Battle of the britches!
So the other day I was driving home from work and I was listening to the only remotely alternative radio station that I can get on my shitty car stereo (Triple J), and they were interviewing Jose Gonzales, you know, that guy who covered that Heartbeats song that was originally done by The Knife. And the guy interviewing him (some narky little twerp with a nasal voice) asks him how he felt about the fact that his version is better than the original. The hell? Gonzales was pretty good about it, saying that he didn't feel it was better, just different. What a little shit. I can't believe he would put someone on the spot like that! I personally prefer the original, much more to my taste. And at least it wasn't used in some advert for printers or mobile phones or whatever.
But anyway, I was listening to The Knife's album with that song on it (Deep Cuts) and there's a bunch of people in the shop. Suddenly one of them calls out, "Hey, is this The Knife?" I tell him it is and he's all happy and saying how much he loves this album and the Heartbeats song and don't I think it's better than Jose Gonzales' cover. Yeah, you so don't care about that. So let me tell you about Bad Customers. So much more fun than Nice Customers.
So I'm sitting in the shop, minding my own business, when this guy and girl come in. I smile and say hello like I do to everyone ('cause I'm a nice shop-girl!) and they look at me and then look away, kind of snooty-like. O-kay, I think. Whatever. It's not as if I'm some kind of human being or anything. I'm one of the latest models of shop-girl robots, version 2.5 beta - able to take level 5 abuse!
They're looking at clothes or something, like I care, and the girl starts heading over my way for the changeroom. She doesn't even ask to use it, she just breezes past me, nose in the air. Snobby bitch! Then get this, ladies and germs! She comes up to the counter and wants to know if I'll take $25 for this pair of jeans. I count to three in my head and ask, without looking up, how much is on the tag. $32. Not gonna happen. I say no.
Her boy comes up and they're rooting through purses and wallets. Will I take 30? No, I say a little louder, glaring. He finds another dollar in his pocket. Surely I'll take 31, just a dollar off? "I don't care," I snark. She throws the jeans on the counter and they storm off, one of them throwing the words "fat cunt" over their shoulder as they leave.
It was so below the belt that I was unable to say anything back (also there was another customer in the store at the time and I didn't want to upset her. I needn't have bothered about her though, she left pretty quickly). I've been called things like "fucking cow" and "bitch" before, but "fat cunt" actually hurt. I locked the door and had smoko for 25 minutes, way longer than I've ever needed to calm down before. I mean, yeah, I'm a little bit fat, but I'm not too damn bad. I used to kill myself in high school, and yeah, I managed to stay thin but I realised that what's the point of wearing cute clothes if you've got no tits or arse to fill them out? So I eat pretty well, but if I want to make poppadoms to go with my vege curry, I'm not going to worry about frying them in oil.
And I'm not looking for a pity party. I like myself. So that's why, when you've been bitchy to me and then come looking for a favour, I'm going to say no. My self-respect will not allow me to say yes! So there.
But anyway, I was listening to The Knife's album with that song on it (Deep Cuts) and there's a bunch of people in the shop. Suddenly one of them calls out, "Hey, is this The Knife?" I tell him it is and he's all happy and saying how much he loves this album and the Heartbeats song and don't I think it's better than Jose Gonzales' cover. Yeah, you so don't care about that. So let me tell you about Bad Customers. So much more fun than Nice Customers.
So I'm sitting in the shop, minding my own business, when this guy and girl come in. I smile and say hello like I do to everyone ('cause I'm a nice shop-girl!) and they look at me and then look away, kind of snooty-like. O-kay, I think. Whatever. It's not as if I'm some kind of human being or anything. I'm one of the latest models of shop-girl robots, version 2.5 beta - able to take level 5 abuse!
They're looking at clothes or something, like I care, and the girl starts heading over my way for the changeroom. She doesn't even ask to use it, she just breezes past me, nose in the air. Snobby bitch! Then get this, ladies and germs! She comes up to the counter and wants to know if I'll take $25 for this pair of jeans. I count to three in my head and ask, without looking up, how much is on the tag. $32. Not gonna happen. I say no.
Her boy comes up and they're rooting through purses and wallets. Will I take 30? No, I say a little louder, glaring. He finds another dollar in his pocket. Surely I'll take 31, just a dollar off? "I don't care," I snark. She throws the jeans on the counter and they storm off, one of them throwing the words "fat cunt" over their shoulder as they leave.
It was so below the belt that I was unable to say anything back (also there was another customer in the store at the time and I didn't want to upset her. I needn't have bothered about her though, she left pretty quickly). I've been called things like "fucking cow" and "bitch" before, but "fat cunt" actually hurt. I locked the door and had smoko for 25 minutes, way longer than I've ever needed to calm down before. I mean, yeah, I'm a little bit fat, but I'm not too damn bad. I used to kill myself in high school, and yeah, I managed to stay thin but I realised that what's the point of wearing cute clothes if you've got no tits or arse to fill them out? So I eat pretty well, but if I want to make poppadoms to go with my vege curry, I'm not going to worry about frying them in oil.
And I'm not looking for a pity party. I like myself. So that's why, when you've been bitchy to me and then come looking for a favour, I'm going to say no. My self-respect will not allow me to say yes! So there.