Black Friday sucks.

Happy belated birthday, agent_alpo! I tried to get on to wish you a happy birthday yesterday, all nice and proper, but no. Life mocked me.

Black Friday is filled with bitches.
Walgreens had the world's lamest sale yesterday. I need to stress this. Lame. If you wanted medium sized bags of m&ms for 99 cents, then by all means, rush the door. If you wanted a six foot prelit tree for 19.99? Again, rock on. But for the most part? Boring stuff on sale. BORING.

Anyway, said sale started promptly at 7am. 7am. It says so on all the little fliers they sent out, on the readerboard out front, on the poster out front, on the stickers littered throughout the store, on all the signs posted in the store, and on every frickin' ad they played. The sale. Starts. At. 7.

Not five thirty, not six, not even six thirty. SEVEN! I explained this to numerous people. I called management over just so they could share the joy. I smiled. I looked sad for the people. I pretended to give a damn. I really, really did. I checked prices every five minutes [thus totally fucking up my ranking on whatever report thing they list every other week], and when the prices kicked in, let anyone nearby know so they could get the hell out of my store. I rang people up, I wished them a lovely day, I smiled, I used my sweet as a southern lady voice, I was as helpful as could be given various constraints, and I called for help when I needed it.

I. Was. Good.

Until Nice Old Lady comes up and after ringing up six tons of stuff, I realize her second rebate form has not rung up. I call for help. I do as I'm told and ring the thing up again to see if it was just a glitch [since there was another rebate item]. I try the alternate version of the same item just in case it's a UPC issue. I screwed up my voids for NOTHING. Still, I was as helpful as could be. I relayed various messages, I kept an eye out for the answers being sent my way, and NOL was pretty nice about it.
    My line has died down a bit and I've probably rung up two people before Bitchy ol' Battleaxe appears. She too has the same item. I warn her BEFORE I ring it up that there's an issue with the rebate form and we're trying to figure it out. She snottily informs me that if there's no rebate, she doesn't want it. I tell her I'll try and ring it up and see if the form prints. She says fine. I do. It doesn't. I tell her she has two choices at this point. I can void the item off OR she can pay for it and whenever the answer is presented, we'll go from there. She gives me this look like I'm a dumbass. Which I probably did seem to be, but I check with her before I void the damn thing off. She agrees. AGREES. I take her razor, put it on top of the coke cooler, and tell her I'll let her know when my manager gets back to me.
Again, I point out she's not the first person with this problem and that it could, in theory, take the rest of her natural life. She chooses to wait.
  I don't know how much time has elapsed, but I do know a line has formed once more. I'm probably done with the third person in line when BoBA arrives. I've been given exactly ONE form and an explination. I've sent them back for more, explaining I have at least one other person with the same issue, and I would very much like to send her on her way. In my mind, the first form is NOL's. Not BoBA's. BoBA happened to get there about two seconds before. She comes to the front of the line [LINE, people] and asks. I hand her the form because she's shooting me evil death rays, and I explain she'll have to actually PURCHASE the fucking thing this go round.
Shock.
Awe.
Severe attitude problem.
"I have to get back in line?"
...
....
......
YES, YOU IDIOT. You CHOSE not to have it rung up before. YOU!
"Yes, ma'am. I have to actually ring the item up this time. Otherwise, they won't send you anything." My smile must have pulled a Wednesday Addams by this point. Must have.
Death glare!
At which point I ring the next person in line up. Register 2 is running and there's NOL who wants her form. Two seconds later I get my stack of forms, hand her one, and sigh in relief as she thanks me. She's still nice.
BoBA acts like this is all my fault. Like I've wormed myself into the system just to fuck with her day. Still, I soldier on with the appologies, the smiles, the effort to be polite. Not just because my bosses were hanging around, but because years of living with my grandfather broke my evil spirit.

She leaves and I resist the urge to yell, "That's right, you'd better run, you stupid old cow!"

Eventually I'm allowed to run screaming. I make it to the truck, open the door, and a river of greenish fluid comes pouring out. ...wtf? My brother is sitting there, slouched down in the driver's seat, and he looks like he would gladly kill for a smoke. Luckily, he's smart enough to not light up in an enclosed space that's pretty much flooded with chemicals.

I call my father on the way home and he seems unphased. Dude. Your truck is leaking. Anyone who drove past us must have thought we were getting really fucking high, really fucking early. We're lucky we didn't get pulled for some of the boy's "creative" driving.

I walk through the door, declare that sometime today [yesterday], someone is going to take the truck somewhere and they are going to tell me what the hell is wrong with the truck, and then they'll give me an estimate on the fix.

I'm told it'll be $600 at dinner. I'm then hit up for $300.

...$300 is more than half my paycheck, kay? I'm not too proud to say that. It'd be way more than half, only I'm gonna end up paying the IRS money come tax season.

However, since the boy drove the car into the ground, I really have no choice but to agree.

Which is how yesterday totally kicked my ass.

So while you lot were out frolicking in the land of retail, I was wishing for a toilet to fall out of the sky and put an end to me.

In other news, my bridesmaid dress is in. I just can't go get it because the money I set aside for it might have to pay off other stuff.

Kicked.
My.
Ass.