Editing software shutdown.

At work I can't say what I want because it would scare people away. I think because I am so patient is the reason why I can stand it. You develop this other you for work you know? This other me, he smiles for no reason and apologizes often for things he has no control over to make people happy. When people yell at him for things beyond his control he has to listen to them rant.

But sometimes, especially at the end of the day, my editing software shuts down, having been used all day at work, and the real me is released upon the general public--the unedited, unadulterated 100% pure me; I have no editing software left.

I walked into Kragen and was looking for an oil filter for my car. This other customer up front starts huffing and sighing until finally he walks up to me.

"Hey, I been waiting up there for 5 minutes."

"Bummer," I said returning to my wall of oil filters. I had no idea what he wanted with me.

"Bummer? Get up there and do your thing, you little shit," he said while holding a chrome exhaust tip in one hand and a gallon of Dodge transmission fluid in the other.

"I don't know what your problem is man, but you are invading my space. Back off," I said firmly. I turned to face him.

"What the hell? Wait until your manager hears abut this--Brian. I been coming here for years. I am a customer!" he said raising his voice.

"So am I!" I said raising my voice higher than I expected. He immediately looked at me anew, looking down his glasses and wiry mustache to see me. I pointed to the company name on the shirt which was not Kragen.

"Oh. Uh, sorry, I though you were an employee."

"Yeah, I get it, now piss off."

"I'm really sorry," he said backing away before turning around to wait at the register.

I found my oil filter the same time the Kragen employee returned from the back room and followed him to the register, where I stood next to the other customer. His face had lost some color, and even though it was darkish outside his sunglasses were on. He had his credit card out and it was trembling in his fingers. He was very uncomfortable, I know because I read people for a living. I know when they are comfortable and likely to buy or when they are not. This guy was completely uncomfortable. And as the employee, the real employee mind you, unlocked the register the man gestured to me.

"I'll buy that for you, go ahead and put it on the conveyor belt," he said with a warm smile. I disliked him a lot more here because the smile was completely fake, and well faked at that. His sunglasses couldn't hide the guilt in his voice. I could have taken his money here, all $4.78 of it. But I wanted him to feel guilty. I wanted him to go home and tell his wife how bad he felt he screwed up, to get some acid indigestion, impotence, cold sores and diarrhea, lose sleep over it and perhaps look at people in the future before being such a prick.

"No thanks. I got this," I said. I watched his smile fade, enjoyed it in fact. He surprised us all by simply walking out without his stuff.

"Sir?" The employee said/called/asked.

"He is leaving. He thought I worked here and he yelled at me to ring him up."

"Oh shit, sorry."

"It's not your fault man, the dude's a deutch."

"Was that a negative customer experience?" He asked. I knew this tone too, used it myself in fact, he was probing.

"It might have been," I said, offering him the needed words.

"Well if it was, we'd be happy to give that oil filter and a case of oil to you to in some way make up for the negative experience."

"Oh, well, if you insist," I said.

"I do. Now have a good night," he said. And I did not, I had to take a stop to applebee's.

I was walking in to get a gift card for my Uncle who loves the place and this frumpy lady and her husband and their friends call out to me as I walk by.

"Hey! Aren't you going to take our orders?"

"Psh. No. Why would I do that?"

"Cause we are starving? How about that? Good enough reason for you? Geez." She said looking to her friends in disbelief and encouragement.

"I dont care that you are starving," I said.

"Wha--? What is your name?" The tone of this question made me hate her instantly. What follows is usually "I want o talk to your manager." No matter how customers say it the tone is identical, knowing no racial or linguistic barriers.

"My name?" Why would they want my name, I wondered?

"It's written on his shirt Becca," said one of her friends. They all started to look for my name on my shirt.

"I don't work here you idiots," I said when I figured out what they were carrying on about.

"What? You expect us to believe that?"

"I don't care what you believe. Jesus. Wait your turn like everybody else. And stop being so damn annoying." And I started to walk passed them. When one of them saw that it was true, that I didn't work there, she told the rest of them. And they quickly said, "Oh. Oops," and then very nasally they added, "Sorry." Then they asked if anybody knew and started murmuring about it until finally they got up and left.

Fucking people, what can you do?

END