Letters to People I Hate

Dear free gift wrap girl,

You called the store today and asked if we had complimentary gift wrap during the holidays. I informed you that we offer free gift wrap all year round and there would be a table devoted to wrapping closer to Christmas. You asked if you could bring something into the store to be wrapped. I asked you to clarify.

“Can I bring stuff in for you guys to wrap? Like can I bring in presents?”

Uh, no. I told you we only wrap items we’ve sold. You were not pleased.

“Well that’s dumb.” 

I apologized for the inconvenience and told you we sold gift wrap in the store.

“Well can I come to the store and buy something there and then have you wrap something else?”

No. You would still be asking us to wrap an item from another store. That is a stupid question. At this time in the conversation I had a customer in the store waiting to ask me a question. I wanted to stop talking to you.

“So, I can’t like, buy something there and have you wrap something else? I’m still buying something in your store. Can’t you just wrap a different gift?”

I repeated that we can “unfortunately” only wrap items we sell in the store. Then I glanced at the customer in front of me to let her know I would be with her shortly. She laughed at what I had told you. I gave a slight eye roll while you yammered on and on.

“Well could you wrap both of the things? Like what I bought there and another gift if they’re for the same person?”

I repeated the very easy to understand fact that we ONLY wrap items we’ve sold from OUR store. The customer laughed and gave me an eye roll of her own. She thought you were an idiot too.

You were pissed.

“Well then I guess I won’t be buying anything from your store then,” you said and hung up.

Oh no, you won’t be buying the cheapest item in the store and then unloading a car full of presents for us to wrap for free? Fuck! I really screwed the store out of business today, didn’t I? Don’t be so goddamn lazy. That conversation should not have taken so long. Truly, that conversation should never have happened in the first place. I am not a fan of the “It never hurts to ask” policy. It hurts me down to my very soul when I have to explain a simple concept to a cheap ass customer while a paying customer waits for assistance.

Wrap your presents in newspaper and call yourself a hipster, just be sure to leave me alone.

Sincerely,

Kelly

Dear book flippers, 

Really this is how you choose to impact the world? People are starving, no food, no water certainly no books to read. You live in a place where you are lucky enough to have books to read, even if you borrow them from the library. You can use them to learn about different things, to vicariously live through other people in their adventures, to connect with well written characters. All of this reading is bound to give you some opinions on what you like and don’t like about books. You will certainly gain opinions about what you like and don’t like about other people and what other people read.

I, for one, do not like Nicholas Sparks books and correspondingly, I am not a great fan of or friends with people who adore his writing. But for me it stops there. For you, you book flippers, who feel oh so powerful and almighty in your opinion, you feel it is ABSOLUTELY necessary to show the world what you think about a certain book and possibly make it harder for someone who adores that book to find it. You feel the need to flip the book to its back cover - hiding the front so that it’s difficult to see which book it is. This is your powerful (and passive aggressive) hate? It is SO goddamn obnoxious.

The people who turn the books back around (you didn’t think they turned themselves did you?) are the book store workers. Like me, jackass. It’s not the authors or the readers. I have enough tasks to occupy my time and I don’t need to spend twenty minutes rotating all of the Stephenie Meyer books back to their original position. Your passive aggressive actions cannot make you feel empowered, what is the point? There isn’t one.

I can see you being the type of person who has a lot of time on your hands. You would be bored and think to drive to the mall, remove every book in a section (say 200 books), then place them back on the shelf with the pages out instead of the spine out. I’m sure you’re unemployed. If I found out you had an interview I would take the day off and tell your interviewer about your fucked up past time. You hate a book/author. I get it. I hate people too, right now it’s you.

Is it some sort of cause? You want books you deem poorly written or inappropriate off the shelves? Turning the sex books around doesn’t make people not want to buy sex books. It makes booksellers swear like sailors and look around for someone to set on fire.

You want a cause? How about the destruction of the rainforest for fucks sake!? Honestly when was the last time you and your damn opinions thought about the rainforest? Look at how many question marks you are making me use. It’s fucking ridiculous. Think of all those tress and unknown species dying slow, painful deaths, you could care about that. In fact I don’t care what you decide to have opinions about, just do more than make my job harder.

I love it when people have strong opinions, like me on this subject, but really you’re going to use up all your angry energy to turn some books around? Hate Nicky Sparks and Stephi Meyer all you want. Write them a fucking letter, they don’t know you turn their books around. Organize a protest about shitty books, volunteer at a school and get kids to read quality books, have a hunger strike and don’t eat until your local book store removes all the titles you don’t like. Then you can die your own slow, painful death. Remember the rainforest?

In the meantime take your passive aggressive grumpy little hands off of the books and find something else to look do. 

Sincerely,

Tiffany (and Kelly)

Dear readers,

Oh no! Another skipped Sunday letter and a very late Tuesday letter, which isn’t really a letter at all, because I love you guys. Apparently I cannot hate on a schedule. Yes, I tried to write the letters in advance and have them post on the days I promised, but I ran out of people to hate. 

That is only partly true. But the letters are getting redundant. Dumb customers asking to talk to a specific manager, then leaving the store for 30 minutes, and asking all grumpily when they get back, “Well, is she here?” WTF? No, she came over here and then went back to work. You LEFT THE STORE!! Was she supposed to follow you to the Gap? Did you want us to call security and ask them to page you? Because I’m not sure they do that. I’m not sure what they do.

This gets old. Horrible drivers gets old too. Even the guy who stopped in the middle of the road when he saw the hot girls handing out free Monster at a gas station so he could turn right from the middle lane after traffic cleared. 

So what’s an adorably witty blogger to do? This is where you come in. Send me your crappy people stories and I will write them a letter. You can even print it out and mail it to them. I would love to hear any follow up stories on that course of action.

If you send a story (short or long, specific or vague “I hate when…” complaints) I will do my best to write a letter. I will sign it “Sincerely Kelly on behalf of (Your Name)” and I will finally get some new material.

Post in the comments or email letterstopeopleihate@gmail.com

Do it now or else you will have to deal with another dry spell. 

Sincerely,

Kelly

Dear customers who don’t understand the alphabet,

I thought I could avoid writing letters to people who are nice enough to buy things at the store, but it just isn’t happening. Some customers want to use the computers to look up books themselves, they seem disappointed when I say that it is my job to look up books for them. You are not those customers. You need help, and handholding, and a guided tour of the store - particularly the Fiction section. 

I had the distinct pleasure of helping two of you people recently. Our Fiction section starts in the front right corner of the store and follows the right wall until all the books (organized by author last name: A-Z) have run out, then History starts. The section is divided by alcoves, if we put all the books against the wall our store would have to quadruple in size. The alcoves are where we lose people like you. 

One of you, a middle aged woman, came up to me at the middle information desk a few weeks ago. 

“I can’t find the book I’m looking for. The author is Chris Cleave. But I can’t find their books. In fact, I can’t find any of the C last name authors.”

Really? You can’t find any of the C last name authors? I was nice and didn’t ask how hard you looked. I took you over to the first fiction alcove. On our way there we passed the second alcove containing authors He- through Mu-. 

“I was here, I couldn’t find the C’s.”

I showed you into the corner where Fiction starts.

“Oh, I didn’t go this far over! Here’s the book. I didn’t even look over here. I was over there.” You pointed toward the second alcove. “But I didn’t come over here.”

I bit my tongue and smiled at you, asked if you needed any thing else, and walked away. I had a question I couldn’t ask, but I’ll ask it now. Why didn’t you go into the first alcove? If I were in a store and I wanted a C last name author and I found the H last name authors, I would go left. That’s just how the alphabet works.

Later that same week another one of you, a gentleman, asked a similar question. 

“I can’t find The English Major by Jim Harrison.”

I took you to the first fiction alcove. On the way we had a similar conversation about how you had seen the He- books, but not the Ha-’s. I tried to be nice.

“Yeah, I think the Poetry sign hanging over here throws a lot of people off.”

Your response was not nice.

“Well, yeah. I thought it was all poetry. It’s very confusing.”

Really? Is it? You get to Catch-22 by Joseph Heller. You want The English Major by Jim Harrison. Again it is the simple act of moving LEFT. Even if the Poetry sign confused you, where did you think the other books were? A through Ha is a lot of authors. A lot of famous authors. Did you think we loved poetry so much we got rid of Austen and Dickens and the Bronte sisters? Did you wander off into Mysteries or SciFi or Horror looking for Jim Harrison? What was going through your head? 

You people confound me. Do we need to label every shelf? You’re as bad as people who ask how the books are arranged and then give a strange look when I say by author last name within the section. How do you want them arranged? Color? Author first name? Second word in the title, we’ll just get rid of all the single word title books.

If you can’t follow the organization of the alphabet I can’t help but think you can’t follow the plot of the books you are purchasing. If you aren’t going to use the space in your head for a brain you should rent it out to people with excess jewelry. Fashionable women can take you to parties and use your skull as a purse. You can follow them around marveling at how the bathroom is behind a door and you never would have thought to look there.

Sincerely,

Kelly

Dear Lady Shopping in a Hurry Today,

Don’t show me pictures from the sex books. It’s creepy. I’m not puritanical about sex and erotica, but I don’t want to know your opinion about the pictures in the new edition of The Joy of Sex. Don’t flip through the book while standing closer than necessary and say things like, “They used to all be sketches like this,” and shove the book at me. I also don’t know if any of the authors of the sex books are “good”. That is going to be a personal decision. Clearly you prefer sketches to the photographs of people, which you also chose to show me, but I don’t know you well enough to pick out authors you would like.

Don’t touch me either. Even if we weren’t surrounded by books about sexual pleasure, I still wouldn’t want you to pat me on the shoulder and call me sweetie. It’s inappropriate. Another things that is inappropriate: Buying sex books and puppets in the same trip. Why were you doing this? Is your sex lesson just after volunteering at the hospital? It puts strange ideas in our minds and you are already a little off.

Sincerely,

Kelly

Dear overbearing customer,

A few days ago I was working a morning shift at the front register. You had about 30 kids books from the used section you wanted to purchase. I knew it would take a while to ring everything up, but you smiled and seemed nice. I didn’t think there would be any problems. Wrong.

You see, our system requires more steps to ring up a used book than to ring up a regularly priced book. Regular book? One sweep over the scanner and a beep. Done. Used book? Two sweeps over the scanner, two slightly different beeps, type in the code, type in the price. Repeat 30 times. You didn’t seem to like this process. Neither do I. But, I’m used to it and I can’t do anything to change it, so I’ve accepted the it. You weren’t very accepting.

I double swiped the first book and as I was typing in the necessary info I saw you give me an odd look. I’ve seen that look in many an irritating customers’ eyes. It says, “Why did you scan that twice? Are you charging me double?” I know the look says this because sometimes they say it out loud as well. Then I have to try to explain the process, usually with a forced laugh at the end.

“Oh, we have to scan them twice, it only goes in the register once though.” Smile. Hate. Subtle eye roll if they look away.

I know how to do my job, yes I make a mistake every once in a while, but give me some credit. Granted, you didn’t ask why I was scanning twice, you just disapproved with your eyes. My co-worker didn’t have anyone to ring up so she got two large handle bags to start bagging as I scanned. Two people helping you wasn’t enough. You started fidgeting with the books. You straightened the two piles remaining in front of you. You sighed. You told me you were a teacher and wanted the discount. Great.

I had you fill out the form and hoped it would keep you occupied. It did, but not for long. In the mean time my co-worker rang up another customer, finished the transaction, bagged their books and gave them their receipt. I was still helping you. You didn’t like this. My goodness, you were here first, you should leave first. Your eyes said it all.

You started handing me books. As I reached to pick one off the counter, you would try to put it in my hand. We did not make a good team, I would never want you to pass me a baton in a race. There are no summer Olympics in our future. I tried to speed up the process but I can only go as quickly as the register does. It is what scientists would call the “rate limiting step”; it is old, more than a little filthy, and needs to finish one step before beginning another. Which means I have to pause sometimes and let it catch up to my furious typing.

You were ready to pay. You had your card out in your non-book-shoving hand and were itching to hand it to me as well. As soon as I gave you the total you rammed it into my hand. Thank you. I swiped and typed and waiting on the card machine to pump out its receipt. My co-worker was back to bagging your books, trying valiantly to get you off my hands as quickly as possible. As I handed you back you card, gracefully might I add, you finally spoke up.

“Don’t I get a receipt?”

Of course you do. Did you see a receipt print from the machine? Did you see me snatch it away and hide it under the counter? Did I crumple it into a ball and throw it over my shoulder? Did I set it on fire and laugh maniacally? No. It was still in the old, dusty register. And you still had to sign the copy from the card machine I had placed in front of you next to the pen. I told you the receipt was coming and you ignored me. You looked my co-worker in the eye and said, “It was a lot of looks, I’ll need two bags.”

She raised her eyebrows and smirked a bit, “I gave you-“

“Oh,” you interrupted, leaning over the counter and peering at the bags. “You did.”

I handed you the coveted receipt and she brought your two bags around the counter. You didn’t say thank you. With one bag in each hand you shuffled toward the door. I expect more gratitude next time; with the low used book prices and the teachers’ discount you paid about $1.50 a book. That is a damn good price and worth a much longer wait. Maybe next time I see you I will destroy your receipt. Then I’ll glare at you and shuffle off, muttering about customer service.

Sincerely,

Kelly

Dear lying teachers,

You are not sly or sneaky. We have a 20% discount for teachers on books they use in the classroom. We do this because we like teachers and we know they don’t make much money. However, we don’t like teachers like you. I know you want to read books for personal enjoyment, but you’ll have to pay full price. Don’t try to weasel your way out of it. I know when you are lying.

You and your two friends came up to the register together. Your first friend only had a book from the book group table (already discounted 20% - more on crazy book group people later) so she was okay. While I rang her up you and your other friend were whispering away. I caught the words “tell” “teacher” and “discount”. Your friend looked nervous and more than a little uncomfortable. Her eyes shot to the floor when I asked who was next. You approached the register and handed over your book group book and another book.

“I’m a teacher,” you exclaimed proudly.

“Okay,” I said. “Are you using this book in the classroom?” I touched the cover of your second book, Things Good Mothers Know.

“All the books in the store apply for the discount now,” you haughtily informed me. Yes, I know that. I work here. I smiled an icy smile.

“That’s true the discount applies to any book in the store that you will be using in the classroom.” You stared at me, not speaking. “Is this book for the classroom?” I repeated.

“Well, I guess it is then,” you said with a grin. Liar.

As I rang you up, with discount since we aren’t supposed to accuse the customers of lying, you turned back to your friend. There was another hurried whisper fest between the two of you. You’re a teacher. If you are any good at your job you’ve seen back-of-the-classroom conspiratorial whispering. It’s obvious, the quick looks at the person your talking about, the conniving tone. Plus, you’re bad at it. I was only standing four feet from you. I know you told her to say her book was for the classroom when we asked. Like, OMG, we’re gonna totally ask about it. Eye roll.

As I went through the usual ringing up motions, you drew out the lie by talking about how you do mother the kids in your classroom. Ha ha, you laughed. We mother them more than we should. More forced laughter. Your awkward stilted conversation was not helping. I gave you the damn discount. Stop trying to prove you are these poor kids surrogate mother by talking about how one of them has no snow pants and no one is buying them any. Buy the kid some snow pants and I’ll give you a discount on whatever you want. Now go away.

You paid and went over to your first friend by the doors, leaving your nervous friend to fend for herself. My co-worker rang up her purchases. When asked if the same Good Mothers book was for the classroom, she balked. “Well, I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, I won’t be using it yet.” She stammered. No discount for her. Good.

Later I looked up your “classroom purchase”. It was a self-improvement book. It encourages readers “to attend to their own happiness in the quest to become better mothers.” Sure, you’re not really a mother, but if getting a classroom discount on your personal reading makes you happy, it sounds like you’ve got the book’s instructions down already. Too bad you can’t follow ours.

Sincerely,

Kelly

Dear Laziest Customer I’ve Ever Seen,

Let me start by saying that to earn the right to be addressed as such is quite a feat. I’ve worked in retail for six years now, and I’ve seen some lazy people. I’ve seen heavyset women run to the motorized cart we keep in our store for the infirm and the elderly, then drive it around the store instead of walking. I’ve seen people stuff perishable items into the rows of candy bars in front of the cash registers because they don’t want to walk back to the refrigerated section (or, God forbid, inform the check-out girl that they’ve changed their mind on an item.) But you are the laziest customer of them all.

You and I are already not fond of each other. Well, I am not fond of you. And if you hold a grudge, which I suspect you would (if your brain has the capacity to remember back a few months, which I suspect it doesn’t) then you aren’t fond of me either. We had a tiff this past summer when I told you your two-year-old son couldn’t walk around the store without shoes on. You looked at me as if I had just told you everything in the store cost a million dollars.

“What? Why the hell not?”

“It’s for safety reasons, sir.”

You glared at me like I was the most horrible bitch imaginable, and deposited your poor, dirty-faced little boy into the shopping cart. He started to scream and you gave me a look that said, There, hope you’re happy.

Then, I wanted to punch you in the face for three reasons:

1. Because you are obviously an incompetent parent who has not disciplined their child enough to sit in a shopping cart without screaming.
2. Because you obviously could care less if your little boy steps on a shard of hazardous debris and hurts himself and
3. Because I could just tell that you’re an asshole. Months later, you would prove me right yet again.

Fast forward to the present. This evening. You and your wife, or girlfriend, or sister (or whatever female you could con into going out in public with you) came into the store and I was disappointed to see that you have added a third child to your brood. The woman pushed your two dirty-faced little boys in one cart and you pushed another cart with the baby carrier balanced on the toddler seat. I greeted you politely, as I do all customers. You didn’t even look at me. Maybe you can hold a grudge.

I rang up customers for awhile, and then there was a lull. I noticed you and your family in Aisle 3, the candy and baking supplies aisle. I saw you grab a three-pack of Dentyne Ice chewing gum from the top shelf. You looked at it for a brief second before it slipped out of your hand. It fell to the tile floor. And then it happened.

I expected you to pick up the gum and toss it on top of the butterscotch discs. Their box is much larger and entirely open-faced, not to mention on the bottom shelf. I didn’t expect you to put in the effort of replacing the package in the oh-so-complicated cardboard display it had been sitting in on the top shelf. And I certainly didn’t expect the flabbergasting, rage-inducing showcase of laziness that followed.

You didn’t pick up the gum at all. Instead, you kicked it under the shelf.

You kicked it. Under. The shelf.

This kind of behavior would’ve pissed me off if exhibited by a twelve-year old. But you, you’re (chronologically at least) an adult. Easily in your mid-twenties. You (sadly) have three children, for whom you are setting a fantastic example, you shithead.

For a moment, I stood staring in disbelief from my place at the cash register. I wanted to pick up the PA and say, “Attention shoppers, would the lazy piece of shit who just dropped the Dentyne in Aisle three please retrieve it from the shelf you kicked it under and put it back where it belongs like a civilized human being who can handle the plebeian task of grocery shopping? Oh, and while you’re at it, please get a damp paper towel or baby wipe or something and clean off the brownish paste of snot and macaroni and cheese that has been crusting on your poor son’s face since the last time you were here? Thank you, and have a pleasant day!”

But, since I am not a confrontational person, I let you and your brood meander a little further down the aisle, and then, still customerless, I marched down Aisle 3, and performed the ridiculously demanding chore of bending over, grabbing a weightless pack of gum, and putting it back on the shelf where it belonged. I hope you saw me. And if you did, I hope my motions were exaggerated enough and my glare reprimanding enough that you got my point. When it came time for you to check out, you came into my line and I greeted you with the same sunny, “Hello!” that I issue to all of my customers. Missing from my greeting was the customary, “How are you?” Because I know how you are. Lazy. Laaaazy. Disgustingly lazy. And oh, yeah—I hate you.

Sincerely,

Kyleigh