Good afternoon, and welcome to Midweek Mayhem, the place where we get to talk about anything and everything, now with the prospect of renewed optimism because “he is risen.”
After months of self-imposed exile, I have recently re-activated my facebook account. Thank you joni, for your immediate kind words of encouragement by the way.
To be honest, I really don’t know why I have a facebook account.
For one thing, I’m not really sure what the bloody thing does – aside from making constant demands upon one’s time and energy to keep the thing updated. “What are you thinking right now?” it demands. How the f**k should I know? I can’t even remember how I got here.
And then you get these “friend requests” from complete strangers wanting to become your friend. Either that or Facebook kindly interrupts you to suggest “so and so might make a good friend for you..” WHY? Because they’re a dysfunctional sociopathic alcoholic drug-f**ked freak?? Or worse still… a Mormon?
And then your email box gets clogged with endless facebook notifications – “so and so has just written on your wall,” “the guy down the road has commented on your status,” “the girl upstairs has left you a cigar..”
Somehow I suspect this re-activation may be short lived.
In much the same way as a few years ago, I ended up smashing my Palm Pilot to smithereens with a sledge hammer screaming “Give Me Back My Life…!!”
Anyway, this week’s Midweek Mayhem features a Guest Post from Sharp Ross of BrisVegas…Mister Ross Sharp..!!
(Warning: this post features language that some wowsers might find offensive)
The following is a “take” on bank service fees if such fees were applied to other types of retail outlets. If you like it and think it suitable for Blogocrats, feel free to post it. Hope you all had a nice Easter break.
YOU’VE BEEN SERVED.
By Ross Sharp
One morning at the department store …
“Can you tell me how much this fine pair of Egyptian cotton pillowcases will cost less the discount?”
“Can you tell me how …”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“In order for me to serve you and respond to your inquiry, I shall be needing a payment in advance of $2.50.”
“Yes, sir. Service fee.”
“What the f**k are you talking about, service fee?”
“Don’t cuss at me, sir, or I shall be compelled to call security which will incur a further cost to yourself for inconveniences rendered.”
“Sir. Many people enter this fine establishment on a daily basis. However, not everyone will make a purchase. Only a minority will do that. People come here, they mooch and mope about, they paw at the merchandise, they bother the staff with stupid questions and off they flounce leaving us with bugger all to show for our efforts. We’ve supplied them with comfortable surrounds, air-conditioning, heating, lovely carpeting and floorboards, coordinated colour schemes and absolutely spiffing displays of great artistic integrity, many of which defy the laws of physics. Not to mention a fine selection of unobtrusive tunes piped through a ridiculously expensive network of small speakers, courtesy of Bose Acoustics who, if I may say, are not exactly cheap, unlike some … If. You. Get. My. Drift. Sir. And then, there are the toilets and the people who have to clean the toilets. Toilets for people to p*ss and sh*t in, if p*ssing and sh*tting while one is shopping is something one needs to do, though why such people do not go before they come here continues to confound me. And, most of the time, they don’t even bother to lift the seat, the filthy little grommets. We do not provide these porcelain pretty things for people to just wander in off the bloody street in a bloody daze and shoot smack into their bloody eyeballs, only to lurch out again without so much as a buy or leave. That was a play on words, sir. Buy or leave. Did you get that?”
“Yes, I got th-”
“So. In order to respond to your inquiry as to the cost of the Egyptian pillowcases less the advertised discount, you must pay me a service fee of $2.50 so that I may render you some service, and we, a store that exists in order to … Make. Money … May cover the costs of providing gentle men and women such as yourself with a pleasant environment in which to shop. Or not. What-ever. Understand?”
“I’ll work it out myself then. I’m not paying two bucks fifty for the dubious privilege of being snarled at by the likes of you.”
“Ha! Work it out yourself? No. I don’t think so. You’ll pay the fee.”
“What makes you so sure, smart-a*se?”
“You’re an Australian, sir. Yes, you’ll whine and you’ll whinge and you’ll bitch and you’ll moan and you’ll carry on like a kitten in a blender. You’ll write a letter to the bloody editor of a broadsheet or ring up a radio talk show to complain and demand that something be done. You’ll email Get-Up and try to get a petition started. You’ll sit up the pub with a mate and indulge yourself in some righteous outrage, at length, and you’ll go on an on and on and bloody on and, at the conclusion of it all, you’ll do nothing more but shrug your shoulders and mutter, “Ah, what can you do, eh? Your shout.”, and that will be the end of it. You’ll roll over and take it like a closeted conservative in an airport toilet. You gutless f**king wonder.”
“I will work it out myself, you supercilious little twat! Watch … The price here is … $32.95. No. Wait. There’s another sticker here. $37.95. Which one is … which one is the disc-?“
“Two and a half bucks, c*ckhead.”
“If it’s $37.95 … the discount is 18%. That’s … what kind of a discount is that? 18%. Why can’t you make it an even twenny? Or fifteen?”
“Two bucks fifty, Einstein.”
“Your mother’s a five buck whore.”
“10% is $3.79. Or $3.80 if you round up. That’s … um … $37.95 less $3.80 … Thirty four … FIFTEEN!”
“8% to go, dicky boy.”
“8% … Um. Well, 5% is half of $3.80. That’s … $1.50 plus thirty cents. No! Forty cents! That’s $1.90. Thirty four fifteen less one ninety … is … is … Do you have a piece of paper?”
“Public school education, was it?”
“But is the price $32.95 or $37.95? The pre-discount pri-”
“Two bucks, fifty cents, sh*thead.”
“I … I’LL GO TO ANOTHER STORE!”
“Oh, pleeeeeeeease do! There’s one on Level 3! And they charge $2.75! And they’re not having a sale on fine Egyptian pillowcases right now, are they?! NO! THEY ARE NOT! I know … Why don’t you try K-MART!? More your style anyway, from the look of you. DON’T. YOU. THINK?! Mr. 100-thread Polyester-Blend?!”
“Do they have a charge?”
“Two bucks ten.”
“Here. Take it. You utter, utter prick.”
“Thank you very much, sir. Now, $32.95 less 18% discount comes to … $27.02, rounded down, $27.00 even. Cash or charge, sir?
“Plastic or paper?”
“That’ll be plastic, then. Fifty cent charge for plastic … $27.50.”
“I hope you die.”
“It’s been such a pleasure, sir. Do come again.”
“I hope you die of cancer.”
“And have a nice day.”
“Up yours. Where are these toilets you mentioned?”
“Five bucks?! … Sh*t!!”
“Number two’s are ten.”