"Dear Christmas shoppers, you're the worst. From, retail workers everywhere."

Hello, Christmas Shoppers.

We, the retail workers, write this letter to you in a time of dire need.

You see, our feet are burning. Our ears are ringing. Our minds are playing a monotonous loop of Mariah Carey‘s All I want for Christmas. We haven’t seen our families in weeks. We’re existing solely on a diet of Schnitz chips and Coke Zero. WE ARE BLOODY EXHAUSTED, OKAY?

You see, overnight trading hours (AKA 36 hours of pure, unadulterated hell) are imminent. And after that? Boxing Day (AKA the day we fight the urge to stick coat hangers in our eyes).

That brings me to our collective plea to you, Christmas Shoppers. You see, you can help us.

Why? Because you’re the ones who are SLOWLY BLOODY KILLING US.

Listen up, ya filthy animals. We are sick of you. Yes, y-o-u. We’ve had enough, and it’s time for you to hear the cold hard truth.

See that neatly folded pile of T-shirts in perfect size order? We just spent the last 37 minutes immaculately sorting them to our narky area manager’s impossibly high standards. When you waltz over, and fling them all over the shop and floor, a small but very real piece of our soul dies.

This is not a farm. Have respect for the stock and try to retrieve your size without leaving the area looking like a crazy-ass mountain goat on Stilnox was just let loose.

See the sign by the counter that reads 'no cash refunds, store credit only'? Do you? DO YOU?! BECAUSE IT IS RIGHT THERE. It was also right there when you bought that dress you couldn't be bothered to try on. And no, as a casual retail assistant, the company's returns policy don't fall under my duties. 

Zeeeeeeerooooo! Zilch! Nada! None! So your antics are only making me develop a deep-seated resentment towards you and everything you love. Soz.

I get $17.35 an hour, and that is nowhere near enough to deal with your complaining about rules I have zero control over.

See the time? We are closing in two minutes. Unless you know precisely what you want, and are heading straight to the register to pay for it, don't you dare set foot in my store. DON'T YOU DARE SET FOOT IN MY STORE.

You left it too late buster, and your time is up. Retail assistants do not get paid overtime to tend to your disorganised self. It's not our fault you're a lazy sack of potatoes.

And if you're the person who knocks on the shop door, expecting us to let you in when we are very clearly closed for the day? You are the Worst-with-a-capital-W. You cannot pass GO, and you cannot collect $200.

Goodbye. Sayonara. Cya never.

See this shopping centre? Notice how it's a shopping centre and it is NOT a daycare centre? As adorable as your hyperactive four-year-old 'Jet' or 'Aston' or bloody 'Terracotta Towel' is, allowing him to pull expensive items off racks and damage stock is not okay. If you refuse to control your offspring, don't get pissy when we scold them ourselves. This is a public space, and people are trying to get sh*t done. If your child can't behave you need to leave.

I know I seem am harsh, but all these things just needed to be said.

I refuse to refold another bloody item of bloody apparel. I BLOODY REFUSE GOD DAMMIT.

Christmas Shoppers, we want you to remember that this is our festive season too. Be kind and respectful, and the number of coat hanger-related casualties will drop drastically.

Yours sincerely,

Retail Assistants.

Liked this? For more from Michelle Andrews, follow her on Facebook.