Slut!

I work at a lovely establishment we'll call the land where people's souls go to die. In the vast land where people's souls go to die there are many different departments. The one in which I work, deals heavily with customer service. This meaning that I spend a lot of my day nodding my head to every complaint, piss, and moan about things ranging from soup that's too hot to sub rolls that need the dough inside scooped out- only the issues of utmost importance.

But this day was a new day... A day like no other... A day with a sexual harassment complaint?

Oh yes my friends. Sexual. Harassment. Complaint.

So I would first like to give you a quick run through of the average demographics of my customers:

Gladys get my teeth! I need to go down the place where souls go die and
torture the girl behind the counter!

OK little Timmy, now badger the nice lady about which chicken
drumsticks you want.

OK, not that I have anything against uptight soccer mommies or old, saggy men, but when out on the prowl they aren't exactly my target audience. So I'm still not quite sure who it was that filed a complaint of "uncomfortable flirting," but whoever it was shouldn't flatter themselves. And furthermore who feels as though flirting is uncomfortable? Maybe this reflects badly on my flirting skills. Maybe I should punish all those who cross me by flirting with them. At any rate this will probably remain an unsolved mystery. As there are hundreds of people in that store a day it gets too tiring to come up with personalized greetings, therefore everyone pretty much gets the same routine. So the moral of the story kiddies, is the next time you think someone is hitting on you, don't. And even if you still do, don't report them- its a lot of paperwork.