Heather Christena Schmidt

For today’s STFU Fridays, I have a special guest: the back of my hand. Yep! You got that right, I’m featuring people that need to Shut the Fuck Up, and apparently need to receive a good backhand to do so.

Suggestive Sellers

I don’t know about any of you, but I am getting sick and damn tired of people trying to suggestively sell. These people for real need to shut the fuck up, and will soon be receiving a hard smack with the back of my hand to do so.

Exhibit A: the Nail Salon

I go to the nail salon frequently. You all know some of my prior experiences with that whole Korean Hooker thing. Well, I’m currently in search for a new nail salon because I just couldn’t take the weird, fucked up shit that went down at my former nail salon anymore; and by “currently” I mean it’s been months.

The problem is that I can’t seem to find one that will tone it down on the suggestive selling. Even when I’ve been there a few times, it’s incessant. “You want manicure with your pedicure?” No. I don’t do my nails, just my toes because I get ingrown toenails. “You want callus remover on your feet?” No. I come every two weeks because I get ingrown toenails – I hardly have any calluses at all. “You want to wax your ugly eyebrow? They look ugly so big.” Seriously?

Back of my fucking hand next time someone says my eyebrows are ugly.

Exhibit B: Restaurants

Okay, in the interest of full disclosure and maximum humor, I used to work in retail food service. I was a drive thru bitch at Wendy’s – quite an experience, I might add. I was even employee of the month once.

But I always had a problem with suggestive selling. It just seemed ridiculous. Someone comes into the drive thru and orders only a soda, suggestively selling them a fucking hamburger or baked potato seemed just stupid. Not once did anyone say “oh, yeah … you know, I really was only thirsty, but now that you mention it maybe I would like to just pork down an extra 1300 calories! Thanks for the suggestion!!”

We go out to eat often and what I just can’t take is the suggestive selling. Sometimes it is just so bad and hard-pressed. I don’t mind hearing the specials. I don’t even mind if they ask if we want an appetizer. But when they push and push and push AND PUSH, it’s just so frustrating.

What’s worse is that these failed corporate policies have the employees focusing so much on suggestive selling that they fail to get anything right in your actual order. I cannot tell you faithful blog followers how many times I have gone out to eat and they got the order wrong because they were clearly too busy trying to push their wine flights or new desserts or meal add-ons or whatever. Last week, in fact, I went out to dinner with my father one night at our local Macaroni Grill and the waiter was so busy suggestively selling that he didn’t notice my food looked totally wrong and had shrimp in it, despite the fact that I did not order that. I didn’t notice the shrimp at first. And why would I? I didn’t order it. Funny thing, though, is that I’m allergic to shrimp. Once I realized it, they sent over the manager and we left immediately so I could take some Benadryl and an Epipen. In the end, the most egregious was not just the suggestive selling, but the fact that they never responded to my email about it afterwards.

Instead of worrying about pushing your shitty tortallachi and crab appetizers, how about just shutting the fuck up and worrying about getting things in the order right?

People That Make Commentary About My Husband and Me

Article One

When my husband married me, he knew what I was like. He knew I was snarky. He knew I didn’t tolerate bull shit. He knew that I have an unrelenting sense of humor and that the way that I express love is through humor and teasing. He knew that I am not OK with lying, in any way shape or form. He knew that I am from the Midwest and, therefore, don’t believe in some of the marital-standards that California has. (There’s a reason divorce in California is over 75%, by the way.) This is the way my entire family is and it is who I am. If anyone doesn’t like it, they can kindly shut the fuck up. If my husband didn’t like it, he shouldn’t have married me. End of story. Butt the fuck out.

Article Two

I know that this is going to seem very, very strange to some people. I know that in our very bizarre, little California community, husbands and wives do not usually show much public support for each other and their endeavors. I know that you don’t hear my father-in-law ever telling stories about my mother-in-law’s encounters at work. I know that many of our friends consider this to be wrong – for whatever backwards reasons they may think so.

But that doesn’t mean that it is strange, bad, inappropriate, or anything other than a good thing if my husband chooses to be supportive of my own endeavors. If he wants to talk about me as a writer, he should be able to do so. If we put together a Facebook page for his side of my blog, that should not be so out of the realm of normal to so many people.

From now on, anyone that makes a comment to me – or anyone, really – about the way my husband and I operate; or about how odd they think it for him to be supporting of me in the ways he wants to, will have a special date with the back of my fucking hand. It’s time for everyone (and I mean everyone) to let us handle our own marriage.

People Closing in on My Territory

People have been closing in on my territory a lot lately and I have had just about enough of it.

To the people that want to tell me how to be a parent; that want to talk to me about what they think I’m doing wrong when disciplining right in front of my kid – shut the fuck up or meet the back of my hand.

To the people that want to butt into my business when I say that I homeschool; not the ones that are interested to learn more, but the people that want to tell me they think I’m wrong for depriving my child of the socialization (from the mother who encourages her kid to bully) – shut the fuck up or meet the back of my hand.

To the people that want to try and out-do my baking (ahem, family … ahem, my mother); know your role – I’m like Martha-Mother-Fucking-Stewart on crack so you’d better shut the fuck up or meet the back of my hand.

To the people that close in on my ranks as a writer and a blogger; that ignore my existence in the writing-and-blogging-world for the explicit purpose of trying to overcome me (head’s up, bloggers – a lot of people do that); that oust me as a social networker, a views-getter, and even on lists like Top Mommy Blogs – shut the fuck up or meet the back of my hand.

So the back of my hand is going to be pretty tired soon. There are a lot of people I see in desperate need of a swift but firm encounter with it. For the rest of you, have a great weekend or shut the fuck up.