nirix5: (me!)
Attend, please. Imperfections of the magnitude that are seen on your scales are certainly unique and one of a kind. They are not realistic unless your fish has a bacterial infection.

They also are not particularly desirable if one is paying $2250 for a tail.

Please, stop trying to spin sloppiness and poor craftsmanship as the finest 'unique' scales in the field.
nirix5: (reno- omgwtfbbq)
Happy Easter, all. Hope the bunny shit some candy into all your baskets.

...

Dear Oneonta,

Why in the motherfuck do you need another essay from me? Why? A 1-2 page autobiography detailing my financial hardships, neighborhood, and other pity-party shit is really damn... I don't even know. It's not as sexy as you think it is, I promise.

AND WHY DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU ALL OVER AGAIN WHAT MY FUCKING ACTIVITES ARE. WHAT IF THEY DON'T MATCH UP TO THE OTHER APPLICATION. WHY DID YOU SEND THE SUPPLEMENTAL THING THREE WEEKS AFTER THE OTHER FUCKER WAS DUE?!?!?!?!

Take your stupid hilly campus and shove it up your ass.

Exasperately,
Feather

...

Dear God,

Please let me win the lottery.

[Very, very very very] sincerely,
Feather

Dear Feather,

Buy a ticket, dumbass.

Love God


...

Myspace is good for lulz. I found a bunch of people I went to high school with, and it was weird.

...

I have no more essays in me. Dammit.
nirix5: (reno- cross this line)
Working at BBW is generally awesome. However, I've got these letters to mail out...

Dear Crazy Lady I,

Look. It's not my fault you couldn't read the coupon correctly, and it's also not my fault (hard as that may be to believe) that corporate policy states that we can't just let you pay the difference for whatever on said coupon. You picked out a $25 duster without reading the instructions on the coupon first. If you don't want to take it, that's fine. But please, don't shove your entire order at me across the counter, scream, "FINE! I DON'T WANT ANY OF IT THEN! TAKE IT BACK!" and walk huffily out of the store.

You forgot to take your stupid coupon with you biatch,
Me

Dear Wexler Lady,

I am thrilled that you are so interested in our product. Specifically, the entire Wexler line. However, I do not think it is necessary for either of us that you scrutinize each item in the catalogue you brought with you to compare it, word for word, to the ingredients on the bottle. You've proved you can read. Put what you want in your own bag; you don't need me to help, and I need to get my ass back to White Barn stat, before my manager pwns my face. Also, when you're done checking out, please don't come yell at me over in zone 1 about how your check didn't work and we're all stupid. I'm just the newbie peon; leave me to sell my damn candles and hand out my bags in peace.

Your cats must be missing you by now,
Me

Dear Canadians,

Seriously, now. All the Canadians I've ever come in contact with have been awesome individuals. It would seem, however, that the moment you cross the threshold of the store, you become raving entitlement bitches. No, I cannot give you extra coupons because you're Canadian. No, you cannot double up items on coupons because you're Canadian. No, you cannot use the coupons that I give you once the transaction is finished on said transaction because you're Canadian. And to the bunch of fucks who would not leave the store until they got what they wanted... THAT WAS A DAMN AMERICAN THING TO DO. MEANING RUDE AND HORRIBLE.

Me: How can I help you?
Her: I really like this purse, but the only ones we found were Magnolia Blossom. Do you have any Japanese Cherry Blossom?
Me: Sadly, no- what's out is what we have today. We should be getting more in mid-week.
Her...
Me: If you were looking to use this toward your $30 purchase today, so you can get the free Eau De Toilette, you can get it now and exchange the scent later, when we get more in.
Her: Can't you just switch it out?
Me: (Long diatribe about products having to match up and blah blah blah and HELL NO BITCH, NO SWITCHES IN THE GIFTS TODAY CAUSE IT'S FUCKING BLACK FRIDAY AND THAT'S WHAT THE MANAGERS TOLD ME.)
Her: Why can't you just switch it out?
Me: Lather, rinse, repeat
Her: But I want it switched out!
Me: I'm sorry, we can't do that for you today, but-
Her: BUT I'M FROM CANADA!!!
Me: .....And?
Me: I HAD TO DRIVE AN HOUR AND A HALF TO GET HERE!

Now, I drive hours and halfs to get to all kinds of places, so kindly shut the fuck up. Not my fault you aren't satisfied with Canadian bath products, and feel the need to drive down here for them. You're lucky you're such a good fucking whiner, since you swung my manager to switch out the damn bag for you, and then SHE gave me hell about it later.

Cross the border and don't come back, EVER,
Me


In an incident that had nothing to do with work:

Crazy Pretzel Lady, you made my night. Forreal, yo. It was riotously entertaining to go ballistic over the fact that your "pretzel was doughy on the inside." Way to get the cops on your ass for having a screaming meltdown in the middle of the hall. Also, thank you to the guy behind CPL- your outstanding impressions of said lunatic were most amusing, and had the rest of the customers and pretzel makers laughing their asses off. The world needs more people like you standing behind people who take their pretzels so damn seriously.

Kickin' back to watch the lolz,
Me

Letters

Jan. 18th, 2006 08:11 am
nirix5: (iharthdarth: kittens!)
Dear Asshole in the Hyundai Accent:

It's called the speed limit. There's no reason to be afraid of doing it. There is, however, reason to be afraid of me ripping you out of your car and ramming your head against the pavement a couple of times if you keep driving at ten miles per hour UNDER said speed limit.

Hit your gas pedal,
Feather.


Dear Beyonce:

We all know that you are the undisputed queen of urban yodeling. You do not need to remind us in every single song you release. Please shut up.

Waiting for the day when you sing a song without gratuitious "OOOOooooOOOOOOoOOOoooo's",
Feather.


Dear Iraqi kidnapper-types:

Hello. The American government does not give a rat's ass about its citizens unless they happen to be a member of an oil family. Kidnapping reporters and executing them is not going to get your prisoners released. Rather, I would try getting some grappling hooks and some rope and actually spring them from jail like a normal person. Americans respect that sort of thing. I mean, c'mon. Has kidnapping anyone ever done anything for you when you're dealing with the American Military Machine? Shit, dudes. The sun couldn't have fried your brains that much.

Amazed at the idiodicy,
Feather.


Dear Gino and Joe's Pizzeria:

You need to stay open later, seriously. I totally wanted one of your antipasto salads last night and was cruelly denied it, as you were closed. It was only eleven o'clock. As a result I went home and ate cold rice out of a pot on the stove that someone didn't put away from dinner. With my fingers. That's craziness. Nice people don't stand over pots and eat the contents with their fingers because they're just too hungry to get a plate and fork. If I had a salad, however, this could have been prevented.

I love the pickled vegetables you put on your salads,
Feather.


Dear Quinners,

You make me squee. Nonetheless, I demand a sacrifice of kittens at your earliest convenience.

Love,
Babers.

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