Dear ______ Checker,

I just wanted to sincerely thank you for the terrible customer service you provided me tonight. It was great to be in your line with 10 other people (including five screaming children) behind me and you not knowing how to do your job. Your equipment was not working correctly and unfortunately, I'm not well versed with ATM/Debit card machines so I couldn't help you more. Sorry 'bout that.

I understand that technological problems can and do occur and that sometimes things just can't be helped. But what really irked me was that you took the time to stop, turn around, and ask your teenage grocery bagger, what plans she had for the weekend - all the while I'm standing there, looking like an idiot. I don't give a flying flip if you two party together on Saturday night and then turn around and go to church on Sunday morning; your behavior pissed me off and inconvenienced me, the good customer.

I'm standing there for a reason. I've been shaking diapers out for three days and re-using mucousy Kleenexes as toilet paper. I can no longer water down the curdled milk for fear of more projectile diarrhea, and I've shaved the bread and cheese three times - just this week. Did I mention it was with the same knife since I have no dish soap left? And if I have to run my coffee grounds through the coffee maker one more day, Hubby said he'd leave me for a gal at Starbucks. I obviously have issues and can't fix your problems, too.

Don't ruin my domestic happiness by telling me that since your mother lovin' machine is down that I can't get my sale items for their advertised cheaper price nor can I use any of my credit or debit cards. That ain't my problem, find someone smarter than you to fix it. At this point, I don't think it would be difficult for you to find that person. Hell, I'll start pressing buttons if you think it'd help. But standing there, staring at me, rolling your eyes, girlishly giggling, and shrugging your shoulders isn't doing squat for either of us. The pounding vein at my temples isn't a normal occurrence nor is it very enduring to my Hubby who has to deal with a disgruntled wife.

In conclusion, I'm very thankful that your prepubescent manager, Doogie, was finally able to free himself from Nick at Night and come over to assist you. It's amazing how he could fix everything and make me happy with only the touch of a few buttons. I hope you were watching because the person behind me looked a little bit pissed off, too. And thanks for calling me "ma'am" when you finally got my transaction completed. The word torked me but the insincere sacharine syrupy way you said it, was only to specifically remind me that I wasn't wearing make-up nor had combed my hair that day. At least I wasn't wearing my housecoast and cutesy rabbit slippers...you woulda ended up with a fuzzy bunny protuding from your rectal cavity.

Regretfully Yours,

Mommazilla ~ The Angry Suburban Housewife