The Jury Is Still Out

About a week ago, the Gator called me and began telling me about how she received a letter from the courthouse telling her she is on a jury. FOR A MURDER TRIAL. She's getting excused, of course. She can't be bothered with that (channeling her mother much?) "stuff."

In her defense, she is still dealing with a lot of "stuff," (short list: my grandmother-her mother-died in May, shortly after my sister was released to rehab from a hospital in Pittsburgh, PA, after suffering a brain trauma-an ongoing thing; another family member was diagnosed with cancer and is undergoing treatments) along with the fact that she's old enough to be excused on her age alone. All that aside, IT'S A MURDER TRIAL! And she's not going. And I had to hear all the reasons, several times over. For many minutes.

I'm certainly not going to be the one to argue with her. I'm not stupid.

I have to tell you, it's a MURDER TRIAL! And she was just randomly chosen, and notified by letter, without any further process!

This past spring, I was summoned for jury selection, so I do have the teeniest bit of experience with how jury selection occurs, I asked her several times about how she was chosen, about when she was at jury selection, and mostly being answered that it's a MURDER TRIAL! I asked her how many days this trial would take. She tells me "One day. But even so blah blah"

Finally, she got the letter and read it to me. Much like the long-ago days of listening to her reading the daily newspaper to me, it was an enlightening experience:

There was no mention of a MURDER TRIAL at all. It was a summons to JURY SELECTION, not for her to serve on the jury for a MURDER TRIAL. She had to read the letter, sentence by sentence, before she understood that whether or not there is a MURDER TRIAL, she is NOT actually on a jury (yet.)

She's still getting excused, but the jury's still out on several charges:  can she read for context? Does she understand how the process works? To what degree is she batshit crazy?

Context Is Everything

Today, I was lucky enough to hear these random things, and no, you aren't going to get the context.

From the Toad:  "Revenge is a dish best served with potato chips."

From Weird Michelle:  "No matter what else is wrong with my life, at least I'm not watching Glee."

Phone Home

I rant a lot about the stupidity that I encounter at work. Especially with the phone calls. I don't know if I get an inordinate number of these stupidity calls, or if it's my perspective on them, but either way, here's several years worth of 'em:

• When dialing into our store, the first voice you hear is automated, and the first thing it says is, "Thank you for calling " I realize that it probably pays a lot of businesses to put the wrong name in there, so once you get a real live person, it makes perfect sense to say, "Is this ?" You can justify it by telling me that because the real live person is required by company phone protocol to say, "How may I direct your call?" without identifying the store (again) but seriously? You dial the store's number, and when it connects to us, we identify ourselves...you still need to ask? Really?

• Our store has the words "Home Improvement" in it's official name. Do you really think it's helpful, when asked, "How may I direct your call?" to ask for the "Home improvement department" and to get pissy when asked for more specific information?

• I do know that there are entire stores devoted wholly to plumbing and heating supplies. I understand that many places who carry those kinds of things lump those two things together. But when you call and ask to be connected with "plumbing and heating" and I tell you that in our store, those are in two separate departments, and you argue with me over needing to speak to plumbing AND heating, there's a 50-50 chance I'm gonna guess wrong in which one you really need. Play along and pretend that, because I work there, I actually do know which is kept where.

• Along that with that thought...if you ask me for something (say, caulk or glue) that is in a department that doesn't make sense to you, can you, just for shits & giggles, accept that when I connect you with the paint department, and you don't tell them what you need, and they transfer you back to me, and I explain that it's in the paint department, and then send your call back to the paint department, that I just might know more about what's in this store and where it's kept, you know, because I work there. If you must insist that it's not going to be where you're told it's going to be, don't get mad and call Customer Care and report me as unhelpful--it's not me with the problem understanding English.

• If you're going to assume that everything we say to you is lie anyway, why do you bother with us? Do you enjoy the stress? 'Cuz quite honestly, even if you do, I don't, and I think, in this instance, it's not nice to share.

• If for some reason the gods of retail personally have a grudge against you, and we have collectively managed to piss in your oatmeal every blessed time you call or come in here, take the hint: stop shopping here. Stop calling. Stop. Just STOP. If it's THAT bad, you can control where you go to get whatever the hell it is you need. (and the flip side of that is if you're asshole enough to make every person you've ever been in contact with hate you and feel ill when they see you, please consider whether or not the problem is really YOU. 14,000 others in your community can't be all wrong.)

1-800-IR-ID10T

Saturday at work, I had a lovely experience with couple from the inbred county to the north.

They come to my register, and tell me "I got a thing in there." He jabs a finger at the register screen. I scan the few items they are also carrying, then ask for their phone number.

"000-IR-ID10T" I dutifully type the number...and nothing. I get a listing of nothing. I ask if that's the phone number he gave to "them" back in appliances. He says, "That's my number."

"There's nothing coming up under that. I'll have to call back and see..."

He says, "That's not the number I gave them, though."

"OooooooooooooooKay. What's the number you gave them?" I'm ready to retype a number.

"My contact number. Like they asked for."

"OOOOooooooooooooooooKay. What would that number be?" Still ready to retype the number.

"My cellphone."

"Could I have that number then, please?" Still ready to retype the number.

"IR-ID10T-000" I type that in, and whaddaya know...it's there! What a concept.

He adds, "I don't know why it didn't come up under my home number."

I can't help myself...."Did you give them your home number?"

"Nope."

Is it really this hard? Really?

That Sucking Noise

I am vulgar. Just ask my mother. And that's your only warning.

I work with some great people. And I work with some lazy, disgusting, stupid people. Two of the worse ones are also fat, and getting fatter. I don't mean they have a little meat on 'em, I mean, they are flat out FAT. I don't care, mostly, but they are also the laziest, back-stabbingest, and personality-less women I've ever had the displeasure to get to know.

Their fat doesn't bother me, as I was once fat myself. (OK. full disclosure, I'm still not-thin, but I ain't FAT. And I hope to never have my bubble burst that I was fat AND disgusting. Just sayin') What bothers me that as these two get fattER, as they get laziER, their approval rating with the men in the store gets higher.

For both of them, their sum-total personality aspects are that they make it clear they have no CLUE how large they are, and they will work very hard (and, from what I've observed, go to any lengths) to NOT do their jobs.

One is the spitting image, I swear it!, of Miss Piggy. The other is very blonde with blue eyes just a floating in batting eyelashes, and apparently, it's true:  blondes do get away with murder. How shallow are these guys, anyway?

I have my theories on why they get the pass on work...it involves golf balls and garden hoses.

So, I work til close last night..with BOTH of them. I am alternately pissed off, disgusted, and humored by my own vile thoughts. This culminated in ending the evening making sucking noises while waiting to be set free.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssuck. sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssuck. ssssssssssssuck.

Because they do. In more ways than one.

Tis the Season

For the extra special weirdness.

Tonight at work, I was approached by a woman who began our conversation with, "Hey. I just wanted to tell you....in case anybody asks about the diarrhea..."

Honestly, it doesn't really matter what was said after that. Honestly.

Satan Rules

Yeppers. More stories from the self-checkout. The best part? Happened all in one day.

There were dozens of people (mostly women, I might add) who have a deep resentment of the self-checkouts. The comments I hear usually range from "these take jobs away from real people!" to "I don't use them because they don't work very well."

And, of course, there's always the idiot (or 3) who stand in front of the one unit that is dark, with signs on it that says, "out of order." Seriously. If there are 4 units there, and 3 of them have pretty lights, moving pictures, and sound, Why TF are you lining up in front of the one that is not only clearly marked, but dark and silent? And why do you look confused when I tell you, "sorry, that one's not working right now"? And there's always those morons who line up behind the person who is using one of the working units....while the other units sit there, basically talking to themselves. Why? I can't believe that I am among the few who are actually aware of what's going on around me (and I don't think it's because I work with one of these beasts. Honestly.)

Early in the day:
One woman stands out because she allowed me to scan her crap, then, when handing me the money, she says, loudly, "I DON'T WANT TO GIVE THAT THING MY MONEY!" to the guy with her. He just rolls his eyes and says, "Whaaaat?" She says again, "THAT THING! THAT THING! I DON'T WANT IT TO GET MY MONEY!" He takes her bills from her and hands them to me, telling her quietly, "It's OK Ma, it's okay. We'll be in the car soon."

and then:
The bestest customer of that day was the woman who grudgingly allowed me to help her use the machine, and then, when I'm saying "Thank you for shopping" she tells me, "THESE MACHINES ARE SATAN! YOU ARE ITS MINION!" and while I stand there, with my jaw on on the floor, she says, "I MEAN IT! SATAN! *points at the machine* MINION! *points at me*" and then she leaves.

Of course, I giggled the rest of the day, and shared the information with coworkers, managers, and other, non-mental patient customers.

It Really Isn't About You

I hate people, but I especially hate grumpy, pushy, in-a-hurry old hags.

Monday was definitely MONDAY. I misplaced my car keys twice while trying to get out the door. For the first hour or so I was there, the garden center was not my happy place. Still better than being inside, but not by much.

Had Granny in her gators come in, ask me about trees, then wander off. She parked in the loading zone, effectively making her own parking space. It was fun to watch traffic swerve to keep from side-swiping her.

When she got back to the register, of course there was another customer who came up at the same time. And the fucktards who were looking at trees, but couldn't read the signage to tell them how much.

Granny had this gawd-awful light-up wreath with no item number or tag. F'ugly thing didn't even have a model number on it. Granny going in didn't have on a Santa hat. Granny has one on now...and it didn't have a tag of any sort either. Trying to look up these item numbers proved the impossible dream, and calling inside merely got me company in my frustration.

Granny decides to go inside to see if she can search something up for me. So I scan the next guy's crap. Sometime after Granny shut down my productivity, one of those in-a-hurry-hags also joined the line. While that guy was paying, Granny comes back. She's got nothing.

While she's telling me she's got nothing, in-a-hurry-hag shoves up my counter, waves her less than $6 in bows in my face and screeches, "Can you just take my money already? I want out of here!"

I politely (not just politely for me, neither) explain that I'm taking care of this customer and I'll be with her as soon as I possibly can. She shrieks something unintelligible and stomps off.

I finally get Granny taken care of and apologize for the problems. Hag has already stomped out thru the gate with her bag.

I learn later that Hag has been inside, and given an earful to two of my co-workers. Hag was kind enough to blame "the pain in the ass" customer, instead of me.

Schleppin' Them Trees

It's that time of year again--live cut Christmas tree schlepping time. I love being outside, even in the cold, even in the claustrophobically little toothpick & saran wrap hut--I swear it keeps getting smaller!

I don't even mind sweeping the bajillions of pine needles, the pine sap on my gloves & coat, or smelling like Pine Sol at the end of a shift.

What I mind are the people who are even weirder about my being out there. The comments about the cold--today was NOT cold people! COLD is when you can see your breath. Today was sunny and mostly chilly.

What irritates me are the people who come in and say, "We'd like to get a tree. Do we need to bring it in here?" and after I offer them the lovely trimming of the lower branches, taking a nip off the trunk and putting it thru the binder to make it easier to schlep home, they ask again, "So, do I need to bring it in here?" It's like buying a live Christmas tree is brain surgery.

Today's special nitwits were the woman who stood and watched me sweep up the second round of bajillion pine needs, huffed at me, then started to walk off. I'm glad she huffed because I didn't know she was there. I asked if I could help her, and she said, "I need to buy this," disgustedly. She was holding a tree stand. I told her I could do that, and she acted all pissed off. There's a reason I hate people.

The most important man in the world was in today also. He wanted me to follow him around while he figured out how much the trees cost (which he asked me, then repeated everything I'd just read off the sign). He finally chose a tree, then came to me (no, I was not following him around--if he needs an audience, he needs to get his own) and asked if he needed to bring it in. I, of course, went thru the "we can... blah blah blah" bit, so he could ask again, "Do I need to bring the tree in to you to pay?" I got to tell him only if he needed any of that stuff done for him. He dragged the tree in, and couldn't seem to make up his mind if he could trust me to handle the tree, or if he should keep his hands on it. He knows I can't be trusted.

As I trim off the branches at the bottom, he says, "I think it'd be better if I did that." He seriously thought I'd let him trim that tree, right then, right there.

Dude needs behavior therapy, not a chainsaw.

Really? You think I'll just randomly let you have a chainsaw?

A Little...

The other day, this scrawny lil' dude comes in to the customer service desk. He's kinda chatty--it's also the full moon.

I take care of his return, and he goes on his lil' way. Soon, he's back, and asks me if I can "take this here?" Sure, dude. You betcha.

As I'm scanning his stuff, my manager asks me a question, I answer it..and I continue scanning his stuff. Before I can tell him his total, he says, "You look like you could get a little mean." He's grinning.

I respond, "I'm a woman. OF COURSE I can get mean! Don't you know that about women by now?"

He says, "Well, yeah." *winks* "But I like my women a little on the mean side."

What bothers me the most is that, yet again, this kind of weirdness finds me (does that line really work for him?) and I just roll with it. I don't start to think how absolutely bizarre that was, until about 20 minutes later when someone asks me if there's a full moon.

I am afraid.

Shit & Other Bad Words

I know this is my 3rd time through this sort of thing, and I shouldn't be surprised. Honestly, it's more that I'm exhausted by having to deal with all this shit AGAIN. I'm just fucking tired.

Since assholes are an on-going theme in my life right now, I guess my co-workers decided they needed to be all up in that action. Asshole customers aren't enough? Thanks for thinking of me, you assholes. You know who you are.

Today was day number 6 in a 7-day run. I got to be in the lumber area again. Because I love getting bitched at because the usual cashier is actually allowed to have a day off now and again. And I love when the dirty, smelly contractors (a fancy word for many who simply cannot hold down a regular job) tell me how to do my job--yes, down to when to hit the Total key--and then say stupid shit like, "Oh, you must be new here since you don't know who I am."

Really. That's all just really way more than I deserve.

So, instead of offering me a doughnut, or a cup of coffee, what I was handed today my own ass. By assholes who are supposed to be on my "team." (Again with the "There's no *I* in Team" bullshit.)

What makes it worse is that these are guys I've worked with for years. Of the 5 of them at that desk, two of 'em have worked with these 12 years...and they KNOW the shit I put up with from this company, and the customers. Of course, one of the two is a Certified Self-Centered Asshole (He wouldn't piss on his grandmother if she were on fire if there wasn't something in it for him) from day 1...I expect this sort of shitty treatment from him.

The rest of 'em, well, it's been lovely being delusional with you. No more delusions. Sorry that you all turned out to be such fucking ass jerkwads.

What exactly happened today was this:  these assholes were asked to cover my lunch break. ONE hour. I had to practically BEG to get that coverage. AND even after I had to do that, they still took their sweet ol' time about who would do it. I know you boys are busy playing with yourselves and each other, but yanno, you're getting paid here, and you're all over the age of Pukedom. Once one of 'em DID actually venture towards a register, I was engulfed in trying to find and use a customer's account. I already know my break is going to be massively late to start, but that's OK. I should be able to direct other people to you assholes, finish this, and jet. So I can get back to my register and you can go back to making yourself feel importantly assholic, yo.

Asshole on register clears HIS line and scurries back behind the desk. Leaves me with the engulfing credit thing, and PEOPLE in my line. Because I can't turn off my light, unless I want to not have a job anymore.

Several 10 minutes later, I have to ask  fucking BEG the assholes to get back on register. They're mostly standing around, chatting with each other, watching the line form. And I'm on the phone with the credit people trying to get this done. I don't ask. I don't fucking beg. I take out my not-supposed-to-have-it-on-me cellphone and dial into the store. The fucking store I'm standing in. Working. They notice that, and scurry to open a register.

I finally finish what I started 30 minutes ago, and half a head of hair lost to stress ago, and another cashier is there. Finally. But I can't go on my lunch, because she's confused as to why there's the asshole on a register. Because my register light is on, and his isn't. I can't leave until I have coverage. And no lights on Asshole isn't coverage.

Oh, and I have to fax a copy of that receipt to the company who have just been horribly patient about this whole credit thing. So I go to the Asshole desk and ask for help with the fax machine. Many years ago, I've used a fax machine. Here? No, not so much. Not at all. Ever. In 12+ years. So, I ask for help.

What I get is another Asshole, being a condescending asshole. Even AFTER I tell him that I've never fucking faxed anything from this store, EVER. When he starts his condescending Assholism the 2nd time thru, I just take my stuff and leave. While someone I thought was a friend, a decent person, a stand-up count on him kind of guy--the OTHER one I've worked with for 12 years--is laughing at how I'm being treated. I'll find another fax machine in an Asshole Free Zone, TYVM.

Great for you, guys. Wow. I'm just fucking numb with being impressed. I am sooo hoping I can work with you again tomorrow.

Hello? Asshole.

Saturday, there were 3 of us cashiers on the front line (yes, it is like a warzone sometimes.) Two Newbies and me.

A guy came up to the first Newbie and wanted "plastic gloves that come up higher than my wrist" and "bee spray."

Of course, she wasn't sure where it all was, so he comes to me. Both Newbies are listening to what I'm saying (cuz, you know, it actually IS a good way to learn) and while I'm talking with the customer, suddenly two women appear off to the left of all of us.

Neither makes any move to approach any register, neither makes any attempt to catch anyone's eye--they just both start saying, "Hello! HELLO! Anyone?! Hello, ANYONE!"

We all turn and look at them...including the customer I'm talking with...and then we all turn back to what we were doing.

They continue to say, "Hello! Anyone!" until I've finished with the bee spray guy.

When I look at them and ask, "How can I help you?" They both just stare, slack jawed. Apparently, I'm not "anyone" enough.

Crawling Out of the Woodwork

Seriously. The epidemic of Stupidity has actually gotten worse.

Yesterday, I wasn't even supposed to be at the customer service desk...and yet, when the one person behind the desk is inundated with customers, and I'm standing around with my thumb up my ass, I feel obligated to subject myself to the that sort of thing.

I'm answering phones more than anything else. And every single caller needed to tell me his, or her, life story. Good thing I'm a good guesser, because that's exactly what it took to forward those calls to the departments.

I got a call for "some prices on some stuff." I got a call that just wanted to know if we were making deliveries "today." I got a call asking for phone numbers to our other stores. They wanted managers, but didn't know why.

The best call of the day was the guy who called to tell me that he got his dryer delivered.

Oh, and there was this little problem with it...it only had 3 legs. He needed the 4th leg, but the delivery guy didn't have it. And he didn't want to talk to the delivery manager. He wanted ME to know. Just to know, not do anything about it. Oh, and, did I know that when he was buying the dryer, he applied for a credit card? And he had to apply, because they'd closed his other one when he didn't use it for about 5 years. It was great, considering that I had several flashing green lights and a ringing in my ears....I had no less than 4 other calls coming in as he then begins to explain the ENTIRE credit application process to me.

And the first call I answered after I finally go that guy to quit talking?

"How may I direct your call?"

"er, uh. hmmm. er....ahhhhh. huh?"

"Please hold."

And I get to go back tomorrow!

Phone Phun

I've been at the customer service desk lately. Which is better than it used to be--they've rearranged things, and instead of a divider between returns and the rest of the world, it's all one area. And that means that there are 2 people to handle all the crazy. No longer alone...what a concept!

Anyway, the rest of the store is running short staffed, and that means that we have, yet again, no "team" mentality. It's every-man-for-himself again. That means that department phones are not going to get answered, even if there's a body in the department with a phone.

The other morning, I was at the desk, answering 5 phone calls in 4 minutes or less. I keep transferring the calls, and paging the departments, and the calls just keep on keeping on coming back to me.

The general pissiness of the general publicness, Oh My! Loving getting my ass chewed on over the phone. LOVE IT!

But what I loved best was hearing, "GRAWN-hack-cough-HORCK-mowers" over and over again as I tried to get someone ELSE to answer the call!

Why? ...Wordless Wednesday

The Jackass

By now, I'm over it, but since I've told you all that my brother is a jackass, I feel I should explain.

Mostly, I like him. I do. But sometimes, for many months in a row, he's a total jackass, and I just want to punch him in the head. For many months in a row.

Last winter, he had some sort of weird newspaper sales flyer fixation. He called early one Monday morning, and by early, I mean somewhere just after the buttcrack of dawn. I'm not a morning person, and yet, this doesn't stop him. EVER. Add in that it takes WEEKS of telling him over and over again that I have to take the Howler to school now, before he actually hears and retains that information, and I'm soooooo very NOT in the mood to hear from him before 10:30am EVER.

Anyway, he calls this one bright morning and insists that he has to talk to me. My Sweetie had answered the phone, and that just wasn't good enough. So My Sweetie brings me the phone, wakes me up enough for me to be moderately coherent and hands me the phone.

My brother asks if we subscribe to the local Sunday paper.

"Yes."

Did we happen to get our paper yesterday (Sunday)?

"Yes."

He rambles on for a few minutes about getting a not-quite local Sunday edition for himself. And how he was disappointed in the sales flyer selection. He then tells me to go get my Sunday paper, and tell him each and every sales flyer I got in mine, so he can compare the two.

"NO." I hang up the phone.

As if that's not idiocy enough, a few weeks later, he calls me to rant about a specific flyer. This time, he purchased the local Sunday paper. This particular sales flyer was utilizing the annoying gimmick of having the "guys' stuff" printed one way is up, and the "girls' stuff" printed the other way is up. Half and half. He's calling me to rant about how, if he were interested in buying new tires, he can't read the prices, as they've been printed "upside down."

I try to be calming, I try to care. I try to explain that it's a gimmick...he rants on.

To make it even better, several hours later, I discover that he's tagged me in a picture OF THIS SALES FLYER on FaceBook. Captioned by his rant...and MY NAME.

He needs serious help.

Just a few months ago, he again tagged me in a random pic on FaceBook. Some TV newscaster chick.

Considering that two years ago, when we got new kittens, I tagged him (along with several other people) in pics I posted. He ranted at me (yes, special morning phone calls) that those were not pictures of him. The finer art of untagging yourself is lost on him. Several days of phone calls and finally caved & untagged him. He continued to rant at me about it.

But somehow, it's totally sane & rational that he should tag me in photos with accompanying rants about sales flyers, and random newscaster photos.

Finally, next month I am FINALLY getting go to see a musician I have liked for years. When the tickets arrived, I took a photo & posted that on FaceBook. Yeah, I'm that dorky & excited to be going to see him live!

My jackass brother, knowing full well who this artist is, decides to comment on my photo. No, I didn't tag him. Jackass, suck-the-happy-out-of-it comment. I deleted the comment.

In the meantime, he's posted pics of tickets stubs from events he went to in 1987. No, I haven't commented. Why?

Because I may have a brother who is a jackass, but I am not a jackass.

I think he's noticed I'm unhappy though, because when he asked me about the concert, I answered as simply as I could, offering no further information, because he is not going to kill my happy, and I'm not going to respond in kind.

He can be all the jackass he wants to be...and he can leave me the hell out of that loop.

"The Man"

The other day at work, this lil' ol' man comes in through the gate.

He asks for permission to use a cart. (no, not just "where are the carts?" but, "may I use this cart please?")

When he comes to the register with his patio pavers, he is waving around the corner chunk from one of the gray pavers. He tells me that while he is getting the pavers he brought me, this one paver back there, it just fell apart when he touched it. I finally realized that he was worried that we'd think he had done it on purpose. I held out my hand for the chunk. He hands it to me and I successfully lob it into the garbage can.

He pays, he leaves.

He comes back.

He tells me, "you see, the township man keeps coming around to check on me." Oh, OK. "He's trying to catch me, to make me get a building permit." Oh, OK. "So, you see, when I add on to my buildings, I put everything on wheels." Oh, OK. "This way, they're not permanent, so they can't make me pay for a permit. And sometimes when I know he's coming, I move things around. Because it's all on wheels." Oh, OK. "But the wheels sink, so I get these blocks to set 'em on." Oh. OK. "I'm FIGHTING THE MAN!"

Oh, OK.

Moving Violation

I think I do this. Indiscriminately throw pheromones into the air and attract the freaks that find me to hump my leg.

And sometimes, they're stronger than others.

I think this because, when they're stronger, My Sweetie sleeps on top of me. Think of it as a very large man-sized cat curled up on top of you. (Then, just for fun, add a few real cat-sized cats too. Yeah, there's a reason I don't sleep well.)

And when I'm at work, or even just not hiding inside my house, all sorts of freaks and weirdos approach me. Some of them are women, too.

Anyway, they just can't seem to be close enough to me. Or talk to me enough. Or something.

If I liked people, maybe I'd enjoy the attention. But considering how little I actually do like most people, it's just annoying. And creepy.

The creep factor today got an added dimension:  when I was driving home from work, I was sitting in the right hand lane (go straight thru the stop light) and a yellow pickup truck with a scruffy dude for a passenger pulled up beside me in the left lane (turning). He looks at me, smiles big, and says, "HI!" and continues eye contact.

They're now approaching me while in moving vehicles.

Kill me. Kill me now.

Manic Monday

Happy Monday! bwhahahahahahaha!

My day started with a courtesy wake up call...from work. I was scheduled to be there at 7am. I had copied last week's schedule onto my calendar for this week too. Sure, I had printed out my schedule, but apparently, March now has more weeks in it than ever before. Crap and damn.

Once I got to work, I learn I'm at the Hell Desk today. This is great, because, you know, today didn't suck enough. Anyway, Smiley was covering it 'til I got there. She was in the middle of some phone thing, so I just went to cover where she was gonna be until she was done. No problem, right? Right. When we traded places, I discovered the one daily business report that has always been a total brain fart for me. And now, with the techno-updates we're doing to finally join the rest of the world, there's no way-no how I'm tackling that beast today. Which should be fine, because, there it sat, all marked and stuff like it's supposed to be...BUT. Did I shout BUT? I should shout WTF! She had it partially done, and has, up to this moment said absolutely NOTHING about where she was with it. Part of this report thing is to sign it when it's done. No how-no way am I going to sign MY name on HER report doin's. Soooooo, I call ol' Smiley, and ask her about that. She tells me, in her wonderfully non-committed, vague ass way, that "Yeah, uh, that's there. It's kinda done. You might need to print some of it, yo." AS IF! I tell her, as politely as I can that my day is already shot to hell and I'm not finishing this report. She can trade me back, finish it, then we'll switch again.

THEN, I learned that today was "I WANT TO SPEAK TO A MANAGER FOR MY PIDDLY ASSED PROBLEM THAT DOESN'T EVEN INVOLVE YOUR STORE" day. It was great. I loved answering the phone, or just random people approaching the desk, and having them shout "MANAGER." My personal fav was the dude who kept telling me he needed the shipping department. And no matter what I said to him, even after he told me he'd been transfered to the not-shipping department several times (no answer)....I was to reach up my own ass and produce someone who could help him (not happening, btw) Finally, I convinced him to give me his name & phone number, after I gave him my name...he demanded to know how that was gonna help. I explained to him that since he had no one else's name who was to take care of this, AND his call was long distance, we would call him back, after I got to someone to look into it and do it. I actually said the words, "And now you have MY name, and I promise you, I will NOT have you calling back telling anyone I didn't do my job. Someone will call you back, or I will be in deep doo doo." Even that didn't passify this moron, because he called back 20 minutes later.

While trying to get that taken care of, I get this lil' trolly woman. She begins demanding a manager. I ask her if she can tell me a little bit about what the problem is, so I can give the manager a heads up when I call him. She bought a refridgerator--when is top secret eyes only information btw--and it's not making a noise. YAY ME! I ask her if she's already talked to someone in Appliances. She says, "NO. I want the manager." Well, baby, today isn't a good day to get a manager, but you can head back to appliances and the dude back there will be able to help you. "IS HE A MANAGER?" No, ma'am, he's not but "I WANT A MANAGER." Well, ma'am, any manager I call is going to ask me to direct you back to Appliances and this dude. "I WANT A MANAGER." Exasperated, I finally tell her, Ma'am, any manager I call is going to tell me to have you go back to Appliances and start there. If you insist that he come up here, he's going to walk you back there, and give you, and your problem to the dude back there to handle. The dude back there is very capable--he's the guy I always recommend to people when they need anything Appliances. You talk to him first, and when a manager is needed to make this right for you, HE will call the manager.

And that was just my morning. Wait til lunch...it gets MORE exciting! (NOT)

Temperatures Are Not An Indicator

Early last week, the Gnome said he had to talk to me. Then he hauled someone else into the office, and never got me. Still hasn't. Wanna know what he wanted to talk to me about? Yeah, I'm kinda curious too.

Anyway, today, it was brought to my attention that Hell has not actually frozen over, and probably never will.

Today, I received the prize our company gives out to those employees who have managed to suck up enough that the customer emails and tells the company how fabulous you are.

Yeah, I know!

I've had a few of these, but since no one ever got my last name, even though I'm the only person in our store with my name, they wouldn't give me prizes. But that was well over a year ago.

Today's prizes were for compliments sent out last year--November, December and January (it's retail, so we don't need to stinking calendar!) When handed my prize, I shrieked with laughter. I took my prize to the break room, and shrieked with laughter.

And my coworkers are just wonderful:  one walked into the break room from the right door, glanced at me with my obvious prize said, "Oh, you've got to be kidding." and strolled right on out thru the left door.

Another coworker sat there and asked, "So who'd you get that from?" Sounding for all the world like I'd mugged someone who did actually suck up enough to get one.

I also got a few comments about how "emails from your family don't count."

Everyone wanted to manhandle my letter--sure it's a form letter, but it's pretty funny. It tells me that they are "especially proud to have an employee with [my] dedication" and that I "help set the tone and define the customer service culture among all employees in [our store]" and they reminded me that "These items are only awarded to employees, like [me], who clearly understand and practice being customer focused."

They also urge me to proudly display my pin (which I didn't get--apparently, those pins only go to exceptional suck ups employees.)

It's great--but no one in the store actually saw the email. And it was never posted, like the others who have gotten them. Odd, because corporate, much like God, does not make mistakes.

The end is near--with little snow, and few days of subzero weather, it's hard to imagine what part of the Apocalypse this represents.