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.

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.

Sweet Mother of Mercy!

My brother is now tagging me on Facebook in photos he's taking of his Sunday flyers.

This week? Sears. (and yes, I said taking photos of the ads.)

Sears, in a misguided attempt to encourage shoppers, divided it's flyer into this side up=women's crap and that side up=man's crap. I don't shop a lot at Sears, so unless I'm actually looking for a sale on babies or tires, I don't look at the damned thing.

And he's taking pictures. And naming me as being in cahoots with him on it.

Save me from my family...please.

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.

The Perfect Gift

We recently started peddling gift cards from other stores. It's been fun, really, and by fun, I mean, yeah, uhm, not so much. I never had any time or inclination to actually look at the thing--I was spending my Christmas shopping season outside.

This day, though, I'm inside, at the self-checkout. A woman comes to me to check out. She has two JCPenney gift cards, pre set for $25 each. She has a blank look on her face, and she says, "I want $50 on each of those please."

I tell her, "I don't think I can change the amount on the pre set cards. I'll try, though." So try I do...and fail I do.

I tell her that it can't be done that way. She blinks at me.

She blinks at me some more.

She begins rooting through her purse, and says, "I'm going to give you $50 for each, okay?"

I tell her, no, I'm sorry. If she wants $100 in JCPenney gift cards, she needs to get me two more $25 cards.

She blinks at me.

Then she blinks some more.

"So how much is it again?" she asks.

I tell her that to have $100 in these gift cards, she'll need to get me two more $25 cards. She blinks.

Then she walks away.

She comes back, a few minutes later, with ONE $50 JCPenney gift card.

Uhm, OKaaaaaaaaaaayyyyy.

I ring that up, she blinks and pays. Then she blinks some more as she wanders off through the store.

I take the cards back the endcap where they're being displayed...and the $50 JCPenney gift cards are UNDERNEATH the $25 ones.

I stood there blinking for a moment, then went back to my register to blink some more.

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.

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.