Chatty motherfricking cashiers, who want to talk to the customer in front of you on important issues of the day, such as how fat Brooke Hogan looked in last week's edition of the National Enquirer.

Here's my shopping modus operandi:

1. I know what I want before I enter the store.

2. I usually know where the item is within the store. If I don't, I will break down and ask for help. If I do know, I don't want some pimply sales clerk trying to crawl up my ass to "help" me.

3. No thank you, I don't want to buy a fricking extended warranty on a $29 clock radio. Furthermore, when I tell the cashier that I don't want to buy a fricking extended warranty on a $29 clock radio, I expect the cashier to STFU, take my money, put my s*it in a plastic bag, and allow me to leave. Apparently this is an unrealistic expectation on my part; I once bought a laptop at Best Buy, and had to tell the clerk three times that I didn't want to buy the $200 extended warranty. He simply would not shut up. I don't even want to think about how high my blood pressure had jacked at that moment. The fact that he was half my size may have saved him from a wired jaw.