Not only do I get to wish everybody reading this blog (both of you) a very Merry Christmas, it's also my 100th post.
Seems like a lifetime ago since I sat down in a library somewhere, logged into a generic computer using a fake name, and decided to try my hand at the blogging thing. In reality, it's only been about a year and a quarter.
So here's to another year, another 100 posts, and most of all, peace and freedom for mankind.
Merry Christmas!
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Tales From Retail Pt5
5.It’s Christmas Eve, and the store has been off-and-on busy all day. I got in at about 8:45am, I’m scheduled to be getting out at 6:00pm, and I’m wearily wondering why on earth we can’t just close the store so all these people can go spend some time with their families.
It’s about 4pm, and a biker gang walks in. Or should I say, they look like a biker gang. 5 BIG guys wearing jeans, denim and leather letter jackets, their hair is a mess and they’ve all got huge scraggly beards. I think “Ok, biker gang,” and my trouble radar perks up.
Yes, I know, bikers are usually nice people. I will say that I believe stereotypes usually exist for a reason, and it doesn’t ever hurt to be cautious.
Following these scruffy bikers are about 5 of the richest-looking women I’ve ever seen. Now, I’m not one spend lots of time hanging out in the women’s clothing department, but if any one of their coats cost less than $1000, I’d be surprised. Jewels, expensive hairdos, expensive shoes, the works…didn’t look like they’d ever shopped at Walmart.
So my night’s just gotten a little weirder, and I figure “What the heck, these guys aren’t going to do anything funny with this crowd of women in tow,” so go up to the first guy, who looks like a grizzly bear trying to walk among mankind for a day, offer my hand and say “Welcome to *redacted*. I’m *redacted*, anything I can help you find?”
He says no, and I move on to the next biker. The rest have scattered throughout the store, and when he says no he’s not looking for anything, I let him pass and turn to watch them. All the men’s letter jackets are labeled with a rose and a guitar, and say “Trans-Siberian Orchestra World Tour 2005-2006.”
This is not unusual. TSO was playing the arena two days later, and lots of people are wearing their merchandise. So, I decide to shmooze a little. I find the first guy and say “Wow, a Trans-Siberian fan! Gonna be at their concert on the 26th?”
His reply, “I should hope so, otherwise they won’t have a drummer.”
It is to my credit that I had the presence of mind not to kneel down and start praying in his direction. Looking at the band photos, I’m pretty sure I shook hands with either John O. Reilly or Jeff Plate.
They didn’t buy anything, but did ask where we kept the TSO CDs. I VERY politely informed them that we had sold out of everything except Beethoven’s Last Night. Then they left, and I felt like little ol’ me again.
So, ‘bout an hour later, two women enter the store. Late teens, early twenties, college age. One’s dressed like Han Solo, jeans, white button-up shirt, black vest. They’re not looking for anything, but I do note that they both have heavy European accents and it’s obvious English is not their first language, nor likely second or third.
After about 5 minutes, the Han-Solo-dressalike calls me over and requests a Beatles DVD. Now, it’s about 8 hours till Christmas and the store has been thoroughly cleaned out of everything except marijuana posters, CDs in the Finnish language, and novelty lip gloss on the Jessica Simpson label.
But, I found a DVD by A Beatle. A George Harrison DVD. I recall it was orange, and evoked psychodelic sensations in the eyes.
I bring it over to her, and notice she’s doing something with her hands. What the heck, over, she’s undressing…
She had her shirt unbuttoned down to her navel by the time I gathered up what senses hadn’t deserted me, handed her the CD, and had beat feet to the farthest corner of the store.
Oh yeah, and the registers choked at store closing, so I had to call the store manager at home (this is on Christmas Eve) at 7 at night to figure out how to find a “lost transaction.” I finally got home around 8pm.
It’s about 4pm, and a biker gang walks in. Or should I say, they look like a biker gang. 5 BIG guys wearing jeans, denim and leather letter jackets, their hair is a mess and they’ve all got huge scraggly beards. I think “Ok, biker gang,” and my trouble radar perks up.
Yes, I know, bikers are usually nice people. I will say that I believe stereotypes usually exist for a reason, and it doesn’t ever hurt to be cautious.
Following these scruffy bikers are about 5 of the richest-looking women I’ve ever seen. Now, I’m not one spend lots of time hanging out in the women’s clothing department, but if any one of their coats cost less than $1000, I’d be surprised. Jewels, expensive hairdos, expensive shoes, the works…didn’t look like they’d ever shopped at Walmart.
So my night’s just gotten a little weirder, and I figure “What the heck, these guys aren’t going to do anything funny with this crowd of women in tow,” so go up to the first guy, who looks like a grizzly bear trying to walk among mankind for a day, offer my hand and say “Welcome to *redacted*. I’m *redacted*, anything I can help you find?”
He says no, and I move on to the next biker. The rest have scattered throughout the store, and when he says no he’s not looking for anything, I let him pass and turn to watch them. All the men’s letter jackets are labeled with a rose and a guitar, and say “Trans-Siberian Orchestra World Tour 2005-2006.”
This is not unusual. TSO was playing the arena two days later, and lots of people are wearing their merchandise. So, I decide to shmooze a little. I find the first guy and say “Wow, a Trans-Siberian fan! Gonna be at their concert on the 26th?”
His reply, “I should hope so, otherwise they won’t have a drummer.”
It is to my credit that I had the presence of mind not to kneel down and start praying in his direction. Looking at the band photos, I’m pretty sure I shook hands with either John O. Reilly or Jeff Plate.
They didn’t buy anything, but did ask where we kept the TSO CDs. I VERY politely informed them that we had sold out of everything except Beethoven’s Last Night. Then they left, and I felt like little ol’ me again.
So, ‘bout an hour later, two women enter the store. Late teens, early twenties, college age. One’s dressed like Han Solo, jeans, white button-up shirt, black vest. They’re not looking for anything, but I do note that they both have heavy European accents and it’s obvious English is not their first language, nor likely second or third.
After about 5 minutes, the Han-Solo-dressalike calls me over and requests a Beatles DVD. Now, it’s about 8 hours till Christmas and the store has been thoroughly cleaned out of everything except marijuana posters, CDs in the Finnish language, and novelty lip gloss on the Jessica Simpson label.
But, I found a DVD by A Beatle. A George Harrison DVD. I recall it was orange, and evoked psychodelic sensations in the eyes.
I bring it over to her, and notice she’s doing something with her hands. What the heck, over, she’s undressing…
She had her shirt unbuttoned down to her navel by the time I gathered up what senses hadn’t deserted me, handed her the CD, and had beat feet to the farthest corner of the store.
Oh yeah, and the registers choked at store closing, so I had to call the store manager at home (this is on Christmas Eve) at 7 at night to figure out how to find a “lost transaction.” I finally got home around 8pm.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Tales From Retail Pt4
4.The first time I saw the man I call Rev, I thought he was literally retarded.
He was about 4 foot nothing, and equally sized through the x and z axis. He had a face and head like Danny Devito, except Danny Devito doesn’t have eyes that bulge out like a victim of strangulation. He was pushing a shopping cart loaded with CDs, and when I asked him if I could help him, he talked in a high, squeaky voice like Alvin The Chipmunk, speaking really fast and with a major lisp.
He was looking for parody Christmas CDs, and I kindly offered to order them for him. He accepted my offer, and after ringing up his transaction with nary a word of complaint, he rather rudely asks me if I’ve exempted him from the sales tax.
I didn’t know your average Joe was exempt, file the data away for future use under Taxes: Avoidance Of, and go get a manager higher than myself to help me figure out what to do when someone’s asking for something I can’t legally give them.
The manager OK’s it, and I process everything as tax exempt. He pays with a check. Labeled “First Church Of Cain.”
Now, I’m the first in line to say nobody should get special breaks on anything, but I find it even funnier when I have to give a Satanist priest tax exempt status on Christmas comedy CDs.
To be continued…later…
He was about 4 foot nothing, and equally sized through the x and z axis. He had a face and head like Danny Devito, except Danny Devito doesn’t have eyes that bulge out like a victim of strangulation. He was pushing a shopping cart loaded with CDs, and when I asked him if I could help him, he talked in a high, squeaky voice like Alvin The Chipmunk, speaking really fast and with a major lisp.
He was looking for parody Christmas CDs, and I kindly offered to order them for him. He accepted my offer, and after ringing up his transaction with nary a word of complaint, he rather rudely asks me if I’ve exempted him from the sales tax.
I didn’t know your average Joe was exempt, file the data away for future use under Taxes: Avoidance Of, and go get a manager higher than myself to help me figure out what to do when someone’s asking for something I can’t legally give them.
The manager OK’s it, and I process everything as tax exempt. He pays with a check. Labeled “First Church Of Cain.”
Now, I’m the first in line to say nobody should get special breaks on anything, but I find it even funnier when I have to give a Satanist priest tax exempt status on Christmas comedy CDs.
To be continued…later…
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Shi'ite Christians
Or:Very, very religious persons who don't know when to leave the h*ll enough alone.
I'm a fairly religious person. I have a strict code of ethics that by and large intersects with those laid down by Christ. I'm not a big one for praying (it's started to seem kind of hypocritical to say anything other than thanks, given that I know God ain't gonna protect me and mine from anything bad, why ask?) I wish I went to church more, but work doesn't allow. So, in no way, shape, or form is the following an attack on organized religion or any denomination or practice of Christianity.
I'm getting into the car after exitting the post office, and it being Wisconsin, and WI weather being what it is, I'm wearing my leather jacket, and the warmest shirt under it that I own - my Punisher sweatshirt. Which has the standard Punisher skull emblazoned spraypaint style on the front.
I've got one leg in the car when an overweight, late-middle-aged to early elderly gent steps down off the sidewalk in front of the car, approaches my door, and crooks a finger at me.This is somewhat odd. He looks like one of my old teachers, but not quite. Thinking that maybe my fly's open or I dropped a $20, and he's looking to Pay It Forward today, I get back out.
"Excuse me," says the man.
"Can I help you?" is my standard reply.
"There's one man in all of history who came to bring peace and everlasting life, only one, and his name is Jesus Christ. Whether you choose to accept him is up to you.
"I'm too busy trying to figure out what he's going on about to process his next words correctly, but I'm thinking it was something along the lines of "You must choose, but choose wisely." Sort of like from Indiana Jones, but not nearly so inspiring when it doesn't come from a 900 year old Crusader.
Getting defensive, I say "I am a Christian, what are you talking about?"
Serenely, he points at my shirt and replies "I see that symbol, and I am reminded of that man who came to bring..."
I cut him off. "This symbol's from a movie."
He raises a hand. "I mean no offense. I don't know if it is or not. But be that as it may..." He drones on for another moment about my choice and the man who came to bring everlasting life, while backing up and moving away.
"Thanks. Have a nice day." I get back into the car.
Still torques me off. This is the only problem I have with Christmas - not the (wonderful) marketing, not the commercialization - all the religious fruits come out of the cake. Unless I'm wearing something so...vile...that I'm breaking public decency laws, why do you give a damn what I wear, and who are you to try and tell me that my shirt (inferred) is a symbol of Satanism. It must be real ... nice to be that secure in your own righteousness that you can deign to lecture people you've never met before on how their clothing threatens their salvation.Adrian
I'm a fairly religious person. I have a strict code of ethics that by and large intersects with those laid down by Christ. I'm not a big one for praying (it's started to seem kind of hypocritical to say anything other than thanks, given that I know God ain't gonna protect me and mine from anything bad, why ask?) I wish I went to church more, but work doesn't allow. So, in no way, shape, or form is the following an attack on organized religion or any denomination or practice of Christianity.
I'm getting into the car after exitting the post office, and it being Wisconsin, and WI weather being what it is, I'm wearing my leather jacket, and the warmest shirt under it that I own - my Punisher sweatshirt. Which has the standard Punisher skull emblazoned spraypaint style on the front.
I've got one leg in the car when an overweight, late-middle-aged to early elderly gent steps down off the sidewalk in front of the car, approaches my door, and crooks a finger at me.This is somewhat odd. He looks like one of my old teachers, but not quite. Thinking that maybe my fly's open or I dropped a $20, and he's looking to Pay It Forward today, I get back out.
"Excuse me," says the man.
"Can I help you?" is my standard reply.
"There's one man in all of history who came to bring peace and everlasting life, only one, and his name is Jesus Christ. Whether you choose to accept him is up to you.
"I'm too busy trying to figure out what he's going on about to process his next words correctly, but I'm thinking it was something along the lines of "You must choose, but choose wisely." Sort of like from Indiana Jones, but not nearly so inspiring when it doesn't come from a 900 year old Crusader.
Getting defensive, I say "I am a Christian, what are you talking about?"
Serenely, he points at my shirt and replies "I see that symbol, and I am reminded of that man who came to bring..."
I cut him off. "This symbol's from a movie."
He raises a hand. "I mean no offense. I don't know if it is or not. But be that as it may..." He drones on for another moment about my choice and the man who came to bring everlasting life, while backing up and moving away.
"Thanks. Have a nice day." I get back into the car.
Still torques me off. This is the only problem I have with Christmas - not the (wonderful) marketing, not the commercialization - all the religious fruits come out of the cake. Unless I'm wearing something so...vile...that I'm breaking public decency laws, why do you give a damn what I wear, and who are you to try and tell me that my shirt (inferred) is a symbol of Satanism. It must be real ... nice to be that secure in your own righteousness that you can deign to lecture people you've never met before on how their clothing threatens their salvation.Adrian
Monday, December 11, 2006
Defining The Second Amendment?
Apparently, the gun-free high-crime utopia of Washington D.C. (they took a perfectly good swamp and turned it into the seat of government) has a lawsuit on its hands regarding the ownership of handguns. Seems they told 6 of their embattled citizens that they can't keep guns for protection, only for National Guard use, and said citizens are suing.
There's the very real possibility that this could go before the Supreme Court. The SCOTUS has refused to take gun cases before (one theory being that either way it goes, it could spark nation-wide strife of the ballistic variety), and the only way this could well for us is they could rule it's an individual right.
Alternatively, they could rule that it's only applicable to the National Guard (despite the fact that the US militia is comprised of every adult male, and has been defined as such since the beginning of the nation).
Then they could ignore it completely, and the case gets decided by a lower court, which will rule against us. The precedent there would not be good.
This sucks.
Meanwhile, 17 senators have written legislation that would bind the US with UN gun trade policies. The list of traitors reads like a who's who of the Democratic Party. Unfortunately, there's one surprise on there - the one Democrat I thought actually had their head on straight, Russ Feingold.
There are a few spots of good news: My Sig magazines (the Novaks I ordered) came, and work perfectly. And Dunham's is having a sale on rifle ammunition. I've got about $50 cash burning a hole in my back pocket, and I think Dunham's is as good a place as any to unload it.
There's the very real possibility that this could go before the Supreme Court. The SCOTUS has refused to take gun cases before (one theory being that either way it goes, it could spark nation-wide strife of the ballistic variety), and the only way this could well for us is they could rule it's an individual right.
Alternatively, they could rule that it's only applicable to the National Guard (despite the fact that the US militia is comprised of every adult male, and has been defined as such since the beginning of the nation).
Then they could ignore it completely, and the case gets decided by a lower court, which will rule against us. The precedent there would not be good.
This sucks.
Meanwhile, 17 senators have written legislation that would bind the US with UN gun trade policies. The list of traitors reads like a who's who of the Democratic Party. Unfortunately, there's one surprise on there - the one Democrat I thought actually had their head on straight, Russ Feingold.
There are a few spots of good news: My Sig magazines (the Novaks I ordered) came, and work perfectly. And Dunham's is having a sale on rifle ammunition. I've got about $50 cash burning a hole in my back pocket, and I think Dunham's is as good a place as any to unload it.
Tales From Retail Pt3
3. Being a manager, I frequently wound up closing the store with only one other employee after the Christmas rush died down. Usually it was with a guy around my age who I’ll refer to as Dave.
Dave was probably the best worker I’ve ever seen who didn’t get promoted to management. Absolutely unimpeachable character, but with an oft-alluded to shady set of friends.
Dave finishes checking out a line of people and comes to find me out on the floor. He says “If the police come here, I need you to back me up, ok?”
I might’ve not known to turn electrical appliances off before spraying them with cleaning solution, but I do know A Clue™ when I hear one. I asked what happened. He’s literally shaking he’s so mad. He says “I can’t talk about it right now, I’ll tell you later.”
The police don’t show up in the interregnum, and at the end of the night he tells me that a person from school, with whom he shares a mutual hatred pushed their way past customers to the front of the line.
“What are you doing?” Dave asked.
“Hey buddy, can you sell me some pot?” The person replies. He asked twice more and got rather loud and insistent about it while Dave was helping customers. Apparently, their long-standing feud had escalated to the point where the nemesis was attempting to get Dave arrested by hoping someone would phone in that he was a drug dealer.
Dave was probably the best worker I’ve ever seen who didn’t get promoted to management. Absolutely unimpeachable character, but with an oft-alluded to shady set of friends.
Dave finishes checking out a line of people and comes to find me out on the floor. He says “If the police come here, I need you to back me up, ok?”
I might’ve not known to turn electrical appliances off before spraying them with cleaning solution, but I do know A Clue™ when I hear one. I asked what happened. He’s literally shaking he’s so mad. He says “I can’t talk about it right now, I’ll tell you later.”
The police don’t show up in the interregnum, and at the end of the night he tells me that a person from school, with whom he shares a mutual hatred pushed their way past customers to the front of the line.
“What are you doing?” Dave asked.
“Hey buddy, can you sell me some pot?” The person replies. He asked twice more and got rather loud and insistent about it while Dave was helping customers. Apparently, their long-standing feud had escalated to the point where the nemesis was attempting to get Dave arrested by hoping someone would phone in that he was a drug dealer.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Tales From Retail Pt2
Sorry for the lack of updates. School's winding down (which means finals) and work is winding up (because of Christmas) and they're both combining to prevent me from writing very much either here or elsewhere. That said, for a while at least, there'll be a new Tales From Retail every Monday.
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2.I hate heights. My old store had high ceilings. With 2 banks of TVs attached. Those TVs needed to be cleaned about once every two weeks, or so I found out after Christmas. Guess who wound up doing that?
I haul the ladder out of the back (which is 3 times my height and weighs 3 times as much.) I only manage to drop it twice setting it up. I carry the paper towel and Windex up, and watch the music videos from closeup while I’m spraying and dusting the screens.
Hindsight is 20/20. I should’ve been intelligent enough to know then what I was about to learn.
The first bank of TVs goes ok. I haul the ladder to the second bank, and set it up. The placement is a little awkward since there’s a long browser of CDs right under the TVs. It strikes me that if I were to fall, I’d fall into the CDs.
I climb up with my cleaning supplies, dust the first TV, and spritz the second. I’ve wiped the screen half clean when I hear what sounds like a handclap. Both my hands spring open and I drop the Windex and paper towel, and I jerk backwards. I don’t know if my knees went weak, but I managed to grab the ladder and wedge my feet into the rungs enough to stay upward. I immediately come down, check myself for burns and other damage. My mouth tastes like iron.
When I told the manager about the incident later he laughed and said “I should’ve told you to turn the TVs off first.”
So yeah, that’s how I electrocuted myself on the job.
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2.I hate heights. My old store had high ceilings. With 2 banks of TVs attached. Those TVs needed to be cleaned about once every two weeks, or so I found out after Christmas. Guess who wound up doing that?
I haul the ladder out of the back (which is 3 times my height and weighs 3 times as much.) I only manage to drop it twice setting it up. I carry the paper towel and Windex up, and watch the music videos from closeup while I’m spraying and dusting the screens.
Hindsight is 20/20. I should’ve been intelligent enough to know then what I was about to learn.
The first bank of TVs goes ok. I haul the ladder to the second bank, and set it up. The placement is a little awkward since there’s a long browser of CDs right under the TVs. It strikes me that if I were to fall, I’d fall into the CDs.
I climb up with my cleaning supplies, dust the first TV, and spritz the second. I’ve wiped the screen half clean when I hear what sounds like a handclap. Both my hands spring open and I drop the Windex and paper towel, and I jerk backwards. I don’t know if my knees went weak, but I managed to grab the ladder and wedge my feet into the rungs enough to stay upward. I immediately come down, check myself for burns and other damage. My mouth tastes like iron.
When I told the manager about the incident later he laughed and said “I should’ve told you to turn the TVs off first.”
So yeah, that’s how I electrocuted myself on the job.
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