Shit & Other Bad Words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hello? Asshole.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crawling Out of the Woodwork

Seriously. The epidemic of Stupidity has actually gotten worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How may I direct your call?"

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

"Please hold."

And I get to go back tomorrow!

Phone Phun

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

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

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

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

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

Why? ...Wordless Wednesday

Uncle Dad

So, My Sweetie has FINALLY won the "Who's Family is More Hillbilly?" unofficial contest we've had going on for 12 years.

The other day, he shares a story about some "news" that was shared with his parents at his mother's family reunion.

His cousin, Charlie Brown, has a brother. The brother has a wife. Brother Brown and Mrs. Brother Brown have several half dozen chillen'. At some point in the last few years, Brother Brown and Mrs Brother Brown were havin' som o' them thar marital issues. And Charlie Brown stepped in to help alleviate Mrs Brother Brown's loneliness during that time.

Brother Brown & Mrs Brother Brown worked out their differences, and are still together. Charlie Brown's child by Mrs Brother Brown calls his daddy "Uncle Charlie."

My family gets more normal the more I learn about My Sweetie's extended fam.

The Jackass

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

"Yes."

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

"NO." I hang up the phone.

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

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

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

He needs serious help.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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