And you can quote me. (or "Just Call Me Misanthrope)
"Educator Appreciation Weekend" again at the bookstore. Also known as "I Can't Believe These Assholes are Teaching Future Generations" weekend.

Let it first be known that not all educators are included in my broad, bitter, blanket statements. One of my best friends taught me high school English. Another friend teaches kindergarten. They both rank at the top on the Most Kind, Cultured, and Intelligent People I Know list. I know there are others out there. So WHY....pray tell, don't they happen to shop at the bookstore I work at?

It never fails. The moment a woman wearing a fuzzy sweater-- with, say, geese on it, or perhaps a heartwarming embroidered cliche of some sort-- approaches the counter with that "you just lost recess privileges, mister" look on her face, I know I'm in for it.

Fact: Teachers make up a high, HIGH percentage of the most manipulative, condescending, deceitful, and outright rude customers I experience. I can't count the times that I have had to practically bite off the end of my tongue to keep from saying something snide to a teacher feigning ignorance about taking advantage of our discount system, or outright lying about what items they're buying for their students. I still get a churny stomach when I think about one particularly loathsome woman who originally stuck out when she was rude to a coworker of mine, and who I saw talking to her teenage grandkid in the manga section, and who boldfacedly included a Battle Angel Alita book in a discount purchase for her third graders.

For those of you who are familiar with Battle Angel... does that seem strange? (When I think of the anime, I just have to say, "The dog! Good Lord! The poor dog!" )

Her excuse? Her excuse for supposedly getting an R rated book for her third graders? "Well, the kids...they like to draw the characters. I'm teaching them how to draw the characters." then an extremely dirty look. If I had been able to snort in her face and tell her to shove it, I probably wouldn't even remember the incident. But instead it just festers, made worse by other just plain nasty people. I know--I have issues.

Among my issues is the fact that I don't forget a face. So I recognize the guy who cut me off and flapped his hand dismissively at me when I asked if there was anything more I could help with. "TCH! (he silences me). Don't babble at me. I'm done with you. Go away. God. You people." I also recognize the guy who tried to steal a cd, and the woman who called me a bitch because our store didn't have the book she wanted, and the woman who berated me because I wasn't able to process her expired coupon, and the man who cussed me out because our store carries one magazine and not another, or the kid who came in in a suit, expecting to get a managerial job, and snorted condescendingly when I asked if he'd like to fill the application here, or bring it back. "I have a resume here." Good. And I have a degree in Literature. The store doesn't hire you if you don't apply. He ended up snatching his resume back, dusting it off, and stalking out. I recognize these people when they come back. I help them find their books, and sometimes I take their abuse again. I'm tempted to ask, "So... still think you're better than everyone?"

All this to say, sometimes I hate people. Stupid but well-intentioned people are fine. They make me want to help even more. But mean people are another story. The best thing to do is go to bed early.