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Dear worthless bastards

Author: Blake
Posted: 14 Sep 2004

An Open Letter to the Worthless Counterpersons of America
 
September 7, 2004
 
Dear worthless bastards,

Now, I'm not sure if the official name of your organization is really The Worthless Counterpersons of America, but I know that your organization does exist. I have come into contact with many of your members lately, all of whom embody a delicate mixture of surliness, laziness, ineptitude and inadequacy. I wish to congratulate you on pissing me off so thoroughly.

Whether it's the girl at Duane Reade who thinks that a notary is a large selection of thank you cards, or the grocery cashier who tries to shortchange me, then rolls her eyes at me for spotting it, your members are truly worthless.

I particularly wish to bestow kudos for what must be your latest triumphant initiative, a program I call: The Fat Slob Who Refuses to Accept My ID.

This is a highly effective program in your organization's quest to piss me off beyond belief. I have had four encounters with three fat counterpersons within the last two months, and I know you'd be very satisfied with the work they're doing.

The first was at the DMV. After I waited in line for hours, the flabby photographer informed me that my birth certificate looked like a copy. As he examined it, he noted my state of origin, "Kansas -- humph." The feeling, my fat fiend, is mutual. Needless to say, my attempt to obtain a New York Driver's License was denied by the all powerful plump-one that day. Way to go, dude.

The second was in a small village in Ohio. Now here, you would not be pleased. There were no problems with my ID, in fact I didn't even need it. The chubby young man behind the restaurant counter was pleasant, if stoned. He also made one of the best chocolate malts I've ever had. You should get to work on him right away, to make sure that he becomes a socially maladjusted prick, like all of your other morbid minions.

Now, the third encounter involved the same DMV photographer of whom I wrote earlier. This time, his attitude was even surlier. "No, no, no. I'll take the birth certificate, but not the KS DL, I guess the draft card works, but not the Social Security card, it has an initial. M is not a name." The corpulent cameraman must've seen me for what I truly am: a criminal, a liar, and a threat to national security. He caught a mistake made more than twenty years ago by the Social Security Administration, and then proceeded to tell me what is and is not considered an acceptable form of identification in the state of Kansas. Now, mind you, this gelatinous genius had probably never even heard of Kansas, let alone been there. His worthlessness was a grand sight, indeed. In fact, his behavior had a domino effect into my next encounter.

Earlier today, I attempted to cash a check at my local Western Union. The name on the check (my name) varied slightly from the one on my license (also my name), and so I engaged in another tete a tete with another tittied tub of shit. The obese orifice in this case is a manager of some sort. The bulletproof glass which encased him (good idea on his part) could not contain the sweaty stench of unwashed loser which this portly punk no doubt carries wherever he waddles. On occasion, he has cashed checks for me under the same circumstances, but usually, he just hacks up a ball of lard and gurgles, "Nope, you need a NY State Driver's License." But I can't get that until I get some cash (long story). So you see, the circle is complete.

Bravo, you worthless ones!
 
Sincerely,
Blake
 
P.S.- Fuck you.

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