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Location: Vancouver

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I'm sorry -- you still look like a fucking kid, and the government of British Columbia says that fucking kids aren't supposed to be drinking so that's why I've IDed you. What -- do you think that it's OBVIOUS you've just turned 19 and I should just be able to tell? Well, sorry, I can't. So don't roll your eyes at me and sigh heavily when you reach for your cards. My job is on the line.Why can't you believe it? That's what my bosses tell me to ask for, so I ask for it. It's plastered everywhere: right when you walk in, on drink displays, and at every cash register. So, yes, I want TWO pieces of ID. No, your gym membership is not government ID! GODDAMMIT DON'T ROLL YOUR EYES AT ME.What are you, some kind of serial environmental offender? What really kills me are the assholes who buy a PLASTIC bottle (virtually unbreakable), then want the plastic bottle in a paper bag, then want the plastic bottle in a paper bag in a plastic bag, then want a double plastic bag for their plastic bottle in a paper bag in a plastic bag. The best is when people catch me giving them a sour look and they say, "I'm taking the bus." Really. Does that make it better?Smiling isn't in my job description. The line up is HUGE. I'm just putting my head down and trying to plow down as MANY PEOPLE AS POSSIBLE IN AS LITTLE TIME AS POSSIBLE SO YOU CAN ALL GO HOME AND DRINK FASTER. Speed requires concentration; when I concentrate I don't smile, so don't ask me to fucking smile when I'm already trying to be as fast as possible for you.Generally happens about once or twice a busy weekend -- someone hammered (or weird) comes in and really wants to touch my hair. I know my hair tends to look fabulous, but just because I'm within arm's reach doesn't give you the right to maul my locks. Look, compliment, but don't touch!Chewing gum, too. Okay -- I can accept that being irritated by chewing gum is a problem that I ought to keep to myself, but cell phones? Now that I've worked as a cashier I understand how intensely rude it is to be on your cell while going through the checkout. Just get off that damned cancer pod you've got glued to your ear and provide a little respect to the cashier. Once I had a lady refuse to acknowledge me because she was yakking on her cell, but then had the nerve to exclaim, "I just guess they don't do anything around here anymore!" when I pretended not to hear her asking for a bag.Okay -- so you wanna check your receipt because you seem to believe that I have incorrectly rung up ONE OR TWO ITEMS. But move on -- don't stand in the way of the next customer and, seriously, does it take a full 30 seconds of INTENSE FOCUS to understand your receipt? You're clearly an idiot, so get out already!Being able to hear your idiot babble all the way from the other side of the store means that you're being too damned loud. I feel sorry for all the people within 30 feet of you, let alone 100. Groups like this generally have me bolting for the warehouse.Oh, you own a restaurant? It's ever-so-popular, is it? Well, my! I'm sorry I didn't know who you were right away, because clearly you're VERY IMPORTANT because you own a restaurant. Now I have to ring the WHOLE THING through again because you didn't have the foresight to tell me who you were. Sorry for wasting your VERY IMPORTANT time.Listen, buddy, that 72 cents of change you really wanna hand me while staring deep into my eyes does not impress. I'm not allowed to accept tips anyways. So don't try to tip me -- I don't like it, I have to say no, it's awkward. No, you can not have my number because you gave me 72 cents.Ugh, yeah, back to the ID thing. Listen -- I'm sorry you're 30-something and you don't look under 19 anymore. Really, I think people are beautiful at all ages. Don't worry about it! Just be gorgeous the way you are. But I still don't need to see your ID, so please stop shoving it at me. It just makes you look really desperate, especially in front of your friends.----------------------------Anyways, don't get me wrong -- there are a great many things I love about my job. It pays well, my coworkers are pretty colourful, and the job tends to protect my safety and human dignity pretty damned well. When it's notthen it's a dream job. There's even a great many kinds of customers that I do love -- I just love bitching about the ones I hate more. :P