Truth Be Told

A few weeks ago, My Sweetie and I were having a conversation. And in the midst of this conversation, he looked at me calmly and stated, "You know, I believe you are going to go to Hell."

I, of course, ask him, "You're telling me this why?"

He responds with, "You're not a very nice person."

I laughed. "Fourteen and a half years in, and you're just figuring this out? I'm good!"

We both laughed.

Whole Lot of Stuff Goin' On

2014 was Hell. Starting in April, and ending Not Just Yet.

Long story short, my sister was sent by Life Flight with brain trauma. After life-saving surgery, she began having seizures, and was sedated and put on life-support. It took almost 2 weeks to get the seizures under control, and she woke up on Mother's Day last year. She couldn't speak, and couldn't walk...she was released to a nursing home a week before my 96 year old Grandmother died.

Since then, she has progressed to walking, sometimes with a cane, and now comes to my house to play practical jokes. Yay!

My mother is channeling her mother. It wouldn't be so bad, but Grandma wasn't all that nice.

It was also really great that my brother went batshit crazy and decided that the Howler was his arch-nemesis. That culminated at Easter, when he took a for reals tantrum. Since then, he's had it explained (not by me!) to him, and he is now behaving like a sane adult.

2015 is better. Busier, but better.

AHA!

So, I had every intention to write each and every day in February. What happened is actually a litany of excuses, most of which are kinda valid.

I got the flu.

It dragged on forever in a fog of exhaustion and bleh.

Then it rolled into a sinus infection.

Then I managed to somehow get the same crud I had in the beginning.

All that exhaustion and bleh an more exhaustion lead to some sort of airborne stupidity that made me forget a lot...and mutter and stutter a lot.

And there was a crap ton of laundry that wasn't getting done, then there was vacuuming and dishes. Ergh.

Ergh, I say!

So, today, in the smack middle of not-even-close to February, I am FINALLY FINALLY able to think again. And what I think is Dayum, I miss writing. I miss ranting.

So, it's not February, and I'm here, making my excuses. With the way things are going work-wise, and Howler-wise, and in general life-wise, I may be out of excuses, and back to ranting.

Wish me luck!

Buckets

I've heard that everyone has a "Bucket List." I don't actually have mine written down, but there are a few things I've wanted to do, and I realize over the past few years, I've been able to do them.

They're not big things. They're not world-changing things.

But they've been things I wanted to do, and I've gotten to do them.

One of them was this:

See Nick Lowe perform. A year ago last September, that happened. A friend from work, who actually knew who he was and I drove 2 hours to see him. He performed my favorite song (I Knew the Bride) and hers (Allison) Also, heard a few songs I either didn't know were his, or hadn't heard before.

Two:

See Lynyrd Skynyrd. Did that this summer, with My Sweetie, the Toad, and the Howler. They also knew I was in the audience, because they also played my favorite song (Gimme Three Steps) the Howler's (Sweet Home Alabama) and the Toad's (Simple Man) The Howler got the T-shirt, because as parents, we're pretty great that way.

Three:

At first, it was to get myself to Conneaut Lake Park and ride the Blue Streak--one of the oldest wooden roller coasters in America--then it was to take the Toad so he could ride it. Did that several years ago. Gave up being able to take the Howler, because CLP is in sad shape these days. Discovered that it was open this summer, and took the Howler. (She absolutely loved it!) Does that count as 3 items, or one with sub-categories? I think it's a 3-fer, and it's my List. So nyah nyah nyah.

Four:

Eat John's Wildwood Pizza. Ate a LOT of it in 3 years at Edinboro University, but haven't had it since 1992 or 1993. Did that at the beginning of this month. We were in Edinboro anyway, and My Sweetie (always a good sport about my insanities) got ourselves a pizza. It was as good as I remember! Not sure if that counts as a Bucket List item either, but again, nyah nyah nyah.

Five:

Design & build a store display window. A good friend of ours has her office downtown, and I asked if I could do her window for Christmas. Luckily, she was ready for a new thing--and I got to do it! Of course, My Sweetie was, as always, a very good sport about it, and built the fireplace (in 2 days!) and was a good-natured pack-mule for hauling, lifting and moving. He also decorated the tree, helped with the higher stuff this short girl couldn't reach, and in general was helpful and non-grouchy about it. I'm pretty pleased with my first effort and will spend the next month gearing up to do it again in January!

In 14 months, I've completed 5 things I've always wanted to do. Now if I could just get my damned poetry manuscript published, I'd have to start over on with a new Bucket!

That's Not the Funny Part

My sister sends us a Christmas card every year. It usually arrives shortly after she gets home.

That's not the funny part.

This is: one year, she sent us a card, but didn't put a return address, and forgot to sign it. She was kinda mad when I never let her know how funny the card was. We all had a good laugh when we realized what a dip she is.

It gets even funnier, though.

This year, we get a card from her. It has a return address (yes, it was hers) and she had signed it.

That's not the funny part.

This is: She had our address wrong on it.

It got delivered anyway.

No, that's not a funny part.

But this is: I live in the house we grew up in. She lived her for 20+ years herself.

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.

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.

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

The Good: It's July, and I'm still outside. Also, even though they're total fuckwits about scheduling (I requested Wed-Thu-Fri-Sat-Sun off; was schedule Fri. Asked about it, was taken off the Fri schedule....but still put on the Sat schedule. Fuckwittage at it's finest) and I'm working Fri-Sat, My Sweetie will leave sometime on Friday to take the Howler to Grandma's house to spend the week. That means that I have my own Mini-Vacation. And that means beer. And maybe a girls' night out. But I definitely have beer in my near future.

The Bad: I'll miss them terribly. But I'll have beer to console myself. I'll manage. Also, there's a Howler free week, which means that I will not have to use "that voice" (I hate "that voice") I will also have a week in which I will not channel the Gator. YAY!

The Ugly: It's July, and while I'm still in the garden center, it was pretty hot out there yesterday. And getting stupid, and feeling sick in the heat? Yeah, well, there's more fuckwittage here, too. Yesterday it was 85F at 10am. I told them that while the breakboard had my afternoon break at 1:30pm, that wasn't going to work because I went to lunch from 10-11. Even with breaks ALWAYS running late, 2.5 hours in that kind of heat with out a break--even if you do provide cold water with ice in it--isn't going to work. They needed to schedule a heat break in there--and if they needed to, move the break they already had scheduled.

What did they do? They didn't even bother to try to find coverage for me until after 12:30pm. At 12:40pm, I called, because, remarkably enough, I was getting stupid and feeling sick. I tell the first fuckwit...he says, "I'm trying to find you coverage now." So I tell him that I'm already feeling sick. Their solution? Call me back and tell me that I can come inside to run register, instead.

Listen Up Fuckwits! It's ALMOST as hot standing on the front end in July. And since we're not allowed to have anything to drink while on the front line, this is NOT a solution. You're basically telling me that, since I'm already into feeling sick from the heat, you'll let me move inside to where it's only marginally cooler, and not let me have anything to drink, too. That makes a whole lot of sense: I can vomit or pass out where you can see me, instead of out here by myself. Either way, you're going to ride my ass and give me hell, so yeah, baby. Sign me up for that gig.

After finally deciding to allow me to go inside and SIT and COOL DOWN, I go back outside. The fuckwit cow calls and tells me that I'm going to go inside anyway. Uh, NO, I'm not. Why should I be punished for this?

They then sent someone out to "check" on me (day late and dollar short, fuckwits) and she tells me to "take it easy" and sit. Yeah, like I'm going to sit at this point. I hear every week how I'm not allowed to sit unless I have a doc's excuse, and now, suddenly, I'll be "forgiven" if I sit? Do I look stupid to you? Really?

I told her that "no, I'm not taking that chance. They can't just give me a heat break when I ask for it, I'm not counting on their forgiveness if I sit. I'll just stay out here, standing, sweeping, whatever, and they can figure out what's right and fair when I keel over--because I will NOT be asking for heat break EVER again. They can write me up and fire me for not helping customers after I'm dead from the heat."

Fuckwits.

(and thanks, Blue, for the title)

Classic

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

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

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

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

Garbage Day

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

And it was Garbage Day.

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

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

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

Er, uh, No.

Inanimate Objects Are Dumber Than They Appear

So saith the Mumple.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm Baaa-aaack

Whether you like it or not.

So, the garden center is open and we're having spring-like weather on Thursdays.

The rain and cold are not slowing down the foot traffic, but it is, yet again, inspiring these morons to complain about how wet it is. DUH.

I also like the 3 people yesterday who walked into the open-air, no-roof, not-inside-a-building garden center and proclaimed, "WOW! It's warmer in here!" I suppose these are the people who think that a Quarter Pounder with Cheese is nutrious because there's tomato and cheese on it (that's 3 food groups!)

Sweet niblets.

My rant today is actually about this woman I work with--my current manager. I'm not gonna go into the entire history between us, but we'll just say that pre-Lowes, she was a pig who dated the jackass I was engaged to. (Yes, I owe her, in part, with dodging that bullet, but that's sooo not the point.)

Anyway, after slightly more than 11 years, we've both grown up and gotten over it. BUT, lately, she's really riding my ass, nit-picking how I do my job.

I have spent the last 5 years (maybe more, they all just bleed together) out in the garden center, BY MYSELF, doing my job. For 6 days of the year, they'd schedule a 2nd (but only a 2nd) person out there with me. And on at least 4 of those 6 days, they'd pull that 2nd person back INSIDE the store, because somebody needed to straighten light bulbs. No matter how busy we were, or what was exploding, I was out there, effectively, by myself, running that register.

Now, suddenly, this year, they're actually scheduling upwards of 4 cashiers, even on weekdays. Even when it rains. (we won't even discuss how there's no register tape anywhere in the building for that 4th register, so it doesn't matter if we have people to run it or not, it's not going to work)

They're opening the 2nd gate on the weekends, when we're at our busiest. They've fixed the EAS--the alarm thing that goes off when high theft items don't get their little security tags deactivated. That thing hasn't worked right since about 3 weeks after it was installed, and VIOLA! It now works.

They also keep coming out and telling me that I have to turn in all the scan books because they're not complete. I keep telling them that they ARE complete, they're just not all falling out of the warped and ineffective binders we've had since the store opened. I refuse to give them the books. (and, ftr, I've been asking for new binders for at least 3 years)

I keep telling them they need to come out when I'm there--not because I'm a control freak, but because then I can show them that I have those dayumed books ready to go, usable, and since I split them, we don't have to spend valuable customer service time trying to shove 'em all back together. Idiots.

Oh, my rant. The original one, I mean: this manager sow is now choosing to be the one standing at the open double gates. She spends her time telling me to "mind your own business and run your register."

So guess what! This coming weekend, I will be doing just exactly that. Whatever the customer is asking me, regardless of whether it's "where are the perennials" or "do you have...." I'm going to refer them to her. I am going to do nothing more, and nothing less than run my register.

SHE can have all the freaks, weirdos, idiots, retards, and leg humpers. And the grumps, the whiners, and the annoyers. Every fucking one of them!

Hope she enjoys being manager then.

Tee Hee

Today, when I got to work, I noticed that the thing I tripped over 2 weeks ago is now festively adorned with yellow CAUTION tape.

Seriously.

Turns out that the post itself has deteriorated enough to be wobbly, and the CAUTION tape is to help keep it upright.

That's right: the CAUTION warning is to keep a tripping post upright, not the dip who trips on it upright.

I giggled all dayumed day, though.

Owie!

one foot
two foot
caught foot
fall

That said, let me tell you about something I'm hoping you won't see on Fail Blog:

Yesterday, at work, I fell. My left foot caught on the protective post by the alarm system, and my right foot decided that my left foot should not be having all the fun...and I landed on my knees.

That's right: full on both my knees. It hurt so bad, I did ask that someone shoot me to put me out of my misery.

I've never known any of those people to move that fast in all my days there. And I now appreciate my knees and the work they do. Did you know that your knees work hard to keep you upright, and also in almost every movement you make? Well, nearly cracking a few of my own kneecaps has shown me the truth!

It's utterly amazing that I didn't also land on something hard enough to crack my skull open. The counter by the register, the wooden frame of the hut...I fell directly in the space that is, quite literally, just big enough for a person. I also somehow, brought my arms up to cushion my head, so I wasn't literally eating concrete.

I had to have help to get up, and to walk at first, but I came up laughing--a little public humiliation is healthy. Especially fun was being quizzed on what day it was...which I managed to answer correctly. And when asked if I knew where I was, I correctly responded with, "I'm in Hell." bwhahahahahahahaha

After 30 minutes and an ice pack, the pain wasn't getting better, so I did need to fill out the forms and take the drug test. Told 'em I wouldn't pass it, as I hadn't studied.

Nub, all full of sympathy and compassion for my pain (jokes on you--he was laughing harder than I was) took pictures of me with his cellphone during the drug test. They do the testing in-house and it's basically sucking on a disgusting tasting Q-tip. And keeping your mouth shut. Hence, pictures: proof that I could keep my mouth shut for a full 3 minutes all in a row. Nub then offered to call an ambulance, and to document with more pics. Uh, No.

Anyway, 3 hours at the ER to tell me that I hadn't cracked anything important. But it hurts like hell. The ER nurse informed me that, while taking the pain meds they were prescribing, I shouldn't do anything dangerous--so I said, "Like walking?"

Oh, and for what it's worth, I didn't swear until Nub actually showed up. I didn't swear while lying there in excruciating pain; I didn't swear when getting up; I didn't swear while trying to walk; I didn't swear at the ER when the doc touched my knees. I did't swear when getting the Xrays either. All that not swearing took quite an effort.

No wonder I'm very tired today.

Anniversary

Tomorrow would have been my dad's 76th birthday. Saturday is the 22nd anniversary of his death.

I was told once, "You never entirely get over it. You still miss that person, no matter how long they've been gone."

I've learned that this is true. I was 21 when he died. The Toad was exactly 3 months old. We'd spent those last months, as a family, dealing with Dad's mortality--he was terminal with lung cancer, and there was no doubt that what time we had was exactly all the time we'd have.

Some years, I just feel blue and out-of-sorts. Other years, it hits like a ton of bricks. I used to think it was the milestone years that it would hurt more, but it's not. This year, it's already knocking me flat. I suppose I could justify it by saying that the last 18 months or so have been emotionally difficult, but I don't know that's the answer.

Rather than depress everyone around me, I'm trying to concentrate on the things that make me feel better when I remember him. He loved practical jokes. The good kind--the kind that follow the rules of 1) no personal damage to body or property; 2) no public humiliation or lies; 3) it'd be funny if someone did it to you.

So, in that spirit, I give you one of the funniest things he ever pulled--something that still makes us crack up laughing when we talk about it. My sister, at some point during later-childhood/not-quite-teendom, acquired a rubber bat. She was forever putting it in my dresser drawers, coat pockets, etc., mostly because I hated it. I hated the surprise of "what is this" and I hated the feel of the thing. It was squooshy in a way that just didn't feel right. I would also scream like a little girl (I'm told it was a heart-stopping, high-pitched, blood-curdling scream.)

My brother would get in on the fun by taking it and shoving it in my face at various moments--which lead to the aforementioned screaming, and cause my sister to yell and try to beat the tar out of him. Which also meant that all three of us would get hell from my mother.

My father decided one day to get my brother to stop his insanity (he was also, at this point, on a jag where everything that could be turned into an annoying physical gag was going to be.) My brother also had gotten into the bad habit of swinging his coat over his head as he stuffed his arms into it, knocking things and people out of the way.

So, my dad took two or three feet of fishing line, and tied the rubber bat to my brother's coat. He then made some excuse to get my brother to put on the coat. Dad made it sound very urgent that my brother hurry to get that coat on... My brother grabbed the coat. He swung the coat. A bat swooped at him. He swung the coat at the bat. The bat swooped again. My brother, by this time, is yelling and screaming. My dad is laughing so hard he can't breathe. My brother is still swinging the coat and the bat is still swooping at him, with an audience. Finally he subdued the bat by throwing the coat on the floor and stomping on it.

He is not amused, although everyone else in the family is.

Is it any wonder I'm as goofy as I am?

Mr Fabulous

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

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

'nuff said.

All Good Things

and, of course, my job isn't necessarily considered a "good thing." At least not in the traditional sense.

Anyway, our new store manager arrived yesterday, and I was, of course, off. (no comments from you peanuts in the gallery, please.) I go in today at 4pm.

My concern has been that since our new store manager is also, technically, my 3rd cousin, I may be out of job. Now, everyone says, "cousins ain't that big a deal" but, then, this is where I've worked for 10+ years. And I've done this gig before. They say it's not a problem, then 6 months from now, it's a problem. Then, a year from now, it's a BIG problem. (Nevermind that I wouldn't know him if he stepped off the curb in front of me...)

Really, I don't care who else has fought that particular idiocy and won, I don't want to fight. (I know, I know, the Apocolypse cometh) I want to show up when I'm supposed to, do my job, collect my paycheck and not be touched by freaks. How this company usually handles this is that they have a written policy. They have exceptions to the policy. Then, somebody, somewhere, gets a wild hair and decides it IS TOO a problem and then the shit, as they say, rolls downhill. I'm ALWAYS downhill. That's what "plankton" in my job description means.

*sigh* after this many years of going through SSDY (same shit, different year) I'd just really like to get a "get out of jail free" card X infinity.

Valentines Suckage

We all know how much I hate Hallmark sponsored holidays. I hate the hype. I hate the in-yer-faceness of Valentine's Day. (for the record, the only made-up holiday that is worse than Valentine's Day is Mother's Day)

Soooooooooooo....
In honor of the impending lovefest, I'm going to tell you about a bad date (or two):

The first was in college. We'll call him Bob, and say that while living on campus, his parents lived about an hour away. He managed to talk them into letting him have the car, to make it a "real date." I don't remember most of the date (yes, I was sober, no, it wasn't memorable) until he tried to tell the cop that was about to write him a ticket that he was wearing contacts--his license said he was to wear corrective lenses. I should've known then what a lying ass he would turn out to be, but I was young, and stupid (WAS, people, WAS. Past tense. Don't start.)

The second was, oh, hell, in the late '90s. We'll call this one Joe. He invited me to stop by his apartment, and, in all honesty, I was lucky to make it out alive. Nothing dramatic enough to have police involvement, and certainly nothing traumatic....unless you consider that there was a very real chance that I was going to permanently stick to the furniture. Oh, and after I was stuck, that black dear-God-I-hope-its-only-mold growing in the corner of the bathroom would probably eat me.

I consider myself lucky that most of my truly frightening and skeevy encounters with people all involve working in retail, not love. But then, most of my dating history is from a time when the Weirdness Goddess thing hadn't fully kicked in, I count my cynical little blessings every February, though.

The Doctor Is Out

Today, the Weasel sez to me, "I had one of the guys from Self-Important Asswipe Builders talk to me about you."

I sez, "Oh?"

He sez, "Yeah. Uhm, he's not happy because, and he knew your name, he said that when he comes in, you never remember him. I don't know the guy and never saw him before in my life. But he said, "yeah, that mumplegirl always asks for my ID, and she never remembers me."

I sez, "Self-Important Asswipe Builders? There's like a thousand of them, and I'm not often at that register, and in all honesty, they all look and smell alike--not attractive."

He sez, "Well, he said you didn't make him feel memorable."

I sez, "Well, if it's JimBob, I swear that kid never looks the same two days running."

He sez, "Nope. Not him. A different one. I told him that maybe you're just not observant."

I sez, "Well, you know, they also will tell me a name that's on the list, but it's not them. They do that a lot, too."

He sez, "I know. And you follow Da Rules. Which is good, but this is retail, and he said you don't make him feel important."

I sez, "Tell him to grow up."

He sez, "Mumple, mumple, mumple. I know, I know. But it's retail. It's retail."

So I sez, "I know it's retail. But retail ain't therapy. And if his self-image and self-esteem is so low that he needs ME to validate his existance, he needs to grow up, get a grip, and get some therapy. I'm not a therapist."

He just looks at me for a minute, then sez, "Mumple, it's retail."

sigh. Apparently, that Plankton designation on my name tag now includes being some asshole's ego validation.