33 Reasons Why Retail Work Sucks

One:

“Hi, what can I do for you?”

“Hi, I’m fine thanks…”

I never asked.

Two:

Customers coming in two minutes before we close, asking for ‘two minutes’ of our time… and than taking up half an hour of it. Don’t worry, I didn’t want to go home or anything.

Three:

The customer is always right.

Fuck off. No, they’re not. Rarely. If at all.

Four:

Grabbing a cigarette and your lighter and just as you head out towards the door out through the shop on your way for your first cigarette in four hours, and some fucking old boy stops you and asks you if you can help him. Really?

Five:

Being deliberately ignored or belittled because I’m a woman in a male-orientated industry. I might be a Barbie blonde but I know more than most of them in here mate, and I will not hesitate to humiliate you if I can. Subtly, you know. In a way that I can KEEP my job.

Six:

“Have a nice holiday, sir!”

“You too!”

Yeah, I’m not going anywhere. Cheers for reminding me of that douschebag.

Seven:

Having a foreign customer whose English is so bad, you’ll never be able to understand what they want in a million years, but they won’t leave. At all. For ages. And you have a queue, and they are all looking at you and it’s embarrassing. Just fuck off. Come back with someone English.

Eight:

Having to use the toilet after my male boss has emptied his asshole in there. Honestly, women work here mate. Your toilet is right next-door to mine, and no amount of that nasty, cheap air freshener is getting rid of what crawled up inside you and died. Show some fucking respect.

Nine:

You know when you just don’t click with a customer? You hate them for no apparent reason and you’re pretty sure they hate you too? And then you have to serve them. And it takes forever. And neither of you want to talk so it’s just like that horrible awkward silence? Yeah that ruins my day.

Ten:

Nature calling right in the middle of serving a long and complicated customer. Or you know, when you really need to fart except you know it’s either gonna stink, or make the loudest, funniest noise. And if it stinks, it’s not like you can blame it on the customer because they know it wasn’t them…

Eleven:

“Thanks for your help!”

I didn’t actually do anything but cheers for making me feel appreciated buddy.

Twelve:

Serving a customer wearing a burkha and not being allowed to laugh.

Thirteen:

Customer’s kid’s. Full stop.

Fourteen:

Those wankers that get my hopes up and make me think they are going to buy something and then say they are just ‘shopping around’ and cripple my confidence.

Fifteen:

People that ask if it’s ‘just the two of you’ when referring to myself and my other colleague on the shop floor. No, there’s a hidden fairy standing right behind you, you fucking plonker. Yes, it’s just us. Wait in silence or get the fuck out.

Sixteen:

People that are rude for what appears to be no apparent reason. I don’t know who pissed you off today, but I’ve only just starting talking to you so I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me. Remove the stick from your anus and treat me with a bit of respect. Otherwise I will spit in your proverbial burger.

Seventeen:

Those awful jokes. That stupid laugh I have to do. For fucks sake.

Eighteen:

Customer’s that you’ve been ‘working on’ for what feels like hours leaving the store and then coming back and being served by another colleague. It’s OK, I didn’t need that commission. Thanks for wasting my time. I hope your cat starves this week. Just like mine will.

Nineteen:

Going into a DIFFERENT store on my lunch break, and being asked if I work in THAT store. Yes, of course I do. The fact that the massive logo on the back of my t-shirt doesn’t give the game away at all…

Twenty:

Similarly, being asked work-related questions on the journey home because of said uniform.

Twenty-One:

“Haven’t you got one out back?”

Yeah hang on, let me go out there and shit you out a new one. Just because you clicked your fingers. What do you think I am? One of Santa’s elves? Prick.

Twenty-Two:

Those magical days where you’re meant to finish early…. but you never do because you get stuck with that hour-long sodding customer right at the end. You can’t pass it over to anyone else either, because they’re conveniently busy doing other shit.

Twenty-Three:

Similarly, getting stuck with the village idiot at the end of your shift.

Twenty-Four:

When your work colleagues get to go home early. Fuckers. Oh and all those convenient dental trips they keep going on. Really buddy, your teeth don’t look that bad to me.

Twenty-Five:

I think my boss wants to sleep with me.

Twenty-Six:

I’m pretty sure most of the other work colleagues do too. Well, maybe most. I am one of two girls, and she’s just had a baby!

Twenty-Seven:

Customers that smell. BO, last night’s alcohol, bad breath, too much cologne, piss…

Twenty-Eight:

Noticing that weird mole on their face and being transfixed by it for the entire conversation. Your’e pretty sure they know too.

Twenty-Nine:

Oh yeah, and my eyes are up here dickhead. Those are my breasts.

Thirty:

When you know the lights are on but no-one’s home. They’re never gonna understand what you’re saying.

Thirty-One:

Those people that get all up in my grid and infect my personal space – those people really piss me off. Stop getting so close, are you trying to be in me? Take a step back buddy, or I’ll make you.

Thirty-Two:

The one that knows everything – really? If you know everything, fuck off and stop wasting my time. Seriously, just fuck off. You’re wrong anyway.

Thirty-Three:

The mobile-phoner’s. Get off your phone and talk to me you cretin. Manners cost nothing, don’t you know? Oh, and rude people. Have I mentioned rude people?