Saturday at work, I had a lovely experience with couple from the inbred county to the north.
They come to my register, and tell me "I got a thing in there." He jabs a finger at the register screen. I scan the few items they are also carrying, then ask for their phone number.
"000-IR-ID10T" I dutifully type the number...and nothing. I get a listing of nothing. I ask if that's the phone number he gave to "them" back in appliances. He says, "That's my number."
"There's nothing coming up under that. I'll have to call back and see..."
He says, "That's not the number I gave them, though."
"OooooooooooooooKay. What's the number you gave them?" I'm ready to retype a number.
"My contact number. Like they asked for."
"OOOOooooooooooooooooKay. What would that number be?" Still ready to retype the number.
"My cellphone."
"Could I have that number then, please?" Still ready to retype the number.
"IR-ID10T-000" I type that in, and whaddaya know...it's there! What a concept.
He adds, "I don't know why it didn't come up under my home number."
I can't help myself...."Did you give them your home number?"
"Nope."
Is it really this hard? Really?
Showing posts with label timeless questions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label timeless questions. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 05, 2013
Friday, February 17, 2012
Immunity
I think I have finally become immune to the weirdness that attacks my life.
Tonight at work, I was covering a break at the customer service desk. A woman comes up, and while I don't entirely remember how we came to discuss it, she began the conversation by explaining that she has a new purse. (don't worry, it gets weirder)
Then she explains that while she has her ID, she doesn't have her credit card with her. Well! I can actually help with that, so I do. During the time I'm getting her a temp copy of her card, she asks about my glasses. I explain where I got them (Sears) and that they are progressive lenses (I'm old, okay?) She is all atwitter about that....and at some point, she wonders, out loud, what she'd look like in my glasses.
Yes, she actually wanted to try on my glasses. And I, like the weirdness goddess I am, LET HER. I handed 'em over, and she put 'em on.
It didn't strike me as weird until she actually began the old ladies version of Vogueing them for me: she turned so I could check both profiles and asked me how they looked on her.
It worries me that I seem immune to the utter oddness of the people I deal with. It worries me more that instead of being totally freaked out and skeeved by this, I simply handed a woman I've never seen in my whole life my glasses and let her slap 'em on her face. And then, God help me, THEN, I simply told her they looked fine on her. Like passing out my glasses for a quick looky-loo is totally normal, everyday kind of stuff for me.
This, yes, THIS is my life.
Tonight at work, I was covering a break at the customer service desk. A woman comes up, and while I don't entirely remember how we came to discuss it, she began the conversation by explaining that she has a new purse. (don't worry, it gets weirder)
Then she explains that while she has her ID, she doesn't have her credit card with her. Well! I can actually help with that, so I do. During the time I'm getting her a temp copy of her card, she asks about my glasses. I explain where I got them (Sears) and that they are progressive lenses (I'm old, okay?) She is all atwitter about that....and at some point, she wonders, out loud, what she'd look like in my glasses.
Yes, she actually wanted to try on my glasses. And I, like the weirdness goddess I am, LET HER. I handed 'em over, and she put 'em on.
It didn't strike me as weird until she actually began the old ladies version of Vogueing them for me: she turned so I could check both profiles and asked me how they looked on her.
It worries me that I seem immune to the utter oddness of the people I deal with. It worries me more that instead of being totally freaked out and skeeved by this, I simply handed a woman I've never seen in my whole life my glasses and let her slap 'em on her face. And then, God help me, THEN, I simply told her they looked fine on her. Like passing out my glasses for a quick looky-loo is totally normal, everyday kind of stuff for me.
This, yes, THIS is my life.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Good Morning!
I am not a morning person. Actually, I'm not a morning anything. Mornings are supposed to be spent bleary eyed drinking coffee, trying to remember where I left my glasses. Anything before 8am is dangerous--there's not enough oxygen left after overnight, and if you move too fast, or expect too much, you're liable to pass out. Oxygen production doesn't get back up to speed until around 9, and it's really not safe to move fast or have big plans for the morning until 11 or so.
Last Monday, I was, of course, sleeping. Until the phone rang, at too early for me o'clock. It was my brother, the Crown Prince. After years of explaining to him that his schedule is indeed HIS, that does not mean anyone else (namely, ME) follows it. He still doesn't get it.
He wanted to know if I got the local Sunday paper.
I did.
Then he wanted to know what sales flyers were in it, because he got the other non-local Sunday paper, and the flyer selection was not what he expected. Can I grab mine so we can compare my list of flyers to his?
Uh, NO. Dude. Meet Mr. Click.
Last Monday, I was, of course, sleeping. Until the phone rang, at too early for me o'clock. It was my brother, the Crown Prince. After years of explaining to him that his schedule is indeed HIS, that does not mean anyone else (namely, ME) follows it. He still doesn't get it.
He wanted to know if I got the local Sunday paper.
I did.
Then he wanted to know what sales flyers were in it, because he got the other non-local Sunday paper, and the flyer selection was not what he expected. Can I grab mine so we can compare my list of flyers to his?
Uh, NO. Dude. Meet Mr. Click.
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.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Phone-A-Friend
So much stupidity and insanity... all in one 8 hour day. Lucky lucky me.
First, I answered the phone.
"How may I direct your call?"
"How would I know? What do you think? Water heaters, I guess."
Sure, you betcha! Water heaters it is!
Next, we have the phone call I took in the middle of all this: Guy calls and wants me to look up his mastercard (we have a store-only card, a visa, and now an American Express, but no mastercard) and tell him his sales history. I explain he needs to call his card company, and they can give him that info...he insists that I can not only look up his mastercard history, I can give him his receipt FROM 2 YEARS AGO!
What fucking plane of reality do these people live on...and how do they manage to direct dial me?
First, I answered the phone.
"How may I direct your call?"
"How would I know? What do you think? Water heaters, I guess."
Sure, you betcha! Water heaters it is!
Next, we have the phone call I took in the middle of all this: Guy calls and wants me to look up his mastercard (we have a store-only card, a visa, and now an American Express, but no mastercard) and tell him his sales history. I explain he needs to call his card company, and they can give him that info...he insists that I can not only look up his mastercard history, I can give him his receipt FROM 2 YEARS AGO!
What fucking plane of reality do these people live on...and how do they manage to direct dial me?
Sunday, October 02, 2011
New Moon, sans vampires
I've had several weeks of random stupidity I've collected for just this one post.
The hairy guy who walked to the back of the garden center, then came back up front. Huffing and puffing past several of the large, flat blue carts to say, "I need that cart." Reaching for the one cart in the entire place that already has merchandise on it. I tell him, "uh, no, sir. That's being used. I can..." He grabs that cart, and says, "Yup. This one right here." I tell him again, "No, sir, there are other..." He is insistant: THIS one, right HERE. Right now. I have to physically take the cart (with someone else's stuff) and tell him I'll call and get someone to get him one. Hairy guy wanders away to the back of the garden center.
Nutjob woman who wants to know the price of a bag of potting soil. I ask questions about which brand, size, formula...and she bitches me out, saying, "You can't never get no help 'round here."
Woman who brought me a cart of plants and said she was ready to pay...then, as I scan the crap, she says, "Oh, I'll be right back." and wanders off. Other customers come up, so I clear my screen. She comes back, with one more thing, plunks it down and says, "I'm ready." I start to scan everything again, and she says, "Oh, I'll be right back." AGAIN! So I clear my screen, ring out others...and she reappears and says, "Don't you have all this ready to go yet?"
A dipwad who cam up and asked if she could use a specific flat blue cart. I tell her, "yes" of course. She then asked if it was the "right cart" as opposed to the left one, I suppose. I do the good customer service thing...and ask her what she's going to use it for. She tells me "Fencing" so I ask her which kind of fencing. She replies, "6 foot." Because that makes it totally clear! I show her the other options for carts: she demands to know if this is the "right cart." Since I am unable to commit to the decision for her, she gets pissed, snaps "Oh, never mind! I just wanted to know if this was the right cart." and leaves. Ta-ta fuckwit!
Genius who comes up to the farthest register--the one that is closed up, covered over, and is practically impossible to actually get to since it's covered with dustpans, brooms, coats, and various useless items that no one has thrown out yet--and squawks "is this open for business?" I tell her that "yes, I am" and walk over, scan her crap and move back to the register that is actually being used that day. She drags herself and her stuff over to me (finally) and pays. When I move to hand her the change, she shakes open her very large carpet bag and says, "Just chuck it in here dearie"
Woman who juggles her way to the register with a large bag of bird seed, a bird feeder and suet cakes. She refuses to set any of it down until I've scanned it (seriously, what's with people who refuse to let me do my job in an efficient manner? Do they think I'm going to swap what they've actually chosen for something else? Or that I'll smash it to hell and back and still expect them to pay for it? What?) After she juggles things so I can ring them up, she sets them down. Then she walks off without the bird feeder or the suet cakes.
The hairy guy who walked to the back of the garden center, then came back up front. Huffing and puffing past several of the large, flat blue carts to say, "I need that cart." Reaching for the one cart in the entire place that already has merchandise on it. I tell him, "uh, no, sir. That's being used. I can..." He grabs that cart, and says, "Yup. This one right here." I tell him again, "No, sir, there are other..." He is insistant: THIS one, right HERE. Right now. I have to physically take the cart (with someone else's stuff) and tell him I'll call and get someone to get him one. Hairy guy wanders away to the back of the garden center.
Nutjob woman who wants to know the price of a bag of potting soil. I ask questions about which brand, size, formula...and she bitches me out, saying, "You can't never get no help 'round here."
Woman who brought me a cart of plants and said she was ready to pay...then, as I scan the crap, she says, "Oh, I'll be right back." and wanders off. Other customers come up, so I clear my screen. She comes back, with one more thing, plunks it down and says, "I'm ready." I start to scan everything again, and she says, "Oh, I'll be right back." AGAIN! So I clear my screen, ring out others...and she reappears and says, "Don't you have all this ready to go yet?"
A dipwad who cam up and asked if she could use a specific flat blue cart. I tell her, "yes" of course. She then asked if it was the "right cart" as opposed to the left one, I suppose. I do the good customer service thing...and ask her what she's going to use it for. She tells me "Fencing" so I ask her which kind of fencing. She replies, "6 foot." Because that makes it totally clear! I show her the other options for carts: she demands to know if this is the "right cart." Since I am unable to commit to the decision for her, she gets pissed, snaps "Oh, never mind! I just wanted to know if this was the right cart." and leaves. Ta-ta fuckwit!
Genius who comes up to the farthest register--the one that is closed up, covered over, and is practically impossible to actually get to since it's covered with dustpans, brooms, coats, and various useless items that no one has thrown out yet--and squawks "is this open for business?" I tell her that "yes, I am" and walk over, scan her crap and move back to the register that is actually being used that day. She drags herself and her stuff over to me (finally) and pays. When I move to hand her the change, she shakes open her very large carpet bag and says, "Just chuck it in here dearie"
Woman who juggles her way to the register with a large bag of bird seed, a bird feeder and suet cakes. She refuses to set any of it down until I've scanned it (seriously, what's with people who refuse to let me do my job in an efficient manner? Do they think I'm going to swap what they've actually chosen for something else? Or that I'll smash it to hell and back and still expect them to pay for it? What?) After she juggles things so I can ring them up, she sets them down. Then she walks off without the bird feeder or the suet cakes.
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.)
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Are You High?
You're not high...just remarkably stupid. Oh, sorry about your luck.
Friday and Saturday, every customer acted drunk. Saturday, one woman was visibly wobbly. But she wasn't Customer of the Week.
Friday and Saturday, the woman with her glasses all askew was in, asking exactly the same questions both days. It was really difficult to not say, "Same place I told you it was yesterday." And she wasn't Customer of the Week either.
The Customer of the Week was the woman who approached me, leaned forward and asked in a conspiratorial tone, "How much are your $12.98 plants?"
The full conversation continued: "The $12.98 plants?"
CotW: "Yes. The plants for $12.98."
Mumple: "Why, they're................................$12.98."
Friday and Saturday, every customer acted drunk. Saturday, one woman was visibly wobbly. But she wasn't Customer of the Week.
Friday and Saturday, the woman with her glasses all askew was in, asking exactly the same questions both days. It was really difficult to not say, "Same place I told you it was yesterday." And she wasn't Customer of the Week either.
The Customer of the Week was the woman who approached me, leaned forward and asked in a conspiratorial tone, "How much are your $12.98 plants?"
The full conversation continued: "The $12.98 plants?"
CotW: "Yes. The plants for $12.98."
Mumple: "Why, they're................................$12.98."
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
How Was Your Day?
Mine was about as Mumpletastic as it gets.
First, I discover that they've taken away all the stuff I've managed to acquire that we generally NEED in the garden center. Like the phone book, so I can actually call for competitor price verification, which saves me time swearing under my breath as I either sit on hold, or have some fuckwit not listen to me tell them what I actually need while they explain the price match policy to me. Then I get to grit my teeth in an unattrative fashion and say things like, "Okay. Now, I'm going to tell you again what I need, you're going to fucking listen this time."
Second, the monitor on the register customers are trained to come to died. Well, not died, exactly, just decided that 1/8th of an inch is all the visibility we needed.
Third, I had to call the un-help desk, where they were first confused that I technically have two last names, and then they had to transfer me to the superior not-listening clueless guy. He told me to just look around the back of the monitor...K, Dude, I have to put down the phone, walk around the metal kiosk, open the little sliding window...THEN look around the back of the monitor. He kept telling me that it's set up "just like your computer monitor at home, ma'am." Yeah, well, whatever. Should've told him I have a lap top. Let him tell me it's the same thing then! Idiot. Then Captain Clueless kept telling me that I was looking for a blue cord or a blue plug with the side screws. Sure, sure I am. What part of "I have a white cord and a black cord are you not understanding?" Continuing to stress the "OR" in your lack of reality is not helping me. Finally, I just put the phone down, close the sliding window, walk back around the front of my register, pop off the front plate (the one we're told to never-ever-never touch) and tell him, "I'm taking off the front plate thing to see the cords in there." To which the Cap'n tells me "It's on the back of your monitor ma'am." (You fucking think so? Am I stuttering, or do you just not understand English?) I find the blue plug, but since the keyboard is on a short leash and can't be moved very far, and I do not have freakishly small hands, I have to actually contort my arms and twist my wrists in order to touch it, nevermind being able to unscrew it. (and btw, Cap'n, you continuing to tell me that the reality suckage I'm experiencing isn't really like that isn't helping.) Unplug, jiggle jiggle, twist, scrape, owie, plug in. "Ma'am, your monitor is dead. Here's your Incident #, and we'll have someone there to pretend to fix it by the end of this year." LOVELY.
Fourth, the guy who was in who demanded, while I was scanning another present customer's merchandise, that I tell him where the "shields" were. Gave him my best guess and continued scanning. He demanded again, that I tell him if we had the very specific "shields" he wanted...got pissed, stomped back out to his vehicle, and peeled out of the parking lot. Ta ta, you ass.
Fifth, working with the Turnip.
Sixth, the woman who wanted the cheap-o, but not clearanced hanging baskets. When told where they were, and how to identify them ("out front, point to right, on the A-frame) she wandered out front shrieking, "A? What's an A? Do you know what she meant by A?"
We come to the end of my day...and I ask you, again, where do they find them and why do they keep sending them to me?
First, I discover that they've taken away all the stuff I've managed to acquire that we generally NEED in the garden center. Like the phone book, so I can actually call for competitor price verification, which saves me time swearing under my breath as I either sit on hold, or have some fuckwit not listen to me tell them what I actually need while they explain the price match policy to me. Then I get to grit my teeth in an unattrative fashion and say things like, "Okay. Now, I'm going to tell you again what I need, you're going to fucking listen this time."
Second, the monitor on the register customers are trained to come to died. Well, not died, exactly, just decided that 1/8th of an inch is all the visibility we needed.
Third, I had to call the un-help desk, where they were first confused that I technically have two last names, and then they had to transfer me to the superior not-listening clueless guy. He told me to just look around the back of the monitor...K, Dude, I have to put down the phone, walk around the metal kiosk, open the little sliding window...THEN look around the back of the monitor. He kept telling me that it's set up "just like your computer monitor at home, ma'am." Yeah, well, whatever. Should've told him I have a lap top. Let him tell me it's the same thing then! Idiot. Then Captain Clueless kept telling me that I was looking for a blue cord or a blue plug with the side screws. Sure, sure I am. What part of "I have a white cord and a black cord are you not understanding?" Continuing to stress the "OR" in your lack of reality is not helping me. Finally, I just put the phone down, close the sliding window, walk back around the front of my register, pop off the front plate (the one we're told to never-ever-never touch) and tell him, "I'm taking off the front plate thing to see the cords in there." To which the Cap'n tells me "It's on the back of your monitor ma'am." (You fucking think so? Am I stuttering, or do you just not understand English?) I find the blue plug, but since the keyboard is on a short leash and can't be moved very far, and I do not have freakishly small hands, I have to actually contort my arms and twist my wrists in order to touch it, nevermind being able to unscrew it. (and btw, Cap'n, you continuing to tell me that the reality suckage I'm experiencing isn't really like that isn't helping.) Unplug, jiggle jiggle, twist, scrape, owie, plug in. "Ma'am, your monitor is dead. Here's your Incident #, and we'll have someone there to pretend to fix it by the end of this year." LOVELY.
Fourth, the guy who was in who demanded, while I was scanning another present customer's merchandise, that I tell him where the "shields" were. Gave him my best guess and continued scanning. He demanded again, that I tell him if we had the very specific "shields" he wanted...got pissed, stomped back out to his vehicle, and peeled out of the parking lot. Ta ta, you ass.
Fifth, working with the Turnip.
Sixth, the woman who wanted the cheap-o, but not clearanced hanging baskets. When told where they were, and how to identify them ("out front, point to right, on the A-frame) she wandered out front shrieking, "A? What's an A? Do you know what she meant by A?"
We come to the end of my day...and I ask you, again, where do they find them and why do they keep sending them to me?
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
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?
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?
Tuesday, April 05, 2011
Why Bother?
What is it with people who think that because we work retail, it's probably not really work? Take, for example, the skeletal woman who came in the doors, looked at me, and asked, "Where are the blocks that click together for floors?" While I was beginning to answer, her husband came in, and she said, "We need to go to flooring, it's this way." and they walked away.
Then, there's the guy that comes in and asks me where the pvc pipe is. While I try to tell him which aisle I think it's in (face it, people, pvc pipe is not something I'm going to go look at, if I can help it) he corrects my "aisle 13" and then heads to where he said it was.
Finally, we have the jackass that comes in nearly every day, and ALWAYS asks if we have something....like drywall screws. His jackass trick is to stand in front of the drywall screws, looking at them, and asking if we have them. I got to be the lucky girl on Saturday, and it went like this:
Jackass: Don't you have any spring flowers this year?
Me: Yes. That's what all this is. *moves arms to indicate the entire garden center*
Jack: So you think you'll be getting them in soon?
Me: That's what all this is out here. *more non-verbal cluage*
Jack: No, I mean spring flowers. That bloom now.
Me: THAT is what ALL this IS. *again with the non-verbal cluage*
Jack: Would they be inside then?
Me: No. THAT is WHAT ALL this IS out HERE. *even more non-verbal cluage*
Jack: Oh.
Then, there's the guy that comes in and asks me where the pvc pipe is. While I try to tell him which aisle I think it's in (face it, people, pvc pipe is not something I'm going to go look at, if I can help it) he corrects my "aisle 13" and then heads to where he said it was.
Finally, we have the jackass that comes in nearly every day, and ALWAYS asks if we have something....like drywall screws. His jackass trick is to stand in front of the drywall screws, looking at them, and asking if we have them. I got to be the lucky girl on Saturday, and it went like this:
Jackass: Don't you have any spring flowers this year?
Me: Yes. That's what all this is. *moves arms to indicate the entire garden center*
Jack: So you think you'll be getting them in soon?
Me: That's what all this is out here. *more non-verbal cluage*
Jack: No, I mean spring flowers. That bloom now.
Me: THAT is what ALL this IS. *again with the non-verbal cluage*
Jack: Would they be inside then?
Me: No. THAT is WHAT ALL this IS out HERE. *even more non-verbal cluage*
Jack: Oh.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Quickie
A quick lil' post, donchano.
Yesterday, at work, I get this call:
mumple: How many I direct your call?
caller: I dunno. Maybe you can help me. *pause* Do you carry those strap on things?
m: *jaw just a-hanging
caller: Like for on your shoes in the ice.
Yesterday, at work, I get this call:
mumple: How many I direct your call?
caller: I dunno. Maybe you can help me. *pause* Do you carry those strap on things?
m: *jaw just a-hanging
caller: Like for on your shoes in the ice.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Language Lessons
For the record, I do not speak Idiot. I hear it--I am surrounded by it--but mostly, I do not understand, nor do I speak it.
And everything seems to happen in that last 10 minutes before you're supposed to punch out and walk away.
That being said, at the very end of my work shift, seconds before my coverage got there, a man walks up to me and says, "How do I get that salt outside?"
Which, of course, is absolutely understandable to every thinking person on the planet.
I sez: What salt? Where? What outside?
He waves vaguely behind him: That salt. How do I get it outside?
Slowly coming off my senses: Well, go to any register, tell them how many bags of salt you need, and they'll get it rung up and call someone to help you load it.
Blinking, like a cow staring at a passing train: I want all of it. Out there.
Now I'm blinking, trying to not say something that will cost me my job: OK. I'll call someone and they'll help you get what you need.
I call the department, and am informed that there is more salt, of the same type, in aisle 22. How many bags does he need?
So, I ask the guy. He says: About that many. Again with the vague gestures toward the entry doors.
I'm in the car, headed for the wall...I ask the next natural question: How many bags are there?
I dunno. That many. Again with the gestures. I try rephrasing the question, and got more of the "that many" answer.
*sigh* I notice the clock...two minutes. TWO minutes, people. No way am I getting suckered into staying here for this. I've had enough grief and pain in the final 10 minutes of my shift in the last 7 days...no way, no how, am I staying for this. Customer Service at its finest be dayumed! Besides, my coverage is here.
I tell Department Dude he needs to come up to help the customer. I tell the Dopey Dude that the Department Dude will be right up. I look at my coverage and say, "I am OUTTA HERE!"
And I punch out and leave. Is it just me (no, really!) or are people actually getting dumber?
And everything seems to happen in that last 10 minutes before you're supposed to punch out and walk away.
That being said, at the very end of my work shift, seconds before my coverage got there, a man walks up to me and says, "How do I get that salt outside?"
Which, of course, is absolutely understandable to every thinking person on the planet.
I sez: What salt? Where? What outside?
He waves vaguely behind him: That salt. How do I get it outside?
Slowly coming off my senses: Well, go to any register, tell them how many bags of salt you need, and they'll get it rung up and call someone to help you load it.
Blinking, like a cow staring at a passing train: I want all of it. Out there.
Now I'm blinking, trying to not say something that will cost me my job: OK. I'll call someone and they'll help you get what you need.
I call the department, and am informed that there is more salt, of the same type, in aisle 22. How many bags does he need?
So, I ask the guy. He says: About that many. Again with the vague gestures toward the entry doors.
I'm in the car, headed for the wall...I ask the next natural question: How many bags are there?
I dunno. That many. Again with the gestures. I try rephrasing the question, and got more of the "that many" answer.
*sigh* I notice the clock...two minutes. TWO minutes, people. No way am I getting suckered into staying here for this. I've had enough grief and pain in the final 10 minutes of my shift in the last 7 days...no way, no how, am I staying for this. Customer Service at its finest be dayumed! Besides, my coverage is here.
I tell Department Dude he needs to come up to help the customer. I tell the Dopey Dude that the Department Dude will be right up. I look at my coverage and say, "I am OUTTA HERE!"
And I punch out and leave. Is it just me (no, really!) or are people actually getting dumber?
Wednesday, February 02, 2011
Wow, Just, WOW
So, I'm still taking phone calls from the Reality Challenged.
Seriously, how hard is it to actually LISTEN when someone answers your question? Especially if you don't have Clue 1 about inventions that actually exist?
Me: How may I direct your call?
Reality Challenged Caller: I don't know. Maybe you can help me.
M: (DEEP BREATH--this is going to be good.)
RCC: Do they even make a thing to pull the snow and ice off your roof?
M: A roof rake?
RCC: I don't know. Is that what they're called? I don't need a rake. It's for snow & ice on my roof.
M: Its a roof rake. I don't know if we still have...
RCC: What about a roof squee-gee? A squee-gee would do it.
There's gotta be something in the water.
Seriously, how hard is it to actually LISTEN when someone answers your question? Especially if you don't have Clue 1 about inventions that actually exist?
Me: How may I direct your call?
Reality Challenged Caller: I don't know. Maybe you can help me.
M: (DEEP BREATH--this is going to be good.)
RCC: Do they even make a thing to pull the snow and ice off your roof?
M: A roof rake?
RCC: I don't know. Is that what they're called? I don't need a rake. It's for snow & ice on my roof.
M: Its a roof rake. I don't know if we still have...
RCC: What about a roof squee-gee? A squee-gee would do it.
There's gotta be something in the water.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Tourists!
Yes, more about the random oddities I encounter at work. Recently, one of my co-workers told the story about a caller wanting the phone number for a local grocery store...the caller, deciding that it was too much of a bother to look the number up for herself, called our store wanting us to look it up for her.
I can beat that.
A few weeks ago, I watched as a dopey looking woman came in the doors, plunked herself into one of the motorized carts, and drove off. She came back a short while later, parked the cart she was using up against the entry doors, and began unplugging the extention cords that power all the Christmas crap in the Seasonal department. When I asked if I could help her find something, she said she needed one of those carts that worked. I had to practically pry the 4 foot cords away from her. Why she was gathering the extention cords (she was looping them over her shoulder to take them with her) I don't even want to know.
Last night, I took a transferred-to-me call during which the customer, when asked how I could help him, said, "I don't know. They just sent me to you." I had to actually ask three times "What were they helping you with?" for him to tell me repeatedly, "I don't know." After ping-ponging the call back and forth, we were finally able to get him what he needed...and then he wanted to know if we could deliver his crap to him on Thanksgiving day. "I understand you're not open on Thanksgiving, but it'd be better for me if you could deliver that day anyway."
The evening progressed to the hyperactive men who couldn't just answer my easy questions (Is it broken? and Do you have your receipt with you today?) They each had to give me an entire purchase history...one even asked me, as I handed him the receipt he needed to sign, "Doncha have sumpin' for me to sign?" As he signed it, he added his address, phone number, and various minutia about himself. In case he ever ended up as a Trivial Pursuit answer I'd be prepared, I guess.
Finally, the absolute bestest ever asked me, "Have you ever been to the Falls?"
I answered, "I'm sorry?"
"You know, Niagara Falls."
"uh, years ago, yes."
"Do you know if they're still running the boats? The schedule for the boats, I mean."
Yes, folks, I'm not only supposed to know why you call into my store, every detail of your life in the 10 years since my store opened, phone numbers and hours for random area businesses, I'm also supposed to know the tourist attractions and their schedules in CANADA.
I can beat that.
A few weeks ago, I watched as a dopey looking woman came in the doors, plunked herself into one of the motorized carts, and drove off. She came back a short while later, parked the cart she was using up against the entry doors, and began unplugging the extention cords that power all the Christmas crap in the Seasonal department. When I asked if I could help her find something, she said she needed one of those carts that worked. I had to practically pry the 4 foot cords away from her. Why she was gathering the extention cords (she was looping them over her shoulder to take them with her) I don't even want to know.
Last night, I took a transferred-to-me call during which the customer, when asked how I could help him, said, "I don't know. They just sent me to you." I had to actually ask three times "What were they helping you with?" for him to tell me repeatedly, "I don't know." After ping-ponging the call back and forth, we were finally able to get him what he needed...and then he wanted to know if we could deliver his crap to him on Thanksgiving day. "I understand you're not open on Thanksgiving, but it'd be better for me if you could deliver that day anyway."
The evening progressed to the hyperactive men who couldn't just answer my easy questions (Is it broken? and Do you have your receipt with you today?) They each had to give me an entire purchase history...one even asked me, as I handed him the receipt he needed to sign, "Doncha have sumpin' for me to sign?" As he signed it, he added his address, phone number, and various minutia about himself. In case he ever ended up as a Trivial Pursuit answer I'd be prepared, I guess.
Finally, the absolute bestest ever asked me, "Have you ever been to the Falls?"
I answered, "I'm sorry?"
"You know, Niagara Falls."
"uh, years ago, yes."
"Do you know if they're still running the boats? The schedule for the boats, I mean."
Yes, folks, I'm not only supposed to know why you call into my store, every detail of your life in the 10 years since my store opened, phone numbers and hours for random area businesses, I'm also supposed to know the tourist attractions and their schedules in CANADA.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Snooty Susie, The Church Lady
Years ago, I left the church in my hometown. There were reasons, not the least of which is that I had, apparently, outlived my usefulness to them. Of course, my "bad attitude" and questioning of their motives for certain decisions was probably part of it. At first, they refused to allow the Toad to move forward away from being a little boy in his role during services; by the end, they were actively pursuing ways to condemn and chastise me (making some of the shit up, and yes, I could prove it) and to humiliate and repress him.
While there were some who didn't want to see us go (and whom I missed seeing weekly) there were others who, I'm fairly certain, did the Happy Dance when they heard that we'd left.
Snooty Susie was probably one of them. She & I didn't have problems, it was more of a low-level general mutual dislike.
This year at the Diocesan convention dinner, My Sweetie & I sat with my first Sunday School teachers from the local church and Snooty Susie. When we sat down, Snoots asked me how well I knew our Bishop. Since he's only been our Bishop 3 years, and their last priest really didn't like him (and most of those parishioners parroted whatever their attention whore priest said) she said it like she fully expected me to have nothing good to say about our Bishop.
Okay, so it's not just that, I don't generally like people much. And clergy get no special exemption in my graces, either.
I asked her what she meant by "know well" and she said, "Well, does he know your name?" as if there's no way he would (the prior Bishop didn't know my name, but he knew my face--and he always looked at me like he'd just stepped in something nasty when he saw me. No lie.)
I told her how many ways I'd met the current Bishop, and that he'd been to my house. My Sweetie confirms that, no, I wasn't being snooty or holier than her about it. I was simply telling a story about how I knew the man. Snoots looked like I'd slapped her.
HAH! Score one for me--I was being a grown up.
While there were some who didn't want to see us go (and whom I missed seeing weekly) there were others who, I'm fairly certain, did the Happy Dance when they heard that we'd left.
Snooty Susie was probably one of them. She & I didn't have problems, it was more of a low-level general mutual dislike.
This year at the Diocesan convention dinner, My Sweetie & I sat with my first Sunday School teachers from the local church and Snooty Susie. When we sat down, Snoots asked me how well I knew our Bishop. Since he's only been our Bishop 3 years, and their last priest really didn't like him (and most of those parishioners parroted whatever their attention whore priest said) she said it like she fully expected me to have nothing good to say about our Bishop.
Okay, so it's not just that, I don't generally like people much. And clergy get no special exemption in my graces, either.
I asked her what she meant by "know well" and she said, "Well, does he know your name?" as if there's no way he would (the prior Bishop didn't know my name, but he knew my face--and he always looked at me like he'd just stepped in something nasty when he saw me. No lie.)
I told her how many ways I'd met the current Bishop, and that he'd been to my house. My Sweetie confirms that, no, I wasn't being snooty or holier than her about it. I was simply telling a story about how I knew the man. Snoots looked like I'd slapped her.
HAH! Score one for me--I was being a grown up.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
She Has Been Paying Attention!
Today at Sunday School, the lesson was about the "Saints of God." As in, any God-fearing Christian person who attempts to share the Word is a Saint of God.
During the discussion, of course, the children named our priest, deacon, the Toad, etc etc. The Howler names, specifically, her father. Good girl!
When asked if her mom teaches her about God also, she shrugs her shoulder and says, and I quote, "enh."
'nuf said.
During the discussion, of course, the children named our priest, deacon, the Toad, etc etc. The Howler names, specifically, her father. Good girl!
When asked if her mom teaches her about God also, she shrugs her shoulder and says, and I quote, "enh."
'nuf said.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Hussy
Another adorable Frodo story:
Last night, at close, I had to run from returns to customer service. When I got there, Frodo asks me, "So are you a natural redhead or what?"
Because, apparently, working with me for 10 years, he'd never noticed before. Duh.
I just laughed. He sez, "Yeah, I thought so."
Since he knows my Aunt--she of the asshole questioning--I tell him a funny story.
When I first started coloring my hair red, my aunt comes to the Howler's birthday party and sez, "What in the haaaaillll did you do to your hair?"
I sez, "Why? Don't you like it?"
"You look like a goddamned hussy."
I laugh. She asks My Sweetie what he thinks of it, and he says he likes me as a hussy. (bwhahahahahahahaha)
Later on, we go to visit his family, and when I get out of the car, his father sez, "Oh." snort "I din know he liked redheads."
"Waaaallll, he likes this one!" big smile.
I confide to My Sweetie that his Ol' Man had a run-in with a redhead, and therefore, doesn't like 'em. I confide same to my mother-in-law. Neither of them know anything about it.
A year or so later, I get a phone call from my mother-in-law, informing me that they were going through some old pics of when the Ol' Man was in the service...and found pics of this woman who dun him wrong. She was a redhead.
HAH!
Last night, at close, I had to run from returns to customer service. When I got there, Frodo asks me, "So are you a natural redhead or what?"
Because, apparently, working with me for 10 years, he'd never noticed before. Duh.
I just laughed. He sez, "Yeah, I thought so."
Since he knows my Aunt--she of the asshole questioning--I tell him a funny story.
When I first started coloring my hair red, my aunt comes to the Howler's birthday party and sez, "What in the haaaaillll did you do to your hair?"
I sez, "Why? Don't you like it?"
"You look like a goddamned hussy."
I laugh. She asks My Sweetie what he thinks of it, and he says he likes me as a hussy. (bwhahahahahahahaha)
Later on, we go to visit his family, and when I get out of the car, his father sez, "Oh." snort "I din know he liked redheads."
"Waaaallll, he likes this one!" big smile.
I confide to My Sweetie that his Ol' Man had a run-in with a redhead, and therefore, doesn't like 'em. I confide same to my mother-in-law. Neither of them know anything about it.
A year or so later, I get a phone call from my mother-in-law, informing me that they were going through some old pics of when the Ol' Man was in the service...and found pics of this woman who dun him wrong. She was a redhead.
HAH!
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