It Won't Hurt a Bit!

Fucking morons.

All the new people are afraid of the phone. They don't like to answer 'em, they don't like to use 'em, they flat-out refuse to page on 'em. It's like the entire nation has suddenly gone insane. And by insane, I mean stupid.

These are the people who are attached to their cellphones, though. They can't take a piss without having to text or tweet about it, and yet, show them a real telephone, and they are dumbfounded and afeared of it, much as I assume primitive people were of fire.

Yesterday, I got to work with the Turnip. And having decided that these new people are either going to actually use the telephone AND page, or they're going to have customer complaints to the unemployment lines.

The Turnip forgot to give a grumpass OF his change. It happens, not a big deal, really. And of course, no other customer in the tri-state area is paying with cash, so he's got to call to get the drawer open. (Yeah, it helped that the OF stood there, saying stupid shit like, "So, what? You just don't give change to people?" the asshole.)

The L&G department manager should be out here somewhere, so page him. The Turnip immediately begins trying to remember the extension number so he can call. Honey! Manager-man doesn't have their phone, so calling it is a waste of time. You're going to page.

I swear, the Turnip actually began trembling! Shaking in his shoes, he was!

I hand him the phone, I tell him what he's going to say, and I hit the buttons...he holds the receiver about 14 feet away from him and talks in his every day, normal, not-there voice. Nobody heard it except me. I made him do it again, telling him, "This time, use your outside voice."

He manages to do it, and he didn't die. Asshole OF is still making snotty comments. (Asshole also didn't like it that I deactivated the alarm chip, either, and had asshole stuff to say about that, too.)

Later, while Turnip was on his lunch hour, this genius in a red vest comes up to me and says, "Hey, can you unlock a wheelbarrow?" I tell him, nope, call 806, and ask if the customer has a receipt. 10 minutes later, Dexter the Boy Genius tells me "yes" the customer does have a receipt.

"See how easy that was to answer? Didn't hurt you a bit, did it?"

All the people he tried to call were already on the phone. I tell him to page 'em. He says he doesn't know how. I sez, "Well, Dexter, you're in luck--I've got a phone right here that will work." He refuses to come near it. Tells me to page it for him.

"You work here, dude, and it's your customer, you WILL page it, or your customer will stand there until telepathy becomes an accepted form of communication."

He tries one last time and the call goes through. Dammit! I was on a roll, too.

How Was Your Day?

Mine was about as Mumpletastic as it gets.

First, I discover that they've taken away all the stuff I've managed to acquire that we generally NEED in the garden center. Like the phone book, so I can actually call for competitor price verification, which saves me time swearing under my breath as I either sit on hold, or have some fuckwit not listen to me tell them what I actually need while they explain the price match policy to me. Then I get to grit my teeth in an unattrative fashion and say things like, "Okay. Now, I'm going to tell you again what I need, you're going to fucking listen this time."

Second, the monitor on the register customers are trained to come to died. Well, not died, exactly, just decided that 1/8th of an inch is all the visibility we needed.

Third, I had to call the un-help desk, where they were first confused that I technically have two last names, and then they had to transfer me to the superior not-listening clueless guy. He told me to just look around the back of the monitor...K, Dude, I have to put down the phone, walk around the metal kiosk, open the little sliding window...THEN look around the back of the monitor. He kept telling me that it's set up "just like your computer monitor at home, ma'am." Yeah, well, whatever. Should've told him I have a lap top. Let him tell me it's the same thing then! Idiot. Then Captain Clueless kept telling me that I was looking for a blue cord or a blue plug with the side screws. Sure, sure I am. What part of "I have a white cord and a black cord are you not understanding?" Continuing to stress the "OR" in your lack of reality is not helping me. Finally, I just put the phone down, close the sliding window, walk back around the front of my register, pop off the front plate (the one we're told to never-ever-never touch) and tell him, "I'm taking off the front plate thing to see the cords in there." To which the Cap'n tells me "It's on the back of your monitor ma'am." (You fucking think so? Am I stuttering, or do you just not understand English?) I find the blue plug, but since the keyboard is on a short leash and can't be moved very far, and I do not have freakishly small hands, I have to actually contort my arms and twist my wrists in order to touch it, nevermind being able to unscrew it. (and btw, Cap'n, you continuing to tell me that the reality suckage I'm experiencing isn't really like that isn't helping.) Unplug, jiggle jiggle, twist, scrape, owie, plug in. "Ma'am, your monitor is dead. Here's your Incident #, and we'll have someone there to pretend to fix it by the end of this year." LOVELY.

Fourth, the guy who was in who demanded, while I was scanning another present customer's merchandise, that I tell him where the "shields" were. Gave him my best guess and continued scanning. He demanded again, that I tell him if we had the very specific "shields" he wanted...got pissed, stomped back out to his vehicle, and peeled out of the parking lot. Ta ta, you ass.

Fifth, working with the Turnip.

Sixth, the woman who wanted the cheap-o, but not clearanced hanging baskets. When told where they were, and how to identify them ("out front, point to right, on the A-frame) she wandered out front shrieking, "A? What's an A? Do you know what she meant by A?"

We come to the end of my day...and I ask you, again, where do they find them and why do they keep sending them to me?

Fabulously Full Moon

1) From the WTF File: First person I dealt with yesterday: woman who apparently believed I was blind. She kept pointing to the bottom of her cart and yelling "That! Down there!" I said, "OK" each time, and continued doing my job. This went on for several minutes, until she finally said, "THAT! DOWN! THERE!" and since I was to the point where I was going to deal with "that! down there" anyway, I did just that. As I'm giving her the total, she says, "You must be new; I haven't used you before."

2) From the For The Record File: the 2nd gate is closed. There are no bodies--live, or stupid--near the registers near that closed gate...that means that those registers aren't open. Plunking all your crap onto the counter, and standing there watching as the cashier who are at the open registers collect money from others SHOULD be a clue that you're in the wrong line. But since it's not, continuing to stand there, and loudly saying, "I'M READY NOW" just makes us all certain that what you're ready for is a Reality Check.

3) From the Do I Look Like Miss Cleo? File: I don't read minds. The other people who work here don't read minds, either. When you tell me "Pine Bark Mini Nuggets." and you are blathering about how you need mulch, there's a 100% chance of you getting Pine Bark Mini Nuggets, regardless of what you're thinking you need. Actually speaking the real name of what you need helps others know what it is, exactly, you need. Shoving someone else out of the way as you stomp up to me because YOU couldn't be bothered to sort out your deranged thoughts before paying me, is not going to make you my priority. In this particular instance, I'm very glad I can't read minds, because I'm guessing yours is a very very scary place to be.

4) From the Don't Drink Your Lunch & Then Come See Me File: Since there were two of you yesterday, I liked the woman who just didn't seem to really know where she was or what she was doing far better than the red-faced guy who was talking louder isn't going to make you slur your words less. Asking every person you see the same question, regardless of how many times you've shouted it before, still makes you obnoxious. Switching questions every 5th person (no, they don't all work here) doesn't help, either.

5) I can tell it's the Full Moon because they all want to stand right up next to me--totally in my personal space, leaning in, breathing heavily. Ewwwww.

Classic

The AC in the Gator's car isn't working properly. It doesn't get cold enough--or rather, it gets slightly cool, but not really cold.

She took it to the dealer, who checked and re-checked...nope. Nothing's wrong, there's nothing to fix. "Sorry that the little light didn't come on for you, it light up just fine for us."

Finally, the guys at the shop got it to work.

They showed her how to actually push the button in, instead of just tap it. (and, I'm sure, they added a mental "DUH" after her name in their appointment book.)

Garbage Day

Today was..................interesting.

And it was Garbage Day.

I've noticed lately that the one little freaklet they hired this spring, on top of being really weird in a creepy, unattached to this reality kind of way, is also rooting through the garbage cans.

I don't know why. I don't want to know why.

And, this morning, one of the very first non employees I encountered said, "I've noticed that you have some plants in the garbage can. Can I have them?"

Er, uh, No.

Not Funny Really, But It's Really Funny

Today was really fricking HOT! It's still really fricking HOT!

My Sweetie says, "I'm gonna call the fam. I worry about my old people in the heat."

I sez, "Yeah, well, I do too, but if you'd just remember to put out an extra bowl of cold water and add ice cubes, they usually do okay."

He sez, "My old people aren't as bitchy as your old people."

I sez, "Yeah, that'd be why I don't always give mine ice."

Funny isn't always nice, yanno.

Inanimate Objects Are Dumber Than They Appear

So saith the Mumple.

At work, every Spring, they hire a new crop of morons. Usually, there's one or two bright spots--the ones who won't last because they're smart enough to get out quickly--and a whole slew of jerkoffs and idiots.

This year, we have a rousing crew: the ex-teacher who believes that it's okay to not do any work; the former LPN who thinks we're all stupider than her (HAH!); the Turnip, and the Ostrich.

I'm also adding the Cow, who has worked there almost as long as I have, but is currently riding my ass harder than a Pony Express boy being chased by the Comanches.

Those who have former professions refuse to acknowledge that they're new here, and they also refuse to accept than anyone less than a store manager could possibly have anything to teach them. Assholes. The former Florence Nightingale has been to management twice about me--and the hell of it is, I don't even fucking talk to her, or even stand near her. The bitch.

The Ostrich--he's about 7 feet tall, with his panties hanging out, and spends a lot of his time with his eyes bugged out of his head, looking around jerkily, much like the little birdies who frequent the garden center. He is every day of 18 years old, and has already proven he's dumber than the guy whose vocabulary consists of shoulder shrugs and grunts. At least the Grunt manages to find the building when he's scheduled. He also thinks that, being this stupid AND being this new, means that he's qualified to help another cashier if there's an issue, like an asshole customer with a gripe about a price. He can't figure out how to use the phone (yes, I hate to admit it, but he's dumber than Smiley, too) I've personally showed him how to look up an item number at least 300 times...and each and every time, he says, "Oh, I didn't know that."

And if I didn't find the Ostrich annoying as fuck, they now send me the Turnip. The Turnip starts getting on my nerves by being fidgety with the metal kiosk the register resides in. That hinge isn't made to be swung back and forth for upwards of 10 minutes at a time... I fixed that problem by walking over, telling him to watch his head, pulling it out, folding it up and shoving it in where he can't swing it anymore. Then, he spends his entire 8 hour shift, huddled up behind the register--by huddled up, I mean he's making himself nearly invisible there. He watches as upwards of 5 customers line up at my register, and watches from a safe distance as I have to ring up each and every one of them. He refuses to move from immediately behind the register.

Of the 15 or so people they've hired, all but 3 or 4 of them have the amazing ability to become invisible. They stand, mostly behind but not quite near the register, and watch. They watch customers line up. They watch others sweep. They watch us move carts out of the aisles. They don't retain any information about where things are in the garden center, the store, the world.

We (those of us who have spent the past several years out there by ourselves) have figured out that if we put these people on the busiest registers, lines don't move as quickly, but they move. And everyone can be busy, because customers can sense the aura of stupidity on these, and get help from those of us who actually know something, and have the language skills to communicate with them.

My favoritest part of the past two weeks was being out there, and having the supervisor of the day (who was not the Cow) say, "I want you and you on these two busiest registers. I want lines to move." Then, we got to run register and answer questions and do everything ourselves anyway. Instead of using the system that we know works, and you know, have it actually work. (and in the process having these people do the "sink or swim" thing.)

I tried to explain that she might as well send those others back inside, since she was effectively cutting off my nose to spite her face. She snapped, "Well, let's try it my way today." So I snapped, "Oh, yes, of course, I wouldn't know a fucking thing about what would actually work out here!" For the better part of three hours, then, I referred every question, every issue, every problem to her...and whatever she said, I responded with, "of course. I wouldn't know, would I?" She's also on a jag where she constantly telling me to "be nice" as if my being nice would make these people smarter.

I really think I'm getting senile, 'cuz I actually thought that when they scheduled more than one of us at the same time out there, that it'd actually mean there'd be help--you know, that they'd have the newbies who aren't afraid of the phone, the customers, and the register out there.

It's like having indoor plumbing and still pissing outside in your yard.