Monday night, I got to be at the Customer Service Desk--a special level of Hell. Smiley was at Returns, so, of course, I got to answer the bulk of the phone calls. Not that she wasn't absolutely fabulous as she hung on to the fake door that appeared on the side of the desk several years ago, but it would've been nice if she had realized that ringing wasn't just in her head.
Anyway, I gets me a doozy of a call. Ten freaking minutes of listening to the inbred moron on the other end repeat the entire story of his last trip in...including how they left one of their bags at the store. I know, from being there, that there is a bag of "left at the register" electrical outlets at the Return desk, and finally, while stretching the natural laws of the universe and the phone cord, get Smiley to hand me that bag.
I ask specific questions about what Enos left with us. He starts the whole story over again.
At some point, it occurs to Enos that he doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground, so he tells me he'll put his wife on. This is usually good news. Obviously, I am still way too optimistic for my own good.
She gets on the phone and asks me what I want. Like I called them. He tells her what's going on--mostly that he doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground. So she launches into the Saga of Enos & Mabel at the home improvement store.
Oh, yeah. The retail-hell version of He Said/She Said. Kill me now.
Finally, I get to ask if they have their receipt. She says yes. I tell her to get a pen so she can mark the items they left, and my name on the receipt. She asks me why she needs a pen. I explain again. She launches in to the Saga again.
I'm about done with this idiocy, and I have a line forming, and Smiley still isn't really answering the phone. I shut Mabel down, and tell her to bring in her receipt and we'll get her the items they can't find.
And then, Tuesday, the Saga Continues. And it's better in sequel form.
Mabel arrives. She approaches me at the Return Desk, and demands to know if I was working last night. God help me. She begins rooting in her luggage, er, ah, purse. She sets 2 quarts of some lacquer I've never even heard of before on the counter. She then tells the guy who is standing behind her, that he can go, 'cuz she's gonna be awhile. I should've put my finger down my throat and went home then.
The entire time I'm trying to help the hapless soul who took her at her word, she's talking to me. Not answering the questions I'm asking him, just talking to me. As if he didn't exist, and as if she hadn't told him to "go ahead."
Finally, it is her turn again. She refuses to hand me receipts, until I tell her (after checking, of course) that this lacquer isn't ours. She insists that it is, and hands me a receipt for stain. I call the paint department, and he says, "we don't sell that." 15 minutes of this, and she's not only talking about everything ELSE she wants to deal with--including the stuff Enos called about last night, and stuff she brought in to match up for the project they're doing. She still refuses to let me see her receipts.
I get through the return part of this...and we move on to dealing with the rest of her fast talking idiocy. Yet again, I get to hear the Saga of Enos & Mabel. Twice. She borrows my pen...so she can circle random numbers on the receipt she won't let me see. While telling me, for the billionth time, the Saga.
In the meantime, I actually get to answer the phone and transfer calls--all while she's blathering on...and on....and on...
Finally, I get the pen, and the receipt away from her. I've already told her that I can and will refund the stuff they called about. This launches yet another telling of the Saga. I find what I need on the receipt. Because I've been sucked into this particular level of Hell, I'm stupid enough to say, "Okay, I'm refunding 18 electrical outlets and..."
She leans in really really close to me, all bug-eyed, and says very snottily, " THERE WAS A GRAY ONE, TOO." She reaches for the receipt.
I respond with (in the same snotty tone) "YES. IF I CAN FINISH WHAT I WAS SAYING." I take a deep breath and make sure she's not getting that receipt away from me. "18 ALMOND OUTLETS. 1 GRAY ONE." and turn to the register to actually do the refund.
Remarkably, she launches the beginning of the Saga of Enos & Mabel AGAIN.
While praying for a bolt of lighting, a truck, an elephant, oh hell, ANYTHING to please strike me dead right now, I manage to complete her refund and send her on her way. Mostly because once I handed her those receipts, and saying the magic words "Have a good night", I walked as far away from her as physically possible.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Sunday, October 24, 2010
She Has Been Paying Attention!
Today at Sunday School, the lesson was about the "Saints of God." As in, any God-fearing Christian person who attempts to share the Word is a Saint of God.
During the discussion, of course, the children named our priest, deacon, the Toad, etc etc. The Howler names, specifically, her father. Good girl!
When asked if her mom teaches her about God also, she shrugs her shoulder and says, and I quote, "enh."
'nuf said.
During the discussion, of course, the children named our priest, deacon, the Toad, etc etc. The Howler names, specifically, her father. Good girl!
When asked if her mom teaches her about God also, she shrugs her shoulder and says, and I quote, "enh."
'nuf said.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Road Trip
Okay, not really. 30 minutes away isn't really a road trip, is it?
Today was the field trip for the Howler's school. 30 minutes away, and thank God for smallish miracles, I did not even have to ride the bus. I did, however, get to haul ass with my friend and neighbor, who as of yet has no nick. After this post, though, I'm sure to think up something totally vile to call her. She is Evil with Caffeine.
Actually making it to the point where we load ourselves into the vehicle and leave town was hilarious, mostly because we both spent a lot of time saying, "Dayum, I have to get one more thing." and ending up forgetting several things we thought we'd need for the trip: like our sanity.
She worked last night (over night) and was prepared with a sputtering urn of coffee. Which vomited coffee into the plastic bag she brought for it. She apparently felt she needed 48 gallons of coffee to make it through the day.
While at the park, she tells me, at one point, "You know, you're more attractive when you don't talk." Lovely. I'm your ride home, baby, play nice.
On the way home, she's like some loopy half drunken dingbat, totally mishearing what I'm saying...but in the meantime, she begins playing "Who'dja Rather?" and lists the endearing couple Loser Boy & his Lover. I, of course, throw up in my mouth a little. We then discuss Loser Boy, how disgusting he is, and, exactly, which objects and animals he would "rather."
At this point, after discussing various barnyard animals, she mentions that they have a dachshund, and how lucky it is to be a small dog.
I have a mouthful of water at this point, and I am driving...Thank God, again with the smallish miracles, that we were only going 40mph. I had to roll down the window and spit. I know, so very attractive, but really, we're lucky I didn't end up in a field!
She's such a good friend, she did ask me if any came out my nose.
Today was the field trip for the Howler's school. 30 minutes away, and thank God for smallish miracles, I did not even have to ride the bus. I did, however, get to haul ass with my friend and neighbor, who as of yet has no nick. After this post, though, I'm sure to think up something totally vile to call her. She is Evil with Caffeine.
Actually making it to the point where we load ourselves into the vehicle and leave town was hilarious, mostly because we both spent a lot of time saying, "Dayum, I have to get one more thing." and ending up forgetting several things we thought we'd need for the trip: like our sanity.
She worked last night (over night) and was prepared with a sputtering urn of coffee. Which vomited coffee into the plastic bag she brought for it. She apparently felt she needed 48 gallons of coffee to make it through the day.
While at the park, she tells me, at one point, "You know, you're more attractive when you don't talk." Lovely. I'm your ride home, baby, play nice.
On the way home, she's like some loopy half drunken dingbat, totally mishearing what I'm saying...but in the meantime, she begins playing "Who'dja Rather?" and lists the endearing couple Loser Boy & his Lover. I, of course, throw up in my mouth a little. We then discuss Loser Boy, how disgusting he is, and, exactly, which objects and animals he would "rather."
At this point, after discussing various barnyard animals, she mentions that they have a dachshund, and how lucky it is to be a small dog.
I have a mouthful of water at this point, and I am driving...Thank God, again with the smallish miracles, that we were only going 40mph. I had to roll down the window and spit. I know, so very attractive, but really, we're lucky I didn't end up in a field!
She's such a good friend, she did ask me if any came out my nose.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
A Mr Mumple Story
When you travel for your job, there are some strange things you can encounter. And My Sweetie tells me about 'em.
The other day, while out and about in the county, he & his trainee were replacing a windshield...the customer was a decent looking woman who, apparently, had very few wardrobe options.
She wore a short black robe. Emphasis on the "short" part. When done with the job, and awaiting payment (not that kind of payment, perv) she invited them inside the house.
Yeah. She showed them her pussy.
He was a Himalayan.
The cat had absolutely nothing to do with the short robe, but, of course, the fun is in telling it to your wife this way.
The other day, while out and about in the county, he & his trainee were replacing a windshield...the customer was a decent looking woman who, apparently, had very few wardrobe options.
She wore a short black robe. Emphasis on the "short" part. When done with the job, and awaiting payment (not that kind of payment, perv) she invited them inside the house.
Yeah. She showed them her pussy.
He was a Himalayan.
The cat had absolutely nothing to do with the short robe, but, of course, the fun is in telling it to your wife this way.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Hussy
Another adorable Frodo story:
Last night, at close, I had to run from returns to customer service. When I got there, Frodo asks me, "So are you a natural redhead or what?"
Because, apparently, working with me for 10 years, he'd never noticed before. Duh.
I just laughed. He sez, "Yeah, I thought so."
Since he knows my Aunt--she of the asshole questioning--I tell him a funny story.
When I first started coloring my hair red, my aunt comes to the Howler's birthday party and sez, "What in the haaaaillll did you do to your hair?"
I sez, "Why? Don't you like it?"
"You look like a goddamned hussy."
I laugh. She asks My Sweetie what he thinks of it, and he says he likes me as a hussy. (bwhahahahahahahaha)
Later on, we go to visit his family, and when I get out of the car, his father sez, "Oh." snort "I din know he liked redheads."
"Waaaallll, he likes this one!" big smile.
I confide to My Sweetie that his Ol' Man had a run-in with a redhead, and therefore, doesn't like 'em. I confide same to my mother-in-law. Neither of them know anything about it.
A year or so later, I get a phone call from my mother-in-law, informing me that they were going through some old pics of when the Ol' Man was in the service...and found pics of this woman who dun him wrong. She was a redhead.
HAH!
Last night, at close, I had to run from returns to customer service. When I got there, Frodo asks me, "So are you a natural redhead or what?"
Because, apparently, working with me for 10 years, he'd never noticed before. Duh.
I just laughed. He sez, "Yeah, I thought so."
Since he knows my Aunt--she of the asshole questioning--I tell him a funny story.
When I first started coloring my hair red, my aunt comes to the Howler's birthday party and sez, "What in the haaaaillll did you do to your hair?"
I sez, "Why? Don't you like it?"
"You look like a goddamned hussy."
I laugh. She asks My Sweetie what he thinks of it, and he says he likes me as a hussy. (bwhahahahahahahaha)
Later on, we go to visit his family, and when I get out of the car, his father sez, "Oh." snort "I din know he liked redheads."
"Waaaallll, he likes this one!" big smile.
I confide to My Sweetie that his Ol' Man had a run-in with a redhead, and therefore, doesn't like 'em. I confide same to my mother-in-law. Neither of them know anything about it.
A year or so later, I get a phone call from my mother-in-law, informing me that they were going through some old pics of when the Ol' Man was in the service...and found pics of this woman who dun him wrong. She was a redhead.
HAH!
Sunday, October 17, 2010
You Know You Love Me
So, at close of business tonight, Frodo has this approved employee purchase to make. I scan the crap, and he has his discount card out, ready to roll.
He sez, "Dammit! You're gonna need an override."
I tell him, "Nope. Give me your card."
He sez, "It's not really gonna matter."
I remind him, while rolling my eyes, "All employee sales are to have the card scanned."
Since the crap he was buying needed manually reduced, he suddenly remembers that our wonky system will jump the prices back up if you reduce 'em, then take the discount. He sez, "You'll have to re-do them."
I tell him, "Nope. Take the card first, then you don't."
He sez, "You're so excellent at this." as if this is a new fact.
I sez, "And that's why you love me."
He sez, "It's your lie, tell it how you want."
He sez, "Dammit! You're gonna need an override."
I tell him, "Nope. Give me your card."
He sez, "It's not really gonna matter."
I remind him, while rolling my eyes, "All employee sales are to have the card scanned."
Since the crap he was buying needed manually reduced, he suddenly remembers that our wonky system will jump the prices back up if you reduce 'em, then take the discount. He sez, "You'll have to re-do them."
I tell him, "Nope. Take the card first, then you don't."
He sez, "You're so excellent at this." as if this is a new fact.
I sez, "And that's why you love me."
He sez, "It's your lie, tell it how you want."
Saturday, October 16, 2010
No, Really, You ARE Stupid
Today, Frodo came out to the garden center acting all Secret Squirrel. He tells me, in his special Secret Squirrel Voice, that since the Weasel has left the building, and he's now totally in charge, the garden center will be closing. (Oh, yeah, I was OUTSIDE!!!!!! Today. Mood much improved, thanks for asking)
So, I go inside. Supposed to go to Lumber (killmekillmenow) and Frodo pages me, while I'm switching into my indoor glasses (btw, those prescription shades are about fantastic! Nobody can see my eyes rolling!) to tell me that I'm to go to the front line instead.
I spent 6 hours outside with little to no freakiness showing up. Other than myself, I mean. I'm inside for all of 3 minutes, and I have BillyJoeJimBob talking to me about whether or not he would need the cooler/dispenser contraption for the 5 gallon jugs of water. And asking if I know 'bout how much them thar thingies wood cost." Er, uh, I'm sorry, I don't. I'm trying not to actually look at any living breathing person, because, honestly, when this guy starting asking me if I thought he could just buy the 5 gallon jug and use it without the dispenser thingy, I was about be all "HAH!" at this guy.
Now, the pure genius that is the Hellhole has a person at the customer service desk who doesn't have access to at least 50% of the screens she needs to do the job. So this increases my chances of freakiness finding me. She looks over at me, and asks if I can do the credit card application, because she doesn't have access. (When Frodo shows up, I tell him--that's right, I'm not asking--to get her the access she needs, if he's gonna put her at that desk. I may have said, "DUH" in there also.)
The credit card application process itself is fairly simple...provided you can remember your address. Unlike Contestant #1, who fills out his address wrong. The best part is the more I tried to find the phrasology that would clue him in to this, the more he said, "What do you mean?"
No, Really, Dude, You ARE Stupid.
So, I go inside. Supposed to go to Lumber (killmekillmenow) and Frodo pages me, while I'm switching into my indoor glasses (btw, those prescription shades are about fantastic! Nobody can see my eyes rolling!) to tell me that I'm to go to the front line instead.
I spent 6 hours outside with little to no freakiness showing up. Other than myself, I mean. I'm inside for all of 3 minutes, and I have BillyJoeJimBob talking to me about whether or not he would need the cooler/dispenser contraption for the 5 gallon jugs of water. And asking if I know 'bout how much them thar thingies wood cost." Er, uh, I'm sorry, I don't. I'm trying not to actually look at any living breathing person, because, honestly, when this guy starting asking me if I thought he could just buy the 5 gallon jug and use it without the dispenser thingy, I was about be all "HAH!" at this guy.
Now, the pure genius that is the Hellhole has a person at the customer service desk who doesn't have access to at least 50% of the screens she needs to do the job. So this increases my chances of freakiness finding me. She looks over at me, and asks if I can do the credit card application, because she doesn't have access. (When Frodo shows up, I tell him--that's right, I'm not asking--to get her the access she needs, if he's gonna put her at that desk. I may have said, "DUH" in there also.)
The credit card application process itself is fairly simple...provided you can remember your address. Unlike Contestant #1, who fills out his address wrong. The best part is the more I tried to find the phrasology that would clue him in to this, the more he said, "What do you mean?"
No, Really, Dude, You ARE Stupid.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Do I Know You From Somewhere?
Lately, I keep having people I've never slapped eyes on before ask me where they know me from. It's starting to get on my nerves.
First, if I'm ignoring you, but I do know you, I will acknowledge it IF you speak to me first. That's an unspoken bitch rule I've learned in the PTA. I act like I don't see you, and you act like you don't see me, we're both good. If you act like you don't see me, and I'm in a frisky mood, I'm gonna look at you speak to you and make you acknowledge me. Just for fun. BUT if I'm pretending I don't see you or I don't know you, and you're in a frisky mood and acknowledge me, I'm gonna play by da rules and acknowledge you back. But if I don't know you, for reals, and you insist that you know me--it's just creepy, for reals.
Second, if you think you recognize me, it could honestly just be because I've worked in this Hellhole for 10 years now, and if you've been in the store as often as you claim, you've seen me here, too. Simple logic, really.
Third, there is a woman in this town who looks enough like me to have even my mother bitching at me for "being someplace I wasn't supposed to be." My grandmother almost got in a slap fight with her brother because the Unc said I was working at that grocery store, and my Gram insisted not...and well, they have tempers, donchano.
Anyway, no, people, I don't know you. I'd tell you if I did.
Oh, and Guy who sneaks up on me and calls me the wrong name trying to "catch" me just messin' with you? You're just flat out nuts.
First, if I'm ignoring you, but I do know you, I will acknowledge it IF you speak to me first. That's an unspoken bitch rule I've learned in the PTA. I act like I don't see you, and you act like you don't see me, we're both good. If you act like you don't see me, and I'm in a frisky mood, I'm gonna look at you speak to you and make you acknowledge me. Just for fun. BUT if I'm pretending I don't see you or I don't know you, and you're in a frisky mood and acknowledge me, I'm gonna play by da rules and acknowledge you back. But if I don't know you, for reals, and you insist that you know me--it's just creepy, for reals.
Second, if you think you recognize me, it could honestly just be because I've worked in this Hellhole for 10 years now, and if you've been in the store as often as you claim, you've seen me here, too. Simple logic, really.
Third, there is a woman in this town who looks enough like me to have even my mother bitching at me for "being someplace I wasn't supposed to be." My grandmother almost got in a slap fight with her brother because the Unc said I was working at that grocery store, and my Gram insisted not...and well, they have tempers, donchano.
Anyway, no, people, I don't know you. I'd tell you if I did.
Oh, and Guy who sneaks up on me and calls me the wrong name trying to "catch" me just messin' with you? You're just flat out nuts.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Duh
So, Mr Skeeveriffic calls in to work last night.
First, let me say that while my phone manners aren't always what they should be, I don't open conversations with "Who is this?" and, for the record, I find that horribly annoying. Of course, Mr Skeevy does this when he calls.
Then he asks, "So, are we open on Thanksgiving?" Like having worked there for 3 years wouldn't have given him this information yet. We're closed 2 freaking days of the year--Thanksgiving and Christmas.
But then, given this opportunity to share the Skeeve, I answer his question with, "We normally are, but who knows this year? Let me send you to a manager."
And I do.
And I get to see said manager's face as he answers this question, while trying not to snort with laughter and roll his eyes.
Only thing in my whole night that made it worth staying upright!
First, let me say that while my phone manners aren't always what they should be, I don't open conversations with "Who is this?" and, for the record, I find that horribly annoying. Of course, Mr Skeevy does this when he calls.
Then he asks, "So, are we open on Thanksgiving?" Like having worked there for 3 years wouldn't have given him this information yet. We're closed 2 freaking days of the year--Thanksgiving and Christmas.
But then, given this opportunity to share the Skeeve, I answer his question with, "We normally are, but who knows this year? Let me send you to a manager."
And I do.
And I get to see said manager's face as he answers this question, while trying not to snort with laughter and roll his eyes.
Only thing in my whole night that made it worth staying upright!
Monday, October 04, 2010
Bible Quiz
So, once upon a loooooooooooooooong time ago, My Sweetie was on his church's Bible Quiz team. I believe him when he says it was because there were pretty girls on the team, because he certainly remembers very little scripture from it.
Recently, the Howler moved up to the next level of AWANAS. No more foolin' around! She needed a Bible, and we need to work with her on those verses. So, the former Bible Quiz Guy decided he would also begin reading the Bible.
He starts, of course, at the beginning. A few chapters into it, he announces that "all those begats and whose dad is whose is pretty boring. And hard to follow." Well, yeah. Why do you think I'm not also reading it? He also discovered that there are no guys in Genesis named Bob, but decided that any names he couldn't pronouce would be simplified into Bob and Bill and Biff. But I remember when I created a book of the Bible for the Toad called Inertiates, and made up verses, he said I was "so very wrong. Funny, but wrong." But he doesn't remember that Vince is a prominent figure in Inertiates, either.
Last night, though, he proved for once-and-for-all that the Howler's parents are really not the kind of people who should be helping the Howler understand the Bible: he sez, "You know, in the Old Testament, if a guy thinks he's not getting enough kids from one wife, or two, he just takes a few handmaids too."
I responded with, "So, you've made it as far as Jacob, then?"
He seemed a little surprised that I knew that much, since, as I stated before, I don't read the Bible, unless I have to. And I've never mentioned Jacob to him, so that must be part of the Black Hole that is my less-than-Christian accumulation of knowledge.
Then he tells me, "Yeah, and that guy Jacob would stick it in just about anybody."
There you have it: Bible Stories from Heathen Headquarters.
Recently, the Howler moved up to the next level of AWANAS. No more foolin' around! She needed a Bible, and we need to work with her on those verses. So, the former Bible Quiz Guy decided he would also begin reading the Bible.
He starts, of course, at the beginning. A few chapters into it, he announces that "all those begats and whose dad is whose is pretty boring. And hard to follow." Well, yeah. Why do you think I'm not also reading it? He also discovered that there are no guys in Genesis named Bob, but decided that any names he couldn't pronouce would be simplified into Bob and Bill and Biff. But I remember when I created a book of the Bible for the Toad called Inertiates, and made up verses, he said I was "so very wrong. Funny, but wrong." But he doesn't remember that Vince is a prominent figure in Inertiates, either.
Last night, though, he proved for once-and-for-all that the Howler's parents are really not the kind of people who should be helping the Howler understand the Bible: he sez, "You know, in the Old Testament, if a guy thinks he's not getting enough kids from one wife, or two, he just takes a few handmaids too."
I responded with, "So, you've made it as far as Jacob, then?"
He seemed a little surprised that I knew that much, since, as I stated before, I don't read the Bible, unless I have to. And I've never mentioned Jacob to him, so that must be part of the Black Hole that is my less-than-Christian accumulation of knowledge.
Then he tells me, "Yeah, and that guy Jacob would stick it in just about anybody."
There you have it: Bible Stories from Heathen Headquarters.
Saturday, October 02, 2010
Hell, More So Than Usual
Last night at work, it was definitely like it was my birthday. It sucked. I'd be more graphic, but I'm trying to get the image outta my head, so I won't be.
Anyway, we're so short staffed, Frodo & the Gnome are like Andre the Giant in height compared to what we've got going on. Seriously, there's very little to joke about in there right now.
I did, however, discover what was worse than dealing with Miss Pissy (she's massively unhappy with how/what management is doing to her right now--demoted her, dumped her onto register, but when she started she was at the Desk. Anyway.) What's worse than being boxed into the Return desk, blocked off from all normal modes of communication with the people who have access to the walkie the loader-guy carries and not being able to reach the copier?
Being boxed in and the other guy at the other desk--the guy with access to everything--not answering the phone--even when it's me trying to get his attention; he's not responding when I shout his name over the filing cabinet, and he's not looking at the 70 people lined up in front of me and doing NO THING to try to even help (no paging a code 3, no trying to get them over to his side of the desk) ...he's standing in front of the desk, watching for customers to check out. Because the phone looking like a Christmas Tree all lit up, and all those people at my desk are, of course, MY problem.
Meanwhile, I'm boxed in, trying to answer 14 phone calls that all take 10 minutes of listening to things like "oh, uh, Hi. I don't know what department I need; it's a thing I bought; can I return this thing; an order? No, it was delivered; I need to check on..." and all the while, several dozen very patient people are waiting their turn to get their money back. Oh, and then there was the guy who insisted that he could only ever possibly talk to one person, and no, he couldn't leave a message, but this is the 3rd time I've been put on hold, can I talk to...
It was Hell. I'm surprised I haven't actually cracked a tooth from grinding my teeth and clenching my jaw.
To their credit, store managers last night were trying to fill in the gaps--and were not all pissy and nasty (not even the Asshat.) God help me, I'm going back into this battlefield tonight.
Anyway, we're so short staffed, Frodo & the Gnome are like Andre the Giant in height compared to what we've got going on. Seriously, there's very little to joke about in there right now.
I did, however, discover what was worse than dealing with Miss Pissy (she's massively unhappy with how/what management is doing to her right now--demoted her, dumped her onto register, but when she started she was at the Desk. Anyway.) What's worse than being boxed into the Return desk, blocked off from all normal modes of communication with the people who have access to the walkie the loader-guy carries and not being able to reach the copier?
Being boxed in and the other guy at the other desk--the guy with access to everything--not answering the phone--even when it's me trying to get his attention; he's not responding when I shout his name over the filing cabinet, and he's not looking at the 70 people lined up in front of me and doing NO THING to try to even help (no paging a code 3, no trying to get them over to his side of the desk) ...he's standing in front of the desk, watching for customers to check out. Because the phone looking like a Christmas Tree all lit up, and all those people at my desk are, of course, MY problem.
Meanwhile, I'm boxed in, trying to answer 14 phone calls that all take 10 minutes of listening to things like "oh, uh, Hi. I don't know what department I need; it's a thing I bought; can I return this thing; an order? No, it was delivered; I need to check on..." and all the while, several dozen very patient people are waiting their turn to get their money back. Oh, and then there was the guy who insisted that he could only ever possibly talk to one person, and no, he couldn't leave a message, but this is the 3rd time I've been put on hold, can I talk to...
It was Hell. I'm surprised I haven't actually cracked a tooth from grinding my teeth and clenching my jaw.
To their credit, store managers last night were trying to fill in the gaps--and were not all pissy and nasty (not even the Asshat.) God help me, I'm going back into this battlefield tonight.
Friday, October 01, 2010
Back in the Day
Used to be that in Retail Hell, job training involved them saying, "Here." and handing you stuff to figure out how to do it--then, if you guessed wrong, them getting the chance to snipe at you about it.
It also involved just getting sniped at, because, hell, that phone has about a billion buttons, and they all blink red, or green, in no discernable fashion. Telling me, "You're suppose to answer the phone by the 3rd ring!" and threatening to write me up for not answering it, was considered "excellent training."
Somehow, I've gotten to miss those days. Why? Because back in those days, you could also call up your zone manager and say, "Frodo, who do I need to blow to get a pen that works?"
None of that is permissible nowadays. And I miss that.
It also involved just getting sniped at, because, hell, that phone has about a billion buttons, and they all blink red, or green, in no discernable fashion. Telling me, "You're suppose to answer the phone by the 3rd ring!" and threatening to write me up for not answering it, was considered "excellent training."
Somehow, I've gotten to miss those days. Why? Because back in those days, you could also call up your zone manager and say, "Frodo, who do I need to blow to get a pen that works?"
None of that is permissible nowadays. And I miss that.
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