Mrs. Mooney, You Ruined Christmas

I remember your first name, lady, but I'm being nice and NOT publishing it on the internet.

This is all for you:

You're behavior yesterday while you were checking out in my store was COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE. I was doing the best I could, and I was only doing my job. As for me stopping talking, THAT is precisely what my job entails WITH EVERY SINGLE customer, including you. I was desperately trying to stop talking, seeing as to how I'd already lost my voice, but I have a dumb bitch for a manager that wouldn't take me off the register despite the fact that I was barely able to muster a whisper. I make the grand sum of $7.25 an hour, and you make it hardly worth it. By the way, you've been the ONLY asshole I've encountered this entire Christmas. I'd like to know where you work, so I can come in to your job and act like a complete buffoon with you, and I hope it makes you cry as much as I did.

I hope I never see you again. EVER. I know when you left, you were apologizing for being such a bitch of epic proportions, but that was only because I was killing you with kindness, but it isn't enough. The only thing good enough for you now is karma, and I'm hoping you get every single bit you deserve. I hope your Christmas tree falls apart, your kids stand you up on Christmas morning, and your fucking dinner burns in the oven, AND you get to be on my end of the conversation when someone decides that they need to unload all of their personal unhappiness on you.