That’s it. I’m done. I’m over you fucks. I will not waste another minute of another day asking you for beans, coleslaw, or potato salad. I no longer have to give a flying fuck about your wants. Take your exact change and shove it up your ass. So I do what every cashier in the world wants to do. I quit my job, burn my hat, and go do something worthwhile with my life.
PS We fucking hate you.
Bitch was so skinny she looked like her face was stretched.
Let them titties hang low.
You got a Texas ID yet the best you can pronounce pepsi is coca.
Bitches keep them ass shaped stomachs in your shirt.
“No beans at all.” So, not just a couple? You don’t want an individual bean? So, no beans at all. Got it. Cunt.
Congrats fat bitch, you just set fat bitches everywhere back with that big fest shirt.
Sorry bitch I’m not helping you because I’m training someone else to deal with your bitch ass.
Dumb bitch of the day:
“Can you wrap each half of the sandwich separately? It’s easier to eat on the plane…. PS Separate bags, we’re sharing.” PS We fucking hate you.
If you’re standing in front of a sign that says:
Then would you say “I’d like a receipt” is stupid?
I’m not a cranky cashier you stupid fucks all know with a smile. It doesn’t for one second change your illusions of grandeur, but if this was survival of the fittest, my smile would be the last one you ever see.
History Lesson
Okay, history lesson. Back a fuck ton of time ago, to when there were castles and shit, there was this earl of a place called Sandwich. Now everyone got their hands dirty eating meat because the only utensil was a knife. This guy, Earl of Sandwich, he’s sick of getting his hands greasy. So dude takes his meat and throws it between two pieces of bread. Dude beside him is like “What the fucks that?” and the Earl looks over at him and says “It’s a sandwich.” So everyone left the feast and started making sandwiches. Now that’s why it’s a sandwich. And that’s why you can’t have a sandwich without bread.
The same means the same.
Why the hell do you have a New Balance hat?
Dude’s shirt says snuggle bunny.
The same means the same. “I’ll take the same.”
Aww little girl, why punch holes in that pretty face?
I bet you’re a blast at the office Christmas party.
Dumb bitch of the day:
Me: Okay Caroline, if you’ll just wait right over there (indicates spot), I’ll call your name when your order’s ready.
Customer: So where do I wait? And you’ll call my name?
Dumb fuck of the day:
Customer: I want a combo.
Me: Okay. Do you want beans, coleslaw, or potato salad with that?
Customer: What sides can I get with the combo?
Me: I sell sides by 3oz.
Customer: Okay, I’ll take a quarter pound.
(Tune of “Do Your Ears Hang Low?”)
Do your tits hang low?
Do they wobble to and fro?
Do you kick ’em when you walk?
‘Cause they’re hangin’ at the floor.
There’s no such thing as a side of soda
I wonder if it’s the small tits that make bitches bitchy, or god knew they would be bitches so he gave ’em small tits.
So you two dumb bitches don’t like the choice of sides?
Okay you dumb cunt. You’re standing in front of my register, I greet you, and you shush me because you’re on the phone.
Okay, I’ve had three people in the last two days fuck this up, so here’s a hint: there’s no such thing as a side of soda.
“I ordered a tea. Can you make sure it’s not sweetened?” First, you ordered tea not a sweet tea. Second, if you ordered it and it was sweet, then you still ordered and paid for it bitch.
Okay, at this point, how the fuck can you not use a touch screen? I see senior citizens using the kiosk. You just can’t figure it out? Or you’re a lazy piece of shit? I’m going with the latter not the former.
Me: You want the brisket sandwich?
Customer: Yeah, I want the sliced brisket.
Me: Sandwich?
Customer: Yes. Can I have it on just one piece of bread?
Me: Yeah, I can do that.
Customer: It comes with bread right?
Me: It’s a sandwich.
I really love when I give the total amount and I’m met with a blank stare.
You’re a big man to have become a woman.
Stupid asian bitches. I wish y’all were in Hiroshima.
I really love when I give the total amount and I’m met with a blank stare.
Stupid cunt. Hold up my line for 10 minutes for potato salad. Stupid dockside whore.
Bitch, you’re 400lbs. You really worried about a brownie not being healthy?
I heard on the test to become a rocket scientist they give you a credit card and a credit card reader. Then if you can figure out how to make it scan you become a rocket scientist.
Customer: I want a chicken fajita dinner.
Me: I’m currently out of chicken fajita.
Customer: So I can’t have chicken fajita?
Customer 1: I want a potato.
Customer 2: I’ll take the exact same thing, but with pork and no sour cream or butter.
Customer: How much weight is a side of brisket?
Me: 3oz
Customer: Well how much is that?
There is nothing on earth as worthless as the fucker that only does the minimum at their job to get by, and just waits for someone to pick up the slack.
It makes my day to hear you’re never eating here again
You know you have a useless cook when they hold up a spatula and ask what it’s for.
Bitch you got an ulcer worryin’ and bitching’ about your ulcer.
Look, if you get all the shit on the side of your “stuffed potato,” it’s not a fuckin’ stuffed potato.
“I want it to go. We’re going on an airplane.”
Your cousin had to fuck your brother-dad to end up that fuckin’ ugly.
Listen bitch, it’s not my fault you managed to order a veggie sandwich with just cheese and olives.
How you gonna wear shit that says “Juicy” when you’re 90lbs soakin’ wet with rocks in your pockets?
Okay ladies, if you’re a bitch, feel free to open your sports capped bottle with your mouth. Ladies, don’t do this, you look like whores.
I am honestly saddened by the fact that I believe you when you say being asked for your ID’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to you.
Hey bitch, you know it makes my day to hear you’re never eating here again because of how rude I was.
“Do y’all got what’s in the picture?”
Dumb bitch of the day: “What’s in chopped brisket?”
“Do you offer sides without getting meat?”
“Do y’all got what’s in the picture?”
Thank god for low cut shirts and the women that wear them.
Bitch has a skinny head.
How do you become a fat skate boarder?
Why the fuck would you leave your drink with the cashier?
Customer: Do you have sweet tea?
Me: Only tea.
Customer: Well… I can sweeten it right?
See, if you don’t get what you asked for it’s because we’re not servants. We don’t have to do all your special shit. We only have to do our job.
If one more bitch tells me she’s getting on a plane with her food, I’ll remind the dumb bitch it’s an airport.
How do you end up with no social graces?
How do you end up with no social graces?
Every time I see a clown fish I think Nemo.
You dumb, dumb bitch.
If I only have two sizes of cups, how you gonna order an extra large?
Okay. I kinda get old people and tucking their shirts in their sweatpants, but you’re 20 something. Get a fuckin’ grip.
“Can I have a stuffed potato, but with the meat on the side? I don’t like anything touching.”
That man couldn’t be more gay with butterfly wings on.
Big bitches got big tattoos on big tits.
That couple’s comb-overs went in opposite directions.
Customer: What’s the difference between chopped and sliced brisket?
Me: Well one’s sliced and one’s chopped up.
Customer: Okay. I want the most thinly sliced one.
What kind of dumb bitch thinks they got diet pepsi but no pepsi?
Stop trying to give your water bottle to the cashier to fill. Fuck off. It’s unsanitary.
Listen you’re a true redhead and white as a sheet. Don’t wear peach.
Why the fuck would you name your kid Dick? “Aww, I love little Dick.”
Wow it’s a Mexican Mimi from The Drew Carey Show.
Dumb ass fat Oprah bitch.
Me: Good afternoon sir.
Customer: That’s it.
Me: Beans, coleslaw, or potato salad?
Customer: No thanks, I’ll wait.
Listen you fuck, you’re the sweater wearing, old money piece of shit that gives us white guys a bad name. All golly gee willikers and darn its.
“I want a whole brisket to go, but I don’t want a whole one. Could I get half?”
What kind of dumb bitch thinks they got diet pepsi but no pepsi?
What Your Cashier Really Thinks 