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I work at one of these, which means I'm supposed to repair shoes for a living.
But in reality I spend most of my day fixing petty shit for rude urbanite baby boomers who can't so much as open the fucking battery cover on their TV remote, let alone put some goddamn AAs in there. I refuse to believe you can't use a screwdriver.
Who stand there breathing down my neck, insisting I drop everything to help pick out "good quality" shoelaces for their snot-nosed grandson who just spilled a jar of keyrings all over the counter.
Who have the fucking nerve to insist that I don't charge them for work I've already done, because "in my day it cost two dollars".
Fuck you, lady. Nobody gives a shit about your daughter's wedding, or how expensive this cake knife was. Just tell me what to engrave on it.
No, please skip the life story. I don't care about your trip to Harbin. Why aren't you people familiar with the concept of "holding up a line"?
Yes, I'm good at engraving. I get paid to engrave shit. No, I cannot engrave in Copperplate Gothic Bold, that's not how it works. Do you have brain problems?
No, I cannot get it done in the next 10 minutes. Not even if you weren't at the end of a long queue. Yes, I know you're in a hurry. We all are.
No, fuck you, it's not $5. I don't care what your friend told you, you can't get any kind of service for $5. Let alone custom engraving.
No, I will not reduce it to $5 just for you, the pensioner's discount is 10%. You're clearly not a pensioner either, you're like 43.
No, you don't get a discount because you work at the fish market. Not that we don't give discounts to the fish market, but I know everyone who works there, and you're not one of them.
Yes, you can go to the guy across the street. Yes, I know he's cheaper. Use his services and you'll find out why.
No, you may not speak to the manager. Kindly vacate my store and let the paying customers take their turn.
Fuck people, old people especially. Gas them.
It's fun though.