The Imaginary Death of a Salesman

I hate my job. Now, I'm not too thrilled about working in general, but the reason I hate this job so much is simple: I despise people. They're rude, they're foul-smelling, and now I even have to talk to them and put up with all their poison and filth in order to earn money. It's degrading, it is. Of course I mention this only because I had my first headbutt with a tremendously moronic customer (or not, as it were) tuesday. He was pill-poppingly angry at me for some reason, and as such proceeded to yell at me and call me names. Boo hoo. Well, here's what I couldn't say on the phone, but would have loved to:

Dear Moronic Customer: First of all, learn to speak in such a way that people will be able to understand what you are saying. Second, shut the fuck up. I understand that you're confused and have trouble interacting with other human beings, I just don't care. If you're so miserable you have to unload on people doing their job, maybe you should consider getting a divorce. Or a cat if you're single, which I very much suspect is the case. Either way, here's a tip on dealing with people selling you stuff you don't want: Just Say No (Actually, this I did say on the phone). It makes your life easier, and it sure as hell makes me less destructive. (End of rant)

The other day I saw a "Non-stop Delivery" car stopping at a red light, and found it amusing.