The pleasantness of my shopping experience dissipated quickly with the M-F barrage emanating from one of the store's employees. I listened for about a minute, then made my move. I told him, calmly and civilly, that such language was hardly appropriate for a retail establishment. I didn't tell him that he sounded like stupid, ignorant gutter trash. He apologized and slinked off.
Two weeks ago, while standing outside my house at dismissal for Mount Royal School, a grandfather spoke the dirty M-F half a dozen times to his first-grader grandson in the space of my nineteen feet of sidewalk. I called him out on it and he used the M-F on me.
The soundtrack of a particularly memorable - badly so - shopping excursion to the Pikesville Target, chock-full of frum women and children shoppers, featured continuous M-F bombs from the lips of several store employees. I asked, but the manager was MIA. I kick myself for not pursuing this at a corporate level.
It's everywhere, as every part of speech. It's coarse, ugly, and unimaginative. Once reserved for shock value, the only thing shocking about it now is how we constantly enable it by tolerating it.