Accidentally shit lorded in work. Might have a gang now. Hello my lovely shitladies and shitlords, I've missed writing accounts of (verbal or internal) assaults on adiposed automatons  (who,ironically use actual automatons like scootypuffs to get around), and hope that this first toe dip back will get my motivation to document my daily dealings with deranged heffalumps back on track. I'm back working in my old job and the summer season is particularly busy. We get a huge volume of tourists visiting our establishment and it's not an exaggeration when I say I easily deal with upwards to 300 people a day.  People from all across the world come to our building day in day out and you encounter so many people from various walks of life, wealth, health and age.  Today's fat tale focuses on an American ham.  Older end of its 60s (though as a fatty it could have been in it mid 30s, who knows) A femayo for context, but I prefer to refer to them as 'it' (not cause of SJW gender pronoun nonsense, but because hams shouldn't have genders, they shouldn't be able to reproduce and as such, unable to perform the most basic and fundamental agenda of any organism's life -procreating-, should not be considered to have a sex. Thus 'it' it is), this blob was obnoxious. It was busy, there was a queue, and though it looks busy, we've a system down and can decimate a huge queue in moments, as long as our system isn't fucked with. But of course. It appeared, cutting across the queue, and waddled to my (slim, possibly secretly a shitlady) colleague. It was puffing from the effort. Ruddy splotches creeping up it's swollen face, its piggy eyes swiveled as it oinked in a thick Texan accent "Where are the LADIE'S t shirts around here?". My work mate directed the obnoxious beast towards the women's department. Having managed to be so fast on its trotters when cutting the line, suddenly the ham was slow and lumbering, it cut across two other queues, walked into other customers and fucked with our system, resulting in a long ass queue and some pretty irate under-time-pressure customers. We picked up the pace and threw ourselves into it and were back on track in no time.  We were dealing with the tail end of what had been a crazy ass line, when it returned. A creature of habit, it trottered up the same colleague of mine, mountains of t shirts in its paws. Yards and yards of fabric as far as the eye could see. This ham was swathed by the t shirts and the sudden and unceremonious dropping of them onto the counter, was like seeing an obese snake shed a skin in one go. Her skin glistened with glucose and grease. My fellow fit colleague recoiled and I sympathised. I was further away than she was and I could see the visible beads of sucrose syrup sweat; it must be so much worse for her seeing it up close like that. Then I gagged as I realised she could probably smell the beast. What I thought was at least 8 t shirts transpired to actually be only 3 (but with the same fucking amount of material you'd need to make 8 normal ones). I was aghast as was secret shitlady workmate.  Ham held up the queue, yapping and squealing, getting indignant when its Amex was declined ("Whayda mean you don't take American Express?! Great, now I gotta hunt out my Mastercard" cue dramatic 'my life is so fucking hard because I have to find my OTHER credit card' sigh of injustice) and slowly trawled through its purse with its pudgy sausage fingers. Finally the fat fuck found its Visa and the transaction could actually happen and my poor human workmate would soon be free of the answer to what if Kirstie Alley ate Rosie O'Donnell looked like. Having served all our remaining customers, while the ham held up my co-worker, I joined in on their conversation. Apparently piggy was complaining about how little stock we have. (We have tons of stock. And a HUGE selection of styles, sizes, colours, cuts.) I was surprised by this and asked hammy to elaborate as I didn't realise we had ran out of our on floor stock. "I could only find 3 XXXL here, and they're not even real XXXL!" I looked at my co-worker. Our jumpers and hoodies are unisex but not the Tees, and I'd seen the T-shirts she'd folded. They were from our men's section. Our women's tees are sized from (UK) 6-8, 8-10, 10-12 and so on. Our 14-16 is a L, and we only recently began to stock 18-20 (yuck!) and that's be a XXL. Not an XXXL. Technically she was right, we didn't have any XXXL for women, but the next thing it said was the most amazing example of refusal to take responsibility for one's own totally avoidable grotesque fatness I've ever heard in real life. "Y'all around here. It's impossible to get clothes ya know. Y'all..., you're too skinny. Y'all too small" (everything's bigger is Texas right?) Transaction finished, my co-worker handed it its shopping when piggy exclaimed "How y'all so small?!". This was obviously meant to be a rhetorical question and was intended to be met with a laugh, which my co-worker politely provided. However my inner shitlady filter wasn't on and while she's laughing and the ham's 'joke' I just deadpan replied, "We just eat less." Unaware I'd just insulted it, or unable to process the concept of 'less', piggy brayed stupidly and waved dimly as it thundered off the wrong way out our building.  When I turned to my colleague to be like "did I just do that", when I realised she was just staring at me. The moment our eyes met, fit secret shitlady keeled over laughing, her eyes actually welling up with tears of laughter. Our resident CILF (Colleague I'd Love to Fuck) was passing and asked what was going on. Between peels of laughter, she told him. Our CILF is a very nicely maintained 30 year old male who I'm fairly certain is a serious die-hard shit lord but hides it under a mask of rugged good looks and Irish Charisma. CILF thought it was hilarious and shared the story with another colleague.  On lunch, the colleague CILF shared my shit lord comment with (a healthy fit lady), approached me in our tiny but functional staff room about what I'd said. She wished she'd heard it. We spoke a bit about how we both hate fat, fucking fat some people are, how sick it is, how we can't stand that kind of shit, as we each ate our salads, and were really getting into it when CILF came back. He joined in, when yet another fellow fit lady came in to start her lunch. Seeing me, she burst into laughter and told me CILF had told her about my accidental shirt lording. Suddenly the 4 of us were talking about how much we can't stand fat people and joking about them. I didn't mention you lovely folks or the site, in case I'm getting the wrong end of the stick, but it was a really enjoyable lunch break, and I feel like we've this weird appreciation of one another's confessed disgust for fat. It's refreshing to know other people still haven't been tricked by vanity sizes and HAES BS to normalise gluttony or obesity. It'll be interesting to see how the next few days go now. If anyone else might shit lord now. If we'll do subtle shit lording. If one of the cowworkers will hear us. It's so thrilling.  TLDR: Accidentally told a fat to eat less is she wants to be small. Set of a set of giggling from colleagues who both witnessed and heard about it. On lunch was joined by said giggling coworkers and joked about fats for almost 30 minutes. I think I've founded a shit people club in work. Edit: Formatting and forgot 'queue'.