Sorry married man in a mini-van, but Scandal got you all messed up

And as adventures in Wonderland go, today was the first time I've ever had a customer be this stupid.

Mr. Miami Married man was sitting in the waiting area of Wonderland and all I did was offer him a cup of coffee. Next thing I know, he's asking if I'm married, if I have kids and all kinds of questions that have absolutely nothing to do with the product sold at Wonderland.

He said he didn't come to buy anything. Was getting something fixed on a product he'd already purchased. He goes on to say that he's married with four kids. Great. Good. I'm looking for a manager or somebody to call me to do an inane task. Nope.

His product is ready. He asked for a business card. This was the first time that I regretted having my cell phone number on that thing.

Here comes the text messages:

Him: Hey beautiful. Pleasure meeting you.
Me: You as well. Hope you have a great rest of your weekend. (Trying to keep it professional!)
Him: Looking forward to seeing you again. Let me know if you would enjoy that.

Now, I love Scandal. But never in my life have I wanted that fiction to become my reality. And let's be real, there was nothing attractive about you and the fact that you're a bartender on a side of town that I never ever hang out on means I won't see you unless you bring your product back in here. Hopefully, you'll bring your wife too.

I'm doing my job, why are you worried about it?

I do my job at Wonderland, even if I don't like it.
Would I rather be writing, hell yes.

But today was one of those Fridays where I said, I'm going to work to work. I'm not going to let the little rats called coworkers bother me today.

I put on my suit and tie —cause I can rock a suit and tie just like JT when I want to — came in and hit the phones.

So, I got a customer to come in and pick up a product. I get the product ready and Little Bookman is skulking around. He asked the manager if I'm selling that product. WTF do you think?

Then, I'm talking to my manager about another customer and who comes to stand at the door, needing nothing, just being nosy? You got it, Mr. Poodle. If these stupid sacks of skin spent more time doing their jobs, they wouldn't have to worry about what I'm doing and why I'm a big bag of awesome and they are not!

Could it be? I have a real life hater

Some times it pays to be nice. I was nice today and found out Mr. Poodle is a real life hater —and I'm not even Obama.

While I may hate Wonderland, I do my work. And I work on my laptop.

Mr. Poodle to the manager that I'm sitting over here writing about. Nah, fool I'm blogging about the lot of you. You lazy, deranged smelly bastard.

See, Mr. Poodle has a laptop as well, he sits on Facebook all day, calls himself publishing a magazine that NO ONE has ever seen and he doesn't do his work. This fuck-face is old enough to be my daddy or Jody.

The old me would drop super glue in his seat accidentally on purpose. But, I'm just going to hit him with some flea powder.

Really? The Wonderland blood drive

So, they're trying to do a good thing at Wonderland today. There's this blood drive.
Yay. Let's save some lives.

However, I can't and don't understand why Ms. Blondie walked in the door and asked, do I sign in with you. Clearly there is huge man in all red sitting at a table with a bunch of blood drive information on it. I'm sitting in front of a computer.
I have on all black because I'm in mourning since I still work here.

I'm not in the mood for this.

There's a sign at work that says excuses are for losers

Then my managers must be the biggest losers in America.

All I hear are excuses and see the finger pointed at me.

Here's a finger:

Sing it 2Pac! 

You know that one co-worker . . .

• You know that one co-worker you'd rather hit with a brick than say hello to
• You know that one co-worker who you smell before you see
• You know that one co-worker who has been doing your job for a shorter time than you but knows every damn thing
• You know that one co-worker who's breath smells like he ate a diarrhea sandwich with a side of shit fries. 

It's too early for this. And by the way, Happy Saturday. 

Oh, but I'm wrong?

In Wonderland, you're supposed to smile and nod. Be happy when you've been pissed for months because you've been lied to by management, you work hard and people who don't do a damned thing gets rewards.

Sometimes you snap.

Sometimes was today.

I was having a conversation with a manager and Little Bookman gets all up in the middle of it. Bruh, no one is talking to you.  Seriously, I haven't said more than two words to you since July. Shut the hell up!

So, my manager said the words that a pissed off woman loves to hear: angry, black woman. Then Bookman laughed and hell was unleashed. Turned to Bookman and said: "Wasn't Nobody Talking to you!" 

And I know, this was horrible grammar, syntax and the like. 

So the manager tells me to come here, as if I was his teenaged daughter. 

I replied, "I am not your child and you won't talk to me as such!" Grammar back in tact. Then I walked into Wonderland and packed my shit. 

I didn't quit. 

Unfortunately, I'll be there in the morning.