Well, it sucks to be you!
[Brinnggg brinnggg]
(MICHELLE) Hello?…The Snug…how can I help you?
(DOUCHEBAG FEMALE) Yes, I left a chenille scarf at the bar last night.
(MICHELLE) Oh…let me check…hmmm….sorry….it’s not here.
[For normal folks, the conversation should have ended here]
(DOUCHEBAG FEMALE) Uh, I was sitting in the first booth…it’s chenille.
(MICHELLE) Yep, I checked all the booths and all the places it would have been put if it had been found, but it’s not here.
[This is where the conversation should have ended if the person on the other end suffered from a slight mental health issue but managed it with a steady flow of Xanax].
(DOUCHEBAG FEMALE) Are you sure?
(MICHELLE) I’ll keep an eye out, but it’s seriously not here.
(DOUCHEBAG FEMALE) Fine.
Click.
A few minutes later, a man enters…slaps his palms down on the bar and says…
(DOUCHEBAG MALE) I’m looking for a scarf my wife left here last night.
(MICHELLE) Yes, she just called…I’m sorry…I looked all around and continued to look after we hung up…It’s just not here.
(DOUCHEBAG MALE) We were sitting right there!!!
[picture a Hitleresque lunatic pointing at one of the booths]
(MICHELLE) And, as you can see, it’s not there. It’s not in this bar.
(DOUCHEBAG MALE) Really?
(MICHELLE) Really.
(DOUCHEBAG MALE) REALLY?!?!
(MICHELLE) Really.
[end scene]
First of all, I’d like to tell Mr. and Mrs. Knob-Job to go fuck themselves. Since when is it my frigging job to babysit your scraggly-ass, dime store, chenille scarf? And (b), who the hell are you to pitch a hissy in my bar after you were the one too feckless to hang onto your shit? Auuuuuggghhhhh…I hate you! You make me want to run away to Panama City and open a hump-hump bar.
