The only one who could ever teach me . . .
Real-life wank is a FANTASTIC substitute for online fandom, let me tell you.

Now, the "customers_suck" community over on LiveJournal is pretty inherently wanky: people go there to rant and rave about how much working retail blows, and, more specifically, commisserate with one another about their worst customers. There's a lot of bitching that occurs, some people are less tolerant and worthy of sympathy than others, yadda yadda, but one thing brings them all together, and that's a common bond for hating that disturbingly large aspect of the human race that goes shopping.

(Say it with me, now: "awwwww".)

Cue the wankage. The post starts out fairly complimentary, with the person calmly explaining that (s)he's a thirty-year-old minister (of what, nobody's really sure; he uses "shalom" at the end of his post, ...then talks about attending seven years of "bible College") who's spent half of his life working various retail jobs. The post then digresses into a (rather fittingly, I suppose) preachy vacillation about how customer service slobs are actually "servents" (most of the annoyed C_S-ers jumped on the "let's make fun of his spelling!" bandwagon right away) and how, after more than thirteen years of being "shit on, beaten on, insulted and used", he "cant remember a single one". Behold:

"I am a servent. I accepted that post a long time ago. And it is because I did not complain at cleaning up shit, taking odd shifts, complain about customers who were rude or short sighted, cleaning up vomit, helping old ladies fix thier bra's, or change in open places... because I always worked as hard as i could, and gave eerybody I met my full attention, wether they deserved it or not. Worked alone every night for weeks on end in the Worlds largest holder of strange people, cut hair for people who smelt bad, and learned everything I could from every single person... I accepted marriage propasals from drunk men I did not know, when I could find that elusive Christmas present, under ten dollers, that thier mother just had to have, I tended to those who had been robbed, and were sure it was my fault, and I have talked with little old ladies on the phone for an hour, who couldnt get my name right, and were sure that they left thier earings in our store, when really, they hadnt bought any in the first place. I have been slapped, hit on, stalked, and insulted.

Yet, I cannot remember detials, nor do I find that any of it stays with me really at all. I learn what I can, and move on."

Yeah, we get it, Mr. Holier-Than-Thou; you're better than us, and I'm willing to bet your dick is bigger, too. May God Allah be with you.

Oh, and the REAL stinger? Here's the icon Preacher Man (or The Creator's Childe, as he calls himself) uses in his tidings of good will and even better customer service: