Bad service might make me go Al- Quaeda

For years now I have experienced the worst possible service from Builder's Warehouse, and before it's reincarnation as Del la Rey. They have a consumer complaints department, but who do you complain to about them, when they themselves ignore you? One might ask why I choose to continue shopping there, given my experiences? I have no choice! They have the monopoly in the industry and there is simply no alternative. I could write a book about my bad experiences at this place, but it would make such depressing reading, that I'm afraid it would be banned, for safety reasons.

This has lead me to the decision, that should I ever contract a terminal disease,  (which in all likely hood would have been a direct consequence of my shopping experiences) I would take them out.

I would strap the largest, most explosive bomb to myself .(and maybe pilfer some radioactive material from Koeberg Nuclear Power Station for good measure-their security is so lax, no-one would even notice)

For my extra enjoyment, I would drive through the glass front doors, past the security guard who insists on stamping my receipt. There are sometimes queues of people waiting to have their "goods checked", and receipts stamped. You could show him his own death warrant and he would stamp it. They don't have a clue, which is why I stuff everything I purchase into my pockets (if it fits) and save myself the added frustration of waiting yet again.

I would then drive over the help desk, and this would be the only time they've noticed me. I would then continue through the aisles looking for a particular individual, because I know he won't be where his job description says he should be. After that minor speed bump I would stop at my ultimate destination : The Manager's Office. Ordinarily, he wouldn't be there. In fact, you never see him anywhere. Which is why I would have phoned before hand to arrange a meeting at this very point. I would step out of my car and hug him. I would then pull the little cord that would ignite my explosive device. (I chose a cord rather than a button, as it more closely resembles the "flushing" experience I require)

At that very moment when I blow up, a large group of Jehovah's Witnesses will walk into the building. These are the irritating little s**t's that have been knocking at my gate every Tuesday and Saturday for the last ten years. I enticed them there earlier, saying I was finally ready for salvation. How were they to know they were ready too? They could have known, had they listened to WHAT I'VE BEEN TELLING THEM FOR THE LAST TEN YEARS.