Six. *Grumble Grumble* (Day 3)

That's the sound my stomach is making right now. Apparently putting a slice of pizza in the oven and forgetting about it is a bad thing. Who knew? I ended up tossing about my shoulda-been-perfect-but-now-midnight-crispy pizza in the trash, and it kinda ruined my appetite. So I'm sitting here, with my stomach saying to me, "Grumble Grumble." Good times.

Speaking of grumbling, I just got home from work and once again realized how much i hate people. Retail is a bitch. Literally. I had this lady come in and get mad at me because she couldn't read a price tag properly. Then proceeded to argue with me that every other flavor of COUGH DROPS was 5o cents cheaper, so that should be too. Fifty cents. Yes, I understand we're in a recession, people, but if you're so broke that 50 cents is going to put you into bankruptcy, perhaps you should stop going clubbing every weekend. Or turn off your electricity when you're not using it. Or hell, stop giving your kids lunch money. That should solve the problem real quick.

My favorite customers are the ones that come in for protection. They're hilarious. They fall into two categories, the first of which being the realli ashamed ones. They come in, shuffle down to the contraceptive aisle, shuffle back to the front counter and hastily throw the condoms onto the counter. Before you can breathe, they make it a point to make sure you triple bag the shit just in case Superman is waiting for them outside. Or, if they can't find them, they whisper it, like church people do when they're talking about something sinful. Then you have the bold ass people who feel they have to start a conversation about what they're buying. Yes, I see you're buying Magnums, but considering you're a dude walking in there with your homie just to buy condoms, stop pretending they're for you. I know you're gonna be putting them on him in about fifteen minutes. Yes, I see you bought the variety pack. I also see you brought in the hooker you pick up every two weeks to use them on. Yes, you bought the jumbo pack. But why buy the most expensive pack of rubbers when you were just bitching to pharmacy about how much your Viagra cost?

Speaking of Viagra, we get all kinds of people that stop by the pharmacy. Likewise, we get all kinds of stupid people who can't read signs. Such as the big ass sign before you walk in, and the one chilling by pharmacy that tells you it closes at 6 o'clock on the weekends. Of course, they walk all the way to the back, then back to the front and ask, "Your pharmacy is closed?" No, the huge locked gate and no pharmacists is just screaming, "We're open." Then there's, "What time do they close?" Mind you, I answer this question to the same, sick, delusional, crabby people every weekend. "Six." Then they either seem disappointed, really mad, or they want to plead their case: "I am dying from a mysterious rash, and I have fingernail cancer and anal blockage." "No, you're just hypochondriatic, haven't cleaned your nails in a few weeks, and you're constipated. Go home and come complain if you must tomorrow. They open at 9." That's how I wish I could respond.

This is precisely why a people profession isn't for me. So I think I'll be a writer, lock myself up somewhere and laugh at people from a distance, cause let's face it, that's when they're funny. Cause you don't have to deal with them. Once you get up close, you feel like hitting them with the first thing you lay your eyes upon.