Eff It Friday – Entitled Douchebags Edition

I’m going to start today’s blog post with an announcement.

If you are one of those people who thinks your income level/profession/education level/intelligence/or-any-other-unique-quality should buy you better perks/customer service/treatment/immunity-from-consequences…

You are a piece of shit.

Whew! I feel much better now.

For most of my adult life, I have worked in some type of service industry. I worked in retail while in college and again later to supplement my income from my full time job. I’ve worked the last eighteen years in a job that requires me to deal with the public and process and handle the needs of those customers. I would even argue that my years as a teacher were a lot like being in customer service, with the students and their parents being the “customer”.

So, believe me when I say, I’ve dealt with the public for the better part of the last twenty-eight years. This probably explains my hatred of the public in general, but I digress.

In all those years of dealing with the public, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve come across people who amaze me with their humility, generosity, open-mindedness, and patience.

And then there’s the rest of you twatwaffles.

You know who you are. You’re a doctor, so that means you can speak to me like I’m an imbecile and you don’t have time to give a recorded statement like everyone else who files the same kind of claim you just filed. In your opinion, I should believe you because you went to medical school for eleventy-billion years, or however long medical school is, even though this claim has nothing to do with medicine and I’m literally treating you like any other person who files this claim.

Get the fuck outta here with that. I’ve been going to the same medical doctor for almost twenty years now, and I don’t fucking trust him anymore because he told me my ungodly monthly periods were a result of “being over 40” instead of because of the softball sized fibroid tumor I was eventually diagnosed with by another doctor. If I don’t trust HIM, what makes you think I have to believe a word YOU say???

Did I mention I’m treating you like every other fucking person who files this claim????

Oh, you’re an attorney? Should I start freaking the fuck out now because you’ve used the word “forthwith” twenty-five times in a seven paragraph email? Heretofore, you may forthwith kiss my posterior and join the physician on the “I don’t give a fuck” bench.

Oh hello, Ms. I’m-Far-More-Intelligent-Than-You-Lowly-Cubicle-Dwellers. I really like how you reminded me of your PhD at least thirty times during our hour-long conversation. I especially appreciated when you reminded me that your PhD “was a helluva lot more than I probably have” and that you “will not be treated like an idiot” even though I literally sat with you for an hour, going line by line over a settlement while you clicked away on your calculator and you STILL think we applied your deductible twice.

Clearly, your PhD is not in Mathematics.

As a former coworker used to say, “I’m one thesis away from my PhD too. That and $0.10 will buy me a cup of coffee.”

Of course, he also used to say, “That’s about as useful as tits on a nun” and “Uncle Sam sent me on a paid vacation to Vietnam where I got to blow shit up” and “Never kick a fresh turd on a hot day”. So, maybe I shouldn’t be getting my sayings from him.

Anyway, Ms. PhD, you may take a seat with the attorney and the doctor.

Of course, my favorite self-entitled schmuck is the one who has a lot of money and very few manners. You know who you are.

You “deserve” special treatment because you have spent $X with our company. You “deserve” more consideration because you live in a gated community and drive a luxury car and live in a house with more bathrooms than people living in it. You “deserve” not to have the rules apply to you because the rules are only for chumps who don’t have a personal assistant handling their affairs for them.

You don’t “deserve” jack shit except the same common courtesy and level of customer service that I provide to everyone. I’m a customer too. You are not entitled to anything more than I get if we both bought the same product.

I will not kiss your ass. I will not bend over backwards. If you say “jump”, I’m not asking “how high?”

Instead, I’ll say, “Take your happy ass over to the loser’s bench with Dr. Superiority, Douchebag Attorney At Law and Ms. Not-a-math-major who I refuse to call “Dr” because she acts like a twat.

I’d also like to give a special shout-out to all you dumbass parents who ever meddled so much in my teaching that I could not teach nor discipline your children. You are one of the biggest reasons I came to hate the profession and quit. Honorable Mention also goes out to those Helicopter Moms who screamed at me because I determined their “precious” was indeed at fault in the auto accident.

No, it’s not because “Precious” is seventeen and I took the adult’s word over the minor. It’s because three witnesses saw “Precious” texting instead of braking at the red light and rear-ended a car, setting off a four car chain reaction. Now put your Parenting Panties on and punish the spoiled little shit before he kills somebody, you stupid Basic Bitch.

Look, I give everyone the same level of service and I don’t play favorites. I pride myself on being professional and courteous with everyone.

Just to make things simple for those of you whose brain power could not generate enough heat to make toast, I’m going to list all the phrases that will NOT impress me in any way:

I’m a doctor.

I’m a lawyer.

My brother/cousin/aunt/neighbor is a lawyer.

I’m calling a lawyer.

I’m a PhD.

I know the insurance commissioner.

I work with the insurance commissioner.

I knew the insurance commissioner in high school.

I’m a claims adjuster too.

I work in the agent’s office.

I’m friends with the agent.

I go to church with the agent.

I’m a Christian.

I’m a veteran.

I was honorably discharged.

I’ve never had an accident.

I’ve never been in an accident and there’s no way this is my fault.

I know your company’s reputation and I know you’re going to screw me, so prove me wrong.

I’ve been a customer for eleventy-billion-thousand years.

I’m taking my eleventy-billion-thousand policies somewhere else.

I’m calling the Gecko company.

I’m calling Flo.

I’m calling the company that has an Academy Award Winning actor as their spokesperson.

I’m calling the Mayhem guy.

I’m calling my agent.

And my personal favorite…

I‘m writing to the CEO of Satan’s Butthole and I’m having you fired. Your ass is mine!

And she did.

*SPOILER ALERT* I was not fired. I quit.

Twelve years later, but that’s beside the point.

Stay weird, my friends. Normal is boring!