The managers hated it when I would walk through the decor aisle to pick up random X-mas droppings and broken glass ba--s and be singing like Cartman:
Chris-miss bawlllss
Chris-miss bawlllssss
It's Chris-miss bawlllss, and they pretty-y-y-y-y
I'm glad I left and I know they glad I left. Now, they ain't really nothin' left. They might as well just stop.