Just two things…

The two things that have been mostly annoying me this week are:-

Literary decimation – the Charles Dickens classic novel is called ‘A Christmas Carol’ not ‘Scrooge’! What is it with film and TV types, do you actually pick up the book before you go and butcher it. DON’T even get me started on what they did to ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’

Same shirt different shelf – can somebody please explain to me how you can charge over £60 for a rugby shirt that has one design and all they have done is change the colour a couple of times? What exactly am you paying for? These shops don’t even provide hangers, everything’s folded up a bloody table and if you even look like you are going to unfold it the shop assistants are whipping their heads around in your direction giving you a look like they can read your credit history. And why do these shops always smell weird, it’s like the whole experience is designed to distract you from the fact you have just spent an obscene amount of money on something a 10 year old could have designed.

Ho ho ho……

Customers

there seem to be more guest rants than my own these days but I promise I’m working on some.

A guest rant for anyone who works or has worked in a shop- this is for you. Enjoy.

The world is full of idiots and nowhere is this clearer than working in a shop serving them. So, on the off chance there’s some idiots reading this, here’s a few tips to make mine and other people’s lives a heck of a lot easier:

 

When you go into a shop, don’t ask for one thing when you clearly mean another. A box set of books is just that, several books. Since when has a box set of anything contained one single thing? Silly me for thinking that was easy to understand.

 

Don’t point out the price on something and then ask ‘is that the price?’ Chances of me saying ‘no love, it’s actually free’ are a bit slim. Worse still, don’t physically turn your nose up when I reply ‘yes’ but buy it anyway. Clearly you don’t care that much about the price.

 

Now brace yourselves here, this one’s astounding. When you take a book off the shelf, putting it back in the same place is just as easy. There is no excuse at all for leaving it on top of all the other books you lazy swine. The same goes for when you’re looking at the books on the table. Is it really beyond your capabilities to put it back on the stack you got it from and not on the stack directly next to it? I mean I could understand if the covers of two completely different books were the same but we both know they’re not.

 

When you come in to a bookshop knowing you want a particular book it would help if you knew some useful detail about that book. Or do you seriously believe that when you say ‘well it’s got a blue cover’ we’re immediately going to go ‘oh yes I know just the one’? Do you have even the first clue how many books there are in this shop let alone in the world?! Or am I being silly in thinking it’s too much for us to remember the name of every single book and every single author that ever graced this planet? Try looking first instead of just walking in and straight up to an already very busy member of staff.

 

Oh and speaking of authors, don’t come to me with a name, insist that’s THE spelling and then be shocked when I find nothing on the system. Equally, when I try a different spelling and find the one you’re after, don’t stand there and go ‘oh yes that’s what I meant…’ No you didn’t.

 

Here’s a brilliant one. Don’t call us up knowing we’ve closed then, when we answer, ask us what we’re doing there when the shop’s closed. Genius. Also, when we’re stood there with the phone to our ear, we’re not just doing that for the good of our health, we’re actually doing something so please keep your cake hole shut and use some manners.

 

When you know what you’re looking for, and you know what genre it is, those signs above the shelves that say ‘fiction’, ‘history’, childrens’ etc. well, they’re not lying you know. Please don’t stand in front of fiction and ask me where you can find fiction. It makes you look like an ass.

 

And to end, please bear in mind, that just because I work in a shop that does not give you the right to treat me like crap or talk down to me. And when I do something for you like hunting for and finding a book, it’s good manners to say thank you. It’s not nearly as difficult as you make out.

We are sorry you were out

Christmas shopping can be a bloody nightmare and in an effort to escape the throngs of idiots that seem to pack our streets many people have chosen to do their shopping online. Just a few clicks and done, easy right? Well up until the point you find out which bunch of plonkers are going to be delivering it.

How many times have you sat at home all day waiting for a delivery, not going to the loo just in case they turn up.  Only to go to the front door and see that innocent piece of card that will very soon cause you to be a danger to anyone in punching distance.

‘we are sorry you weren’t in when we tried to deliver your parcel‘

YES I WAS!!!!!!!!!!

What do they use to knock the door with a feather? Do they think we are psychic and just know they are at the door. I mean FFS the person spec for a delivery driver is pretty based on 2 things.

1 the abilty to drive

2 knowing how to operate a door knocker

So no I shall not be using the internet for fear of becoming a proxy customer of shittylink or parcelfarce, the latter of which thought and appropriate safe place for a delivery was a neighbours bin but didn’t bother to inform they had out it there. Thanks wankers.

The only deliver service you can rely on at Christmas is Santa.

Rock, paper, scissors, lizard, spock

This is an anti-ranty post

Please someone buy me this for Christmas

Via: Think Geek

Going underground

After my call to ranty action yesterday I’ve had a fab guest post from Emma. Now I don’t live in London but I have experienced the joys that are the London Underground, hot, cramped and filled with people you’d rather not be sharing air with.

Over you Emma.

Ah, the tube. The best way to get around London they say. Shame about the complete dickwads that have to get on it too. First off there’s the guy with the asymmetrical haircut bringing his stinky Red Bull on to the tube for him to drink while he reads Wallpaper. I know you got on at Old Street but that doesn’t make it ok to look and act like a twat. Why are you leaving Shoreditch anyway? Is it safe for you to go South?

Then there’s the woman across from him who has decided she will subject everyone to her eating her limp, Shapers sandwich. I can’t even look the other way, I can still see it out the corner of my eye – her mushing that disgusting excuse for food around her mouth (which lies below what looks like a snout) while she peers at the packet to congratulate herself for making calorie space for the supersize Maltesers bag she’s about to inhale. It’s ok though, it’s the lighter way to enjoy chocolate, right?

The next character is The Starer. The kind where you look back and they continue looking at you. What is the matter with you? Were you not taught any manners? You were probably one of those personality void snotty kids who sat on his mums lap and stared whilst picking his nose. Can you not read a book or something like everyone else?

And why the hell do I feel so cramped? Oh, it’s because the bloke next to me might as well be sitting on my lap. Have you never heard of personal space? I mean for crying out loud. It’s bad enough that I have the arse of Mother Earth right in my face but no, you have to use your seat like it’s a throne. Just because you’ve got a job at a big bank in City it does not make you any more important than anyone else sitting on the train you utter cock.

It doesn’t stop at the tube either, these morons are everywhere. Here’s an idea – how about you find somewhere else to stand to figure out if you want to go left or right other than the top of an escalator. Then you might not be so shocked when I bash right into you. Or maybe you’re guilty of walking down OXFORD STREET at a snails pace while texting. Can you not just stand out the way? Oh no, because that would be far too clever for your tiny mind.

Finally, people who eat fried chicken on buses and then smear the disgusting battery farm strength grease all over the poles – I hate you.

Getting in on the action

So what gets on your tits (or man boobs)?

I wanna know if you have any ideas for future rants but can’t be arsed to write a post about it yourself.

Post a comment below and if I falls into the very big category of things that wind me up I may perform a bit of catharsis for you.

Deal?

Adverts

After a hard day at work all I want to do is veg out in front of the TV but during December my enjoyment of the brain rot box is severely impaired by  the amount of shite adverts on TV. I honestly cannot believe people get paid for coming up with this crap.

Perfume adverts – WTF are they about? Apparently you take pretty man/woman, put them in a situation that has nothing to do with perfume and have some voice over saying something vapid that is supposed to be (I guess) inspirational/aspirational. I’m sorry but what does Liv Tyler in a speedboat have to do with perfume, unless it smells like dirty river? And if you use some Diesel aftershave you’ll end up talking like a twat. That Chanel advert with the press conference, what’s that selling eau de sweaty journalist? Please stop the nonsense and maybe, just maybe think about telling us what the stuff smells like. It will be almost like your selling perfume.

Pampers, do you realise you ad campaign makes you sound like your holding vaccines hostage? Don’t buy our nappies and this kid won’t get this medicine. Fail.

Has anyone else noticed that the girl the Pandora adverts looks like she has been Tangoed? Some needs to shoot the make-up artists, she looks like shes been coated in a dusting of ginger nut biscuits.

You really expect us to believe that Cheryl Cole dyes her hair at home? Yeah right, why do these beauty adverts treat us like idiots. We also know that model with the anti-wrinkle cream is 21.

Finally, I do not want to see someones foot being shaved on TV. Puke.

 

Camping

Once Christmas is over thoughts will often turn to summer holidays, we all need something to get us through those dark January days, but I can assure you one way I will never be spending my summer holidays is under canvas. I DON’T DO TENTS.

The last time I went camping was with an ex and I spent a miserable week in a tiny tent, sleeping on what appeared to be a thistle patch, with a man who had serious flatulence. This was not a holiday this was hell en (canvas) croute.

Why would anyone want to choose to holiday in something that is a more primitive version of their house is a mystery to me. Bricks and mortar are seemingly to much luxury for some people.

And you might argue that you now have water and electricity when camping, but you know what else has running water, electricity and walls – a hotel!

If I was faced with the choice of cheap camping or  staying a home, I’d go for the option when I’m not likely to be attacked by a ferrel badger (that’s home btw).

Glamping – don’t kid yourself you’re still in a tent and crapping in a concrete block.

Weddings dulls

As some of you may know I have an interest in the wedding industry (see here for more details) and like most work places it generates frustrations. One of the biggest things that annoys me about wedding are the STOOPID traditions that people insist on, even if they have no idea why they are doing it it just ‘what you are supposed to do’. You are allowed to think for yourself you know.

Morning suits- I have to walk past a suit hire shop on the way to town each Saturday and every Saturday there’s some poor bloke looking like a plonker in an ill-fitting tails and god forbid a top hat. When else in his life would a man where this kind of clobber, maybe I’m missing the swathes of men going to work in morning suits everyday? Why on this one very special day do brides insist on making their future spouses look like an extra from a Jane Austen adaptation. My rule was if it wasn’t something you could wear on any other occasion then it wasn’t in the wedding wardrobe (yes that included my dress but apparently I’m not allowed to wear it to work no matter how many times I ask).

Signing the register pictures – why, oh why does every couple have this picture? You know the one, bride sat down pen in hand, groom stood behind her hand on shoulder, looking into the camera signing a fake book. Why would you want a picture of you fake signing a document? I didn’t feel the need to commission a photographer to capture the moment I signed my mortgage and I can’t say I will have one when I sign my babies birth certificate. It’s just the most pointless picture and I cannot fathom why it has gained such popularity.

The receiving line -  a sure fire way to catch something nasty to go on honeymoon with (or have wine spilt down your dress, true story).

Top table – which genius decided that a linear table was the best way to eat your first meal as husband and wife? When else in life would you eat in a line (outside of school and who wants their wedding to remind them of school dinners)? It’s not like you have anything to talk to anyone about, it’s not like you’ve just done something important like ummmm……. get married and maybe you’d like to talk to more than two people about it.

Toastmasters – I just have no idea why you need a loud shouty man?

Hen parties – you didn’t think I’d do this with out giving ‘traditional’ hen parties a bashing did you. Penis straws, fluffy pink head bands, L-plates…..just no, step away from the tack! So many girls hate their hen parties as they are just excuses for their loud/flirty/single friends to make a tit out of themselves because that’s how you celebrate getting married apparently. I nearly didn’t have a hen party until it occurred to me that I didn’t have to do the ‘traditional’ hen party and I could do what I wanted. I must be some kind of genius!

Grrrrr

Motorways – if you don’t know how to drive on the motorway, is it not OK to drive at 50 mph in the middle lane. This will not keep you safe it will merely cause everyone else to hate you. Take the train!

Humbugs – yes you don’t like Christmas, yes you insist in telling us every 5 minutes. How about you shut up (take of that stupid black santa hat) and let the rest of us enjoy ourselves.

Facebook – why do people insist on using Facebook like their diary. Those people who share every intimate detail of their lives. The blow by blow account of their break-ups and make-ups. The ones who seemingly spend all  playing quizzes, joining groups and liking stuff  but don’t know how to turn off the notifications. Like you give a crap they like  some boy band/TV show/YouTube video.  The ones who tell you when they fart! If you want to update people on the daily drudge of you life in intimate detail please do the decent thing and get a Twitter account.

Celery- anyone who says they like celery must be a liar, it tastes like piss.