Dear Coworker.

Two weeks ago, Coworker, you left a note on the whiteboard at work saying that you could no longer work Wednesdays. I was fine with this; if you couldn't close Wednesday nights, then I could just take those shifts and get more hours every week. I volunteered to work Wednesday, September 29th for you. You agreed, and I filled out the necessary information on the Swap Shift Board next to the timeclock.

I noticed when I came in on the 29th that you were also scheduled to work Wednesday, October 6th. I left a note in the communications log that basically said, "Hey, I see you're scheduled next Wednesday. If you want me to work for you, let me know."

Now, I also closed Thursday, September 30th. Thursday, September 30th, was my last day of work for nearly a week. You never called me. You never texted me. And because I wasn't scheduled to work, I didn't come in to check and see if you'd written me a note back in the notebook-- frankly, that would have been stupid, and a waste of gas.

So, I waited for nearly a week. I kept my phone on my person at all times. I checked it regularly to see if I'd missed a call or a message from you, Coworker. You never tried to get in touch with me. I could only assume that you either decided to work on Wednesday, October 6th, or you got someone else to cover that shift.

So, when I got a phone call on Wednesday, October 6th, at 3 PM, I was confused. The person who called me, Coworker, was asking me where I was. They asked me why I wasn't at work. They asked me if I planned on coming in. I had a migraine. I was confused, in pain, and tremendously worried. I explained as concisely as I could that while I had offered to take your shift, Coworker, I'd never heard back from you and thus had no idea that I was supposed to be working.

So the truth came out. Did you expect that it wouldn't? Coworker, you wrote me a note saying that yes, you wanted me to work for you that day. You also wrote on the Swap Shift Board that you wanted to get rid of the shift-- but since I didn't know that, I never signed it, saying I would work. You just assumed that I'd been there, knew about it, and signed off on it.

Guess what, Coworker. That's not how it works. Until you see someone's signature next to that shift and you know that it's been changed in the computer, that shift is still your responsibility.

I closed tonight, Thursday, October 7th. Upon reviewing the communications log, I found the nasty little note you wrote me in your obnoxiously-giant handwriting. Your note said something to the effect of, "You could have at least let me know you didn't still want the shift, I assumed you did. Next time just tell me so I know, this really messed my personal schedule up, blah blah blah."

Really, Coworker?

You're still trying to throw me under the bus?

So, Coworker, I wrote a note of my own. And I freely admit, it was eloquent and snide and frankly, I talked to you as if you were stupid in it-- because you are. I explained to you that your shift was still your responsibility until someone signed that they would take it. I explained that writing me a note that I never saw didn't do a lot of good. I explained that I had my phone on me-- that you could have called or texted me anytime.

I hope that tomorrow, when you read it, you realize what a moron you are. I also hope that someone tells you off because you were lazy and left the entire pallet of the truck shipment out in the middle of the Starbucks, in everyone's way, because you didn't feel like doing manual labor and putting it all away. I put it all away tonight, even though the person who was supposed to close the Target Cafe called in and I had to close both sides down by myself. But you don't care, do you? You're a selfish, impossibly stupid female and all you do during your shifts is sit back in the back and text people.

You tried to throw me under the bus yesterday, Coworker. You tried to get me in trouble to save your own ass-- and in so doing, you attempted to screw with my job, my income, and therefore my livelihood.

I'm not going take that laying down.

I already spoke to my manager about the events when I worked today. I will have you know I explained in nothing but the truth, and I pointed out the notes I left, as well as my schedule. My manager agrees-- I am not to blame in this situation.

So, through hasty defense of my job, I kept my ass out of the fryer. But you know what, Coworker? I've had enough. You've always been a mouthy little disrespectful bitch to me. In fact, it's common knowledge that you don't like me. I've had other people ask me why I left you talk to me the way you do. And all of the other workers, save for my manager, know that you're lazy and utterly useless.

I think, Coworker, that it's high time I put a stop to it. When I come in on Saturday, if I see you in the back, sitting on the stepladder and texting people when you're supposed to be working, I'm going to take a picture of it. I'm going to collect evidence that you're a lazy piece of shit, and I'm going to show show it to the manager. What the manager decides to do from there is up to her. But frankly, I hope she fires you. You're a liar, you're lazy, and you constantly call in sick because you're hung over from partying like the boozing little slut you are.

Coworker, I've had enough of your shit. I've worked at a movie theater, at Wal-Mart, Panera Bread, a bakery, Steak-n-Shake, and a few other places. I have worked with some lazy people. But you, Coworker, take the cake. You are the single most worthless piece of trash I have ever had the displeasure of working with, and I'm going to do everything in my power to put a stop to it.

This means war.

I Almost Posted This Last Night...

...but I didn't because I had a headache. You know how I was all feeling like crap and was dreading going to work? I felt terrible all evening. To make it worse, I was closing the Target Cafe instead of Starbucks. To make it even worse than that, every single customer I had was a damn jackass.

At one point, I'm busy panning pizzas for the next day's use. I see a woman approach the counter. I smile at her and say "Hi! I'll be with you in just a moment, hon." I begin peeling off my plastic gloves and head for a sink to wash my hands really quickly. I take two steps and hear a whistle. Not like a 'you're cute' whistle, but a 'I'm gonna call my dog' whistle. I stop and turn and look at this broad. She glares at me expectantly. At this point, I'm fairly certain I could have lost my job if I had done what I wanted to do, which was refuse the woman service and tell her that I'm not her damn dog.

Instead, I walked over to the counter with the most condescending smile I could. I took her order for a pretzel and a soda. When I handed the items to her, she was all "Eeew, why is this cup all oily?!"

My response? "Well ma'am, I'd gotten some vegetable oil on myself while I was panning pizzas. I was going to wash my hands up so this wouldn't have happened, but I also respect that you were in a hurry to get your purchase."

Broad glares at me and storms away. That felt good at least.

Later on, three kids show up-- little high school broad who, I'm sorry, has to have some kind of eating disorder or is on some kind of drug because people are not naturally that skinny. Bitch was gaunt!-- and her two male friends. They're rude to me from the start ("Well can't you CUSTOM make a pizza? No? Well that's gay"), then they finally place their order for a pizza, a pretzel, and two small icees. I place the cups on the counter in front of them. One of the guys, who is leaning against the counter with his back to me, doesn't even look at me as he just thrusts the money over his shoulder into my face.

Seriously?

I look at the money, then at the guy. I don't move to take the money. He turns and glares at me, then waves the money at my face. I take it. More condescending smiles from me. I give him his change and start getting the pizza and pretzel.

And then I hear it. The incredulous conversation begins. "THIS is a small icee?! This thing is tiny!" "I could get a large one for cheaper at a gas station!" "I didn't know they were this small!"

Okay, I'm just going to address those separately.

1. Yes, the small icee (and small soda, because we use the same cups for both) are very small. This is to encourage people to get a larger size.
2. Yes, you could get a larger one for about the same price or cheaper at a gas station. However, it's kind of like when you go to a theater. Because you're already there and there isn't any competition, Target can set whatever prices they want because they basically have a monopoly on all products and items in that store. This isn't hard to understand. I don't make the prices. Target does, because they can get away with it, and people pay them.
3. No. There is no way in Hell that you didn't realize that they were that small. Not only are the cup sizes shown in illustrations on the order boards, they're on display in the form of the three sizes sitting on the counter on display right in front of you. Now either you HAD to know that the cups were that small, OR you just weren't paying a damned ounce of attention because you stupid children were high out of your damned minds. Be honest.

At any rate, I get the pizza and the pretzel for the rude teens, only to see the guy who'd paid for everything standing at the counter, glaring at me, holding the cups in question. "I want my money back for these! This is a ripoff!" he says loudly, practically yelling in my face. I just shrug, place the food items down on the counter, take the cups back (And he looks shocked that I plucked them from his hands; did he think that I was going to let him keep the cups to get icees in AND get his money back?), and give him his $2.78 back.

Every single customer I had was like that. Assholes. Jerks. Rude. Whatever you want to call it. And because everyone was difficult, I fell further and further behind in my closing duties. The person who closes the Cafe is supposed to be out of there by 8:30 at the latest. I was there until almost 10.

I really hate people a lot. So I guess all I'm really trying to say here is, be kind to the person who you go to for service-- be it going to a restaurant, talking to your bank teller, paying your cable bill-- whatever. Don't be the jackass customer that people have to write a rant about.