Retail Retards part 2*

We all know that it’s not exactly fun to shop at Christmas. The stores are packed, the queues insanely long, and everyone from the cashier to the barista to the mom with two kids in tow is in a bad mood. It’s inevitable and it’s traditional to want to pull your hair out and scream “If you elbow me while trying to look at these scarves one more time, lady, I am going to withdraw my Christmas-crowd-special samurai sword from its sacred leather sheath and behead you with one fell swoop, therefore negating your need to ever wear a fucking scarf ever again!” But in Britain, not only is it crowded, busy, push-and-shovey, etc.. but the people running/managing/serving in these stores are mostly miserable little posers who don’t give a monkey’s if you need assistance, have a question, or expect things like correct change or a flippin’ smile.

Today I went into my favorite coffee chain’s rival (who shall remain anonymous, but it starts with a C and ends with an A. No, it’s not Cuntmotherfuckerassholia, but you’re close) to ask a simple question pertaining to how one might go about purchasing a gift card of some sort for a certain someone who actually ENJOYS their products even though they are blatantly wrong (avert your eyes, TNH, pretend you didn’t read this). The whole experience reminded me why I don’t frequent this chain if I can possibly help it. First of all, there is a MASSIVE step up into the doorway. Not just a few inches but more like a foot. Very difficult to get baby in pushchair with heavy shopping bags draped all over the basket and handles up such a steep step without everything, including baby, tumbling out.

So I’m trying to hold the very heavy door open with my ass (I knew that thing would come in handy one day but I didn’t imagine it would be as a door stop — who knew?) and pull the front of the pushchair up onto the floor inside and then squeeze back out the door, while trying to keep the door open, so I can grab the handles and lift up the back end. While I’m huffing and puffind and muttering and maneuvering and swearing during all of this, three Cuntmotherfuckerassholia employees stand there and just watch. None of them were serving anyone and there were all of three or four customer in the entire place. Bastards. So then I get to the counter and ask if they sell gift certificates. I get a blank look and a simple “No.” Not “I’m not sure what you mean” or “No, but we do have x, y or z” or “No, I’m sorry, we don’t.” Just a miserable, expressionless “No.”

I look down to see a display full of gift cards with a Christmasy sign declaring “Buy your Cuntmotherfuckassholia gift cards here!” I point them out to the girl wonder behind the counter. “What about these?”
“Oh, those. Yeah, they’re gift cards that you can put money on for someone and then they can spend it in the store for coffee and stuff.”
“And how is that different from a gift certificate besides the word certificate indicating a paper voucher of some sort and a card being made of plastic, indicating a ‘credit card’ of sorts, but both with exactly the same function?”
Blank stare and a shrug

This is Christmas shopping, my friends. Isn’t it a blast?

*Previous bitching about retail