scylla

I wrote this long rant during work about how I HATE it when customers constantly call my name for my attention. I wish I had a little tag on my chest that said 'She who must not be named', or summat. I work in a very small store (but it's a national chain so regulated by countless rules and regulations, a veritable covenant of lameness), so there's no need to be constantly hollering my name. Don't these people realize that names are sacred keys to magic, that by learning the name of something it can be enslaved and its powers diminished?

Damn! Maybe every whiny woman who comes in DOES. Conniving bastards!

There's this guy who stands outside of my store every day doing surveys. (I think CALPIRG but really, it's probably far less exciting/noble.) Today I saw him wandering around the mall with his Wommun (with a capital W, that rhymes with ah love you, that's how I feel... well, if I were with a woman and I loved her and I called her a wommun... or a wombat... or a wumpus.) I don't get why someone who works in the mall 5-6 days a week would come in during the leisure time. Odd odd person. Probably into weird things, like knitting and constant pinball.

It's a good thing that my ring finger isn't detachable from the rest of me. OR my clavicle. Or else hilarity would ensue.

And now, speak the language of the animals, you fishermen!