Open Letter to a Rite Aid Employee...

Dear Rite Aid Employee:

You're a jackass. I realize that you've probably reached the pinnacle of your career working here at Rite Aid, but that doesn't give you the right to talk to the cashiers the way you do. And speaking of that, what the hell do you do? While the rest of these poor louts are sporting blue Rite Aids vests, you're wearing baggy jeans, a Sean Jean sweatshirt and a black Yankee cap slightly off center...I'm no expert, but seems to me you should take your attire up a notch before insulting your fellow coworkers.

I know I was one of many who witnessed the way you yelled at the register girl and told her she had a bad attitude. Really? She has a bad attitude because she needs change for her drawer so she can continue to do her job, really? While the line wrapped around the Kodak booth, you didn't seem to care that your unnecessary and sad attempt at authority not only held up the line even longer, but made you look like a dick suck. Granted, I don't know what a dick suck is, but I do know one when I see one; and you, jackass, are one.

Your lil' scene forced the register girl to call for backup, since it was pretty clear you were not going to let her do her job. As the people in the line sighed and shifted their weight from one leg to the next, you seemed unaware, or maybe too arrogant to care? Either way, a gentleman, who smiled a little too much not to be mildly retarded, opened up a second register, much to your dismay. Did you really need to tell him that you didn't give him permission to do so? Is that really what your life has come to, dick suck?

I realize that you're probably the baby-daddy to like five kids over there in the housing projects of Avenue D, and this here part time job at da Rite Aid ain't cuttin' it when it come to all those illigetimate kids whom you swear up and down ain't yours, but ask me if I give a fuck...go ahead...ask me. You're a dick suck and you deserve whatever horror befalls you...

So when I told the two people behind the register that I hope they have a good night despite having to work with you, I meant it. And had I had the balls, I would've reached over and bitch slapped you like the tiny, whiney bitch you are...but I thought better of it. I'm not one for hitting strangers, and you're not one worthy of my slap. Actually, come to think of it, I don't slap people, I'm more of a junk-punch type, but even that I couldn't do...because simply, you're a dick suck, and I hate you.

Here's hoping you stay at the Rite Aid on First Avenue forever...oh, and you get herpes this weekend, too...

Cheers,

Mandy.

On a side note, I once worked with someone who said to me: "you don't like The National, do you?" he asked as if my answer was going put me in a box of the opinions in his head...well, I do. And although their new album doesn't come out until May, I've listened to this song easily 20 times this weekend: "Terrible Love"...the name alone is pretty perfect, because it's the terrible loves that define us most...in this gal's humble opinion...