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Archive for the ‘Inappropriate’ Category

Dear Overweight Customers Who Consistently Go to the Bakery I Work At:

Every morning I make blueberry and raspberry muffins, delicious sticky buns, braided breads coated in coffee and sugar, assorted cookies and golden pies. I see what goes into these desserts as I make them by scratch, and will admit to eating a cookie or two during my lunch break more than once. However, coming into this store and requesting “one of each kind of cookie” is absolutely absurd. Sure, they look harmless lying on their bed of wax paper and a shiny metal sheet pan. This does not mean that they will not contribute significantly over time to your growing crotch fat.
A plate of almond cake samples sprinkled lightly with confectioners’ sugar is extremely tempting—please, take one, that’s what they’re there for. Hopefully, you’ll buy one and contribute to the growing economy of America. Oh, a second is fine. I hope you enjoy it, they’re on the rack directly behind you, and though they are quite large I’m sure you’ll have no problem eating half on the way back home. No, please, a third is not necessary. I am here to provide you with free food so you’ll buy some more, not to give you your third lunch. Your continuance in getting up from your large bistro-style coffee with four sugars and heavy cream to grab “just one more, they’re so delicious!” is entirely not necessary. You have now eaten the equivalent of one third of a cake whose first ingredient is a cup of margarine and the old lady behind you is struggling to contain her grandson, who continues to grow antsy at the sight of a poppy seed muffin.
How do I work at a bakery and stay so healthy, you ask? Why, just because I work here does not mean I need to eat every meal here. I am here to serve you, nonetheless, and would love to give you a suggestion: we do offer such options at oatmeal bread and dinner rolls; you should give it a shot.

Most Sincerely,
Your Ever-Smiling Baker

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Does tardiness somehow lessen IQ?

How is it that people, ostensibly SMART people, can apparently be completely and utterly incapable of calculating their transit time in order to arrive somewhere AT THE APPOINTED TIME?

I mean honestly, if an iPod-listening, frowning and non-watch wearing teenager can get himself, his hair and his too-baggy pants into a community meeting on time, how is it that a double-Masters PhD like you can’t even get to a client meeting on time, when that client comes from a culture where PUNCTUALITY IS A MUST?

Or why can’t you, the software uber-geek, used to working insane hours to meet an arbitrary project deadline which even you deride, can’t get his sorry ass across town to meet the supposedly most important person in your life ON TIME?

Let me be clear:

1) Making others wait because you can’t get yourself organized to arrive on time IS NOT OK. It shows a complete lack of respect for their time.

2) If you can get an MS or PhD, you can get the concept of transit time. Until we have beam-me-up-Scotty technology, you DO need to take this into account when planning your movements. DO IT. Constantly arriving late doesn’t make you look busy and important, it makes you look stupid.

3) Calling 5 minutes before you’re meant to be somewhere just to say you’re going to be 40 minutes late IS NOT OK. Have you ever considered that maybe the person you’re meeting has just juggled their entire schedule and workload and risked several collisions to make absolutely, positively sure they WOULD be there on time? You didn’t suddenly realize you weren’t going to make it five minutes ago, idiot, you knew that at least 35 minutes ago. Why didn’t you call then, you dumbass? See 2) above.

3) Repeating 3) over and over doesn’t make it any less annoying or inconsiderate, it makes it MORE so.

Tardiness is for morons, my friends. Don’t make think of you as one.

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To the barista at my favorite caffeine refilling station:

Had you not been consuming so much of your own creations or snacking on Vita-Slim you snarf in desperation to shed the excess weight from the two gallons of double fudge ripple ice cream you inhaled while watching infomercials about losing excess tonnage last night, maybe the tremor in your hand would not have been so pronounced. I first took notice that the cup you were offering exhibited eddies from a Richter 4.5 happening in San Francisco when you placed the cup on the counter and a single sip slithered over the rim to spolsh upon the counter. That would have been fine for you to offer me the cup with an apology for the mess.

What you did next was an injustice to my taste buds let alone my immune system. Taking the rancid rag that had no doubt been used to swab up the last twenty of your mishandled creations you used it to lick up the misguided mouthful from the counter. Then you added the final and unforgivable injury to the proffered beverage. You used this bacteria and disease ridden towelette, this cloth that a sewer rat from New York would shun as too defiled to touch, to polish off the rest of your error from the side and place where my lips would have eventually come to rest on its porcelain surface. Then to my abject horror you offered the tainted device to me with an innocent smile.

When I objected and asked that sanitize my container an prepare another unsullied beverage, you had the audacity to wonder in your single celled brain why I would not accept the monstrosity. I did not ask for your hands to be amputated for the insult, as was my right. I asked for a beverage in my preferred customer’s platinum member cup to be presented with the honor it deserved.

Now give me a fresh coffee before I drain your blood by sticking this stir stick in your neck.

Mark

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Dear Rent-A-Deputy,

I know that you think your store-bought badge makes you something special. I have to agree. It certainly qualifies you for Special Education classes based on your Inbred Mental Status. The sheriff’s department really caught an awesome guy when they finally threw out those anti-obesity rules.

You must feel incredibly brave protecting your Weight Watchers eschewing wife and your biting, barking, tree humping (also inbred) German shepherd from my elderly golden retriever mix. I know Shiloh can be terrifying when he’s trying to play. Especially when he flops down on the ground so you can rub his tummy. Fearsome. I bet you had to hold your hand steady when you nailed him with a snout full of pepper spray.

Next time you feel the need to protect Tubby and Humpy with pepper spray, I have some simple instructions for you.

1) Waddle to my front door and knock. When I answer, ask: “Ally, Shiloh’s in my yard. Could you please come get him?” I will gladly retrieve my arthritic, heart-diseased retriever.

2) Enjoy your calorie loaded breakfast with Tubby and go about your day without participating in animal cruelty.

If, in the event you choose to ignore instructions 1 and 2, bypass to instructions 3 and 4.
3) Retrieve your pepper spray. Point nozzle directly at your eyes to make certain it isn’t clogged.

4) Activate spray nozzle, maintaining eye contact with it at all times.

Following these instructions will prevent you from pissing me off.

Thanks so much,

Ally

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Dear Mr. Important,

Do you think you’re better than me? I, along with about 20 other cars, was stopped at a traffic light in the left lane, and you came in the empty right lane, (which was turn-only) and cut over at the last second into the left lane, thus cutting in front of all of us. Were you on the way to perform open-heart surgery? Were you on your way to talk down a jumper from the top of a skyscraper?

I bet not. I bet you’re just a douchebag on the way to some douchebag errand, like getting your faux-hawk styled or sneaking into a pilates
class to pick up chicks.

Watch it, or someone like me will run you off the road and ruin your douchebag day.

Sincerely,

Dan

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Lindy, a loyal FedEx customer 

I’d like to give a big ol’ shout out to UPS!

It starts with “FUCK” and ends with “YOU.” Wait, well I guess that would be the entire thing. FUCK YOU!! There, don’t I feel better.

This is the SECOND time in a row that I have used thier online package pick-up and deliver service (at work). And for the second time IN A ROW no truck has shown up.

I called this morning to see wtf and I followed my usual rule of being polite and cheerful because I know that it’s not the fault of the lady on the phone. I calmly and professionally explained that we were supposed to have a truck come yesterday, one never showed up and that I needed some assistance in getting one here.

The lady on the phone then proceeded to tell me that my package had already been picked up. Gee. Ummmmmm, well that’s funny because I’m LOOKING AT IT RIGHT NOW! But I know she was reading from a screen telling her so. So I politely informed her once again that no, I’m sorry it’s still here.

At this point this bitch (why yes, she is a bitch now, not a lady) proceeded to give me a lecture about being careful when we put multiple packages out on the dock because it can confuse the driver and they might take the wrong one – which she is sure happened yesterday.

What? WHAT THE FUCK??? I only had ONE FUCKING PACKAGE in the first place you SKANK! And if I DID have more than one package those fuckers JOB is to differentiate between package A and B. Gosh OH NO!!! What if there is a package C!!! What will we DO?!?! The sky will fall!!!

No! You dumb bitch. Those drivers do a damn good job, they can figure this shit out just fine thank-you, it’s your company’s STOOOPID fucking worthless website that fucks things up. Your website that didn’t forget to CHARGE us even though it was never going to send a truck.

So FUCK YOU and your panty-waste, whored-out, syphilitic website!

Rantasaurus Says: One time I tried to send a T-Rex egg UPS. It hatched in transit and now I’m blacklisted. So be thankful, Lindy. Thankful!

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Open letter to the girl they call Aman-DUH,

Ok, so I get it. You’re young, immature, wet behind the ears… whatever ridiculous euphemism you wish to inject here.But you’ve been at the company for almost a year and I honestly think, in that time, you have managed to get even dumber.

It seems like you should’ve gotten the hang of things by now, but each day, you continue to amaze me. Firstly, the cell phone. Honey, it’s gotta go. Nobody important is going to call you from 9am to 5pm, and honestly, we’re all a little sick of hearing your annoying Nickleback ring tone full blast every time your phone rings. Tell your friends you’ll call them back. You can set up your playdates on your own time.

Oh, and you know those things called titles, inspections, and insurance statements? Yeah, they’re kind of important. How about instead of talking on the phone/making baby shower invitations/flirting with the guys/playing on the internet, you consider making them a priority? Oh, and let’s try not losing them and blaming them on customers or other employees too, mmmkay?

The biggest thing I’d REALLY love for you to understand, however, is that Daisy Dukes and flip flops is not “work appropriate” attire. Just a hint – when everyone else is wearing khakis and business casual clothes, it’s not cool for you to look like you’re heading off to the beach. This isn’t Billy Bob’s Smoke, Video, and Bait Shop. I like to think that customers expect a little bit more from us. I don’t think you want to give a customer a full moon when you bend over to get their title out of the file cabinet. Or maybe you do. Hell, I don’t know…

But, I try, I really do try not to just haul off and slug you right in the face in the name of complete and utter stupidity. And it’s obvious that you’re not going anywhere soon, because you’re cute/you flirt/the boss doesn’t want to hurt your feelings/he doesn’t want to have to train somebody else/he wants to sleep with you, or whatever reason you are still working for the company.

Anyways, I will continue to burrow my resentment, pasting on my fake smile and pretending I’m interested in what you have to say, because after all, what difference does it make? We’re all in this together…

With love, Amy

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