I am the sharp dressed shit-shoveler with the sexy stoneface. Welcome to my real world and join the rampage. Valued customer, did I ever tell you how much I hate you and your shopping order? You may have wronged me or smiled and never crossed me. Maybe I didn't like the way you look. Most likely, we've never met and I damn sure like it that way. This is the Mad Cashier reminding you that humanity is contemptible and it's dragging down us all. Allow me to elucidate with this joyfully fulminating litany of hatred.

I took my meds and left the knife at home, what more do you want? I'm capable of being happy and jovial, but y'all won't let me drink on the job. That's me in the hat bagging groceries for the tasteless and the hopeless. Surely some of them are great people and keen minds, but I don't give a damn. I keep checking my Timex and popping pills because I can't stand you, them, or anybody.

Management counsels me about my lack of people skills, but nobody knows which screws I've got loose. I've got a natural stoneface; people think I'm pissed even when I'm feeling good. I didn't mean to suggest that you screw off but I'm glad you did. Maybe I need therapy, but you should get liposuction and a clue.

At my first retail job I became born again disgruntled, infamous for angering customers and known by the closing shift as a master fulminator. Some people think I should be more positive, but I know how foolish that would be. Sure I'm a pessimist, but they must be living in a dreamworld rather than reality.

I'm well-adjusted in my own way, particularly when I'm fighting through acid reflux to chug down a magnum. You know what else brings me joy? Petting kittens and telling humanity to kiss my crazy white ass.

Intoxication is the spice of life and vitriol is all I know. I've been laying down invective since 2001, punch-typing the truth to loud music while I'm getting drunk. I write for a limited audience because this is what I am and I don't care who doesn't like it. Candor doesn't appeal to many folks, but they're just collateral damage.

Article Author: Joe Harris

Joe Harris is a disgruntled writer with an affinity for loud music and paisley ties. The misanthropic fulminator enjoys sarcasm but has a tolerance for little else than alcohol. A veteran supermarket flunkie who abhors customers, Harris copes with the tedium of menial labor by brooding on the job. …

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