
 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
   ooooo   ooooo  .oooooo.  oooooooooooo       HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #651
   `888'   `888' d8P'  `Y8b `888'     `8   "The Ill-begotten, Psuedo-ethics
    888     888 888      888 888               of Semi-janitorial Work:
    888ooooo888 888      888 888oooo8              Cub Foods Style"
    888     888 888      888 888    "                by Hypomonk
    888     888 `88b    d88' 888       o               5/22/99
   o888o   o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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        There I was, midway through the monotony of my job at a local grocery
 store.  It had been an uneventful day.  I redirected customers to aisles in
 which their requested item wouldn't be found, as I usually do.

        "Excuse me, sir (I love it when they call me sir).  Can you tell me
 where the Drunk Before Noon Cooking Wine is?"

        (Acting confused and slightly disgruntled)

        "Well, my guess would be Aisle 7."  Aisle 7 is the cereal aisle.  The
 last time I checked, cooking wine was not a grain.

        "Oh, thank you."

        "Uh huh."

        You dumb bastard.  I aptly avoid them until they're finished
 shopping.  Anything to make a boring, unsatisfying, and ill-paying job that
 much more workable.  Fucking with customers is great.

        "Excuse me, sir (I love it when they call me sir).  Do you have any
 more Mr. Starchy's Potato Wedges?"

        "Well, we should be getting a truck in tomorrow, you can check back
 then."

        Of course we have more, you club-footed fuck, but am I going to stop
 whatever menial task I'm doing to go through the hundreds of items in the
 back, just so you can enjoy a gener-o slice of fried potato?  Fuck no, I'm
 not.  So you know what I'm going to do?  I'm going to lie to you.  In fact,
 I'm going to poke fun at you, to your face, WHILE I lie to you.  But you're
 not going to know it, because you're merely a customer.  A lanky, cracker-
 eating, honkey-ass customer, who's shopping for potato products at 9:30pm on
 a Saturday night.  So no, we don't have Mr. Starchy's Potato Wedges.  If
 you'd like to come back Sunday, I'm sure we still won't have them, because
 we'd be getting a truck in on Monday, and you could come back then, but you
 won't, because your potato conviction is less-than-extraordinary.  You make
 me sick.

        One day, I was mopping happily in Aisle 6 (canned goods), when I was
 approached by an elderly couple.  Now normally, this would have made me
 smile.  Old people are friendly, smiley, and great at cooking.  So I
 thought.  I came to realize that old people are stubborn, uncompromising
 retards.

        "Do you have this in a smaller can?" the old man asks, holding a
 family size can of Cambells Pork 'n' Beans soup in my face.

        "Yeah, we do," I said, smiling, and grabbing a regular-size can of
 Cambells Pork 'n' Beans soup, *directly* above the family size ones.  Lesson
 #1: Old people can't see.

        "No, that's smaller.  (You can see where this is headed)"  Lesson #2:
 Old people are always ready to point out the obvious.

        "Well, we have a slightly larger can in this brand."

        "We always buy the other brand."  Lesson #3: Old people are
 relentless.

        "Oh.  Well, looks like you're fucked, huh?"  Immediately, after
 walking away, I asked myself these questions: WHY did he strive for the
 median-sized can?  WHY didn't he just buy 3 of the smaller cans?  WHO the
 fuck would eat so many pork 'n' beans?  These questions can't be answered,
 because old people are surely retarded, and I guess that someone mildly
 retarded might have seen the point in buying a can half a size smaller than
 the family size can, and half a size bigger than the regular can, but not I,
 especially when this size can doesn't even fucking exist!  And you know what
 the funny thing is?  They didn't even buy the fucking pork 'n' beans!  All
 that trouble for nothing!  Old people are so irrational.

        Sadder than above, this has happened numerous times, and not just
 with old people.  Someone asked (and I'm dead fucking serious), "Where is
 the aisle where everything is big?"  We don't have an aisle like that!
 We've never had an aisle like that!  What would make someone think that we
 have an aisle where everything is big?!  Retardation!  People come in,
 asking for 10 pound jars of apple sauce, merely to save themselves a couple
 cents on the dollar.  People are greedy.  If they were that cost-oriented,
 why not make the apple sauce themselves?  It's surely cheaper.  People are
 lazy.

        I hate my job, the people I work with, the manager, and mostly, the
 people who shop there, but I've learned a valuable lesson about people who
 shop for food.  They're stubborn, they're unrelenting, they're
 brand-oriented, they're cheap, they're lazy, they're irrational, they're
 retarded, and they expect me to know where every fucking item in the store
 is located.  It is not in my job description to know where Cheez Whiz in a
 jar is.  I didn't even know Cheez Whiz in a jar existed!  I'm a "courtesy
 clerk".  That's a nice way of saying "janitor".  I sweep, mop floors, plung
 toilets and run errands for those many steps above me on the ladder of food
 service.  I am a scrub, and you wouldn't be standing so close to me if you
 knew where my hand had just been.

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 [ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS!  HOE #651 - WRITTEN BY: HYPOMONK - 5/22/99 ]

