Guest Ranting Bastard writes:Hangover.co.nz
I’ve restrained myself from writing anything lately as my life has been rather predictable and regimented. This is an alien feeling for me considering I prefer to live my life haphazardly with a side dish of belligerence, but not any more, Oh No!
I’ve been shackled to the wall of full-time employment in the one industry which is very unforgiving - RETAIL.
Since we’re located in Mt Eden you can probably imagine the type of people we get frequenting the shop. These people can’t be shoved into one generalized group so I’ll do my best to categorize them.
This priceless specimen defies the law of natural selection by firstly still being alive, and secondly still being able to drink. They stagger into the store, eyes red, hair messy and sporting the international badge of bad hygiene. Although aesthetically disgusting to deal with they are in fact courteous and polite. I assume they’re only docile towards me because I’m the gatekeeper to their medicine.
These human beings were put on this earth for one thing only, to waste your time. They rarely make eye contact with you, yet they seem to be enthralled with the selection of products you have to offer. They usually can’t refrain from asking trivial questions about shit you simply don’t give a fuck about, and they never actually end up buying anything. These bastards usually time their appearance whenever you need to dash off to the toilet or take a well needed lunch break.
Unfortunately wine is one of those topics where everyone (who drinks) has an opinion. These fucks think they are worth conversation because they’ve read the latest Cuisine or New Zealand Herald recommendation. They waste no time regurgitating full sentences which Michael Cooper has recently published. Although this species isn’t exactly hard to deal with, they become very tiring over long periods of time.
The Rich Housewife
Since these individuals have no REAL tasks in which to fill up their day they resort to retail therapy. They usually start their visit by parking their Mercedes, BMW or Volvo in the bus stop right outside our shop. They stroll in with the confidence most fake tanned, Prada sporting idiots have, with the misconception they’re better than you. What I despise most about these rich fucks is that 9 out of 10 of them will smell like my ex-girlfriend since they all reek of that expensive ‘Angel’ shit. Not only are these women a pain the arse to deal with, they remind me of that horrible, horrible period of my life.
The Rugby Head
Since we’re a good 20 minute walk from Eden Park, Saturday nights can become borderline torture. As you can imagine I love nothing more than putting up with cauliflower-eared Neanderthals talking about their precious ‘Leather-Egg-Chase-Game’. Their starting sentence usually consists of ‘Gidday, mate! – watching the rugga's are we?’ and they usually restrict their palate to Lion Red and hipflasks of Smirnoff. Thank fucking Christ I only have to put up with them 6 months out of the year.
These guys prove there isn’t a god, because if there was HE would have made them A LOT smarter. If you’re unlucky enough to come across such a specimen then approach carefully. The simple tasks you take for granted becomes a possible accident/problem. For example: that step isn’t just a step to these creatures, it’s a hurdle. That EFTPOS machine isn’t just a means to purchase things; it’s a mathematical equation which apparently needs a ‘secret code’ for it to work. Although ‘The Idiot’ isn’t as testing as ‘The Browser’ they use a type of mental warfare that should be added to the Geneva Convention.
Retail in the 21st century is primitive to say the least. I imagine a future where humans are taken out of the retail equation all together. You know where I’m going with this don’t you? Well if you don’t I’ll make it simple for you – MOTHER FUCKING ROBOTS!
I can’t comprehend why we have computers that can process millions of tasks a second and yet we still don’t have Robots that can do our simple tasks (such as buying a bottle of wine).
Every time I serve a customer I can feel one of my brain cells liquidate.
So if you’re reading this and you’re a Scientist please, please, PLEASE get you shit together and make me a Mother Fucking Robot.