Me, My Temper, and I

Disclaimer: I get violent when I'm angry. If you're faint of heart or weak of stomach, stop here. If you're eating... you should still probably stop here.

If you've heard read my rants about Wal-Mart, stupid people, and other things that make me angry, you probably have a decent idea of what my temper is like. From what I understand, Irish girls usually have a quick temper that burns hot enough to strike fear into the heart of any man... and certain National Parks. That stereotype might have gotten started by one of my ancestors.

Tonight, for instance, I had to leave work fifteen minutes early to ensure that I did not eviscerate a customer. (Mind you, eviscerating her would have been one hell of a job. She was at least three times my girth.)

All the same, when a morbidly obese woman waddles up to the customer service desk and demands to know why we don't have more cashiers, then curses and informs me the best method of doing somebody else's job before stalking and jiggling off, it's really hard not to kill her. If I did kill her, here's how I would have done it...

I think my implement of choice would have been a very dull, very rusty spoon, but I didn't have many of those on hand. A pen or box-cutter would have sufficed. I would have slashed and stabbed my way through all of her kin until I reached my true victim. Binding her wrists and ankles, I would have flayed her blubbery ass alive and stretched her bloody skin across the entrance to the service desk. I would have ground her eyes, heart and teeth into a bloody paste, which I would then use to paint "FUCK OFF" across her hide. I would make sure that the remaining organs were full of holes, to ensure that nobody would salvage them and perpetuate such flawed DNA. Then I would have clocked out and flipped off every customer between my car and myself. Lastly, just to put the metaphorical cherry on top, I would go find somebody's chihuahua and run the little bastard over... Gawd, I hate those dogs.

~Le sigh.~ I feel better, now. It's just really, really crappy to be treated like dirt and yelled at for something that's not my fault! It's not even in my power to change! It's not in anyone's power to change! What are we supposed to do? Yank out cashiers' fingernails until they agree to work overnights? Jesus, people! If you want more cashiers at Wal-Mart at almost 10 at night, take the job yourself! Otherwise, keep your bloody mouth shut. Fifteen minutes in a line is not going to kill you...

I should find an anger management class, instead of taking my rage out on chairs that I find by a dumpster... Poor chair never hurt anybody before... Never will, now that I'm done with the damn thing...