On Thin Slice
Awful grocery shoppers always walk around the store with an entitled attitude. The one thing I don’t understand is why they hassle the deli workers. Who decided it was okay to tell the deli guy how to do his job?
How many times have you heard someone say this?
“Give me half a pound of turkey breast but don’t cut it too thick. Slice it really thin!”
What the fuck? Now this poor stiff behind the counter has to slice a piece and show it to you to see if it meets your approval. Then he’s going to get his balls busted because you think the meat is sliced too thick.
What in the hell is the difference if it’s thick or thin?
You’re just making a fucking sandwich at home. The meat is going between two slices of thick bread with tomatoes, onions, lettuce, and mustard.
If he cuts it thick just count that as one slice on your sandwich. If he cuts it thin, you count it as two. It’s the same fucking weight. It’s the same amount of turkey!
Then these assholes want to taste the product.
They ask for a pound of Provolone cheese but demand a slice to check the taste. Then, everyone has to stand there and watch him or her stuff their face.
It is Provolone cheese. It tastes like fucking Provolone cheese!
Thick or thin, I hope you choke on it!
Rotten Crotch Fruit
Then you have those people that drag their hungry, tired, and out-of-control children into the grocery store. Bringing little kids in the supermarket is usually a problem. You have to do it in the right way. If I take my young son shopping, I make sure he is well rested. Don’t take a tired kid to the store. Wait until he gets up from his nap. You don’t have to get your shopping done now. People at your house aren’t dying from starvation.
I’ve also noticed parents who take a cranky kid with them are always yelling!
“Put that back! Put that back! I said put it back!”
I just want to say, “Hey asshole, your kid is three. He doesn’t understand the concept of putting it back. You put it back! You brought him here. You put him in this situation! Don’t fucking yell at him. It’s your fault, not his!”
Are you trying to show off? Are you trying to prove that you’re a great parent by disciplining your kid in front of everyone? No one is applauding you for that. No one thinks you’re a great parent. They think you’re an asshole for taking an exhausted kid to the store.
If the kid grabs a bag of chips just take it away, and say in a real low voice, “No, no, you can’t have that.” Then, just put it back.
Don’t you know bringing your dumb kid down the fucking candy or snack aisle is a bad move? He will want everything he sees. He’ll grab at everything, scream, and cry because he can’t have it.
An awful parent always says, “Yeah, he should know better. I need to teach him he can’t have candy all the time.”
No, he doesn’t know better, asshole! Now everyone in the store has to listen to the two of you scream at each other. It’s your fault because you’re the one who raised him on candy, anyway. You’re the one who gave it to him when he did something good and now you brought him down the fucking candy and snack aisle.
That’s like picking up your friend at rehab and taking him to a party where everyone is snorting coke off a stripper’s ass.
DUNKIN’ DONUTS STINKS!
I’m not a fan of Dunkin’ Donuts.
Their coffee tastes burnt. Their donuts taste stale.
The worst part is their sales techniques. They ask you the most ridiculous questions when you go up to the register.
I only go to a Dunkin’ Donuts out of sheer desperation, usually when I can’t find a Starbucks. Every time I’m in that store, it’s the same bullshit:
“Hello what can I get for you today?”
“Let me have a regular coffee to go. Make it a large. Thanks.”
“Do you want any donuts with that?”
“No sir, I don’t. I’m not a child anymore that likes donuts. That’s so weird you ask that question. I didn’t know you sold donuts here. I mean I know the place is called Dunkin’ Donuts and I see that there are one million donuts on a rack behind you. Are you telling me I can buy them here? You are throwing me for a fucking loop!”
Enough with this shit, all right!
Half the Dunkin’ Donuts are connected to gas stations. The rule of thumb is that you will not get a good cup of coffee inside an Exxon station. Nobody working in a gas station gives a fuck about making good coffee.
Also, I’m sick of their shitty catchphrases. None of these retarded slogans catch on. For instance, they’ve beat us over the head with:
“America runs on Dunkin’!”
No it doesn’t! If all the Dunkin’ Donuts closed tomorrow, America would still be up and running. We don’t need donuts to save America!
They’ve even tried to be hip by abbreviating Dunkin’ Donuts.
“Hey America, start your day at D. D.”
Nobody is calling Dunkin’ Donuts “D. D.”
Stop wasting money on these ad campaigns and concentrate on making fresher coffee and fresher donuts. How about doing that?
Now the new marketing campaign is targeting social media. They tell customers, “Go to Dunkin’ Donuts and take a picture. Then put it on Twitter or Instagram with the hashtag #DunkinMoment.”
Beyond brutal.
You know what my #DunkinMoment is?
I had some of your nasty coffee, it went right through me, and I went into the bathroom and dropped a D. D.—a double deuce!
That’s my #DunkinMoment! Dunkin’ Donuts stinks!!
Awful Shopping: Checkout Hell
One thing that makes shopping so awful is the checkout line, especially when you have someone awful in front of you.
Divide & Conquer
The checkout divider freaks people out. I’ll refuse to use it just to mess with someone in front of me. It drives people crazy.
I’ll intentionally put my items an inch away from their mound of groceries. They can’t stand that our purchases may be mixed up.
One time, this fat guy kept looking back and whipping me dirty looks. He was waiting for me to put the divider down. I finally had to say something:
“Sir, you weigh 450 pounds and you are buying Doritos, Ben & Jerry’s, Cheetos, Twinkies, and M&Ms. Anyone looking at that pile of junk food knows those are your items. My grilled chicken and fresh fruit is just an inch behind your pile of shit. Nobody will confuse our orders. Our cashier will look at you, then look at the food, and immediately figure it out—the fresh fruit is not for the fat fuck!”
In the Fucking Bag!
For some reason when I’m buying a gallon of water, the cashier won’t put it in a bag. Sure, the water jug has a handle on it but it’s a lot easier to carry it in a bag.
They put the gallon of milk in a bag but not the water. Why? I don’t fucking get it. The cashier scans my water and asks:
“You want this in a bag?”
“Yeah, just like everything else,” I say.
Most of the time, they don’t offer you a bag for the water. If I ask for a bag, they look at me like I’m an asshole. What the fuck?
Sometimes I can’t help myself, and I say, “You put three gallons of milk in bags for me, why not the water?”
One cashier actually said, “Well… it’s water!”
What the fuck does that mean? I know it’s water. That’s the reason I bought it. I needed water. Thanks for reminding me that this clear stuff in a gallon jug labeled water—is water. I thought I was buying a gallon of vodka. Too bad your father didn’t wear a bag that night you were conceived!
Line-Cutting Cunts
One of the worst things awful shoppers do is cut the checkout line. Don’t think for one minute you are getting in front of me because you have a few things and I have a full cart! Back the fuck off, motherfucker!
You have three items, and you get behind me when I have thirty. Now, I have to feel p
ressure to let you ahead of me.
That’s exactly what always happens with these assholes. They stand behind you juggling their two or three items. They tap their foot impatiently. Huff and puff because it’s taking a long time. Or, they have the balls to ask if they can cut the line.
“It’s not my fault you aren’t in the express line, you fuck!”
I have a solution. I’ve invented a checklist that screens out awful shopping habits. If someone wants to cut the line and can pass the checklist then I’m happy to let them go ahead of me.
The Awful Shopper’s Guide to Cutting the Line
Are you paying by check?
We live in a time when nobody should ever pay by check at the grocery store. If you insist on being an asshole and using a check, at least do a little prep work before you get to the store. You know the name of the supermarket, so fill that in before you get in line. Also, fill in the date, the signature, and even the memo section. That way when the cashier gives you the total, you can write the amount and you’re done. That’s a pretty fucking simple, and idiot-proof, way to handle paying by check!
Don’t ask, “Who should I make this check out to?” Let’s see, you’re in a Kroger store, why don’t you make it out to Whole Foods!
Are you paying with loose change?
Are you paying with loose change? Well, don’t do that unless you’re prepared.
Have it in your hand ready to go. Don’t wait until the cashier says, “Ok, that will be $154.46” to dig through your purse looking for that precious forty-six cents.
How about doing a little prep work here too? Have ninety-nine cents in your hand as you approach the register. Whatever the change amount is, just subtract from the ninety-nine cents. Pretty simple, huh? Why is this so easy for me and I only graduated from community college?
Do you have coupons?
I’ve had enough with people using coupons at the supermarket. I wish every store had a specific coupon register called the I’m-a-Cheap-Fuck Aisle so all of us noncheap fucks won’t have to wait while these tightwads work their scheme to save twenty cents. Half the time they forget to give the cashier the right coupon at the right time and hold up the line while they make sure their total is adjusted.
Of course, there is always some kind of discrepancy. Then, they get mad and start digging through all the bagged groceries. Finally, they find they have the wrong brand of yogurt and a coupon catastrophe begins—they can’t use their worthless ten-cent rebate!
“Oh no! I thought my coupon was for Dannon. Now I have to pay full price for the other brand!” They bellow.
Yeah, you have to pay the full price, asshole! It costs ten fucking pennies more. You drove here in a Range Rover. You are wearing an expensive watch. I don’t think a dime will hurt your bottom line. So, dig into your $5,000 Louis Vuitton purse for an extra dime and move the fuck on!
Will you be requesting a price check?
Only a cheap fuck would request a price check over a small price discrepancy. Everyone knows a price check forces the cashier to call the store manager who then calls a stock boy who then identifies the price and finally runs up to the front with the information. Meanwhile, there is a line of grumpy people waiting, getting more and more pissed off by the second.
They don’t hear the kids melting down and grabbing the impulse items and throwing them all over the floor. They don’t have a clue every single person behind them is making plans to run them over in the parking lot.
Will you stop the cashier for a halftime subtotal?
Don’t ask the cashier to check the total in the middle of ringing you up. If you only have a certain amount of money, you should track that while you shop. Don’t put the responsibility on other people.
While you shop, use a fucking calculator on your phone. Add the shit up as you put it in the cart! The only time you should make the cashier stop in the middle of ringing you up is if your wife all of a sudden hits menopause in line and you need to go put the tampons back.
Will you be leaving the register because you forgot something?
Stop going to the supermarket with no plan. Make a list. Put it on your phone. Put it on a piece of paper. Know what you’re doing when you get in there.
As soon as I walk in, I’m focused. I go to produce first, then the deli, and then over to dairy. Next, I hit the meat counter, then the paper aisle, and then I’m out. Making a plan like that is simple. It’s similar to the plan I have when I have a one-night stand. I make sure it’s consensual, I “usually” wear a condom, and then afterwards I give her the wrong phone number.
When the product doesn’t scan are you going to crack a corny joke?
Sometimes items don’t scan properly. When that happens there is always some jerk who cracks the joke, “Well, I guess it’s free then!”
I know telling a joke doesn’t hold up the line, but that joke stinks!
Don’t you realize the cashier hears that cornball shit fifty times a day? It’s never funny and you will never get free groceries because the scanner didn’t work. So don’t fucking repeat that joke ever again!
Whenever people tell this joke, they’ll turn and look back at whoever is behind them, wanting to get a laugh. When that happens, I stare back at them like I want to stab them in the fucking chest with the checkout divider!
For Faster Service… Fart!
The only experience I really enjoy in a supermarket is the smell of someone’s farts.
I know it bothers many people but I can’t say anything bad about it because farts are always funny. I don’t mind walking into a fart. When I do, I can’t help cracking the fuck up.
Going to the grocery store with my father was probably the only time in my life that I liked the fucking place. My dad had the funniest time-saving tactic I’ve ever seen. He also had the balls to use it repeatedly, which made trips to store great.
I guess my impatience with shopping had its origin with Dad. He hated waiting so much he was willing to do something drastic about it. For instance, if there were a long line at the deli counter, he would go right up to the front of the line, hover near the people waiting, and cut a nasty gasser!
Within seconds, his nasty crowd splitter did its work. Everybody would clear out of the way. My father looked like Moses parting the Red Sea. While his victims were coughing and gagging, he’d walk through the crowd right up to the front of the counter and place his order.
“I’ll take a pound of roast beef,” he’d say.
That’s how you make an awful shopping trip fun and memorable.
PART THREE
AWFUL RELATIONSHIPS
CHAPTER TEN
ADVENTURES IN HOME ABORTIONS
A week after the Old Lady Snuff Call and Click! Here Come the Cops! incident, I recorded one of my most awful prank calls. I don’t know why I kept pushing the envelope. A smart man would have interpreted my close call with the cops as a sign I should stop. But, the telemarketers kept calling and my twisted imagination kept coming up with more and more horrendous scenarios.
This prank was hardcore! My idea was to have my friend Chuck pretend to give my girlfriend a home abortion. So when the telemarketer called, I picked up, pushed record, started the call, Chuck turned on a vacuum cleaner, and my girlfriend screamed like she’s in pain.
“Awwwww… ohhhh… that hurts! Oh gawwwddd!”
“Okay, I pulled out an arm, do you want me to keep going?” Chuck yells.
“Uh, finish the job, I guess,” I yelled back.
I hear the telemarketer squirming. She asks, “Sir, excuse me, what’s going on there? Do you want me to call back?”
“No, please keep going. My friend is just giving my girlfriend a home abortion,” I say, nonchalantly. “He said he thinks he knows how to do one and I thought it would save a few bucks since the holidays are right around the corner.”
You can tell by her tone she is horrified, but she stays professional and goes right back into her pitch. While she talks a hundred miles per ho
ur, my girlfriend is screaming and my friend Chuck is yelling back at her over the blaring noise of the vacuum cleaner.
“What should I do with this leg?” Chuck yells.
“I don’t know, toss it out the window for all I care,” I say. “I’m sorry ma’am it’s chaotic here, I missed that last part you were telling me. Can you please repeat it?”
At this point, I can tell the telemarketer is in shock but I wouldn’t let up.
“I know the vacuum is loud, but my friend needs to get the rest of the pieces out,” I tell her.
Finally, the telemarketer can’t take it anymore and slams the phone down. The call lasted a total of three minutes.
Chuck and I start laughing uncontrollably. My girlfriend was equally amused and disgusted.
“You two are going to hell for sure!” She said.
Confess, You Fucking Creep!
Chuck and I were so pleased with the prank we took a break to go get coffee with my girlfriend. An hour later, we return to our house. The neighborhood was in chaos!
All of my neighbors were out in front of my house. My front door was busted in and there were splinters of wood all over the porch. The door was barely hanging on the hinges.
“What in the hell happened?” I asked my neighbor.
“The cops were here responding to a 911 call. No one answered the door, so they busted it down!”
Once again, I forgot the telemarketer had all of my contact information in her computer. All she had to do was call the cops and they could track me down in a few seconds.
It was more than a pair of annoyed cops that showed up this time. According to my neighbors, three cop cars had raced to the scene doing 70 in a 25 mile-per-hour zone. And, they brought an ambulance and several EMS medics because they thought a woman with a vacuum cleaner stuck in her snatch was bleeding to death.
Everybody Is Awful_Except You! Page 15
