I work in hospitality. That means I deal with a lot of terrible human beings. People like complaining about things – most things. Every thing. Anything. They also like treating you like a piece of shit. You’re not as good as them, because they wear a tie to their job and have a forty-five syllable coffee order.
At my work, there’s a notice board. A month or two ago, the ‘can I speak to the manager’ starter pack was posted on it. I’ve seen the meme before, but seeing it on the noticeboard was the first time I gave it any thought.
I have an interest in art. I’ve traveled. I’ve shared experiences with people who are considered influential. I’ve even climbed mountains. But never have I seen a single piece of imagery or witnessed a moment that holds more social value than this poorly made, low resolution JPEG.
This Goddamn haircut is the epicentre of the most unexplainable phenomenon in the history of mankind and a constant thorn in the side for anyone who works in hospitality or retail.
The car and those kind-of-long, kind-of-short jeans are the icing on the cake.
Every time a woman with the CISTTM haircut strolls into our cafe, a sharp, stabbing pain lodges itself just below my left ribcage.
The pain is the byproduct of history, which has proven no matter how prompt and courteous the service is, no matter how delicious the food may be, no matter how clean the toilets are, the CISTTM banshee will strut up to the counter with shotgun fully loaded with disapproval. Said shotgun will be fired at my face until I am battered and bruised, at which point CISTTM will drop her signature catchphrase: “can I speak to the manager?”.
Neither myself or any of my colleagues have worked out why every female with the CISTTM haircut is destined to complain, but as hospitality workers, we can say that this meme is 100% certified accurate. And again, like in so many other circumstances, the internet is imitating art imitating life.
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