Honestly, the best one is STILL Alanis Morrissette’s “You Oughta Know.” It’s everything I ever wanted to say (and probably did in a series of drunk texts) to an ex of mine. That was a long time ago and I’m in a great relationship now but I still rock out to that like no one’s business.

I’ve been looking for a new “fuck you” song so I hope this doesn't disappoint.

I managed a grocery store for a few years, so I have quite a few stories. A lot of the better ones involve poop, but I’ll save that for the “Inexplicable Toilet Stories” section.

I would literally be saying “NO” loudly to her every single time she tried to correct someone.

I remember reading a story about a woman who kept bees somewhere around NYC. One day, she got a shock when she checked the frames and found that the honey was bright red. She was very worried until she discovered that the bees had discovered a maraschino cherry factory. Red syrup was leaking out of some of their…

I am surprised that Cafe Gratitude in LA isn’t making customers use a crystal to decide what to order.

Throughout this whole ordeal, the guy never thought to wipe his face. While he was paying I offered him a napkin or a wet-nap and he declined. He was still covered in honey-garlic sauce when they left.

Why are they neatly arranged on a plate, instead of strewn across a table?

I began ignoring the straw policy after that, and the manager dutifully ignored my ignoring of said policy.

Uuuuugh, Cherry Guy.

In case you thought that everyone knows how to Chipotle, have a picture of President Obama not knowing how Chipotle works.

That story about eating the $20...I mean, there are people who won’t handle ANY cash without gloves, because of how filthy it is. Plus, something like 114% of US currency has trace amounts of cocaine on it...then again, maybe that’s why he ate it.

It’s like you WANT people to get poisoned by Illuminati kale.

What is it with strange customers and soup? I never thought I’d have a story to contribute here because I’m a bookseller, but it turns out I’ve got one for you.

The librarian said it was a normal sized home use crock pot, so yeah, a gallon or so of volume. She didn’t assemble it on site, apparently she did it some place else and then carried the whole thing into the library.

You’ve gotta stop with this bidnazz a whole hour before lunch time.

She was afraid of deep things, so she couldn’t partake in bowls.

GASP!

The toaster one reminds me of the time one of the librarians smelled food and tracked it down to a woman who was sitting at a reading desk with a crock pot plugged in underneath it, cooking chicken stew.

I was hoping for a substantial, thoughtful analysis on these particular customers, but I’m afraid of deep things.