Confused

My day started at work. Yes, it was morning. It was pretty humdrum, until about 11am. Then, of course, I get this call.

I love the calls that answer "How may I direct your call?" with "uhm, I dunno." The only thing better than that is when the answer is snippy and mean, accusing me of Gawd-Alone-Knows-What.

So, of course, it was a phone call that began with "Well, I don't know."

That was the high point of the call. The woman was calling for her sister who lived in Ohio, who had been in in February to purchase a stove for their brother, who does not live in Ohio.

I take about 12 minutes to give her directions on how to find the date on the receipt. Then I take about 20 minutes to give her directions on how to find the invoice number. I explain, also, about 14 times, WHY I'm asking--I'm going to find and print a copy of this receipt so I can actually see if what she's telling me is even close to reality.

I get that done, and am looking at the receipt. It was an install. But she keeps saying, "Delivery" and that the Delivery guy pointed out the ding on the stove and said that we'd give her sister, who lives in Ohio, who bought the stove for their brother, who doesn't live in Ohio, a discount and refund some of her money.

In the meantime, every question I ask her, she tells me her brother wouldn't know, (and of course, she's calling for her sister who lives in Ohio) and then asks him anyway. There's now a card he's looking for. Somewhere in here, she begins asking me if the money back offer has expired yet, because they wanted to call and find out early enough so that it was timely. (The receipt is dates 2/12, and the stove arrived at the brother's house within 2 days.)

Finally, I get an answer to, "Was the guy who brought the stove wearing a red vest, driving a big box truck with our logo on the side?" The short answer was "no." I bet you can already guess that the long answer involved a side trip into Ohio, with her sister. Oh, and we had to discuss how she was calling now so she didn't wait too long.

The brother finds the card. And, miracles or miracles, it's actually pertinent to the issue at hand. She explains again about how her sister, who lives in Ohio, took their brother, who doesn't live in Ohio, to our store to purchase this stove. Our store, for the record, if I haven't told you before, is not in Ohio. And again, she starts about calling quickly so the "offer" will still be good.

I explain to her that I will have to do some research and call her back. She asks that I call her, not her sister in Ohio. I ask her to write down my name, today's date, and the time she called. I had to tell her, 58 times, what that date was. She asks again if it's "too late" to have "that offer."

Out of frustration, I finally cave: I tell her, "Well, ma'am, it was over a month ago. If there was an expiration on it, it's long gone. BUT I can tell you that we're going to do the right thing, regardless of how long ago it was." I did not add, but desperately wanted to, "Even if MY sister is in Ohio."

So I can call her back, I need her name. She instead requests that she give me her name, because her sister lives in Ohio, and her brother, who doesn't live in Ohio, gets confused. Honest To God, I almost died right there. I think I actually made a choking noise. Her sister might've heard it in Ohio.

She give me her name and phone number, explains again that her sister lives in Ohio, and apologizes and says that "sometimes I get confused, too."

What frightens me the most about this is not that her brother is actually the more confused of the two of them, it's that it was a natural gas stove--they have access to an open flame, with a never ending fuel supply.

And then, after I got home, I got to listen to my mother tell me the story of taking my aunt somewhere. Which is, after all, another post.

This 'Splains A LOT

Saturday, the Howler went off to Chuck E Cheese with Bonk & his Mom. I worked all dayumed day, and so did My Sweetie, so it was great--free babysitting.

I scurried out of work to be home and save Bonk's Mom from the hell-that-can-be-the-Howler, and she wasn't at her house. She wasn't at my house. She weren't nowheres I could see her. (Bonk & the Howler weren't here, neither.)

So, I called her. She didn't answer her phone, which I was hoping meant that she was driving, on the way home (ol' Chuck's place is about 1.5 hours from here--I'm not sure, because I have never once, in my *cough cough* years, set foot in one of those demon holes.) I called her house, too, just-in-case.

She called back about 20 minutes later. They were just getting in the car at that point. Stopping at Dunkin' Donuts (sure, makes sense: 2 spawn in the car, sugar 'em up for the trip home) and they'd be home as soon as they'd be home.

While awaiting the homecoming, the Gator called. She asked if the Howler enjoyed her day. I said yes. She asked what time the Howler got home, I said "she's not home yet."

"So, how do you know she enjoyed it?"

"cuz she said she did when I talked to Bonk's mom"

"what? how? if they're not home yet?"

"I talked to Bonk's Mom on her cellphone." (mind-blowing concept, that.)

"Oh. Did you talk to Bonk's Mom on her cellphone?"

"Yes. I talked to Bonk's Mom on her cellphone."

"Did she say how soon they'd be home, then?"

"They're on the road as we speak. They'll be home in about an hour or so."

"So, they'll be home in about an hour or so?"

"Yes, they'll be home in about an hour or so."

The rest of the conversation went on like this for several more minutes. I know it wasn't that conversation psych shit that they teach you to be sure the other person knows you're listening...the Gator weren't listening. She was testing me to be sure I was listening to her--and to be sure I wasn't lying to her about anything.

Kill me now.

Let It Snow

As long as it's still snowing, I intend to use the opportunity to share some thinks from last December. Mostly because I wrote 'em out with pencil and paper, forgot about 'em, and found 'em again today. And it did snow last night. So there.

While I didn't get any QT in the garden center in December, I still got a doozy of a quiz regarding the fresh cut live trees we were selling.

A few days after Thanksgiving, my mother was blathering her way across local landlines...talking incessantly at me. She began quizzing me on whether or not I would be returned to the garden center. Then she asked if the "Fresh Cut" trees were in yet. (Not that she wanted one--it was a test.) When I said, "Yes" she asked if we were actually selling any. Again, I said, "Yes" She demanded to know HOW we were selling those trees, because, "You only have but FOUR of 'em, and they're in front of the garden center."

Choking back laughter, I tell her, "Those are the ones on DISPLAY, so you can see pricing and general size DUH." Oh, yes, I did too DUH her.

Undaunted, she demands, "Where are the REST of the trees, then?"

"They're INSIDE the fence."

Still confused--or convinced I'm lying--she demands to know how we're watering the those fresh cut trees if they're inside.

So I pronounce each syllable slooooooowly for her: "They're In Side The GAR DEN CEN TER FENCE, Not In Side The Build Ing."

Mom's still brighter than the woman who rolled in the gate on a cold late April day and said, "WOW! It's certainly warmer in here than it is out there."

Mr Fabulous

He works in the Paint department. He's one of those annoying optimists. Miss Piggy likes him.

Anyway, Mr Fabulous, the 80's called, and it wants its fashion back.

'nuff said.

Random Rants

Last night in Hell, er, uh, I mean, at work, I was, of course, at Returns. And the standard Return Rant goes like this:

Sure, there are some stores where you go to one place with the crap you're taking back, and you get the replacement crap, and then they subtract what you're bringing them back, and add what you're taking with you. You pay or they hand you back the difference. And sure, there are some places where they have registers scattered throughout the store, and you can approach any one of those and they can do that math for you. But where I work, we're very specific (and yes, we have our reasons) about where all that transferring takes place. And where I work, we don't do that math. We take back the crap, and we return your money. Then you go get your new crap, and take it to a special place where they take the money back. Again, there are reasons for this, not the least of which is that, believe it or not, people have been known to wander through a store, and swap stuff out on their own, and this is known as stealing.

Also, things like inventory control happen on, get this, NOT pricing. Even if you tell me two different items are the same price, it's my job to actually process a refund, and purchases are kept track of separately. No matter how many times you insist that I will do one transaction, "an Exchange," it's not going to happen. Not because I'm stubborn (which, of course, I am) but because it's not physically possible for me to do it. Computers can, and sometimes do, miraculous things, but in this case, an "Exchange" is NOT going to happen. No matter how special you think you are, it's simply NOT.

Along with that, let me tell you, once-and-for-all, we do not have face recognition technology, and my computer may very well "have all my stuff in there," unless you give me a clue, there ain't Jackshit going to happen for you. Cough up a receipt, or an ID. And no matter how important to the Universe you consider yourself, telling me you've given your phone number to God-Alone-Knows-Who for whatever reason is NOT the same as giving it to me when I ask for it. I ask for it for a reason, and that means I'm not fucking psychic, and, DUH, neither is this computerized cash register.

Next, for those who are new to Hell, perhaps they didn't make this clear in your orientation, or perhaps you were napping at that point, or perhaps you just figure that your 20-something year old ass isn't expected to actually pay attention to anyone who has already served several years in this particular incarnation of Hell, I don't care. You're wearing a vest, you're here to WORK. And in retail, as the Weasel enjoyed telling me all the fucking time, that means you do what you need to do to encourage the unwashed masses to spend their money here. (And duh, that's why you have a job, fucktard--those annoying customers do actually spend their money here.)

When I ask you to help me, or help a customer, I don't give a flying fuck if it's your department or not. I'd rather have a customer have compentent, knowledgeable help, but since that's not currently available, we'll take what we can get, and that, darling, is YOU.

And if I ask you to deliver a bunch of crap I've got that needs to go back to a department that isn't your department, but you walk right past that department. DUH, you can go there, I can't. Take it with you. I've considered it, and I have come to the conclusion that there while there is no I in Team, there are two I's in IdIot.

Maybe you haven't noticed, but there are no walls between these departments. You don't need a security clearance to go there. There's also no special training necessary to push a cart--trust me, Honey, I've seen dumber than you do it, you'll be fine. Take this crap, put it where it needs to go, and don't give me any crap about it. Do. Your. Job.

Thanks for stopping.