I mean, shit. Fer chrissakes, all but three of the people I helped today before my meal break were inconsiderate dickwads of the Nth degree. They were going off on shit they should have known better about. Stand IN THE FUCKING LINE if you want to be helped; don't stand out of peripheral vision and then bitch at a manager because the cashier didn't ask who 'was next'. Don't bring something back that you bought if you don't have the reciept, then proceed to blame the person who is trying to help you. Telling them that they're fuck-ups won't earn you any brownie points, believe you me.
After lunch, things got decidedly more unemotionally impatient. Everyone wanted me right then, right there, but no-one was going to put forward any feeling into it, save haughty righteousness. All it served to do is send me into an emotional downward spiral... With my rage all but boiling over, my mind ever-so-lovingly infomed me that I was losing it, and instead threw me into a panic attack. Scanning shit's hard work when you're shaking like a paint mixer.
I believe that every man and woman in the U.S. should have at least six months of food service, retail, janitorial or tech support experience before they can graduate from high school. In addition, I think employees of those trades should have the ability to cite those whom behave badly to them... Afer three offenses, the perp would forfeit their weekend and be forced, via court order, to work at one of those trades at a specially reduced minimum wage.
Maybe that'd learn 'em.
Maybe not. At least I'd be able to abuse them back... without meeting them in a dark alleyway while wielding a bat.