Asshats Of The World

The sun has been shining, the temperature has been around 60. A beautiful November day. Something had to fuck it up.
I decide to go to Best Buy to try and find Midway Arcade Treasures during lunch. Now, I had been of mixed faith about the Best Buy on 23rd & 6th; for weeks they had been fucking with me by not getting anything in on the release date, or not having what I wanted in. Luckily, the service staff has mostly been nice to me, including going to the back without me asking to check if they have things in stock. This is how I got Manhunt on Friday, so I was certainly on the “pleased” side of things when I went in today.
But when I went to the video game section, my arch-nemesis was working. You know the type – greasy shoulder length black hair, a little pimply, completely unconcerned with anyone in the department, and completely inept.
I walked to the PS2 section. I see that there are no copies located by the sign for MAT. I check the “front display”, there’s nothing there either. I sigh and approach the Greaseball.
Me: Do you have any more copies of Midway Arcade Treasures for the PS2?
Note the key word in this phrase: More. Implying that there aren’t any there. So what does the kid do? HE WALKS PAST ME AND LOOKS TO SEE IF THERE ARE ANY ON THE SHELF. Then he turns to me, shakes his head, and gives me a big shiteating grin.
I storm off towards lunch at – you guessed it – Boston Market. It had been almost a week since our fateful play, and I walk in and – like the gods are against me – there’s the same fucking inept girl trying to take my order again. I was ordering for Ian as well:
Me: I need a grilled chicken sandwich and a meatloaf sandwich.
Her: *blank stare* What?
Her: *goes over to the carver, says something quietly*
Carver: WHAT?
Me: I am not having deja vu at all.
Her: *comes back over* One more time?
Me: I need a grilled chicken breast sandwich and a double sauced meatloaf sandwich. Please.
Her: *back over to the carver*

By this point, I have learned my lesson, and just begin yelling instructions right at the carver. He is much appreciative, as am I to be able to get my food without resorting to homicide.
And as I’m walking back to the office, you can’t help but notice that it’s a little bit darker and that the wind is blowing enough to make you button up your coat.
Yes, the asshats of the world are to blame for it all.