North Point Mall HCO Case Study

They should die. They should all be flown to an island in the guise of a magical free vacation they have just won. Under that island will be thousands of balloons that inflate and suddenly all the confused North Point shoppers will begin floating through the sky. The ones who have half a brain (none of them) will jump back into the ocean and drown or be devoured by sharks/whales/baracuda/Rosie O’Donnell. Those who are participating in the huge, festering orgy on the island (I added that out of nowhere) will burn through all the layers of Earth’s atmosphere until they hit space. Nevermind that humans would burn to less than bones at this point and would die of suffocation much earlier. The North Point mall-onites have previously constructed anti-burn-to-less-than-bones suits that also allow private parts to be poked through holes, so the orgy is still in full swing (I’m still moving with the orgy thing). Once in space, no one can hear you scream; so the orgy is still visibly the same, except it looks like they’re underwater, and you cant hear them screaming.

Anyhow, the whole point of this giant air balloon-island is to lure the North Point mall-onites to one place and have it sent off into space. Step 2 in my plan is to coordinate my hate of their existence to all the major nuclear missile holding countries via my blogs, then, after hours of preparation, I will finally have my revenge in a moment of sheer joy, when all of the world is united in firing megatons of nuclear bang sauce at the island, destroying the stupid balloons, all the sand, palm trees, crabs, messages in bottles, Coach purses, designer shoes, silicon boobies, liposuctioned abs, bleached hair, fake tans and whitened teeth out of the goddamn motherfucking cockjuggling sky.

Fuck North Point.

Welcome back kiddies. I hope you arent too angry at me because of my large hiatus from the blogging world. Not that I consider myself a part of the blogging world. I just type my frustrations out and you fuckers read them. Thanks for reading my shit. On to the hate.

So I’ve had a little over three months to get comfortable at North Point HCO. I’ve actually accomplished quite a bit of work here. I do still miss the easy days at Arbor Place. This new store is anything but easy. I’ve had angry conversations with other managers where we all agree North Point is the bane of Atlanta. It seems even my boss agrees I have the worst fucking position in the state. Yay for me.

The worst thing about any retail position, or most jobs in general, is the clientele. But retail is unique. We fold clothes constantly, all day, just to see it destroyed by some fat lady or an Asian. Granted, its their job to shop, and its our job to clean up; its part of the gig. However, why the fuck does being rich correlate with being messy? It surprises me, but the rednecks can make less of a mess in a week than the rich bitches of Alpharetta & Co. can make in 30 fucking minutes.

It has its ups too. Its very slow during the week. Even when we do good business its this weird, slow trickle from about 3pm on. This allows for us to get shit done. The supposed theory on this is the fact that there is no movie theater inside the mall. This keeps patrons (or shitheads, whatever) away from my store, which allows me to not hate certain humans. I could care less anyway.

So lets get to the meat of this post. Lets talk about the customers who blow so much cock that shop at my store. Most of these people act like they’ve spent the past few years having their asses wiped for them with toilet paper made from Jesus’ hair and spoon fed dodo scrambled eggs (yes, the extinct bird, they’re that rich). I wonder how they get up in the morning, or for what reason. It must be something along the lines of “…eh, I’m tired of sleeping and dreaming about boning 13 supermodels at once with all 13 of my cocks…I guess I’ll go to North Point HCO and kick over their tables.”

This one guy, some motherfucker he was. Its actually a two day span that he made me want to fuck his face with a chainsaw strap on. Okay, I know I’m here to help the customer; the customer, however, has to respect that I’m a human being and there should still be manners in place. For example, when I’m on the phone, dont fucking talk to me. Trust me, I’m perceptive enough to notice you standing over my shoulder, and I’ll interrupt my conversation to do whatever you need. But this prick, this bag of wrenches, he completely crossed several lines. Alright, so I’m on the phone up in Dudes 1 and this 40-something guy comes up behind me and pokes me, i mean jabs me with two fingers and asks “hey where can I get some jeans.” So I fucking point him around the corner because he wants the jeans with zippers; apparently his fingers only work to poke people, not to fasten buttons near his penis. I get off the phone and head towards the cashwrap and the phone rings again. Of course, none of the kids who work for me know how to answer the fucking phone, so its always a manager scrambling to get it before the 12th ring. I’m on the phone again and the same douche man comes up behind me again and pokes, no jabs me again. At this point I seriously want to hit this man so many times with a glove taped with scalpels on it. I dont really like being touched by people I dont know, and I especially dont like being touched by some 40-year-old crisis victim who’s in Hollister shopping for jeans. Go to Calvin Klein you child molester skank.

So anyway, he jabs me the second time asking for a place to try them on, and I barely stay on the edge of my “Not a dick | Total dick” line and I tell him “its over there” in a tone that makes cactus shrivel. It kinda sounded like you’re telling someone your name for the 38th time, and they just havent been listening. He buys the jeans and goes home, his date probably made fun of his how his penis looks when he wears them and he brings them back the next day. Well suprise I’m the guy who returns the jeans. I remember him of course, so I do the transaction as damn quickly as possible. After I give him his receipt he asks me if I have a bathroom he can use. Of course I say no. So he turns on his smartass amplifier, but mine is much larger and more expensive. He says “So how do you go to the bathroom when you need to go?” to which I reply “I go in the bathroom in the back, which is not for customers.” Those who know me can imagine the smug smile on my face and the mental face smashing I just gave this queef sniffer. He scoffs: “Well, come on, cant you just let me use it?” He sounded like he was going to buy his way in. I would’ve definitely taken $50, but he would’ve just lost $50 and still had to piss. I said the professional thing “No man, its not for customers.” It seemed to shut him up so he was off.

This is just a single example of the type of bullshit I get to put up with daily. I’ve resorted to old school methods to keep my visuals in tact. Sensoring hangbars together (which still doesnt keep these rabid hounds away) and slicing my form clothes with razors. These fucks dont quit, and their offspring are just as bad.

Legions of 16-year-old girls clogging the walkways in my store with a ridiculous likeness to their 45-year-old counterpart mothers. They even have matching credit cards; how sweet. They pile up on clothes to try on, and they dont buy any of it.

Those of you with retail experience know that this leads to catastrophic amounts of “go backs” where we basically put that shit back for them. It is by far the largest problem at NoPo on an operational level. Anyway, they spend 30 minutes destroying my store and they buy 1 tank top. All I really want to do is threaten them at the door with handfulls of sensor pins. If you bitches dont spend at least a hundo in here, I’ll have to resort to putting toilet water down your throats. Toilet water that I’ve already used.

My clearance walls are literally on the floor. It looks like the wood shelves got AIDS, and they’re puking their cotton guts out all over the place. These bimbos just hurl shit everywhere; their halfass attempt to put the clothes back in the wall consist of them balling it up and shoving it as far back as their newly manicured hands will allow. Absolutely no courtesy from these girls, who’ve probably never been told “no” in their lives. Unless they asked their mothers to cut off their allowance.

North Point isnt without its trash. There are still occasional bitches with redneck roots walking in, and my days at Arbor Place has made me an expert in spotting them. This one girl, she crossed a handful of lines with one disgusting transaction. She attempted to return 4 items: a pair of shorts, a bikini top, a bikini bottom and a polo shirt. The polo had no tag, so after further examination I noticed a stain, plus it smelled like she fucked a bottle of perfume. I refused the return, citing the stain, but she claimed that was the reason for her return. Allow me to elaborate on the stain: it looked like a 2-inch wide cum stain with a single grain of rice trapped by the goo; it was probably Chinese food. This bitch claimed the stain was on the shirt when she bought it, to which I replied “that didnt come from this store, plus it smells like perfume.” She reluctantly accepted, and the other items had tags so I didnt question further; but motherfucker, I should have.

After I gave her the refund and she left with her goofy pseudo gansta whiteguy boyfriend, I started sensoring the shit and by some mean curse of God I noticed something horrible, something haunting on the bikini bottom. It’s something that I never fucking think about because I hate throwing up in public. And lucky for me, I never have to fucking think about it because I dont swing that way. If I ever do have to fucking think about it, I always wash my eyes out with soap. It was fucking dried period blood. Right there in the crotchal region of the bikini were a few disgusting, disease-causing, festering spots of human waste and a promise of non-pregnancy. Fucking bitch, I hope your boyfriend ejaculates blood next time you go down on him and it squirts out of your eyes.

With customers like these, who needs children? It’s just as bad as babysitting about 200 kids a day. Kids who are capable of shitting, crying, bitching, screaming and saying “no!” Unfortunately I cant spank any of these kids. Well, I probably could but they’d have their lawyers chopping my hands off at the wrists within a day. So I hope you can all understand what goes on here at NoPo. It’s the same as any other, except its worse.

Fuck North Point.