat)? I’d like to take them to the cart corral and beat their face in with a basket. But you know what else I hate even more? I’ll tell you what.
Going to walmart and buying whatever I have to buy that comes in a neat little box, and getting it home to find that a piece is missing. AAAGGGHHHH!! That makes me angrier than a hornet’s nest. I want to murder someone in the face when this happens. I still have my receipt. Walmart is less than two miles from my home. But I got home and ripped the box open, excited to be putting together my new shower caddy (fortunately I hadn’t torn my old one out of the shower yet) and started sticking shit to other shit, when I realized it was missing a plate. I want to cuss and punch someone in the face.
That two-mile trip back to the store always seems like an eternity and a parsec when you’re in the middle of putting something together. You know, like when you start a project at home, you pick up all your shit at the Home Depot, then get home and start putting it together… Only to find… You need more screws. So you drive back and get screws. Then get home and start back on it, and realize, oh shit! You need another piece of drywall! So back you go, and forth and back and forth until you just want to scrap the whole project and drink beer instead. Well, friends, this is why you drink beer while you work on the project. This way you’re already ahead when you do throw in the towel.