Oh look another drug that starts with m. Oh look, another pubic hair on the floor. On the sink. On the wall. Another majorly depressingly quiet day in minimum-wage minimum-effort maximum-supervision job in a dwindling-demand company.
All making up for a pretty exhausting, depressing week.
Sighhhhhhhhh it all out.
I want to talk about two people today. One I have labelled The King of Poo Town, the other Snob Cheese.
The King came into my life one night this week when I was having a nice little sit down and recovering with a friend after a horrible shift at work. The films were in, the doors closed, the weight off our backs but not our hearts. What do you know, this bastard shuffles up in his slippers made of the back hair of the working class, tries every single door, peers angrily through the windows, and then approaches us. ‘Why are the doors closed?’ Well, said friend tried to explain the lack of business = lack of film showings deal to the King, while in my more world-worn way I just repeated ‘We’re closed’ about six times, but he wasn’t having any of it. He didn’t even try to hear what we were saying, and instead screwed up a wrinkled face to convey ‘You’re talking too quietly/not in English/Your trousers have holes in them.’ Friend got up to go and search for the King’s keys that he had apparently left somewhere inside, and instead of a thank you for acting outside the call of duty, the King simply tried to follow him inside despite our efforts to reassure him we could handle the matter. Apparently, since these were his keys, they would be invisible to any other eyes. I indignantly stepped in and told the King that friend would handle it, and that customers were not allowed into the building after the doors were locked. Being the King, of course, he strolled right in after looking me up and down in a lengthy, disgusted way, and proceeded to turn and walk away while I was still talking. Friend came back with a manager who took over as Poo King’s doormat, and we made our way home. This is my one and only experience of the King as yet, and to this day I do believe I shall never need make his acquaintance again for him to remind me of his position. He shits on my life every day from the bowels of hellish memory.
Snob Cheese, though nasty for a briefer moment, shat on my day in a similar manner. Basically, for anyone who doesn’t work at the cinema and actually cares, we sell nachos. In trays. With a side pot for cheese. I had poured cheese into three little trays, one dose of which was intercepted by stray tray nachos in the side pot. Shock horror, it made it seem to the untrained eye as if there was less cheese in the pot because there was an object in the way. Everyone knows the bath water level goes up when you get in. Well. Logic might then follow that, since there was cheese spilling over into the nacho side, there must be perhaps about the same amount of cheese out of its place as there were nachos out of theirs, thus restoring equilibrium. Well, Snob Cheese didn’t think like this. Snob Cheese thought like this:
Snob Cheese Hubby: Can we get some more cheese on that one, there’s less ‘cause there are some nachos in there.
Me: You can but we have to charge for extra sauce, and I did put the same amount in, it’s just spilled into the other side.
Snob Cheese: We’ve just spent all that and you’re arguing over extra cheese?
Voice Over of Wish Fulfilment: Yes, you’ve spent £40 on food in a cinema instead of making a pit-stop at Wilkinson’s over the road where everything is approximately £4 less. I have little sympathy. I also have no choice, as I’m AT WORK IN CASE YOU HADN’T NOTICED, and am not in charge of cheese spenditure. Work it out yourself you STUPID COW, and see if you still think this problem is my fault. Perhaps next time you visit such a huge franchise you might keep in mind that the worker bees have fuck all to do with control and decisions, and are largely at the mercy of four-hour contracts in the hands of uncaring bigwigs they have never met, who will happily delete them for a lack of upselling. Perhaps, you may consider that the price of stock and their profit hunger does not budge an inch dependent on the amount you have just bought. It’s not as if you gave us extra money for what you bought, you just bought a lot because you’re a bunch of fat, unorganised people who want what they want when they want it, and nothing else will do. Oh, and when you argue with someone on minimum wage about the price of extra cheese when you’ve just spent that much on popcorn, you will not win. You are not welcome here.