It’s a warm bank holiday afternoon, the sun is shining in a cloudless sky, children are smiling and life doesn’t seem agonisingly crushing as it was the day before. You have three days off work, you don’t have to pretend to like your boss and you can finally take a break from Karen in accounting showing you pictures of her ugly cats.
You get up, much later than normal have a lazy breakfast and decide it would be a good idea to go to the town for some shopping, a spot of lunch and a late afternoon coffee.
That’s how the bank holiday goes for most people, but when one suffers through the unrewarding servitude that is retail and hospitality, one might feel a little…mass murder-y than normal.
I am not entirely sure if it is a change in temperature, a coming full moon or a strange planetary happening that only occurs on bank holidays, but I have found that my daily arseholes now come with an extra helping of dickhead.
I am a true believer that people seem to automatically reset when their time off exceeds two days. Much like a standby button. They revert to their most basic forms of human interaction and intelligence and are therefore unable to compete simple tasks such as putting their rubbish in the bin.
Quick tip. When I shout out ‘Large caramel latte, wet with cream and chocolate drizzle for Steve…’ I am not lying to you, it really is a large caramel latte, wet with cream and chocolate drizzle for Steve. You don’t have to repeat the order back to me with a disbelieving glare, like I have just handed you a cup of steaming vomit.
There is a certain quality that people seemed to misplace most days of the week. This quality is almost non-existing when it comes to the bank holidays. I speak of course of patience. Let me get one thing straight. If you have just ordered your drink and food, don’t assume it will be on the bar waiting for you the second you walk away from the till. Food does take time to cook, your drink does take time to make and no I cannot make it go faster. I am not a god, I cannot change the laws of physics. If you want you’re cheese toastie to cook faster, please go throw it in a fire like the fucking neanderthal you are and stop wasting my time.
Also, people who order a wet Cappuccino. Get out. Get out now. You’re an idiot and it’s no wonder no one loves you.
I will admit, that most of these ‘super arseholes’ do come in the form of a middle-aged woman or a bald man trying desperately to hold on to his youth. Normally surround by the hordes of their demonic offspring, who stomp their cake into the floor, spill their drinks and generally just be smaller arseholes.
So please, when your enjoying your time off from the enslavement that is adulthood.
Don’t Be a dickhead.