I'll have the chicken in a doggie bag, please...

I understand that the Property market is in a boom period at the moment, and even with a slight drop expected by analysts, the current value of homes and property will remain constant. So it is then expected that Agents are bound to be a bit blasé when dealing with your average-Joe. But for Fuck sakes, they expect me to pay R4000.00 to R5000.00 a month for a run-down 2-bedroom, 1 bathroom house in a low-income neighbourhood? Fuck them! Nevermind that we were renting to buy and had R450 000.00 to spend. And on top of that they give me attitude, and look down on me as if I should be looking at the shack-market in Dobsonville. Personally, I think that if a person can afford to spend R5000.00 a month on a house in rent, he's rich. So fuck'em. I'll buy or rent on the private market and they can bullshit their commission out of someone else.

The service industry in South Africa have been yanking my dick for too long and I've started hitting back. In my mind the service industry comprises of any business or individual fucker who I'm paying good money to for giving me something. Be It a restaurant, or the chap on the corner from whom I get my newspaper.
Some time back (Okay, a long time back) I treated myself to a meal at a top restaurant in Sandton. To cut a long story short, I ordered a bottle of Alto Rouge (dry red wine), and when the waiter brought the bottle it had already been opened and it was warm. I told him that I wanted him to serve me the bottle closed and at a cooler temperature thank you very fuckin much. I've been in the Bar and Restaurant trade on and off for at least as long as I've been out of school. I know that waiters will take any chance they can get with food or drinks that are returned for whatever reason, so I wasn't gonna let this fucker play me for a sucker. But, this numbskull was gonna go out of his way to test my fuckin patience, as I was to find out through the evening. I'm busy checking out the menu and the dickhead returns with a used cork stuck into the bottle, and it's still warm.
I looked at him, I looked at the bottle. waiting for what I hoped was gonna be a teasing smile and a 'just kidding, your wine's cooling down' or something, but this fucker was dead serious. I put up my hand and told him to wait while I mentally counted to twenty. Then I very patiently and slowly mouthed my words asking him If he had listened to what I had requested. He stammered a bit trying to tell me that it was the last bottle of that particular wine they had, and that it was returned from a table just an hour ago, untouched and perfectly fine. I was fuckin stunned. There was this waiter hardly trying, with even the remotest and smallest of lies, to smooth me over. He just blabbered it straight out. It was almost as If it had been he's intention to get me out of there before I had even eaten a starter. I asked him why the fuck he didn't tell me so that I could order something else. He just shrugged his shoulders and asked me If I wanted something else. Now, this Is normally a situation where my brain goes into over-drive, and I either smack someone till they beg me to stop, or devise plans by which to get my own back. Thankfully for this fucker, my brain switched into devious mode, and I got ready to 'play the game'. I calmly asked him for the wine list again and proceeded to order the most expensive bottle of wine. I then ordered a salmon starter and a seafood platter. At the time it was the most expensive on the menu. I mentally calculated that my bill would come to at least Three Hundred Rand.
After my order it seemed that the waiter was a bit friendlier and more helpful. Probably sensing that I wasn't that bad after all, and that he may even be in for a good tip.
I drank half the bottle waiting for my meal, and had all of the Salmon. As he returned to the kitchen with my empty plate, I stood up and walked out and went to Fontana Chicken, where I proceeded to have two chicken rolls and a Coke. I couldn't stop smiling. Do you know how difficult it is to eat while your grin is causing your jaw to ache with pain?

What I'm saying is that it's time to hit back. Sure, some of you just won't go back to that joint. I say; make sure you leave them a message, so that the next waiter, salesman or whom-ever, will think twice about fucking with a customer. And to top it off you tell everybody you know, or even pass by in the street, how the place sucks.

Welcome back from holiday you fuckers!