"Pet" Names that really piss me off

I do believe working in retail has morphed me in to, if possible, an even bigger asshole than I was before. I have this beautiful Sunday off, and all I can think about are the instances in my week that brought me the most irritation and/or urge to punch someone...which would be the instances some stranger called me by some "pet" name in an effort to be friendly. Normally I do not mind pet names so much, but when people I am helping or being helped by start referring to me with some term of affection, my fists clench. Oh yeah, and when a guy I haven't even agreed to go out on one date with yet starts calling me "babe", I get fucking pissed. But the few people reading this blog already know about that. I know it's meant to be friendly but it just comes off as either creepy or kind of patronizing. Examples:

"Love"-One fine morning I took a short break from the bakery and meandered over to Holiday to buy some Diet Coke and a rainbow colored selection of Vault drinks for the Hacksaw to consume. He has a serious caffeine addiction, the Hacksaw. Very easygoing most of the time, but leave him stranded without his supply of caffeinated sodas, and he starts waxing poetic about the positive points of mass murder. Anyways, the girl behind the counter was brand new, and it's probably because of that fact that she was the most friendly and talkative person working there. I bring up my cokes, say hello, smile, and she responds with: "Is this gonna do it for you today love?"
Smile becomes strained. "Um, yep, this is it."
"Alright love, that'll be 4 dollars and 32 cents."
Smile falls off my face completely. "Here's a 5..."
"And that's 68 cents comin' your way love."
Eyebrow beginning to twitch. "Great thanks BYE"
Yes, I know it's a small thing. This is why I decided to write about it in my fucking blog. Don't call me "love". I DON'T KNOW YOU. YOU DON'T KNOW ME. You can be cordial without the annoying term of affection. Why do it? I don't get it. You don't know the person you're calling "love", so it can't be sincere. Is it some kind of customer service defense mechanism? Avoid conflict by bombarding customers with "love" and "honey" in every single sentence that you utter to them, hoping that this will cause them to ignore the complete lack of sincerity and interest in their problem? Or lull the lonely ones in to thinking that they've actually got someone out there who cares about their well being, when in fact you couldn't give less of a shit about who they are. Good lord, I've become bitter. Moving on.

"Friend"-What the fuck. This pissed me off. To be fair it may not have helped that I was already annoyed by a myriad of other things going on at the bakery that morning (Oops! Someone forgot to put an order in for 8:00 that morning! WHOOPS! Someone forgot to mention to a customer that this cake comes frozen! OOPS!), so by the time this lady came in I was ready to start throwing things. This is how the brief interaction went:
Me: "Good morning! How are you?"
Her: "Well I'm gonna need about a dozen items, friend."
Me: (Friend?! Huh?) "Sure, what can I get you?"
Her: "Well give me some time to think, friend."
Me: "Okay, let me know when you're ready or if you have any questions." (Bitch. The fuck?!)
Her: "Okay, thanks friend."
I'm sorry, but there is a way to tell me you need some time to think in a less condescending manner. Yes I know it's not THAT bad, but really I prefer the open hostility some customers bring to the counter.  They're pissed, or they don't like you, or they think you're worth as much as the dog shit currently sitting on their lawn AND THEY LET YOU KNOW IT.  I was getting the same vibe from this woman but she decided to disguise it with the false term of affection. "Friend." Fuck off, you know I'm not your friend. It made me miss the woman who regularly snaps at me, "Okay, now why don't you find someone who actually knows what they're talking about?"
Thus ends my stupid rant. Now I'm off to go shopping with B, who took my shopping needs from "jeans and a sweatshirt" to "Jeans, Hoodie, Cardigan, Boots, Black Socks, Sweater". Ohhhhh...help.

The countless idiotic things that I have done

Since I'm devoting most of these posts to making fun of people around me (but I do so with love...mostly) I should take some time to point out that I myself am a gigantic dumbass. Yes I laugh at the stupid things going on around me, but I also take the time out of my day to laugh at myself. Or cry, depending on how much I've embarrassed myself. Sometimes it's a combination of both.

Case in point: We like to sit around the community table at Blablabla when it's slow and have conversations on a variety of topics, whether it be "How many times would you have sex in a week if you were married to 50 Cent" or "Is it possible to be a wet nurse and a superhero at the time? And if you were, could you have one uniform for both jobs?" One of these times I happened to fart. Now, normally people sit in silence and hope to God that no one noticed and that the resulting smell won't be too bad to tip other people off that a fart just issued from someone. Not me! Nope.  First I started laughing, then I ran away from the table to escape the inevitable smell which made me laugh even harder. Everyone was confused by my odd behavior at this point, so J asked "Patty, what the hell is going on?" Laughing so hard I could barely breathe, I screeched "I just FARTED! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!" Boom. On the floor. Yeah. Thankfully everyone else thought this was extremely funny too.

Another case in point: It was a slow night and J and I were being stupid. I can't remember the exact conversation, but I do know it was centered around the subject of breasts. This is a frequent topic of conversation between us, and I don't care to analyze the reasons behind this phenomena. Thinking that there still wasn't anyone in the store with us, I shouted "YOU MOTORBOATIN' SON OF A BITCH!!!" Then I turned around. There stood a customer, a nice looking elderly lady looking at our selection of shampoos. Awkward silence. Then..."Hiiiiiiiii....."

TONY

In the 24 hours that I've started this little blog of mine, I've so far neglected to address my job as a sales person at a local bakery. This job also boasts a colorful line of characters, the brightest of which is "Tony". Tony is probably the oldest sales person working at our location, and he's lived all over the world. Born and raised in Sri Lanka, he lived in both Germany and Australia before coming to the states. A high strung perfectionist, Tony is probably the fussiest person I have ever met. This quality results in some seriously stunning flower cupcakes, but can also result in some difficult social interactions. Most of the time though his fussiness and eccentricities just make for amusing stories. My coworker "Cathode Ray" (that's her designated rap star name) told me that on the first day she worked with him, he decided to tell her about all the evidence he's gathered from documentaries and such that the world is going to end in 2012. He's also given her photos of cats he's taken...from his TV screen. He loves to take photos of images on TV. These are pretty much the only photos he ever takes.
One morning I opened with Tony, and he decided to gift me with some of these photos. This time, they were not of cats.
Tony: "Ohmigosh Patty," (sidenote: "Ohmigosh" is his trademark beginning to every sentence) "ohmigosh, I have something to show you."
Me: "Really?" (More cats?)
Tony: "Yes, I was watching Chefography on the food network and I was inspired to take some photos. It was Ina Garten you see, and they showed images from her wedding. See?" (He pulls out the photos)
Me: "Oh yeah, I've seen that episode. She looks so happy." (Dude, why take photos? These episodes are on ALL THE TIME.)
Tony: "Yes, and this is what I imagine your wedding will look like."
Me: "Oh, thats sweet." (Er...WHAT?! It's 6 a.m. dude, I am not prepared for this.)
Tony: "Yes and here they were showing two opera stars in a concert...you see how the soprano is standing in front of the baritone? I like to imagine you singing while in front of some great big baritone."
Me: "Er...wow...that'd be awesome" (How does this man's mind work?? No, I don't want to know. I'd rather not know.) "Well...thank you Tony, I'll give these back to you..."
Tony: "Oh no no, you keep them. They're for you."
And he proceeded to wrap them delicately in a pastry bag and put them in my purse. Best gift ever.

The time B wanted to learn more about religion

This is a short, amusing little anecdote. I want to say "B" is Daria brought to life....no. Daria had far more personality than B does.  If B were weather, she'd be a cloudy, drab, gray day. She has possibly the most monotone voice I've ever heard. It never goes up or down, it just..stays. If G and I decide to burst out into Broadway song while in the store, her robotic tone almost always cuts through: "If you're going to do that I'd like to go home now, please." However, B occasionally has this random thirst for knowledge, so she'll come to me asking questions about history, geography, and religion. Apparently since I have a music degree she must think that all of these bases were covered in my education. I do the best that I can, although it isn't too hard when the questions being asked are something like "Why is Washington D.C. not in a state? I thought it was in Washington state."
Sometimes though, these questions are a little out of my reach. This was the case one day when B began asking me questions about religion, Christianity in particular. Now everyone who knows me knows that I am the worst Jew ever, so for her to think that I'd know something about another religion when I barely know my own is a little ridiculous. When I couldn't satisfactorily answer her questions, she decided to visit the Christian radical working at the store next door and ask if she could borrow his bible. According to her, this is how the conversation went:
B: "Hey E, I want to know more about Christianity. Can I like, borrow your bible?"
E: "You want to walk in the footsteps of Jesus Christ?"
B: "No, I just want to borrow your bible."
E: "I will buy you a bible if you wish to learn more about our Savior."
B: "Um, can you get me an EZ read version?"

He agreed, so the next day I came in to work and B said to me, "You need to see the bible E got me." I go to the office to find a Women's Study bible in a box.
Me: "He got you a WOMEN'S STUDY BIBLE?!"
B: "Yeah. At least it has a pretty cover. Do you think Barnes and Noble will let me return it?"

The time M needed her pimple popped

Due to my paranoia that members of corporate will somehow find this blog and flay me alive, I will not refer to the company I work for by it's true name. Let's call it "Blablabla". According to the google translator, that actually means "hot air" in French. Wow. I take forever trying to find some clever cover name for this place and thats what I settle on.
On with my story...When I first started at Blablabla, I worked under a lead advisor who I will refer to as "M". M is a fascinatingly insane individual. A dominating personality with a penchant for drama, M seems to have missed a few crucial lessons in social graces. If she was wearing a pair of underwear that bothered her, she saw no problem in taking them off. In the store. The same could be said for pants or leggings. She also had no problem sharing recent bodily functions with us. The woman has almost no shame.
Afternoons in our store are generally slow, and that day was no exception. I was standing behind the registers with the futile hope that someone might stop in when M rushed over to me while wailing, "I have a pimple and it HURTS!!!"
Me: "Oh, where is it?"
M: "It's on my ass!! Can you see how it looks?"
Me: "Uhhhhhhh..." (Inwardly I'm wondering how she could possibly be serious)
M: "Pleaaaaase it really hurts!"
Me: "Errrrrrr..." (Oh my GOD she seriously wants me to look at her fucking ass?!? No, no. I have lines that cannot be crossed. This is one of them. First I see your dirty ass underwear and now you want me to look at your ass. WHERE DOES IT END)
M: "Here, look!" (Oh shit I took too long to think, her pants are already down, dammit I'm going to look...she just wants me to look at the pimple, that's all, for M that's pretty tame, just look and get it over with)
Me: "Yep, I see it, that's pretty big." (Oh hey, I didn't have to see her asscrack, I should consider myself lucky)
M: "Can you pop it for me? Pleaaaaase?!"
Me: "NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!" (NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!)
M: "Okay fine, I'll get J to do it."
"J" has worked considerably longer at this store and as a result she has almost no personal lines or barriers left. So naturally when M begged her to pop this ass pimple, J agreed. Our manager "G" was working in the back office at the time, and they decided to do the deed right outside her door while I continued to wait for the customers who never showed up. G turns around from her office work to find M bent over, undies down, and J kneeling behind her, q-tips in hand. M's screeching "PLEASE POP IT, IT HURTS!!!!" and "J" is looking thoughtfully at M's ass while remarking, "You know M, you have a really nice ass."
G: "IS THERE ANYONE OUT IN THE STORE RIGHT NOW?!?"

And I'm doing this for the umpteenth time...

With any luck I'll actually stick with it this time around. In the past I created these blogs because I had the typical teenage angst and I felt it necessary to unleash my inane thoughts on the world. And by "world", I really mean myself and maybe the 3 people who surfed by.
But now I have jobs and a plethora of fun stories, thanks to the clinically insane people I work with. Between my bakery job and my job as a sales advisor for a beauty company, I always end up having some tale that begins with "Yeah, you're not gonna believe this" or "Guess what came out of her mouth today?? No, guess." Many of these stories stem from my job as a beauty product sales advisor. And many of them are a tad off-color...or just plain disgusting. But they're still damn funny.