I Don’t Think So, Miss Daisy

Yesterday was hysterical. HY-STER-I-CAL! Not in a funny, haha sort of way, but in a people sure got a bunch of damn nerve sort of way.

I was at work. I was outside behind the building unloading the truck. There had already been some drama because it was a new driver and he didn’t know how to pull into the back properly. He blocked traffic for a moment while he was trying to get in. Some guy got out of his car and started yelling at the driver. LOL. Really. You’re going to start a fight with a guy driving a semi; a big hunk of metal that could squash your car like a bug if it wanted to

Anyway, some lady had called up and TOLD us that she wanted some boxes. Not ask. Demand.
Sure lady, we’ll have some out back after we unpack stuff.

Outside? You mean they’re not going to be inside?

Ummm, that would be a big fat no. Strike one.

So, she shows up. Backing her car all up in our workspace like she owns the place. Strike two.

Then, she has the unmitigated gall to tell us to get a feather duster, or something and clean off the boxes because they were dusty and dirty. STRIKE THREE!

Oh hell no Miss Thing. Unh uh. I ain’t pickin’ your cotton. If you want some pretty boxes then you need to…

Get in your damn car and drive on down to the Home Depot and BUY SOME!

This is not the Charity Express.

It is 105 degrees with the heat index and there is not way I am going to put up with anybody’s entitled shenanigans.

Anyway, Dylan cleaned off her boxes AND loaded them in her car. He’s 29. He’s still a baby. He hasn’t gotten a lot of footprint marks all over his back yet.

Or maybe he’s just nice and I’m not.


Categories: The Bob Files

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