I met the She-Devil.......and her spawn.

We are about to arrive at a crossroads.

If you survive the following rant, you get the biggest gold star you ever did see. But if you don't, I don't blame you. I'm in a state of fuming at the moment, so this is mainly therapy....

*breath*

I work at a cinema. Yeah. Cool. The pay was pretty shit at first, like $9.78 an hour for an 18 year old (!!!) due to their "six-month traineeship", aka, "We are big fat stingy corporate asswipes who don't care that you're AT UNI AND JUNK" ----

But that's not my rant. I'm now $12.76, due to go up to $17 when I hit the big One-Nine.

Here's my rant:

I met the She-Devil tonight.

Oh yes. Put your eyeballs back in your sockets - I can sense your shock and disbelief, but it's true. The Fast and the Furious came out today, so we were packed. Every FF session was chockers. At about 8.50pm, it was the HEIGHT of busy. There were people everywhere, packed in, complaining about the heat, the line length, the noise. Popcorn is flying everywhere as I'm serving frantically, upselling where I can, being super-super nice when I can't, smiling and laughing at unfunny jokes ----

And then she arrived.

It was very innocuous, too. She pulled out her book of cinemoney (a book of ten gift vouchers that you buy in bulk to get cheaper) and asked to see The Boat That Rocked.

Innocent enough, you say?

WAIT JUST A SECOND, SIR. You're jumping to conclusions!

She asked me how many is supposed to be in a pack. I answer, "Ten."

She frowns...

"I have eight," she tells me.

Suffice it to say, SIX MINUTES LATER, we had to call the Manager over. She's all, "I know Sian! Does Sian still work here??? SIAN!!!!"

"She doesn't work here anymore."

Etc. Bitching and moaning. Blah blah. I desperately turn to her kids to ask them what they wanted. She grabs the reins again, her eyes flashing demonically in the evening light. She orders her shit. Then she wants a receipt. Then she demands to know how long we've been doing tax. I tell her it's GST. She's all, "What's THAT????"

"It stands for 'Get Stuffed, Tubby'."

"What?"

"Nothing."

So I finish serving her, all the while the other customers are giving me looks of horror. With my eyes, I reply, "I know, right????" And they're all, "Jeez. Way to serve the She-Devil."

I give her her fucking popcorn, and I think I'm rid of her. And you think this boring story's over.

I'M/IT'S NOT!!!!!

She came back and was all, "Can you fill these up some more?"

She'd SQUASHED THEM DOWN AND SHOVED THEM BACK AT ME.

With a very dirty look in the opposite direction, I filled them as requested and went and served someone else. Cool. She's gone. I can serve the other fifty million customers who walked in while she had me pinned to the counter for twenty-odd minutes that I will NEVER.....EVER get back, and I can remember to breathe.

Kaitlin, my trainee, is looking aghast that such demons really do walk the earth. I assured her that She-Devil would be back for my soul.

I was joking, of course....

BUT I WAS RIGHT.

At 10.00pm, (I was supposed to knock off at 9.30,) S.D comes back telling her she dropped her ice-cream on the floor and wants another one. I give her one. She then tells me I forgot to give her MnMs. I give her those too. She complains they're too small. I tell her she has to buy the larger size. She complains, but rifles in her plastic medicine container thing for change. She then asks to buy another book of ten. It's too expensive though. We tell her about our Mothers Day Special. They expire in three months instead of six, I tell her (unlike the cinemoney.) She buys them. When I stamp them for three months as planned, she goes schitzo, telling her I said six. I was like, "No I (fucking) did not, (you stupid carpet-munching worm-infested) ma'am." She gets me to call the manager out again. He's all, "R U SRS?" to S.D. She was. She totally was. He was all, "Give her six months....I h8 my lyf."

THEN.....she's BACK...........

["When will this story end???" you scream. I understand. I'm suffering through this too.]

She wants more food. I serve her. Then she's all, "I don't get out much, what with my twisted bowel and my anaemia and my diabetes."

I'm all, "................................Aww."

I give her some water, guide her to her cinema via the elevator. She tells me not to call an ambulance if she faints. I just look concerned. She asks my name, and repeats it wistfully. I don't know whether she wants to reward me with eternal life (as only the Devil can) or offer me up as a human sacrifice while she orchestrates a blood orgy. I'm going with the latter. I finally get rid of her, finish counting my trainee's till, drive her home, narrowly missing a speeding ticket (I had cops on my ass.....*WINK*) and now all I want to do is kick a puppy.

Or her face. Or, you know, any part of her that I can reach. I'm not fussy. I just want to cause her some grievous bodily harm, since mmy mind now has wounds that can never heal. I've been touched by evil, Whitney. She made contact when I was handing her the money and the two receipts she demanded. We don't give out receipts as a rule. Customers have to ASK for them. And daaaaaaamn, she asked.
You know. Kind of how I wanna ask her to GET FUUU----

...Slowly calming down.

K. going to bed now, before either of you come up with another clever plan to get us killed! Or worse....EXPELLED.

Oh, Emma Watson. why did you have to grow up and become arguably the world's worst actress? *sigh* You were so cute!!!

- Lolly., wondering what the world has come to...