New year, same old shite...

I have a great respect for people who make me look stupid by comparison. As brain dead as I like to think I am, I do in fact have a reasonable intellect locked away somewhere. There are some people you meet who are just so far above you that the only response you can think of whenever they open their mouths is "ummmm...." If they are gracious with it then you can almost feel your IQ lifted in their presence as they treat you like an intellectual equal.

What I REALLY FUCKING HATE is the other side of the coin. Those who act intensely stupid, and yet treat everyone else as if they are more so and end up dragging you down to the intellectual level of a toadstool.

Apologies to any toadstools that may be reading.

Case in point - The guy I've just had to deal with. He walked up to me and says "Goods in." Not the most obvious phrase to translate, but to stereotype for a moment, he looked like a delivery guy. 2+2= delivery. Ah, goods in... yes.

"Who is it for?"

He looks at me like I've just asked him what colour grass is. He's thinking something like "The theatre...why do you think I'm here?" He begins to treat me as if I'm mentally deficient.

"I don't know, do I?" says he.

Ok... benefit of the doubt time. Obviously hasn't been here before. Doesn't know that there are multiple departments in a theatre. Doesn't know that this one houses three independent businesses. Fair enough.

"What are you delivering?"

With the look he gives me, he's clearly heard my question as "What does grass look like?"

"Lights," he says, as if it's obvious. "that's what it says on the side of the box."

The creature inside my head stirs. Ah yes, how silly of me. I should have looked on the side of the box and then it would have been clear even to a dimwit like me. Of course, it would help if the box was right in front of me and not still in your truck, where it has only been visible to you for the past few hours. Unfortunately my x-ray vision is on the fritz.

"What kind of lights?" ("What's grass for?")

"I don't know. You see, customers tend to get a bit annoyed with me if I open up their deliveries and take a look inside."

The creature smiles. Sarcasm we can deal with.

"Listen you patronising little prick. You may have heard of something called an invoice. You know, a white thing that folds up and has all these black smudges on it? Well those smudges are letters. They make words. Those words give you information, and save you using up precious memory space in your head that could be used for more important things, such as absorbing the next shocking celebrity sex scandal from The Sun so you can joke about it with all your mates. But of course, both of these endeavours require you to be able to read..."

Of course, this is passed through the "may I help you?" filter. What actually comes out is:

"Don't they usually print it on the invoice?"

A small victory. The guy rolls his eyes and checks his pocket. The creature sulks. The guy reads the invoice, but won't let me see it.

"Event lights. 12 boxes. Where do you want them?"

Damn. I'm not sure what they mean by event lights, and this guy won't be any help. Best guess is the flashy things they sell to kids at the merchandising kiosk. I tell him to stack the boxes there.

"Where is it?"

It's the kiosk with "merchandising kiosk" written above it. You walked past it on the way in, dumbass. I explain this in a nicer way.

"What, you want me to stack stage lights at some kiosk?"

Oh, you total fuckhead.

"No, if they are stage lights (and not event lights like you just said) then bring them in here and pass them over the desk, and I'll send them backstage when someone comes in."

The guy goes and gets 12 large and heavy boxes, and passes them over the desk. There's no room to move by the time he's finished. He finally passes me the invoice to sign. I glance at it. Then wonder how much force is required to snap his neck. I sign it to get rid of him, since he has delivered exactly what the invoice says.

They weren't stage lights. They were event lights, which are indeed the flashy things we sell to kids. On the invoice is written the name of the front of house manager, plus the fact that the delivery is meant for front of house and not stage door. A quick inspection of the boxes shows that his name is on them, too. I hadn't thought to check this while silently fuming at the delivery fuckwit. Stupidity by diffusion.

I've just spent the better part of 15 minutes shifting large and heavy boxes from round the back of my desk to the front, having to vault over the counter with each one. Three of them are small, but I had no appreciation of just how heavy a box filled with 500 AA batteries could actually be.

This is how things should have gone:

"Delivery for the front of house manager."
"Stack the boxes at the kiosk round the corner please."

I hate stupid people. And the most annoying thing about this? There's very little chance that the company this guy was delivering for got the order correct. We can't sell this much stuff in a couple of weeks.