It was supposed to be just another day. The gray, heavy clouds that blanketed the world above had already drowned the world below earlier this morning and threatened to do it again. He took a long, succulent drag from the last of his cigarette; the last of his now empty pack. It fell unconcerned from his emotionless fingers, striking the concrete with barely more then a muffled thump before being crushed under the toe of his shoe.
He let the cold breeze sweep away most of the acrid stink from the caustic smoke he'd just finished. And he calculated with disgust how many of the cars in the parking lot would be hauling around the typical prick, jerk, and trumped up soccer mom bitch that made his otherwise pleasant job a pain in his ass.
"Customers.... assholes." he hissed just before shoving a mint flavored piece of gum in his mouth.
Brandon had spent too many months at his blue-shirted job now to even bother trying to fake a smile when asking the umpteenth blank-faced retard "Help you find something?" He'd always taken perverse joy in making people spend way more of their money on things they didn't really ever need, and probably were never going to use; especially if he could get them to pay more for a shittier brand. "The 42 inch Samsung is nice, but check out this 50 inch Element! Oh, totally, the picture will look much better at home since the signal here isn't distributed correctly for all these TVs."
Some wiseass always came in trying to get a price matched to some ridiculous deal on line, or at some store half way across the country. He'd given up trying to argue with these people, let the manager waffle these people. They'd always cry about the price match policy. Policies... guarantees... who gives a rat's ass. He wished for the day he could look at one of these self-preening pompous pricks and just say "Honestly, corporate doesn't give a shit about that 'guarantee', their policies, or even you! So neither do we. PISS OFF!" But he knew not to step on managements' toes; only they got to tell the masses to shove it.
At lunch he'd thrown on his hoodie and wandered across the expansive plaza parking lot to check in on his red-shirted counterparts. God damn! Some of the betties working there! Why! WHY GOD MUST HIS STORE ONLY HAVE UGLY CHICKS!!?? Brandon refused to spy on his rival store again, if for nothing else it depressed him to know they had hotter coworkers. Instead he day dreamed of the epic, video-game-like battle between red and blue that could ensue, like some scene from Brave Heart; *ring*a PCI card could be sharped into some sort of blade, and pens, *ring* pencils, and touchscreen styluses could be fired from a compressed-air-duster-powered cannon. Mice could *ring*make good maces and nun chucks if they weren't so cheaply constructed... maybe some of the heavier gaming mice... hell, just tear apart one of the shelves and *ring*beat people down with the supports like baby harbor seals.
The ringing snapped him out of his imaginary escapade "What the f*ck?! Is anyone going to answer the damn phone?!" he snapped up the receiver, took a deep breath and spoke in a level tone.
"Customer service, this is Brandon, what the hell can I help you with?"
"Uh, hi, ya I was curious if you had any of the western digital mybooks in stock?
Clicking through the computer he noticed that yes, they did have a lot of them. Of course they had them, the moron did in fact call a computer store. Dumbass. "We do sir, can you be more specific as to which model you're looking for, we have several."
"Oh, of course. It's the seven hundred fifty gig. The ess kay you number is 8478701."
Brandon figured playing on the computer was better then dealing with someone on the floor. Maybe he'd put the guy on hold and play some soli...taire... "What the hell?" he mumbled in awe.
"What was that? I couldn't hear you."
"Oh, nothing sir. No sir, I'm sorry, it doesn't look like we have any in stock." he said starting to aimlessly hang up the phone.
"What about in other stores!?!?"
"No sir, they're sold out nationally. Good day sir...."
"But but but!" he hung up the phone as the man on the other end's protests faded from his mind.
In front of him, on the slightly flickering screen sat a set of numbers that didn't make any sense. The SKU number was legit, and showed, that, in fact there were several in stock at his store, as well as others locally, and that was all very normal. What was not normal was the last couple numbers...
Brandon let a slow smile crawl across his face. Not one of grim humor or malice. But for the first time in weeks, one of absolute unadulterated joy. He had some phone calls to make. He and his friends were going to make a little extra cash flipping these little gems. His day was going to be very, very good...
Last edited by Hardwyre; 04-20-2009 at 10:42 AM..
A story about WHY YOU NEVER CALL!(CLICK ME) Warning: I Argue With Moderators
"Everytime you buy something from Walmart you're supporting commercial corporate terrorism and the CEO sacrifices a kitten; you're not a corporate terrorist supporting kitten killer are you!?!?!? " HDMI is simply DVI + audio; if a monitor doesn't have speakers, THERE'S NO REASON FOR IT TO HAVE HDMI! Edited for the continued well-being of SD signature nazis the forum over.
Ok cliff note version.
1.Bradon hated his job, and had ugly chicks working there. He also hated people who try
2.Note:He was also a smoker.
3. He didn't think it was fair that CC had hot chicks working there.
4. Some Sd'er called and wanted to know if they had in the 750g MyBook HD.
He said no. Even though they had tons in-stock.
5. He noticed the stores around him had them for 79.99 instead of 289.99.
6. He called all his friends so he could flip them on ebay.
And was now happy brandon. THE END
Moral of the story is don't call BB , their employees hate you.
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