Brady C. Mallory

Over this past week, I have been in a relationship that has created a celestial light within my 21-year-old person. Yes, I am the proud owner of a brand-new MacBook Pro. I have to say that my partnership with this ethereal piece of machinery, coupled with work-related frustrations over the years, have reaffirmed an epiphany I had about three years ago: I don’t really like other people; I like me. For some reason, I have a burning desire or a mission from God, to work in some form of customer service. I spent high school as an indentured servant for a discount retail outlet. The summer after my freshman year of college I decided to become a t-ball coach and work with children, which was an epic mistake because, well, if by now you do not know my feelings towards children, I have no desire to know you. Please do not make eye contact with me ever again.

Recently, I have come across some characters at my place of employment that lead to wonder if all sanity within the human race is dying faster than the American Idol craze. How can I forget the couple who were perplexed that their Bloody Marys came to a price that was in the double digits? Now, by show of hands, who here is surprised that two alcoholic drinks are monetarily more expensive than two Cokes from McDonald’s?

The other night a foursome decided to order the kids’ Macaroni & Cheese for an appetizer. I know I love to take out an entire box of Kraft right before I sink my teeth into a tantalizing entree of Hamburger Helper, with a side bucket of Ranch dressing. Yes, I said it, and I do not care. For someone who has moderately healthy eating habits at least five days a week, that was a like a knife through my heart. I read an article that the obesity epidemic in America is growing and raising our health care prices. Macaroni & Cheese as an appetizer. High health care. What a shocker.

Years ago, when I worked at the aforementioned discount retail outlet, a lovely creature wearing a fanny pack accosted me because we were out of the $4 hair color she so desperately needed. Yes, it was clearly my fault that our shelves did not house what she was seeking. It pains me to think that the black roots of her mullet had to go another day not matching the glossy yellowish/orange color that saturated the rest of that mess.

My point is I have noticed an epidemic in the customer service exchange. Perhaps it is the recession or perhaps it is pent-up rage over The Dark Knight not being nominated for best film, but for whatever reason, people’s courtesy seems to be ever more nonexistent. I always try my best to treat the checkout cashiers, the mechanics and all that is in between with respect. Save for the time I yelled at an electronics worker for being difficult when I asked him if he could check storage for the latest Dixie Chicks CD. Clearly, I had every right to do so due to the musical superiority of DCX.

Now that I have enlightened you to the mercurial people who pass me by, I am going to seek haven in the incandescent arms of my MacBook Pro. MacBook Pro is the one constant in my life that never judges me ? at least to my face. Perfection.