Wear this if you want people to think you're gay.
To: A&F Pussies
From: Your Worst Nightmare
Date: Lunch time
Subject: [Insert 30 seconds of thinking up a vapid subject line.]
It’s impossible for anyone to hate anything more than I hate Abercrombie & Fitch. I hate A&F more than Jews hate Hitler, more than Pat Roberston hates Jews and more than my dad hates going to get a physical — combined.
Y.U.P.P.I.E.S. There, that says a lot. I fucking hate yuppies. But, you might say, why were you in A&F, Spencer? I like some of their jeans. Shoot me. I usually stick with Lucky’s or Buffalo, but I keep my options open.
Anyhow, I bought a pair of jeans from them less than two months ago. Last night (when I was shit-faced drunk), they ripped ... bad. The whole world could see my ass. Beautiful sight. Not really. I didn’t get too mad because, for one, I’m thinking to myself that they have some kind of policy for poor quality jeans.
So I call the ass pirate manager at lunch time today. He said it’d be great if I had the receipt, to which I replied that I bought them almost two months ago, why would i have a fucking receipt? He said I should come in and he’d take a look at the jeans.
Sometimes I forget how much I fucking loathe the mall. A trip there never fails to make me feel dumber. I hate the smell of freshly spruced floor tile. I hate the sound of cash registers, pretentious jackasses talking on cell phones and 4,000 salesman asking me the same goddamn questions. UGH.
A&F, though, always held a different place in my heart. My best friend, Josh, refuses to go in there. If I ever had any business in there, he’d wait outside. In fact, I used to date a girl that worked there, and I’d have to tell her to come outside if he was with me. I hate it almost as much as Josh. I always make an attempt to be extremely rude to at least two employees before I leave — just for the hell of it.
I don’t know if it’s the deafening, queer techno music playing or the ostentatious numskull employees — or, perhaps, a combination of both — that I hate about A&F so much. But if I believed in a heaven, it would be a place where I’d be stuck in a video game where I get to hunt and kill A&F employees, as well as the musicians that fill the speakers in their stores.
I actually had a friend that worked there. He was more of a guy I put up with because I liked his girlfriend (with whom I had a grrrrrrrreat night). He told me it was a “privilege” to be offered a job at A&F. Really? A privilege? I think it’s a privilege for those employees to help me when I’m there without me kicking the living shit out of them. It’s a privilege of mine to belittle an A&F employee without them even figuring it out until I’m out of the store.
OK, back to my story. So I get there at lunch today, the conversation with the manager goes somewhat like this:
Ass pirate manager: “Are those the jeans?”
Me: (Thinking to myself, “No, numbnuts, I brought these to joke around with you. I actually shoved those jeans up my ass so I could protect them.’) “Yeah, see the hole?”
Ass pirate manager: “Oh, that’s bad. How did that happen?” he said, while looking at the rip that goes from my ass crack down to the back of my knee.
Me: “I bent over.”
Ass pirate manager: “You’ve had these for a month and a half? (I nod in agreement.) Do you have the receipt?”
Me: “I told you over the phone that I didn’t have the receipt.”
Ass pirate manager: “Oh, that’s right, that’s right. Well, as the manager, I’m supposed to make a judgment call. ... And based on the condition of the jeans, they look a lot older than that.”
(Note: He’s talking in questions the whole fucking time. Be assertive, asshole. He sounds like a fifth-grade girl when he’s trying to be stern. Pussy.)
Me: “The condition? The condition of these jeans is the reason I brought them up here. They fucking ripped. What’d you think they’d look like?”
Ass pirate manager: “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. I had to make a judgment call, and there’s not really anything else to do.”
Me: “Well if I would have known the result of my whole trip would’ve been determined by the judgment of a manager at Abercrombie & Fitch, I could’ve saved both of our time.”
Ass pirate manager: “What are you trying to say?”
Me: “Idiot. I’ll piss on your goddamn judgment.” (I then proceeded to wad up the jeans and throw them at him, after which he flinched like a girl and made a pouting face. Bitch. — Oh, and if you're doubting I actually said that last line, believe it. I always say "I'll piss on..." It's a habit of mine.)
See, one day, I’ll be banned from the mall. I’ll have to come to an agreement with them that I’ll stay out of all the stores as long as I can still get one of the Philly steak sandwiches from Great Steak and Potato Co. Goddamn, those are fucking awesome.
Fucking A&F pussies. I. Hope. You. Get. Hit. By. A. Bus. Full. Of. Boy. Scouts. And. Their. Gay. Scout. Leaders.