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."
Showing posts with label rant. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rant. Show all posts
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Middle School Rant 2
I've been holding this in, and I ain't gonna hold it in no more!
Our middle school is like the sweaty armpit of the district. Sure, in every school there are crappy teachers, and crappy principals. Horrifyingly lazy substitutes and self centered oblivious parents. Mean OPK and weird OPK and just OPK.
But the middle school is like hell. Right here, easy to find, just off the Boulevard. So far, I like the school nurse.
The school itself is set up in pods, or "teams." There are 3 teams for each of 3 grades. There are 5 rooms per pod. If imagining just over 100 students scrambling thru the "hallway" between these 5 rooms wasn't horror enough, you get to live it by going to Open House.
The science teacher, described as "yelly" (she yells a lot) by the Howler is downright grumptastic. She had nothing to say to us, really, beyond a greeting as we introduced ourselves and the 150 other parents for Team T that were also crammed into the small "hallway." It's my opinion, as someone who could never ever make an effective teacher, that if, as a teacher of 11 and 12 year olds, you spend regular time at the beginning of your day yelling at the students, you don't have control of your classroom AND you're not a morning person. I'm not impressed by that.
I don't understand why these teachers were so damned determined to stand in the "hallway" crammed, jammed, and hammed up with all those parents and students instead of being INSIDE their respective rooms so that they could actually be approached by parents (I walked into her homeroom/science room and had no clue WHO the teacher was--and the Howler couldn't see her either. We found her, by accident, when leaving the room before I started spouting off about how much I hate the middle school) and could actually focus on the parent(s) she was speaking with.
I was also totally annoyed by other parents. Miss Priss is, of course, on Team T--I couldn't be lucky enough to have FINALLY ditched that little bitch and her self involved smugass mother and step grandmother. I spent part of my evening trying not to trip Granny, since, as oblivious to anyone else around her meant that every step I took meant she was dodging in front of me. She was one dodge away from going down.
Also on Team T is the Princess' daughter. I work with the Princess, and honestly, I get enough of her own junior high attention whoring ways at work. I don't need to see her flip her hair, bat her eyelashes, cut me off when I'm speaking to someone....and the bitch sure as shit did not need to walk in front of me & mine as we waited in line. Apparently, she was absent the day the rest of us learned those lessons we all supposedly learned in kindergarten. When trying to talk with the Howler's social studies teacher, the Princess actually made it a point to direct Mr. Social Studies attention to her by flipping her hair and swinging her fat ass as she left. I can't find a way to even laugh, since her fat ass has been negatively impacting my life all over the place these days.
The only saving grace of Open House was that the Book Fair was also being held that night, and of course, we had to go look. I was happy to do that, as my love affair with libraries has FINALLY FINALLY carried over to the Howler (who has never been impressed with any room full of books before.) While waiting in a very long, slow moving line to pay for the Howler's choices, after being almost knocked over repeatedly by a very chunky monkey & her spawn, I spied the the Troll.
Yes! My Sweetie's ex-wife, which the Howler now knows about. The Howler is not impressed to finally be getting to have a good long look at the thing. When we finally make it out into the hallway, she has successfully located My Sweetie and is being sweet-as-sugar. She's dragging her latestvictim husband and her beady eyed, rat faced, blobby daughter with her.
As cruel and unChristian as it is, seeing the Troll (she's really showing her age, btw) made the horror of Open House almost worth it. I say almost, because the aura of pure misery coming off her latest husband (#8, I believe) was enough to kill any happiness--much the way dementors are described in the Harry Potter books. I don't feel guilty about it, because we have mutual friends and thru his family and friends he was warned to get away while he could, and he willfully and knowingly married the succubus anyway. (Hint: when everyone who knows you, and even her own family warn you to run far, far away from her--and they make it clear they are NOT in any way kidding--and you marry her anyway, you got what you bargained for. And you'll get little sympathy from me for it when you discover your mistake.)
I never said I was a nice person.
Our middle school is like the sweaty armpit of the district. Sure, in every school there are crappy teachers, and crappy principals. Horrifyingly lazy substitutes and self centered oblivious parents. Mean OPK and weird OPK and just OPK.
But the middle school is like hell. Right here, easy to find, just off the Boulevard. So far, I like the school nurse.
The school itself is set up in pods, or "teams." There are 3 teams for each of 3 grades. There are 5 rooms per pod. If imagining just over 100 students scrambling thru the "hallway" between these 5 rooms wasn't horror enough, you get to live it by going to Open House.
The science teacher, described as "yelly" (she yells a lot) by the Howler is downright grumptastic. She had nothing to say to us, really, beyond a greeting as we introduced ourselves and the 150 other parents for Team T that were also crammed into the small "hallway." It's my opinion, as someone who could never ever make an effective teacher, that if, as a teacher of 11 and 12 year olds, you spend regular time at the beginning of your day yelling at the students, you don't have control of your classroom AND you're not a morning person. I'm not impressed by that.
I don't understand why these teachers were so damned determined to stand in the "hallway" crammed, jammed, and hammed up with all those parents and students instead of being INSIDE their respective rooms so that they could actually be approached by parents (I walked into her homeroom/science room and had no clue WHO the teacher was--and the Howler couldn't see her either. We found her, by accident, when leaving the room before I started spouting off about how much I hate the middle school) and could actually focus on the parent(s) she was speaking with.
I was also totally annoyed by other parents. Miss Priss is, of course, on Team T--I couldn't be lucky enough to have FINALLY ditched that little bitch and her self involved smugass mother and step grandmother. I spent part of my evening trying not to trip Granny, since, as oblivious to anyone else around her meant that every step I took meant she was dodging in front of me. She was one dodge away from going down.
Also on Team T is the Princess' daughter. I work with the Princess, and honestly, I get enough of her own junior high attention whoring ways at work. I don't need to see her flip her hair, bat her eyelashes, cut me off when I'm speaking to someone....and the bitch sure as shit did not need to walk in front of me & mine as we waited in line. Apparently, she was absent the day the rest of us learned those lessons we all supposedly learned in kindergarten. When trying to talk with the Howler's social studies teacher, the Princess actually made it a point to direct Mr. Social Studies attention to her by flipping her hair and swinging her fat ass as she left. I can't find a way to even laugh, since her fat ass has been negatively impacting my life all over the place these days.
The only saving grace of Open House was that the Book Fair was also being held that night, and of course, we had to go look. I was happy to do that, as my love affair with libraries has FINALLY FINALLY carried over to the Howler (who has never been impressed with any room full of books before.) While waiting in a very long, slow moving line to pay for the Howler's choices, after being almost knocked over repeatedly by a very chunky monkey & her spawn, I spied the the Troll.
Yes! My Sweetie's ex-wife, which the Howler now knows about. The Howler is not impressed to finally be getting to have a good long look at the thing. When we finally make it out into the hallway, she has successfully located My Sweetie and is being sweet-as-sugar. She's dragging her latest
As cruel and unChristian as it is, seeing the Troll (she's really showing her age, btw) made the horror of Open House almost worth it. I say almost, because the aura of pure misery coming off her latest husband (#8, I believe) was enough to kill any happiness--much the way dementors are described in the Harry Potter books. I don't feel guilty about it, because we have mutual friends and thru his family and friends he was warned to get away while he could, and he willfully and knowingly married the succubus anyway. (Hint: when everyone who knows you, and even her own family warn you to run far, far away from her--and they make it clear they are NOT in any way kidding--and you marry her anyway, you got what you bargained for. And you'll get little sympathy from me for it when you discover your mistake.)
I never said I was a nice person.
As the Middle School Sucks
It sucked the first time through, when I was 12-13 years old.
It sucked the second time through, with the Toad.
It sucks now with the Howler.
The Howler doesn't know how bad it sucks though. Or she's choosing not to notice, probably a mixture of both.
About 2 weeks before school started, the district had orientation(s) scheduled. Thankfully, it was all divided up by alphabet, and there were at least 3 times across 2 days, so it wasn't everybody all at once (and that, friends, is the sum-total of the good there.)
The Howler and I get there just in time to not be late. A woman approaches the microphone, and begins talking. She tells us, 3 minutes into her not really welcoming speech, that's she the principal. Her name is Wendy *muttermutter*. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think if you're speaking into a working microphone, you should be able to be heard.
She proceeds to introduce the Assistant Principal, Mike *muttermutter2*. I assume they're not related. She introduces the 6th grade guidance counselor. Wanna know what that woman's name is? SO THE FUCK DO I. Yuppers, still talking into the microphone, and still not being heard.
Principal Muttermutter continues to introduce the resource officer, and the district's athletic director. I know the athletic director's name! She managed to say his name, first and last, into the microphone! YAY! Because he's the ONE GUY in the entire school district my daughter will absolutely be having contact with every day! He'll be totally involved in helping us navigate this crazy world called middle school!
NOT.
Assistant Principal Muttermutter (no relation) and Ms. FuckifIknowhername guidance counselor got up and had a lovely power point presentation on expectations and some of the finer points of arrival and dismissal. Neither one bothered to say their names again.
Maybe I'm just an old grump with too-high expectations...but REALLY. When having an Orientation, don't you expect that the people who show up are there because THEY HAVEN'T FUCKING DONE THIS SHIT BEFORE (or in my case, not in over a decade, which amounts to the same thing), and you really should make sure that by first speaking clearly into a functioning microphone and by second repeating the names of the faculty and staff who will be having contact with my daughter I know who you are and what your responsibility/authority is. "I expect to be having a conversation with you about my daughter at some point this year and I'd like to know your name so I recognize the importance of your call when it comes" also plays a part in my annoyance.
Expecting me to follow along in the student day planner/handbook would go a lot further if, as you chatter about procedures in no discernable order, you tell me what page to look at. I barely found the arrival information when you skittered off into no-man's land to cover the lunchtime procedure.
I'll rant and rage about Open House on the next installment of As the Middle School Sucks (it's sad and funny at the same time that in the 6 weeks or so school's been in I'm already THIS annoyed.)
It sucked the second time through, with the Toad.
It sucks now with the Howler.
The Howler doesn't know how bad it sucks though. Or she's choosing not to notice, probably a mixture of both.
About 2 weeks before school started, the district had orientation(s) scheduled. Thankfully, it was all divided up by alphabet, and there were at least 3 times across 2 days, so it wasn't everybody all at once (and that, friends, is the sum-total of the good there.)
The Howler and I get there just in time to not be late. A woman approaches the microphone, and begins talking. She tells us, 3 minutes into her not really welcoming speech, that's she the principal. Her name is Wendy *muttermutter*. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think if you're speaking into a working microphone, you should be able to be heard.
She proceeds to introduce the Assistant Principal, Mike *muttermutter2*. I assume they're not related. She introduces the 6th grade guidance counselor. Wanna know what that woman's name is? SO THE FUCK DO I. Yuppers, still talking into the microphone, and still not being heard.
Principal Muttermutter continues to introduce the resource officer, and the district's athletic director. I know the athletic director's name! She managed to say his name, first and last, into the microphone! YAY! Because he's the ONE GUY in the entire school district my daughter will absolutely be having contact with every day! He'll be totally involved in helping us navigate this crazy world called middle school!
NOT.
Assistant Principal Muttermutter (no relation) and Ms. FuckifIknowhername guidance counselor got up and had a lovely power point presentation on expectations and some of the finer points of arrival and dismissal. Neither one bothered to say their names again.
Maybe I'm just an old grump with too-high expectations...but REALLY. When having an Orientation, don't you expect that the people who show up are there because THEY HAVEN'T FUCKING DONE THIS SHIT BEFORE (or in my case, not in over a decade, which amounts to the same thing), and you really should make sure that by first speaking clearly into a functioning microphone and by second repeating the names of the faculty and staff who will be having contact with my daughter I know who you are and what your responsibility/authority is. "I expect to be having a conversation with you about my daughter at some point this year and I'd like to know your name so I recognize the importance of your call when it comes" also plays a part in my annoyance.
Expecting me to follow along in the student day planner/handbook would go a lot further if, as you chatter about procedures in no discernable order, you tell me what page to look at. I barely found the arrival information when you skittered off into no-man's land to cover the lunchtime procedure.
I'll rant and rage about Open House on the next installment of As the Middle School Sucks (it's sad and funny at the same time that in the 6 weeks or so school's been in I'm already THIS annoyed.)
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
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.)
Wednesday, December 05, 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Report on the Day
Thanksgiving at the Mumple's: Loads of people. Each one, odder than the last, no matter how you stack 'em.
This year, we made a new world record. My mother was at my house for a full hour before she pissed me off & I wanted to punch her in the head.
This year, we also got to listen to my mother, who is practically deaf, my aunt is just plain nuts, and my grandmother who, at 94, has forgotten more than she remembers, discuss how to prepare cranberry sauce made from real, whole cranberries.
This year, my sister did her best to imitate a door. She would enter a room, then stop dead in her tracks and stand stock still for upwards of 2 minutes before regaining forward momentum.
This year, my brother did not, I repeat, did not confirm that he is the reigning king jackwagon in creating retail workers' nightmares.
I can't wait for Christmas! (NOT)
This year, we made a new world record. My mother was at my house for a full hour before she pissed me off & I wanted to punch her in the head.
This year, we also got to listen to my mother, who is practically deaf, my aunt is just plain nuts, and my grandmother who, at 94, has forgotten more than she remembers, discuss how to prepare cranberry sauce made from real, whole cranberries.
This year, my sister did her best to imitate a door. She would enter a room, then stop dead in her tracks and stand stock still for upwards of 2 minutes before regaining forward momentum.
This year, my brother did not, I repeat, did not confirm that he is the reigning king jackwagon in creating retail workers' nightmares.
I can't wait for Christmas! (NOT)
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
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.
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
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.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, March 05, 2012
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)
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)
Monday, February 06, 2012
Sweet Mother of Mercy!
My brother is now tagging me on Facebook in photos he's taking of his Sunday flyers.
This week? Sears. (and yes, I said taking photos of the ads.)
Sears, in a misguided attempt to encourage shoppers, divided it's flyer into this side up=women's crap and that side up=man's crap. I don't shop a lot at Sears, so unless I'm actually looking for a sale on babies or tires, I don't look at the damned thing.
And he's taking pictures. And naming me as being in cahoots with him on it.
Save me from my family...please.
This week? Sears. (and yes, I said taking photos of the ads.)
Sears, in a misguided attempt to encourage shoppers, divided it's flyer into this side up=women's crap and that side up=man's crap. I don't shop a lot at Sears, so unless I'm actually looking for a sale on babies or tires, I don't look at the damned thing.
And he's taking pictures. And naming me as being in cahoots with him on it.
Save me from my family...please.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
A Little Credit There
Covering a break... dude comes in and says, "I need different doors. They're supposed to have 'em. I talked to the girl who was here yesterday. They have 'em."
I ask him if he remembered the name of the person he talked with--of course he doesn't! He insists he "called and talked to the girl who was here." He absolutely thinks he's talked to the cashier. Great!
I call back to them what has doors, cuz, yanno, I ain't got no doors for nobody here. The good news is they do remember, they do have 'em, but they're back there. So now, moron guy thinks we're going to load his unpaid doors, and then unload the ones he's bringing back. We'll TRADE. They're the same doors, they're just different.
I explain several times that he's going to return the first set of doors, THEN he can pay for the others. And we're not doing anything until the old doors are inside with me. He keeps saying they're the same...but they're different, so we can just swap 'em. I keep telling him how we really are gonna do this.
He then begins to question me about how much the doors cost (yes, I have our entire inventory, including pricing, memorized. Millions of fucking items, and you think I know this? Really?) I tell him that from what he's telling me, the doors should all be the same price. He goes back to telling me how we're just going to swap 'em.
Break's over, so Thank You God, I can leave. I go far, far away from him. I get the chance to talk to the girl he talked to yesterday (not a cashier) and tell her what's going on. A short time later, I see him scurrying towards customer service.
As much as I hate myself for doing this, I go over to the desk and handle everything for him. The doors he's getting appear at the customer service desk, so I take care of everything. He's still insistant that we're swapping the doors, even-up; he's also demanding that I tell him how to pay his credit card bill. I keep answering his questions...thinking KILL ME NOW.
He finally leaves...and I realize that there are some people who simply shouldn't be allowed to have credit cards, nor should they be allowed unsupervised contact with other people.
I ask him if he remembered the name of the person he talked with--of course he doesn't! He insists he "called and talked to the girl who was here." He absolutely thinks he's talked to the cashier. Great!
I call back to them what has doors, cuz, yanno, I ain't got no doors for nobody here. The good news is they do remember, they do have 'em, but they're back there. So now, moron guy thinks we're going to load his unpaid doors, and then unload the ones he's bringing back. We'll TRADE. They're the same doors, they're just different.
I explain several times that he's going to return the first set of doors, THEN he can pay for the others. And we're not doing anything until the old doors are inside with me. He keeps saying they're the same...but they're different, so we can just swap 'em. I keep telling him how we really are gonna do this.
He then begins to question me about how much the doors cost (yes, I have our entire inventory, including pricing, memorized. Millions of fucking items, and you think I know this? Really?) I tell him that from what he's telling me, the doors should all be the same price. He goes back to telling me how we're just going to swap 'em.
Break's over, so Thank You God, I can leave. I go far, far away from him. I get the chance to talk to the girl he talked to yesterday (not a cashier) and tell her what's going on. A short time later, I see him scurrying towards customer service.
As much as I hate myself for doing this, I go over to the desk and handle everything for him. The doors he's getting appear at the customer service desk, so I take care of everything. He's still insistant that we're swapping the doors, even-up; he's also demanding that I tell him how to pay his credit card bill. I keep answering his questions...thinking KILL ME NOW.
He finally leaves...and I realize that there are some people who simply shouldn't be allowed to have credit cards, nor should they be allowed unsupervised contact with other people.
A Little Credit Here
The total lack of hanging baskets has left me with a completely new nemisis: questions about your credit card.
I got to talk to the woman who called, stating that I need to get the late charge off her bill, AND take care of the charges that don't belong there. I begin by asking for the specific date of the [supposed] unauthorized charges. She says, "I'd have to go find my bill. I'm not sure where it is. I threw the other one out, *sigh* so I guess I could probably find it."
"What I'm want to do is pull up our journal tape of the receipts, so I can see what was purchased. Can you find the bill now?"
"Can't I just give you my account number and you find it that way?"
"I'm sorry, but no, I can't. I'd like to be able to see what was purchased."
She blathers for a while about her bill, and how the last time she called our store about late charges, "that girl" took care of it and even sent her a new bill. I explained that we don't handle any of that at our store. She insisted that she did.
We go 'round and 'round about this...finally, I put her on hold, take a deep breath, and pick the call back up. "Ma'am, we do not take care of anything to do with the credit billing. Yes, it's our store credit card, but it is owned & handled by an actual credit company. You need to call the credit center and talk to them about what's going on with your bill."
She responds, "I called your store before. That girl was very helpful. All she needed was my number and she took care of it all. I know she did. I had that new bill and everything was taken care of. Why can't I talk to that girl? Is she there?"
"Ma'am. We handle NONE of the billing thru our store. The credit center does and..."
She cut me off, telling me that our store DOES TOO handle billing. "When you redid my floor for me, those men brought me my bill. [neener neener]"
"I'm sorry but what? What do you mean some men from our store brought you your bill?"
"When they did my floor. They brought me a copy of my bill. It was a long strip of paper. It was what I used to pay my bill."
Oh, my God! This dipshit doesn't know the difference between a credit card bill and a receipt. At this point, I'm guessing that it's not even our credit card.
"Ma'am, that was a RECEIPT. They wouldn't have come to re do your floor unless the materials and labor were already paid for."
"What? Oh, are you sure?"
"Yes, ma'am. It would be best if you called the credit center and talked directly to them about what's going on with your bill."
"*sigh* oh, alright. I think I might be able to find that number. But it's sad, you know. Really really sad."
"uhm, what is?"
"That I would have to call like 50 people just to have one little thing taken care of like this. It makes me very sad."
"I'm sorry, Ma'am. I do have the credit center number I can give you so you don't have to find it."
"Oh, no, I'll just try and find it. *sigh*" She hangs up.
I got to talk to the woman who called, stating that I need to get the late charge off her bill, AND take care of the charges that don't belong there. I begin by asking for the specific date of the [supposed] unauthorized charges. She says, "I'd have to go find my bill. I'm not sure where it is. I threw the other one out, *sigh* so I guess I could probably find it."
"What I'm want to do is pull up our journal tape of the receipts, so I can see what was purchased. Can you find the bill now?"
"Can't I just give you my account number and you find it that way?"
"I'm sorry, but no, I can't. I'd like to be able to see what was purchased."
She blathers for a while about her bill, and how the last time she called our store about late charges, "that girl" took care of it and even sent her a new bill. I explained that we don't handle any of that at our store. She insisted that she did.
We go 'round and 'round about this...finally, I put her on hold, take a deep breath, and pick the call back up. "Ma'am, we do not take care of anything to do with the credit billing. Yes, it's our store credit card, but it is owned & handled by an actual credit company. You need to call the credit center and talk to them about what's going on with your bill."
She responds, "I called your store before. That girl was very helpful. All she needed was my number and she took care of it all. I know she did. I had that new bill and everything was taken care of. Why can't I talk to that girl? Is she there?"
"Ma'am. We handle NONE of the billing thru our store. The credit center does and..."
She cut me off, telling me that our store DOES TOO handle billing. "When you redid my floor for me, those men brought me my bill. [neener neener]"
"I'm sorry but what? What do you mean some men from our store brought you your bill?"
"When they did my floor. They brought me a copy of my bill. It was a long strip of paper. It was what I used to pay my bill."
Oh, my God! This dipshit doesn't know the difference between a credit card bill and a receipt. At this point, I'm guessing that it's not even our credit card.
"Ma'am, that was a RECEIPT. They wouldn't have come to re do your floor unless the materials and labor were already paid for."
"What? Oh, are you sure?"
"Yes, ma'am. It would be best if you called the credit center and talked directly to them about what's going on with your bill."
"*sigh* oh, alright. I think I might be able to find that number. But it's sad, you know. Really really sad."
"uhm, what is?"
"That I would have to call like 50 people just to have one little thing taken care of like this. It makes me very sad."
"I'm sorry, Ma'am. I do have the credit center number I can give you so you don't have to find it."
"Oh, no, I'll just try and find it. *sigh*" She hangs up.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Close Enough For Government Work
This lovely rainy morning in PA, I was scheduled to work from 10am to 7pm. I was scheduled, happily, I might add, to be outside selling Christmas trees.
I spent all of 1 hour outside...happy, AFTER they decided to get my passive-aggressive ass a heater. The toothpicks & saran wrap hut is always a happy place when I do actually have a little bit of heat that I don't have produce my-own-self.
Anyway, about an hour into my lovely rainy day in PA, I have a real-live customer. He plunks his two Christmas cacti on my counter and I scan 'em. I'm still in my happy place. I hit the total button, and he hands me a $20 bill and a nickel to pay for it. I owe him $1.01 in change...and as the drawer comes open, I gots nuttin'.
Well, actually, what I have is great big fistfuls of AIR. Apparently, no one thought to tell the money girl to put, you know, money in that drawer.
So, okay. I've played this game before. Call and get the guy his change...and they'll bring me money so I can continue my day in my happy place.
Guy takes his stuff to his car. He comes back, in time to see one person bring me ONE dollar and ONE penny. He saw the gaping black hole-ness of my money drawer, so he knows I do not have any money...and that the one person who came outside WITH any money did NOT bring me more than ONE dollar and ONE cent.
What do you think this jackass does?
You'd be correct if you say, "He chooses something ELSE to purchase and brings it up to me....and hands me another $20 bill to pay for it."
That's right: he KNOWS I have no way to give him change. So he hands me another $20 bill to pay for $8.46 cents worth of crap. He tells me, "I only have 20's."
I tell him, "I don't have any thing more than the $20 bill and the nickel you just gave me a few minutes ago."
He tells me, "I only have a $20."
I tell him I can call and see if they can bring me his change from inside, OR he can go inside and pay in there.
He begins to dig thru his wallet, and he comes up with one $5 bill and two $1 bills. He hands that to me and says, "There, close enough."
I tell him I need another $1.46. He tells me he doesn't have it. I tell him I cannot accept $7 for the $8.46 purchase he's making
He says, "it's all I have."
I ask him, "Did you see my empty drawer last time?" He scrounges thru his pockets and hands me another $1 bill. "There, that's close enough."
I tell him, "No sir, it's not. I still need 46 cents."
He blinks at me for a few minutes, then hands me 44 cents. I declare it "Close enough for government work!" and then, after he leaves, they close my happy place and send me inside.
I spent all of 1 hour outside...happy, AFTER they decided to get my passive-aggressive ass a heater. The toothpicks & saran wrap hut is always a happy place when I do actually have a little bit of heat that I don't have produce my-own-self.
Anyway, about an hour into my lovely rainy day in PA, I have a real-live customer. He plunks his two Christmas cacti on my counter and I scan 'em. I'm still in my happy place. I hit the total button, and he hands me a $20 bill and a nickel to pay for it. I owe him $1.01 in change...and as the drawer comes open, I gots nuttin'.
Well, actually, what I have is great big fistfuls of AIR. Apparently, no one thought to tell the money girl to put, you know, money in that drawer.
So, okay. I've played this game before. Call and get the guy his change...and they'll bring me money so I can continue my day in my happy place.
Guy takes his stuff to his car. He comes back, in time to see one person bring me ONE dollar and ONE penny. He saw the gaping black hole-ness of my money drawer, so he knows I do not have any money...and that the one person who came outside WITH any money did NOT bring me more than ONE dollar and ONE cent.
What do you think this jackass does?
You'd be correct if you say, "He chooses something ELSE to purchase and brings it up to me....and hands me another $20 bill to pay for it."
That's right: he KNOWS I have no way to give him change. So he hands me another $20 bill to pay for $8.46 cents worth of crap. He tells me, "I only have 20's."
I tell him, "I don't have any thing more than the $20 bill and the nickel you just gave me a few minutes ago."
He tells me, "I only have a $20."
I tell him I can call and see if they can bring me his change from inside, OR he can go inside and pay in there.
He begins to dig thru his wallet, and he comes up with one $5 bill and two $1 bills. He hands that to me and says, "There, close enough."
I tell him I need another $1.46. He tells me he doesn't have it. I tell him I cannot accept $7 for the $8.46 purchase he's making
He says, "it's all I have."
I ask him, "Did you see my empty drawer last time?" He scrounges thru his pockets and hands me another $1 bill. "There, that's close enough."
I tell him, "No sir, it's not. I still need 46 cents."
He blinks at me for a few minutes, then hands me 44 cents. I declare it "Close enough for government work!" and then, after he leaves, they close my happy place and send me inside.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
75% Off Your IQ
Customer brings an item to the register that is marked 75% off. We have to reduce the price at the register, so we do. We had to get the regular price, then do the math--I always CYA and do the math. The customer watches me do the math, and then argues that the $1.50 price that is typed into the register is wrong.
Guy: It's supposed to be 75% off.
Cashier: Yes, and that's what I reduced it to.
Guy: No, I watched her do the math. She did 25%, not 75%.
I step in to help her out, in part because I did the math for her, and in part because she's already having a really bad day and is stressed out.
M: Sir, $1.50 is 75% off the original price.
Guy, still arguing: But you did 25%.
M: Yes, because you are paying 25% of the original price.
Guy: I don't get it. It's supposed to be 75% off. That'd be less than $3.
M: Yes, sir. 75% off means you will pay 25% for it. And $1.50 is less than $3 dollars.
Guy: But that's not what you have up there.
M: Yes, sir, it is. $1.50 is the price you will pay, before tax.
Guy: But it's supposed to be 75% off.
I show him the "long" way to do the math. I times the original price by the percent off (75%, in case you forgot) and get $4.50. I then subtract 4.50 from 6.00 and get the $1.50 that's showing on my register.
Guy: That's what I'm saying. I should pay $1.50, not $4.50.
M: Yes, sir, and THAT IS WHAT IT SAYS, RIGHT HERE. (I point, again, to the price listed on my screen)
Guy: Is that less than $3? 75% off is less than $3.
M: YES.
Guy: It's supposed to be 75% off.
Cashier: Yes, and that's what I reduced it to.
Guy: No, I watched her do the math. She did 25%, not 75%.
I step in to help her out, in part because I did the math for her, and in part because she's already having a really bad day and is stressed out.
M: Sir, $1.50 is 75% off the original price.
Guy, still arguing: But you did 25%.
M: Yes, because you are paying 25% of the original price.
Guy: I don't get it. It's supposed to be 75% off. That'd be less than $3.
M: Yes, sir. 75% off means you will pay 25% for it. And $1.50 is less than $3 dollars.
Guy: But that's not what you have up there.
M: Yes, sir, it is. $1.50 is the price you will pay, before tax.
Guy: But it's supposed to be 75% off.
I show him the "long" way to do the math. I times the original price by the percent off (75%, in case you forgot) and get $4.50. I then subtract 4.50 from 6.00 and get the $1.50 that's showing on my register.
Guy: That's what I'm saying. I should pay $1.50, not $4.50.
M: Yes, sir, and THAT IS WHAT IT SAYS, RIGHT HERE. (I point, again, to the price listed on my screen)
Guy: Is that less than $3? 75% off is less than $3.
M: YES.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
memorieeeeeeeeeeessssss
My previous post reminded me of several other Name Yer Own Pricers; I honestly don't know if I've posted about them before or not. If I have, you get a recap, if I haven't, it's like it's all new to you.
A few years after we opened, guy comes into the garden center with his receipt from last year. He wanted more retaining wall block, and he wanted them for last year's price. If I remember correctly, his receipt was from early in the spring, and the day he came in, demanding we match the price was later the following summer. The receipt was better than 12 months old. He spoke to me, at least one other person, and a manager, and still didn't get last year's price.
Then there was the woman who came in, twice, and wanted me to match a competitor's fencing price. The great thing about it was that the first time she was in, the competitor didn't have a location in our city. So I had to scramble to make long distance calls. The Asshat was still there at that time and said, "OK." I was instructed by the Asshat to write on her receipt that we would match the price for the month of April. She came back in, in August or September, bearing that receipt, and demanded that I match that price. Luckily, the Asshat was there that day, and he said, "Oh hell no. Call and verify this time." So I jump thru about 15 hoops and call the store in our city--because even though she's saying the price was from the location in the college town 30 minutes away, the Asshat said, "Call local." The local place said they don't stock it. So, after jumping thru several more hoops for a long distance code, I finally call the place she says has it for a better price. Are you ready for the big shock? That store doesn't carry wooden fencing at all! She tells me I called the wrong place. I tell her I will be glad to call them back. She then says that the guy there was lying, and I was going to match it anyway. The Asshat, for once, did the right thing and said, "Oh HELL No." and she paid our price, that day, whether she wanted to or not. HAH!
Of course, this year, I got the genius who came in on a rainy day and wanted us to find and hold damaged wooden fencing for him. And he's gonna tell us what he's gonna pay for it. BWAHAHAHA! Our man in the department went out in the rain, explained that the "rustic" part of the product description meant that it wasn't going to be perfect--it wasn't meant to be--and then told the guy a more reasonable damaged price for the ones that actually were damaged.(guy wanted to pay $1 or $2 a 4x6 panel; guy paid $7 a panel.)
Of course, we always have those lovely people who think that if a box is dusty, it warrants a discount of 80% or more. We're a big-box store with the word WAREHOUSE in our name. Really? REALLY?!
And then everyone wonders why I hate people.
A few years after we opened, guy comes into the garden center with his receipt from last year. He wanted more retaining wall block, and he wanted them for last year's price. If I remember correctly, his receipt was from early in the spring, and the day he came in, demanding we match the price was later the following summer. The receipt was better than 12 months old. He spoke to me, at least one other person, and a manager, and still didn't get last year's price.
Then there was the woman who came in, twice, and wanted me to match a competitor's fencing price. The great thing about it was that the first time she was in, the competitor didn't have a location in our city. So I had to scramble to make long distance calls. The Asshat was still there at that time and said, "OK." I was instructed by the Asshat to write on her receipt that we would match the price for the month of April. She came back in, in August or September, bearing that receipt, and demanded that I match that price. Luckily, the Asshat was there that day, and he said, "Oh hell no. Call and verify this time." So I jump thru about 15 hoops and call the store in our city--because even though she's saying the price was from the location in the college town 30 minutes away, the Asshat said, "Call local." The local place said they don't stock it. So, after jumping thru several more hoops for a long distance code, I finally call the place she says has it for a better price. Are you ready for the big shock? That store doesn't carry wooden fencing at all! She tells me I called the wrong place. I tell her I will be glad to call them back. She then says that the guy there was lying, and I was going to match it anyway. The Asshat, for once, did the right thing and said, "Oh HELL No." and she paid our price, that day, whether she wanted to or not. HAH!
Of course, this year, I got the genius who came in on a rainy day and wanted us to find and hold damaged wooden fencing for him. And he's gonna tell us what he's gonna pay for it. BWAHAHAHA! Our man in the department went out in the rain, explained that the "rustic" part of the product description meant that it wasn't going to be perfect--it wasn't meant to be--and then told the guy a more reasonable damaged price for the ones that actually were damaged.(guy wanted to pay $1 or $2 a 4x6 panel; guy paid $7 a panel.)
Of course, we always have those lovely people who think that if a box is dusty, it warrants a discount of 80% or more. We're a big-box store with the word WAREHOUSE in our name. Really? REALLY?!
And then everyone wonders why I hate people.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Bleah
Mr Skeevy is back to work after his surgery. Damn! I was hoping he wasn't coming back!
And now, after several weeks back, he's all up in my face being nice. I hate that.
I hate the fakeness of it. I hate that he's forever trying it. And I just hate him.
I have tried to "just be nice" and "get along" but you know what? Sometimes, that really is more energy and effort than anybody's worth. He's the kind of guy where is you respond to his "hello" it means that you & he are good buddies and you want to have a conversation with him.
What bothers me about it is that I get the feeling he is also up to something: something mean, and skeevy. My Sweetie says, "Oh, he just wants you." He says that with a straight face. Probably just to see if I develop a facial tic.
Short of saying, "fuck off forever, skeevy loser" how do I get rid of this chump before he starts to hump my leg? (and btw, I told him, within 2 months of knowing him, "Not if you were the last man on earth AND both my hands were cut off" and yet, here is still is, trying to...I don't know what.)
And now, after several weeks back, he's all up in my face being nice. I hate that.
I hate the fakeness of it. I hate that he's forever trying it. And I just hate him.
I have tried to "just be nice" and "get along" but you know what? Sometimes, that really is more energy and effort than anybody's worth. He's the kind of guy where is you respond to his "hello" it means that you & he are good buddies and you want to have a conversation with him.
What bothers me about it is that I get the feeling he is also up to something: something mean, and skeevy. My Sweetie says, "Oh, he just wants you." He says that with a straight face. Probably just to see if I develop a facial tic.
Short of saying, "fuck off forever, skeevy loser" how do I get rid of this chump before he starts to hump my leg? (and btw, I told him, within 2 months of knowing him, "Not if you were the last man on earth AND both my hands were cut off" and yet, here is still is, trying to...I don't know what.)
Friday, September 16, 2011
Bathroom Humor
So, about the Freaklet.
Apparently, management has finally figured out that YES! They can stop her from dumpster diving. HURRAH!
I've learned that she is not as stupid as she acts. She is, however, weird as fuck. But not stupid.
I figured as much the evening I was at the return desk and I asked that the front end trash be gathered BEFORE I took my last cart back to receiving. She had to get me the trash, which meant that she wouldn't be able to slapfoot her way into oblivion while the rest of us clean the bathroom. Little wench tore one of the bags! Spilled all over the floor and I had to clean it up. (for the record, I have done 11 years of hauling trash back and have NEVER had a bag tear on its own)
Last Monday, I worked 'til close...and so did the Freaklet. They send me back to clean the bathrooms....and send me the Freaklet as help. I had told them earlier that night that the Freaklet needs to scrub her some toilets.
And that's what she did! bwhahahahahahahaha!
She was in the supply closet wasting time with the mop buckets...and I made her put on gloves, get the bleach water and toilet brush...and she scrubbed toilets! I told her to start at the "farthest stall" and she slapfoots herself past me and says in a cartoonish voice, "do you mean that last one all the way down there?"
Then she stood there, in the stall, sloshing the water in the bucket. She's slapfooting her way past me when I asked her, "Are you done with all the toilets already?"
She says, "Oh" psychotic giggle "is that what you meant?"
YES! You fucknugget!
She says, still using her false cartoon voice, "well, oh, whose job is it to do this?"
EVERYBODY'S!
"Oh, so it's YOUR job, then?"
NO, FUCKNUGGET! I tell her, "No, it's not MY job. It's EVERYBODY'S job. And tonight it's YOUR TURN!"
I spend the rest of the time cleaning the sinks and mirrors. I then drag her unwilling ass to the breakroom, where she is desperate to take the garbage and run. I don't let her. She takes off her gloves...and I inform her that she'll just get another pair for round #2: the men's room.
She then wants to know whose job it is, normally, to clean the men's room. I inform her AGAIN that it's HER job tonight. She's still itching to get the garbage and slapfoot her way into oblivion.
We finish the men's room (yes, she did the toilets correctly this time; she CAN be taught! bwhahahahahaha) and I tell her to mop the women's room. I'm taking away her fun--I'm taking the garbage!
She spends a few minutes fucking around with the garbage can trying to get the door propped open, and I fix that problem for her. She then starts mopping each individual tile...I tell her to go to the back of the bathroom and mop her way to the door, because she is NOT going to mop and walk all thru it so it looks like it wasn't mopped. She comments, "Well, it's rather pointless, really. We'll just have to mop it again tomorrow."
DAMMIT! I missed the opportunity to tell her, "well, with that reasoning, it'd be pointless to shower or brush our teeth, but most of us do those things every day anyway."
She has spent this week complaining to all and sundry how bossy I am...and today, she changed tack, and decided to comment about how "That Mumple and I just don't jibe. I can get along with anybody, really, but she and I, we just don't, I don't know....we don't jibe." Well, yeah, she's right: we don't jibe, because I don't see putting up with someone playing stupid to get out of work as reason enough for me to do their job too.
bwhahahahahaha! I am actually looking forward to the next time the little Freaklet and I work 'til close. It'll be fun! (oh, and I plan to learn how to do her little freaklet giggle so I can sneak up behind people and scare 'em!)
Apparently, management has finally figured out that YES! They can stop her from dumpster diving. HURRAH!
I've learned that she is not as stupid as she acts. She is, however, weird as fuck. But not stupid.
I figured as much the evening I was at the return desk and I asked that the front end trash be gathered BEFORE I took my last cart back to receiving. She had to get me the trash, which meant that she wouldn't be able to slapfoot her way into oblivion while the rest of us clean the bathroom. Little wench tore one of the bags! Spilled all over the floor and I had to clean it up. (for the record, I have done 11 years of hauling trash back and have NEVER had a bag tear on its own)
Last Monday, I worked 'til close...and so did the Freaklet. They send me back to clean the bathrooms....and send me the Freaklet as help. I had told them earlier that night that the Freaklet needs to scrub her some toilets.
And that's what she did! bwhahahahahahahaha!
She was in the supply closet wasting time with the mop buckets...and I made her put on gloves, get the bleach water and toilet brush...and she scrubbed toilets! I told her to start at the "farthest stall" and she slapfoots herself past me and says in a cartoonish voice, "do you mean that last one all the way down there?"
Then she stood there, in the stall, sloshing the water in the bucket. She's slapfooting her way past me when I asked her, "Are you done with all the toilets already?"
She says, "Oh" psychotic giggle "is that what you meant?"
YES! You fucknugget!
She says, still using her false cartoon voice, "well, oh, whose job is it to do this?"
EVERYBODY'S!
"Oh, so it's YOUR job, then?"
NO, FUCKNUGGET! I tell her, "No, it's not MY job. It's EVERYBODY'S job. And tonight it's YOUR TURN!"
I spend the rest of the time cleaning the sinks and mirrors. I then drag her unwilling ass to the breakroom, where she is desperate to take the garbage and run. I don't let her. She takes off her gloves...and I inform her that she'll just get another pair for round #2: the men's room.
She then wants to know whose job it is, normally, to clean the men's room. I inform her AGAIN that it's HER job tonight. She's still itching to get the garbage and slapfoot her way into oblivion.
We finish the men's room (yes, she did the toilets correctly this time; she CAN be taught! bwhahahahahaha) and I tell her to mop the women's room. I'm taking away her fun--I'm taking the garbage!
She spends a few minutes fucking around with the garbage can trying to get the door propped open, and I fix that problem for her. She then starts mopping each individual tile...I tell her to go to the back of the bathroom and mop her way to the door, because she is NOT going to mop and walk all thru it so it looks like it wasn't mopped. She comments, "Well, it's rather pointless, really. We'll just have to mop it again tomorrow."
DAMMIT! I missed the opportunity to tell her, "well, with that reasoning, it'd be pointless to shower or brush our teeth, but most of us do those things every day anyway."
She has spent this week complaining to all and sundry how bossy I am...and today, she changed tack, and decided to comment about how "That Mumple and I just don't jibe. I can get along with anybody, really, but she and I, we just don't, I don't know....we don't jibe." Well, yeah, she's right: we don't jibe, because I don't see putting up with someone playing stupid to get out of work as reason enough for me to do their job too.
bwhahahahahaha! I am actually looking forward to the next time the little Freaklet and I work 'til close. It'll be fun! (oh, and I plan to learn how to do her little freaklet giggle so I can sneak up behind people and scare 'em!)
Tuesday, September 06, 2011
So Many Freaks...
So Little Time.
There have literally been so many weird little people doing small twitchy things, it's hard to remember them all. So we'll just go ahead and use what we can remember.
Large, sweating, panting, hairy dude who walked past no less than 6 flat carts to come up past the registers at the one flat cart that has merchandise on it. He says, "Imma just gonna take this cart." and I says, "Uhm, No." He says, "Imma just takin' this cart." I says, "Uhm, No." I offer to call someone to bring him a cart, back where he started, and so he walks back past those 6 empty flat carts and waits.
Nasty wobbly hag who shushes me during transactions. Look, Lady, don't get shushy with me, and don't think that I'm putting up with your drunken attitude.
OF Jackass & wife: if you ask me where something is, and I say, "Let me look and see if it's still out front" don't tell me to "just point!" If you want my help, let me help...if you don't want my help, shut the fuck up and leave me alone. Also, once your transaction is done, don't get snippy with me when your receipt specifically spells out that you got that stuff at a cheaper price. Mostly, just don't give me any shit.
If you call the store, and talk to two other people who tell you that we don't physically have what you want, don't keep nagging us about the internet saying we do have it. Then order it from the internet, and shut the fuck up. And if the store that is 20 minutes away does have it in their store, GO THERE, and shut the fuck up. Don't call back and insist that our store gets it stock from the other store (we don't, fucktard.) Stop calling, we are unable to reach up our asses and provide something that does not exist.
There have literally been so many weird little people doing small twitchy things, it's hard to remember them all. So we'll just go ahead and use what we can remember.
Large, sweating, panting, hairy dude who walked past no less than 6 flat carts to come up past the registers at the one flat cart that has merchandise on it. He says, "Imma just gonna take this cart." and I says, "Uhm, No." He says, "Imma just takin' this cart." I says, "Uhm, No." I offer to call someone to bring him a cart, back where he started, and so he walks back past those 6 empty flat carts and waits.
Nasty wobbly hag who shushes me during transactions. Look, Lady, don't get shushy with me, and don't think that I'm putting up with your drunken attitude.
OF Jackass & wife: if you ask me where something is, and I say, "Let me look and see if it's still out front" don't tell me to "just point!" If you want my help, let me help...if you don't want my help, shut the fuck up and leave me alone. Also, once your transaction is done, don't get snippy with me when your receipt specifically spells out that you got that stuff at a cheaper price. Mostly, just don't give me any shit.
If you call the store, and talk to two other people who tell you that we don't physically have what you want, don't keep nagging us about the internet saying we do have it. Then order it from the internet, and shut the fuck up. And if the store that is 20 minutes away does have it in their store, GO THERE, and shut the fuck up. Don't call back and insist that our store gets it stock from the other store (we don't, fucktard.) Stop calling, we are unable to reach up our asses and provide something that does not exist.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Incompetence
I'm seriously pissed.
The Howler's school is being renovated. Renovations started back in March. Since it rained most of March, from the beginning, the renovation has been a clusterfuck. When the weather finally cleared enough to begin the work tearing out the parking lot & basketball court still took more time than expected...by the time school let out in June, the construction was well over a month behind. Efforts were not made to catch up. By the beginning of July, it was clear to everyone except the school board that the new gym would not be ready for school to begin in August.
Lovely. No arrangements beyond denial, and certainly the construction crews worked only as originally scheduled.
Today is the last day of summer vacation here.
With the Howler's asthma, I have to get a signature from her doc, and have the form and her rescue inhaler at the school before school begins tomorrow. This is, of course, slacker hell for me. I got it together last week, and planned to take it over to the school today.
My mother's neighbor is a teacher at the school, so I have a little bit of an inside track to know what's actually going on in the building. The health aide (nurse) was moved, and we have a new one this year. The old one, whatever her issues, at least knew my Howler, and my Howler's asthma. Luckily, her asthma is exercise induced/virus triggered, not due to allergies, as the dust being generated by the renovations is an issue.
Today, when dropping off her inhaler, the nurse isn't available, and the principal was going to call us regarding the Howler's asthma & the renovation dust. (The Howler's teacher called last night, so I had a head's up.)
The principal offered THE DAY BEFORE SCHOOL STARTS to have the Howler & her asthma moved to ANY OTHER elementary school in the district. THE DAY BEFORE SCHOOL STARTS! When she fucking KNEW since at least the middle of July that the renovation was 2 fucking months behind schedule...and that if dust were an issue for the Howler, this was an option that should have been offered THEN.
We would not be able to move the Howler, unless absolutely necessary, due to transportation issues (they'd let her attend another school, but transportation would still be mine to deal with.)
And to offer it today is about 2 months too late. If it were something I had wanted to consider, giving me less than 24 hours to figure it out and get r dun really isn't the way to do it!
Jumping Jesus on the pogostick! This really is incompentence! It's not even fucking denial at this point!
Stupid fucktard school district.
The Howler's school is being renovated. Renovations started back in March. Since it rained most of March, from the beginning, the renovation has been a clusterfuck. When the weather finally cleared enough to begin the work tearing out the parking lot & basketball court still took more time than expected...by the time school let out in June, the construction was well over a month behind. Efforts were not made to catch up. By the beginning of July, it was clear to everyone except the school board that the new gym would not be ready for school to begin in August.
Lovely. No arrangements beyond denial, and certainly the construction crews worked only as originally scheduled.
Today is the last day of summer vacation here.
With the Howler's asthma, I have to get a signature from her doc, and have the form and her rescue inhaler at the school before school begins tomorrow. This is, of course, slacker hell for me. I got it together last week, and planned to take it over to the school today.
My mother's neighbor is a teacher at the school, so I have a little bit of an inside track to know what's actually going on in the building. The health aide (nurse) was moved, and we have a new one this year. The old one, whatever her issues, at least knew my Howler, and my Howler's asthma. Luckily, her asthma is exercise induced/virus triggered, not due to allergies, as the dust being generated by the renovations is an issue.
Today, when dropping off her inhaler, the nurse isn't available, and the principal was going to call us regarding the Howler's asthma & the renovation dust. (The Howler's teacher called last night, so I had a head's up.)
The principal offered THE DAY BEFORE SCHOOL STARTS to have the Howler & her asthma moved to ANY OTHER elementary school in the district. THE DAY BEFORE SCHOOL STARTS! When she fucking KNEW since at least the middle of July that the renovation was 2 fucking months behind schedule...and that if dust were an issue for the Howler, this was an option that should have been offered THEN.
We would not be able to move the Howler, unless absolutely necessary, due to transportation issues (they'd let her attend another school, but transportation would still be mine to deal with.)
And to offer it today is about 2 months too late. If it were something I had wanted to consider, giving me less than 24 hours to figure it out and get r dun really isn't the way to do it!
Jumping Jesus on the pogostick! This really is incompentence! It's not even fucking denial at this point!
Stupid fucktard school district.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
How Hard Is This, Really
Is this a man thing or what? Oops! Sorry, I don't mean "man" thing, I mean "older boy who managed to get this job" thing.
There's a whole passel of 'em that when I ask a "yes" or "no" question, I get told a lot of other things--but they can't say, "Yes" or "No" It's like no one ever taught them those words.
And I love when I ask them to actually do something, they ask me "why?" Or when I tell them I have a customer that is asking for help loading something, these pukes don't respond, they just stay on the phone, breathing. I have to actually say, "Can YOU do this?" because I often call them and tell them unrelated tidbits for no discernable reason.
Really? REALLY!
There's a whole passel of 'em that when I ask a "yes" or "no" question, I get told a lot of other things--but they can't say, "Yes" or "No" It's like no one ever taught them those words.
And I love when I ask them to actually do something, they ask me "why?" Or when I tell them I have a customer that is asking for help loading something, these pukes don't respond, they just stay on the phone, breathing. I have to actually say, "Can YOU do this?" because I often call them and tell them unrelated tidbits for no discernable reason.
Really? REALLY!
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