Who Can Go Suck It – Chatty Cathys

I am not a “people person” and yet I am. Let me attempt to explain, because I’m not sure what I just said myself either. Until I’ve had a little liquor in me, social situations are often very awkward for me. It’s easy for me to talk to the guys, not so much for the ladies. And it’s not because I’m shy or whatever, I just often have no common ground. This is especially awkward because one thing we’re supposed to do at my job is at least attempt to hold a conversation of some sort in our calls.

Let me put this plainly: I don’t want to talk to you. I get money to do so. I get the evil eye when I’m taking too long, getting too few sales, not hitting all the major points in my QA form, providing you with bad information, and not referring you to the website. Pretty standard stuff. I make money because you can’t brain good enough to press a few mouse clicks and resolve shit yourself.

Of course, that is the crux of any troubleshooting. You either A) don’t know how to do it/what to do at all or B) have to call me because it’s nothing that can be resolved on your end anyway and you probably need a tech visit. But that’s call center work. See, with call center work, you’re expected to conform to many easily trackable statistics that are watched like a hawk, both on your end as well as management’s.


“Hey guys, thanks for coming. Listen, we’ve decided that as of today, if you aren’t wearing red, you’re fired. Sorry, sorry…you should’ve checked your twitter.”

When it comes to cashiering or in general anything that’s harder to track, that’s when things get dicey. And that’s when you, Chatty Cathy, are the bane of my existence. Listen, here’s how I want my checkout to go:

Cashier: “Did you find everything okay?” *her heaping bosom moving ever closer to me until it almost smothers me with its amazing girth and…intriguing smell*
Me: “Mmm? Yeah, thanks.” *desperately pretending I wasn’t staring at her ridiculously awesome rack o plenty*
Cashier: *swipes all items as quickly as possible, licking her lips every time she looks at me* “The total comes to $x.xx.”
Me: *fumbling around in my pants so as not to upset my massive erection which is very massive actually and finally finding my wallet* “Here you go.” *hands her my card whilst desperately trying but also not trying to elbow grope her tits*
Cashier: “Debit or credit?” *she says as she pulls back her shirt and-

Look, you get the idea. Anyway, masturbation fantasies aside, I want my shit done as quickly as the U-Scan, if possible. I want a cashier quickie. That may not have come out as I meant it. ANYWAY…what I don’t want is…

Cashier: “Gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab-”
Me: “Uh, miss?”
Cashier: “Gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab-”
Me: “Hello?”
Cashier: “Gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab-”
Me: “HEY MOTHERFUCKER.” *whips out wallet and whacks cashier in the face with it, security is on scene within seconds*


“All I wanted to do is buy this towel! IS THAT TOO FUCKING MUCH?!”

This…almost happened on Saturday. Here’s how shit went down. See, I went to Dick’s Sporting Goods recently, which is an awesome place to go if you’re trying to get REAL athletic shit like a high quality pedometer, bombass running shoes, boner-inducing weightlifting gloves, and a titty-lactating sportswatch. All of which I totally got…except the watch. No, I was willing to spend extra on everything…but the watch.

My justification was goddamn, why should I pay more than $20 for a fucking watch when A) I can get something that looks nice and dressy at even fucking Walmart and B) I can get a sports watch that WILL hold up at the same place for a less price? Or so I thought. Switching back to the ill-fated Saturday, I walk into Walmart at 2:05 PM. This is important. I don’t have to be at work until 3 o’clock officially, but I like to arrive about 30 minutes early when I can so I can prepare, bullshit with coworkers, etc.

It takes me all of one or two minutes to find a watch that won’t pinch, doesn’t look like garbage, and looks like something I’d wear. Awesome. Time to check out. This is when shit went wrong. Partially this has to do with customers being fucksticks. The “express checkout” lane featured a dumb looking bitch wheeling in a cart with no less than 50 items, but I didn’t want to correct her because it looked like maybe, just perhaps, she never passed the second grade and it’s entirely possible she doesn’t know what “10 items or less” means.


Is it real life or a Troma movie?

Then again, my daughter passed kindergarten and SHE does…but I digress. So I start looking through the “oh fuck is this going to take all day” aisles and find them cramped with people. All except one. So naturally, I swoop to that aisle with my ONE item. Slowly but surely, I realize WHY this was a short aisle. The Chatty Cathy behind the counter is not actually ringing up her customer; she’s chatting.

All the goods from that customer AND the customer after her are piled up already. And they’re just fucking talking. No “hey I got motherfuckers waiting gimme your card,” no “I’mma talk to you in a minute lemme tally up this bitch,” and certainly no “have a nice day and fuck you.” Oh no. None of that. Just “gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab gab.”

I wasn’t even paying attention to the clock initially. See, normally, I don’t have to. Especially not when I’m in a normal line with normal people ringing up normal people purchasing normal quantities of items and chatting at a normal pace with normal amounts of break up to GET THE FUCKING JOB DONE. Not this bitch. She made it her GOAL to fuck not only me, but everyone in front of my person’s life right the fuck up for that day and in that moment.

Highlights include the lady in front of me going “fuck this” and walking off. The cashier SAW HER DO THIS, but continued right on gabbing. When she FINALLY starting talking to the next customer, SHE STILL HADN’T CASHED OUT the last customer and apparently there was some shit going on in her life. I say this because A) she looked depressed and B) SHE THEN DECIDED TO HOLD HANDS, BOW HEADS, AND PRAY.

Now…look. I’m not an overly religious person. Most people might think I’m not religious at all. That’s not true, but I keep to myself. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, CHATTY CATHY? Seriously? What if this girl was agnostic, a satan worshipper, or in general just didn’t believe what you believed? That would have been highly offensive! Hell, what if I was one of those? But no, that thought would never cross your mind because, and here’s where the psychological/hyper critical shit comes into play, so I’mma break this paragraph before it breaks your neck…

You are selfish. Yes, you are selfish AND you’re a narcissist. You think that what you’re doing is providing top notch service, being super personal, insistent, getting your nose all the way up the customer’s ass in their business, and chatting all the fucking day about nothing the fuck at all. What you’re REALLY doing is providing an absolute disservice to those that want to PAY for their items and GET THE FUCK OUT OF WALMART.


“Feed me, Seymour!”

Furthermore, you’re creating potentially awkward situations not only for those behind the one customer in line, but possibly also for the customer him or herself. Do you even think about these things? Wait, what am I saying? Of course you fucking don’t. You give less a shit about how much you’re helping them and more about how it makes you feel. You didn’t give your little fucking séance because you legitimately knew this person and wanted to help them out; you did it because you wanted to make a statement, a staple, in this person’s life and try to affect them…for the greater good.

No no, for YOUR greater good. You DISGUST me. This had nothing to do with God, religion in general, or making her life better. You deliberately did this to make yourself feel better. And you know what? You did this at the expense of all others patiently waiting in line behind her. You did not enrich lives; you fucked them over. You didn’t do it for her; you did it for yourself.

What I should have done is immediately gone to a manager and complained, citing that you couldn’t get a fucking customer cashed out in less than 15 fucking minutes and all I had was ONE ITEM to cash out. You know why that didn’t happen? Because it was motherfucking 2:20 PM by the time I decided “FUCK THIS CUNT” and left my watch on the rack as I walked out, time wasted and nothing gained, but at least I made it to work on time!

You wasted my time, did nothing to help anybody, and the worst part? You probably won’t even be penalized. Nope, and why would you? You were “just trying to help the customer.” You short-sighted bitch. If I even TRIED to take that attitude at my work, I’d be written up so many times it would make my head spin. Maybe I should’ve gotten the overpriced watch after all.

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Filed under Funny, Who Can Go Suck It

2 responses to “Who Can Go Suck It – Chatty Cathys

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