Sunday, October 24, 2004

Today I fired someone. I didn't enjoy the experience. Don't get me wrong, I have no problem with firing an employee for bad work performance, but I am bothered when a forty-something adult male begins blubbering like a baby. At least he waited till the end of the auction to break down.

My help continues to amaze me, and the alien overlords, with their ineptitude. In over thirty auctions we haven't been able to balance the books once. Usually, we are under thirty or forty dollars, but today we mysteriously came ahead eighty or so bucks. Dad was pleased with the result and ignored my very apt point: Our cashier continues to improperly tally the sale total, which is costing us (meaning you) money. Habitual mistakes, whether "good" or bad" in nature, signify a serious problem. Of course, he ignored me and when I tried to stress my point, he called Bob an ass. I should fire everyone, including myself.

However, the real highlight of today wasn't the blubbering ex-employee or math challenged cashier; I had the pleasure of dealing with the biggest cunts, ever. Now, I know what you are saying, "Biggest cunts, ever? Surely, you are exaggerating about the size of their vaginal cavities." Well, I am not. This mother and daughter duo are know as Canyon Grande and Canyon Almost As Grande As Fat-Ass Mother's.

Orifice sizes aside, my real problem with the girls were their rude behavior towards father and me.

Incident number one appeared very innocuous in nature. I was speaking with an elderly couple about the results of their auction the week before. Since their combined ages were nearing 190 and an auction was taking place while we were talking, I found it necessary to speak very loudly. Throughout the conversation I heard a shhhhh sound emanating from directly behind us. By the time I finished speaking with the couple the shhhh was drowning out my voice and the auctioneer's. I turned around to see the origin of the shrill shhhhh; low and behold, I spied the two cavernous sluts.

Incidents two and three dealt with the same problem: Dad's inability to write upcoming instead of next. He chose not to sell a Longaberger basket in the auction because there were several consigned already and he didn't want to overload the sale with bored housewife fodder. Now, in the previous auction he did have the basket in question on a shelf marked "Next Auction." He apologized for his apparent mistake but the gaping holes didn't take kindly to his rationale and stomped off--I believe they went to sacrifice a cow. Shortly thereafter, I attempted to soothe the savage beasts, but it was to no avail. In unison--as if they shared the same malignant tumor-- they bellowed, "It is false advertising. It is false advertising. You can't do this. Blah, blah, blah, we voted for Nader, blah, blah." I looked at them for a few moments, shook my head and promptly walked away.

I related the experience to one of my employees who responded, "They are fucking cunts. They think they are better than us. Fucking cunts." I smiled and applauded his astute observation.
It is good to know that I have one good employee, at least.

Go to Hell