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Don't be a fucker


It's been a hot minute since I was on here and wrote you a little tune! When I first started this blog I was gung-ho to bring you hot content every month or so, but here we are 5 months between our last blog. Shit.


I came to a conclusion. Why write anything unless I know it's worth it's salt? Writers block is a real, true thing and as of late dealing with some work related stresses, I've had it bad! Then I thought, "Hey! Why not just be transparent and write about exactly what's on my mind?" I figure, either you'll like it and I'll keep you on the hook for a few more months until I can word vomit out another blog, or you hate it.

Even if you hate it, you've come this far... why stop now?


Transparency it is!


I work in a customer service industry. I have built a sweet little brick and mortar retail boutique that I love dearly. Customer service is my jam and has served me well throughout my career and I owe it my livelihood. As much as I appreciate those wonderful customers that support my little slice of retail heaven, I have also noticed certain customers are the reason I want to crawl into a corner and cry. Certain customers are the reason I go home and drink in excess, and certain customers are the reason I utter to myself 92 times a day, "Don't be a fucker."


Don't be a fucker. This is a sentiment I not only manifest for those certain customers, but also for myself, as I too have fucker tendencies. Fuckery is a two way street and I am equally as fuckered as some of the most fuckered of fuckers that I've dealt with. Let me be clear about something. I willingly and freely chose this line of work. I love everyone who is not a fucker (an un-fucker, if you will). They are the ones that make my world go round and it's because of all the wonderful un-fucker's I encounter daily, that dealing with the fucker's isn't so bad. So for that, I thank you!




But who are the fuckers? Where do they come from? Genetics? Or is this fuckery an evolved trait? Humans as a race have somehow managed to evolve past the point of Darwin's laws of natural selection effecting us, and it's scary.


Once at the zoo, a child confidently informed me that tiger's would be laying their eggs soon. Correction from parents? Nope. They were beaming with pride for their little nincompoop. Now, if Natural Selection still applied to human kind, that child would presumably grow into an adult, touch an electrical sign that clearly states "Danger! High Voltage! Do Not Touch!", and die. Natural Selection prevails! Well, not anymore. Now, that child bypasses natural selection and grows into an adult named Chad. Chad pops the collars on his Ed Hardy shirts. Chad wears white sunglasses at the gym. Chad leaves the size sticker on his flat brimmed hat and Chad will always "pay you back, bro" when he smokes all your weed and drinks your last 6 pack without asking.


Chad's a fucker.


Chad's are generally raised by Karen's. Karen tries to sue the companies with "Danger! High Voltage!" signs. Karen always shops with expired coupons. Karen smells like the Shopper's Drug Mart perfume aisle and Karen always wants to speak to the manager.


Karen is also a fucker.


Karen and Chad have both managed to secure their immortality and Darwin has no power over them. Common-sensically (did I just make that word up?), we as a society are clearly doomed.


Now I know how this looks. I sound like I am sitting on a pretty high horse over here, being all Judgy-Pants McGee. And yes, I totally am judging. BUT in my defense, I can judge Karen and Chad because I too, am not immune to the plight of fuckery. I can't do simple math, I often panic about having lost my phone, while I am holding it and I didn't believe in owls until I was 16. I could go on. I am a disaster. The difference though? I know I am an idiot.


I am an idiot, but I also try really hard to be kind to those who are out there just trying to make a living by serving ass hats like me. I try to be kind, but I know I am not always. When kindness is due and I don't comply, karma almost always comes around and bites me in the tit. I'm also very aware that kindness is not always warranted. Sometimes you just need to open up a can of whoop ass. Sometimes, not always. Should "needing to whoop ass" be a regular occurrence in your life, it might be time to check your common denominators. Spoiler alert, you might be a fucker.


So, let's try to not be jerks when we don't have to be.

There are enough Karen's and Chad's out there already.


Let's not be fuckers.


How's that for transparency?




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