Time To Take A Stand.

Let me introduce you to Nate. He had the courage to do what I wish I had done a long time ago.

SHOULDA BEEN MY FIRST CLUE.

Some retail companies feel the need to make lots of job titles with really lofty, sonorous names like "team leader," "specialist," or "guest experience executive." I was reading a retail employee forum when I came across this lovely little gem:

And that right there is a tried and true way of determining whether a job is worth taking or not. How creative do they get with job titles? If they are at all "creative," run and don't walk out the door.

When I'm out looking for work, I'm definitely going to remember that.

I'm Singin' In The Rain.

"WHAT A GLORRRRRRIOUS FEELIN' -- I'M HAAAAAPY AGAIN....."

Recent news in the business media is all abuzz of late, about how the retail industry has posted some awfully dismal sales figures. This is a Christmas that retail executives aren't celebrating...but guess what? I AM.

Over the next few weeks there are going to be a lot of quiet meetings going on behind a lot of closed executive doors, and I bet that a good number of our retail executive friends are going to loose their bonuses, take reductions in pay, or even join me in the unemployment line.

I'm going to enjoy every minute of it.

The Lovely Sounds of Christmas.

Click on the link below and check out the soundboard that has lots of little joyful christmas snippets. My particular favorite is the one that says "merry f*ing christmas..." I just love that one. Especially since the last three christmas seasons in a row I've been out on the streets looking for a job, wishing I could spit on the luxury homes of the retail executives who still get to keep theirs.

Now, I freely admit that I'm an asshole and I only have myself to blame (mostly) for my troubles. The thing that escapes my understanding is this: when you're an executive, you can be an asshole AND you can keep your job, no matter what. For instance, Ted Turner, Bill Gates, Stalin, and Mao come to mined. When you're a peon, you can't.

I guess it can be said that the observation is a fairly accurate definition of what power is. When you have power, you can be an asshole and you can still keep your Bentley and your vacation home in the Hamptons. If you don't have power, you can frown only slightly and the political correctness police jump all over you like a ton of bricks, hanging you up by your toenails and leaving you there to die.

http://soundboard.com/sb/Christmas_sucks_songs_jok.aspx

PAZUZU.

I had another one of those funky dreams last night.

I was standing in the middle of the store, watching everyone go about their business. Then I was outside. I saw a black cloud start to appear on the South West horizon. As it approached slowly, the sky got darker and darker.

The ground started to rumble, all sorts of lightning struck, and the winds howled. Lightning struck the building and blew out all the windows and glass. Then, a huge swarm of locusts came out of the black clouds, enveloping and crawling all over everything and everyone inside the store.

The locusts ate every thing that was alive, and I could see half dead people crawling all over the place trying to escape the fire raging through the building while the locusts were feasting upon them. The whole scene was the stuff you'd expect from a William Peter Blatty film.

I suspect the dream came because I had been reading up on ancient Babylonian mythology recently. One particular nasty son-of-a-gun that caught my attention was PAZUZU, the diety of pestilence, plagues, locusts, storms, and the hot desert winds of draught.

"Ease His Pain...." (#3)

In an earlier post I mentioned having those little moments when everything gets quiet and the universe whispers your destiny to you. It all happens just like they way it does to the character Ray Kinsella, in the movie "Field of Dreams." You know, the one where the voice says "If you build it, they will come....." or it says "Go the distance...." or "Ease his pain..."

Lately I've been having several of those moments. In the midst of all the holiday madness that centers around the entertainment department at work, noise tends to disappear, people start to go in slow motion, and I get flooded with a certain quiet peace.

Lately, the Universal Voice has been telling me that this is going to be my last Christmas working in retail.

Addendum: As of 6:30pm this evening, I am no longer employed.

I made a really stupid mistake, and it cost me my job. As I write this though, there are certain things surrounding the incident which really lead me to believe that they were just ITCHING to find a reason to get rid of me. Once I provided them a reason, gift wrapped on a silver platter, they jumped at the chance in a New York minute.

For all the people there who were anxious to get rid of me, I only have one word to say.

SHANGO.

A Christmas Jumble, From Cookies To Nuts.

Christmas Eve at the store was interesting, to say the least.

Rupert told me he noticed "Miss K." standing by herself, very quietly, back by the televisions. He asked her if he could help her do anything. With a heavy sigh she said no, she was discussing plan-o-gram tasks with the entertainment specialist.

She avoided eye contact, and seemed to have a slight edge. (For someone as quiet as "Miss K," that's about the same as shouting out "God, I'm going crazy, get me outta here!") Rupert said he just knew that somehow she was unhappy. When he turned away for a moment to help a guest, she disappeared.

Rupert told me he closed his eyes, remembered the words that Cedric taught him, and spoke them inside, toward her, as deeply and as heartfelt as he could.

"PACIS, MEUS ANGELICA."

Rupert. He's such a forlorn love-puppy.

Cedric taught me the charm, also -- more than once I've used it with Crickett when she's upset. She always seems to be pretty happy after that.

The characters we had come through the entertainment department were definitely one of a kind. When I say one of a kind, I mean weirder than a Star Wars Wookie dressed in hoop skirts. There was the usual cadre of winos and boozers. These people could barely stand up while they asked me for what they wanted. Their breath was so caustic it could disolve glass in a picture frame.

We also had a continuous stream of selfish people who all thought they were a special case, telling us "excuse me sir, I know I'm interrupting your other guests like an inconsiderate ass, and that you're busy with several people waiting their turn ahead of me, but I'm a special case and I feel rightly entitled to demand an answer to a quick question just this once, because I'm a rude, unprincipled degenerate with the manners of a pack animal...." Now multiply that by about THIRTY people who all thought they were special.

I've got to be sure to mention several people who were real angels. Many of them told me they appreciated our work and they respect how we were able to multi-task so well. That surprised the heck out of me -- I definitely wasn't expecting that. People can really surprise you.

This next item is something I thought I had gotten away from when I left working for that Southern-owned Dollar Store Chain with the shop in a location on the other side of the tracks. I only mention this type of unpleasant business because it indicates a social condition I wish could someday be remedied. While working there I repeatedly witnessed a type of business transaction that my co-workers and I affectionately called "The Payoff."

"The Pay-off" goes something like this. An older white man, usually in his 50's or 70's or there abouts, approaches the counter with a basket full of food and clothing, most often women's clothing. By his side is always a young woman, or at least a woman clearly younger than him. Very often the woman will look like she's seen a couple of miles, in spite of her youth. Very often it's a Hispanic or African American woman, or a run-away teen girl. The woman is always dressed in very worn clothes. The man will ring up about $100 to $200 worth of items, whip out a credit card, and hand it all over to the woman when the deed is done. Once they get out the door, they go separate ways. I see this exact same type of transaction so many times, I seriously doubt the older men are doing charity work.

I mention this because we had a case like that show up at the camera counter. The old man was rude as hell and made my co-worker ring up a whole cart full of stuff when other people were waiting for service with electronics. My coworker is this itty bitty petite quiet and precious little angel high school girl, the kind that help you think there's hope for America's future. It's her first job, and she doesn't quite know all the ropes yet.

The jackass across the counter got rude with her because our machine wouldn't read his American Express Corporate Card. I guess we embarrassed him in front of his hooker -- ooops, I mean twenty years younger girlfriend. I was furious at the man. It's bad enough that he's exploiting and denegrating one young woman, he also has to be a complete jerk to another young lady who is only trying to help with with his purchase. I wanted to jump the counter and really kick the guy's ass. I struggle to feed my children and this corporate asshole comes in with a hooker, a silver card, and an attitude. &%$# him to hell.

I helped my co-worker go through the right steps to manually enter the charge into the register. It was necessary in that particular case to make an impression of the card on a slip. He got mad about that, as well. We finally got rid of him, and I explained to my co-worker what the situation really was with the guy. Her eyes got wide as saucers, and said "Ohhhhh......." I was half tempted to follow the guy, get his license plate, and report him to the vice squad. If it weren't for the many other people I had to help, I would have.

Across from the camera counter, the toy department was almost completely empty. We're talking picked cleaner than a beef carcass on top of an ant hill. I mean cleaner than a dessert plate at a weight watcher's convention. What little toys we had left were all over the floor. Oh, speaking of picked clean -- we had very few cameras left, as well. Almost our entire inventory was gone. I don't need to mention, of course, the continual stream of morons exclaiming "you're out of cameras!? How could you be out of cameras!?" I'm thinking to myself "well, there's Christmas, family gatherings, teen girls saving up for spring break trips, you name it. 1 + 1 = 2. Are you people that stupid?"

I even managed to get a smile out of "Miss Beluga" today. At the start of my shift I approached the operator's station in softlines. "Miss Beluga" growled at me, and mean really growled "what do you want!?" I decided to laugh it off. I pointed at her and laughed. I said there's a seminar I know that she should really take. It's called "how to win friends and influence people." She actually laughed and waved me off. "Oh, you. Go away," she said. Later on in the shift she smiled and waived at me as she passed by. Surprised the daylights out of me -- usually she's mad at me.

Well, any way, there's more to write, but I can't remember it all right at the moment. I'll post more later....

Such Lovely Christmas Spirit

In an earlier post I described customer behavior at Christmas as something akin to pack wolves.

Yesterday, while my coworkers were ringing up guests all lined up at the camera counter, one man accidentally bumped into another man's wife. The two men exchanged words, and almost came to blows.

My coworker told me she wondered whether to call security to kick these morons out, or whether to enjoy the pleasure of watching them beat each other up. I take back what I said earlier about male customers usually being ok. These guys proved me wrong.

Luckily for me, I was at lunch at the time. God was watching over me, I suppose. It only goes to illustrate what I've been saying about the public during the holidays, lest anyone accuse me of allowing my prejudices color my opinion. These people were assholes on their own, independent of anything I said or did.

De-Motivator Posters.

Counting The Days (Pardon My French)

It's almost as if I am a prisoner, anxiously counting the days until he gets released on parole.

Right now I'm counting the days until the end of "asshole season."

"Asshole season" is the period of time that ranges roughly between Oct 15th and Jan 2nd each year, where the majority of the human population in the United States turns into complete assholes. The absolute worst days of "asshole season" occur the last two weeks of December.

It is for that reason, this year I have decide to formally renounce my own personal celebration of Christmas. The origins of Christmas lie in pagan winter festivals anyway, so really it should be no skin off of my nose, religiously. I try as best I can to be Christian, but sometimes the only words I can find to best describe the behavior of my fellow human animal-beasts are....well, swear words.

I've decided that from now on I will only go through the motions of Christmas to satisfy everyone else and to avoid being burned at the stake as a blasphemer, but what I shall really do during "asshole season" is join my friends in the "alternative spirituality" community and celebrate Yule or Winter Solstice. When it comes to Christ, I will celebrate Him at Easter, but never more with candy or bunnies.

To that end, I've been spending time with my buddy Cedric, who is an ordained novitiate with the Order of Bards. The things he has taught me about Solstice customs are fascinating. I look forward to enjoying myself in December, for once.

"Progressive," My Eye.

"Big Red" always prides itself on how progressive they are, especially in their business models. For the most part, they are. They do pretty well.

There's one thing, however, that they continuously fall down on.

BUREAUCRACY.

"Mz. Waffleboot" brags constantly how she thinks she schedules the back room people efficiently, so there shouldn't be any need for anyone else to be back there. "Mz. Waffleboot" is full of *&#@.

All week this week I have continually had to turn away sales, because I couldn't get any help from the back room. The team leaders were always busy, back room people were always on lunch, or they always leave early. Had I been allowed to retrieve items from the back myself, I could have saved those sales, but no. Company policy is strictly enforced that I am never to retrieve an item from the back room. Only the back room people are allowed to do it. They enforce this policy to the point we loose sales.

I swear before God, angels, and witnesses: If I ever end up as a retail executive, my number one priority will be that no company bureaucracy should ever get in the way of a sale, especially a large cash sale. Period. End of story. Ever. I swear that I will sweep out of the company any person who uses bureaucracy to stand in the way of closing a sale and satisfying a customer, and I will personally fire any store manager that I don't see out on the sales floor with tools and merchandise in their hands, and buns hustling. I will even go so far as to forbid the managers from even having desks, if that's what it takes.

Holiday Madness.

Last night at closing time we ended up with FOURTEEN full baskets of returns in the electronics and toy departments. Almost the entire contents of the toy department was all over the floor. The store closed at 11:00, and we didn't leave until 3:00 A.M. Even then there was still a large amount of things we had to leave undone.

From the moment I first clocked in, until the last customer left, it was wall to wall people in the entertainment department. We're talking - literally - elbows and asses. Everyone one of those sets of vertical smiles all thought they had a right to interrupt me and the customers I'm helping, with "just a quick question." Every asshole and her aunt thinks that she is a special case, such that she can just barge her way into my efforts to service other customers standing in front of me, who were before her.

Interestingly, the male customers are (usually) fairly well behaved. They wait their turn, they respect the customer in front of them, and they always thank me profusely for my help. It's the women....THE WOMEN, who turn out to be absolute screeching banshee harpy bitches. It's not just because I'm a man. They treat my female coworkers worse than they treat me. These are the same women who show up in our city's chapels and synagogues, dressed in their finest, smiling like angels as they read from their Hymn books, Missals, or their Torahs.

When I was a child, I used to look forward to Christmas with wide-eyed innocence. Nowadays, the very name of the season inspires revulsion, and I feel deep shame I'm a member of the same species as the animals I see shop in front of me each winter. I wish I could spare myself the emotional and physical toll, and just watch ravenous feeding pack wolves on some nature show on cable TV, instead.

I Know What You Mean, Kid.

"A" is sixteen, and this is her first job. Many times they order her to come help me behind the camera counter, which she does very well, and I appreciate her help immensely. For some odd reason, the managers always seem to catch her right at a moment when she happens to be speaking with someone or watching the counter in between customers, and they think she isn't doing anything. They've been chewing her out over it, and I don't understand why. She's the only person willing to help me, everyone just helps a little bit and then disappears deeper into the hidden corners of the store the first opportunity they get.

Last night the security guy started chewing her out and telling her to get busy, and after a hugely busy day like we all had, she told him to back off. I really don't understand what business it is of his in the first place, when he should be out catching the multitude of thieves that invade the electronics department this time of year. They almost got into a serious, verbal argument, and I tried as best I could to step in and de-fuse it. I'm good friends with the security guy, but sometimes he can be a real ass-hole.

After he left, "A" told me she was really upset at the way people had been treating her, and that she was ready to walk out.

"You and me both, kid..." I told her. "You and me both."

Enough Is Enough.

Andy, one of my coworkers, is just as fed up as I am with having to put away unopened freight that we find hidden in the backs of shelves, left there by lazy people on the flow team.

The night before last, as we finished our zoning before leaving, Andy felt particularly perturbed about it.

When the L.O.D. called out over the intercom that the zone had been released for the night, Andy deposited a shopping cart full of returns in a hidden spot over in the bed and bath department. Then we went home.

What's good for the goose, is good for the gander.

My Hero.

While perusing the headlines this morning, I came across this article about a dad who caught his son smoking weed, so he decided to punish him and sell off the Guitar Hero III game he had bought him for Christmas.

(Read the article at Yahoo News.)

It turns out some other sucker was willing to pay $9,100 for the piece of plastic, when dear dad paid only $90 to begin with.

One thing is for sure. I'm R.O.T.F.L.M.A.O. over this one.

("rolling on the floor, laughing my #@$ off")

PATHETIC LOOSERS.

Last night a slimy, worthless, nerdy, dweebish video-gamer-asshole badgered me at the camera counter. He demanded I tell him the truth because he insisted our scanner kiosk showed several units of a certain hot item in back-stock. Officially, we are to tell the public we have none, because that particular item is waiting to be put out for the ad circular, which breaks tomorrow at 8 a.m.

I looked this pathetic moron looser up and down. He laughed at me through his yellowish brown, crooked, cavity infested teeth, with a smirk that etched deep creases in the oily, greasy, three day old beard stubble on his pimple forrested face.

I told the video-gamer-asshole that such information is proprietary, and we reserve the right to not discuss our back room contents with guests, regardless of what the kiosk scanner may say. The videogame-addict-troll-weasel continued to call me a liar and give me flack. I told the man (I mean, "thing") that I was perfectly willing to call security if my answer did not satisfy him. He stalked off in a huff, whining to everyone within earshot that I threatened him.

While these morons are obsessing over hunks of metal and plastic that manipulate the endorphines in their brains, I go home every night to spend quality time with a family that I dearly love. While video-gamer-assholes are getting their fetish-laden jollies out of pressing plastic buttons over and over, I'm reading Shakespeare, Plato, and Robespierre in my easy chair by the fire.

I only regret that the English language lacks enough words to adequately describe the total revulsion which hysterical video game fans invoke deep in the recesses of my bowels. Some words come close, such as "troll," "gollum," "phlegm," "bile," "worm," "psycho," "sleeze-bag," "pustule," and the like. I have far greater love and sympathy for cocaine addicts than I do for video-gamer-assholes who go hysterical over a certain gaming product that is in short supply.

Death Warmed Over.

Yesterday I called in sick because I've got a monster of a head-cold. They don't like it when we do that, but I was really miserable. Today I don't feel much better, but I'm going to go in anyway, because I need the money and I don't want to get into any more trouble than I already am. I haven't slept well in three days, so I feel like Igor the zombie in this picture, here.

The last few nights we've had ice storms. All over the state there are still people who are without any power. There are a lot of fallen trees all over the place. When I came out of work the other night, there was a solid sheet of ice all the way around the car. Seriously, it was an inch thick. It took me thirty minutes of chipping with the butt end of my box knife just to get to the door and open it.

One thing is for sure. If there is any way I can achieve it, when I retire I'm going to go live in a tropical climate somewhere. I've had enough of this winter stuff.

They Sing It In Chorus.

It never ends, these customers. Over, and over, and over.....

"Do you have any Nintendo Wii's yet?"
"No."
"Do you know when you'll get some?"
"No."
"Do you have any Nintendo Wii's yet?"
"No."
"Do you know when you'll get some?"
"No."
"Do you have any Nintendo Wii's yet?"
"No."
"Do you know when you'll get some?"
"No.

Dona Nobis Pacem.

In previous posts I've written about the goofy dreams I have from time to time.

This evening in a dream I saw my friend Cedric, the "alternative spiritual lifestyle" practitioner, teaching my other buddy Rupert how to cast a blessing. Both of them are Harry Potter fans, so naturally it followed along those lines. I saw them conversing about it for awhile at Starbuck's.

I saw Rupert as he quietly observed "miss K" from a distance while she was giving orders during a quick meeting on the sales floor. He reached forth his hand, and spoke the words "pacis , meus angelus..." meaning "peace, my angel." (I can't vouch for the accuracy of the Latin grammar -- don't ask me, it was just a dream.)

"Miss K" began to shine, with bright glow surrounding her. Her clothing became brilliant white. Rupert went to the back room to go about his business, and "Miss K" stood there for awhile, smiling as she observed everyone's work on the sales floor. Ah yes, Rupert. He's such a doofus.

So I asked Cedric (the real life one) what he thought it all meant. He said that possibly there is a significant woman in my life who needs to be reassured in some way. I got the hint. I went home and gave Cricket a big hug, and asked how her day was.

Wo Unto You, Scribes, Pharisees, Hypocrites!

My buddy Cedric and I were talking shop the other day, about the price of tea in China and the state of affairs in the retail industry. Cedric works for a large grocery chain here in town, which I call "Big Yellow," while I work for a large general retailer "Big Red."

One of the things we talked about was how the Holidays bring out the absolute worst behavior in people when they go shopping. Cedric is a follower of "Ye Olde Relyginne" which dates all the way back to pre-Christian England on the high points of the Salisbury Plains. He looks upon the whole affair with utter contempt. The hypocrisy of it all bugs him to no end. I have to admit, even as a marginal Christian myself, it bothers me too.

If Jesus were here today, I believe he would rail against all the people who make a great pretense of gift giving and party hosting, only after they have treated retail clerks and service people with the same vicious, acid bile they would reserve for a convict or a foreign terorrist. He would rant about people who called their friends "brother" in church, and then fight with other drivers in traffic or fellow shoppers on the sales floor, during the week.

It's just like that old song by Bette Midler, where she sings "God is watching us." I believe God watches over retail workers, and I believe he takes a tally of all the people who treat them like trash during the holidays.

GOD IS WATCHING.

"Cedric"

Say What, Now?

I was in the restroom. My coworker asked me over the radio for my location.

I told her I was "conducting a class 2 download into the main line." I said that I would be with her "as soon as the paperwork was done."

Oblivious to what I had said, and without missing a beat, she said that when I was done with the computer she needed to get the camera keys from me.

When we met up again some minutes later I explained to her what I meant. She blushed a couple shades of pink.

Ode To Socrates.

When my daughter was about two or three, she would ask all sorts of questions desperately trying to comprehend the world around her. You know, the kind of questions that philosophers have wrangled over for centuries, still no closer to the answers.

"Daddy, why is there air?"
"What makes a hole?"
"When you turn off the lamp, where does the light go?"
"Why does water twirl when it goes down the drain?"
"Why do you and mommy wrestle so much?"

Now, imagine working a job where you have to answer questions from technological two year olds, all day long.

"If it doesn't use film, how do you get the pictures out?"
"What's an Mp3 player?"
"Can I hook my turntable into it?"
"What's this WEEEE thing, and do you have any?"
"How many pictures can it take?"
"Do I have the right kind of cables?"
"No, I didn't read the directions."
"How do you turn it on?"

Lord have mercy on me.

The Secret Behind The Smiles.

I'm In Trouble.

The last several days I have been battling a deep, deep depression. It's gotten so that I would rather jump off a cliff than go in to work most days. It takes every bit of energy I can muster just to force myself to smile for our guests, and sometimes I don't succeed. I'm uncertain what to do next.

Monkey See, Monkey Do.

I'm probably one of the few people who have actually read the biography on the founder of "Big Blue" from cover to cover. For years his book was crammed by the boat load onto his store's shelves, but I have met very few people who bought it, much less read it. Not one to waste money, I borrowed a copy from the public library and read it.

One of personal characteristics of "Big Blue's" founder was to steal ideas from the competition. It seems the rip-off culture persists at his company even after his death. Case in point: this evening I was online going over the weekly sales circular for "Big Red" (my employer) to prepare for the week. Often I'll go look at the website for "Big Blue," just to see what they've got going on, also.

What cracks me up is that the layout, feel, and presentation of the "Big Blue" circular online is almost exactly the same as my employer's (Big Red.) It even uses the same type of web application for dynamic content, and the pages operate in the same exact way. What amazes me is how people have hailed Big Blue over the years for being "inovative" in the retail industry, when really all they do is copy anything that works well for their competition. They changed their uniforms to match ours, they have similar management structures in their stores, they carry mostly the same items, and they announced a shift to upscale marketing at about the same time we did.

About the only thing Big Blue is "innovative" in is ripping off everyone else's innovations.

Interesting Trend.

In an earlier post I ranted about pathetic loosers tied to their video games. Media pundits are wondering whether or not the fake guitar game "Guitar Hero" is inspiring kids to fake their way through life. I could have told them that already.

Read the article here. [link]

Dead - O - Rama

We had some freezing rain roll into town this evening, so around 8 o'clock or so business just died, and I mean died on the vine. Between 8 and 11 we never had more than two or three guests in the store at any given time. As a result, we all finished our zoning out on the sales floor, and they let us leave early.

As usual, while zoning this evening. I found several cartons of unopened freight that "Mz. Waffleboot's" people stuffed away into the back recesses of the shelves, just to avoid working them. Mz. Waffleboot is always expressing the opinion that the evening sales floor people are lazy, stupid bastards, when the truth is that her own people on the overnights are retarded troglodites. Being the good guy that I am I opened the cases and worked out the freight without a word.

Right now I'm trying to figure out what to do next with my life. I'm stuck at home during the day watching our kids while my wife is finishing chef school. My job in the evenings is the only employment income we have. I would love to be able to finish school, too, but I just don't know how.

I Survived Black Friday.

Figures were much, much better than expected this year, but still not as much as last year. They had a lot of good deals going on, which I would love to have bought some myself, but since I work in retail, guess how much spare money I have floating around.

I asked Rupert how things were with Angel Blue Eyes, "Miss K."

"They're stormy gray, lately. She's been under a lot of stress and has a lot on her mind," said Rupert. I had seen her earlier in the evening yesterday, and yes, they were a stormy gray. She was very busy directing the merchandising setups and ad-sign set ups. Rupert has a thing for mood eyes, and he loves it when "Miss K" goes through changes of color with hers.

I met with my retail buddies, Fred and Cedric, from "Big Blue" and "Big Yellow" respectively. One of the things we talked about was how our managers are always leaving planograms and marketing paperwork lying around the store, for anyone to pick up and take to the competition if they wanted. One of these days some company is going to see some of their campaign work in the hands of a competitor, if their managers don't wise up and watch it.

S. S. D. D. 24/7

"Do you have any Wii's yet?"
"No."
"Do you know when you'll get some?"
"No."
"Do you have any Wii's yet?"
"No."
"Do you know when you'll get some?"
"No."
"Do you have any Wii's yet?"
"No."
"Do you know when you'll get some?"
"No."
"Do you have any Wii's yet?"
"No."
"Do you know when you'll get some?"
"No."
"Do you have any Wii's yet?"
"No."
"Do you know when you'll get some?"
"No."

....And Another Thing!

In the previous post I ranted how I despise pathetic losers who get upset at me because my employer can't stock enough Nintendo Wii's.

Here's something else I have to say to those losers:

• Imagine having a Christmas without a loved one who was killed in battle.
  
• Imagine a Christmas without the ability to walk, see, or breathe on your own.
  
• Imagine a Christmas full of blinding pain from an inoperable malignant cancer.
  
• Imagine Christmas sleeping in a box beside a freeway overpass.
  
• Imagine a Christmas where you're so senile you can't remember your name.
  
• Imagine a christmas where you're three and your drug addict parent is comatose on the couch and there is no food anywhere in the apartment.

All of a sudden, the lack of a video game doesn't seem so bad, now does it?

I've Got Swampland In Florida To Sell You.

Spokespersons for Nintendo have said that demand for the Wii console has outstripped supply, and that they are doing everything they can to produce more. The thing is, they've been saying that for over a year now.

Here's what I think of all that: Bull #$%&!

I can understand shortages for a few months at first, but for an entire year or more? I'm no expert in manufacturing and logistics, but we're talking about the great and mighty NINTENDO, a company from a world region where consumer electronics are so outrageously mass-produced by sweat shop labor they overflow the world markets. Mp3 players are selling for $20 at Wal-Green's, yet the mighty jugernaut NINTENDO can't manage to contract enough cheap production labor to meet demand for the Wii? I hardly think so. Baloney.

Here's a blogger who says the same thing. [link]

Every day I have to deal with absolutely PATHETIC people who come begging me for a Wii, and get irritated with me when I tell them we are out. I depise these people. Let me repeat that. I despise pathetic loosers who are so tied up with getting a Wii that life isn't worth living for them.

I depise them and their credit cards and their Astin-Martins and Escalades and their Botox lips, coming into my store with their overflowing shopping carts ordering me pull a Wii from out of my arse just because they demand one. I depise their addiction to a product -- a thing, an inanimate object. I despise the pathetic geeks who waste their lives away in front of video games while they loose relationships with the people in their lives and they get fat from lack of exercise.

I despise them all, and I hope they all remain miserable with their materialistic addiction to an artificially scarce product. I hope the Wii shortage continues for as long as NINTENDO can manage to milk it and keep it going.

Rock And A Hard Place.

I'm sort of caught between two paths. On the one hand, they don't pay me enough to make it worth my while to become thoroughly knowledgeable about consumer entertainment products. On the other hand, I face an endless stream of people coming to my department begging for help with things that I really haven't the foggiest notion about (video games and digital cameras for instance.) People beg me for tech support on their cameras, and I have to tell them I'm only a cashier.

I have a buddy who possesses a zillion technical certifications, and he gets paid like a middle-eastern oil potentate. What bothers me is that the company expects me to know things like my buddy does, but they don't want to pay me like him. I believe in the free enterprise system, but I don't believe in working for free. Homey don't play dat.

I've been reading up a little bit on the subjects my customers need help with, and it has made a world of difference in my ability to make them happy, but I'm wondering whether or not I really should continue. I'm tired of being taken advantage of by the company.

Love's Labours Lost.

My buddy Rupert is somewhat despondent.

He hasn't seen "Miss K" in a couple of days.

He tells me that things just aren't the same when she's not there, gliding across the floor with her usual graceful divinity. She is his light, his inspiration, his muse. In short, she is one of the very few things keep him coming back to work each day. When she's not there, he wonders where there's hope.

I told Rupert that he's hopeless, alright.

One of these days I'm going to give him a big gold trophy for his dramatics.

Tape Recorder, Part Two.

"Do you have any Wii's yet?"

"No."

"Are you going to get any more?"

"I don't know, they haven't told us.."

"When do they usually come?"

"I don't know, they never tell us."

"Do you have any Wii's yet?"

"No."

"Are you going to get any more?"

"I don't know, they haven't told us.."

"When do they usually come?"

"I don't know, they never tell us."

"Do you have any Wii's yet?"

"No."

"Are you going to get any more?"

"I don't know, they haven't told us.."

"When do they usually come?"

"I don't know, they never tell us."

"Here's Your Sign..."

As this picture indicates, that's basically what I did this morning. All day long I was doing one stupid thing after another. It was frustrating and very embarrassing.

Case in point: the L.O.D. for the day came to my register at the end of her shift, wanting to buy an item. Like a numb-nut I totally ring it wrong, the register freezes, and so I have to complete the sale a second time to get it right. The charge went onto her card twice, so she had to go to Guest Services to get it fixed, because I had several people to help and I wasn't familiar with the "fast-fix" process you can use at the register.

Later in the day, I call for someone in the back room to bring out a TV set that a guest was waiting to purchase. I could have sworn I had seen on my P.D.A. that we had some back there. So I call for a back room person, and none are available at the moment because of lunches. I call several times, and then I drag the L.O.D. out of her office so she can scan-out the item for me (I know how to do it, but as mentioned in previous posts, I'm not allowed to.)

The L.O.D. gets all the way back to where I'm at, looks at my P.D.A., and then points out that it shows there are none in back-stock. I stare at the screen, dumbfounded. Damn. Somebody just hit me with a stupid stick. Again, I felt like a total doofus, and I felt completely embarrassed.

Next, a guest came up to purchase some video games we had on hold for them. I looked all over the camera boat, and couldn't find them. So I went to retrieve some more, with the guest waiting impatiently. After the sale is completed and the guest is gone, I open up the one drawer I hadn't checked, and you guessed it. The guest's games are in there. Damn, again.

I'm still going to make snide remarks about other people's stupidity, of course, because with some of these people it's intentional. Some days, however, I have to hit myself to start thinking straight.

This-N-That (#8)

"FOUR AND TWENTY BLACKBIRDS, BAKED IN A PIE..."

Well folks, I guess it's time to 'fess up and make clean. It's time for me to eat some crow. Earlier I had ranted about stupid people -- tonight I really pulled a "Homer" (d'oh!) A guest was looking for a certain CD featured with the new releases in our ad this week. Both of us looked all over the department for it, but couldn't find it. The PDA network was down, so I couldn't do an online item search.

She wanted a rain check, but since I couldn't find a number for it, I had to send her to the Guest Service desk to get one. Guest Service radio-ed back that they didn't have the numbers either, and asked me to look again. I didn't find it then, either. The L.O.D. came back, found it, and took it from the shelf right in front of where I was standing. I felt like such a complete idiot! Especially after I had made the poor guest trudge all the way up to the Service desk for a rain check.

STUPIDITY LOVES COMPANY

Earlier I ranted about the Flow Team leaving stuff out on the floor when they go home. "M," one of the team leaders was helping me zone toys this evening. He found all sorts of things that were either over-stocked, in the wrong spot, or was unopened freight stuffed into the back of the shelves. He had a few choice words to say about it. "B," one of my coworkers, told me a little bit later on that he used to work on the Flow Team, and he says they really are that stupid. I had meant my earlier remarks about parolees and rehab drop-outs as a joke, but "B" tells me that my estimation isn't too far from the truth.

"THE LADY WILL HAVE THE SPECIAL, AND I'LL HAVE THE DOOFUS....I MEAN, DINNER COCKTAIL."

I checked in on my buddy "Rupert," the love-lorn puppy dog. It seems he had the chance to sit and converse with "Miss K" during their lunch.

"Please tell me you didn't make a fool of yourself," I asked.

"Quite the contrary," said Rupert. "I tried to be as polite as I could. I tell you, it was a miracle -- it's the first time I've been in her presence for awhile without stammering like a total doofus. I was actually able to form complete sentences."

Rupert told me he was happy. That's all that he wanted really, just the chance to talk with her. He doesn't need anything else beyond that. He just wanted her company. Hopefully in the future he'll have more opportunity, he said.

You Know, That OTHER Guy....

One of the new girls was filling in for the operator just briefly yesterday. She got on the radio and asked "does anyone know if there is a [so-and-so] working here?" She mentioned a name that no one heard of.

Feeling saucy, I answered over the radio "yeah... he's uh... he's hangin' with my buddy Maynard." (This is a throwback to an old, old, Malto-Meal commercial from the 1980's)

Oblivious to my shenanigans, the girl radioed "well, can you tell him that there's a call for him on extension 2280?" I hadn't expected her to take me seriously. After a minute I told her I was only kidding. She was pretty irritated.

The "imaginary friend" routine is always a good one to play. I pulled it off on a substitute teacher in Junior High once. It's always good for a laugh.

Thanksgiving.

MY MAMA ALWAYS TOLD ME.....

In an earlier post I mentioned Ron White's famous phrase "you can't fix stupid." I ranted about the stupid people I sometimes have to deal with.

There is another side to the coin, however. Stupid people have their uses, especially if they are co-workers. It occurred to me a couple of years ago, at another job. Rather than get uptight over stupid co-workers slowing me down, I should be glad that they keep management busy with their stupidity, thereby drawing attention away from any of my own faults. Since then, I have successfully used them as camouflage.

Whenever management pours heat onto me about small stuff that doesn't amount to diddly, I do everything I can to subtly but continuously draw attention to what my less enlightened colleagues are doing. Where I work, there definitely isn't any shortage of that, for sure. For that reason, I actually give thanks sometimes for stupid people.

Last night was a textbook case. We had some new guy that softlines palmed off onto us. He was assigned to work toys, across from electronics where I'm at. All night he wandered around the section and basically did nothing. The team leader came to me asked what this guy's deal was. I told him I didn't know, but helping him get his zone done was going to cut into time I needed for my own zone.

CHINESE DEATH-TOYS.

Right now "Aqua-Dots" are all over the news. They contain ingredients that can metabolize into Gamma Hydroxybuterate, the date rape drug, if they are swallowed. Several kids in America and Australia have either died or lapsed into unresponsive comas from having swallowed some. There has been a massive recall, and at our store we have removed them from the shelves.

Last night a guest came to me and showed me that some of them were still out on the shelf. It seems that some of "Mz Waffleboot's" people had re-stocked a new shipment of them that day. "Mz Waffleboot" continuously makes snide remarks about us hardlines people being stupid. At the very least, we're not so stupid as to restock death-toys after they've been recalled and they are all over the news. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Using the strategy I mentioned above, I'm going to have a field day over that one.

Another One For Freud, Jung, and Adler.

You know that you're really wrapped up in your job when you start having bizarre dreams about it. This evening was no exception. I woke up a little while ago, after having seen this mysterious dream.

I dreamed I walked up the steps of a cathedral, and it had the title "St. Lazarus" above the door. The sexton stood outside and asked me why I was there. He was an older man, with a crippled leg and a cane. He had a name tag with "Lee Goba" written on it. I asked him if I could come inside and meditate for a while. He gave a big, hearty laugh and opened the huge wooden door for me.

As I walked inside I noticed a statue to Saint Barbara in one of the alcoves off to the side. Bright light shone upon it, and as I approached the statue it transformed into St. Barbara herself. Glory shone all about me.

The woman in my vision asked what troubled me so, and I spoke all about recent troubles and frustrations with my job. She told me to lean forward and listen to her give me the grand key-word for the solution to my troubles. She whispered the word "Shango" in my ear, then everything around me disappeared.

I found myself standing in the middle of the electronics department at the store, by the counter. All sorts of wild looking people dressed in company shirts were coming at me with weapons of every kind.

I spoke the word "Shango."

Instantly the whole building shook to the foundation, and a huge bolt of lightning struck the floor right in front of me. The force of the storm knocked me backwards. When I got up, all the crazy people were gone. Red and white rose petals started to float down and settle around me. As I could smell their scent, a wave of peace poured over me.

Interesting, huh?

"Ease His Pain," (#2)

In an earlier post I mentioned how I had gotten the indication through spiritual inspiration that it was time to leave "Big Red."

(http://monkeybusiness1265.blogspot.com/2007/08/go-distance.html)

Lately that inspiration has been coming to me again, in quiet moments, and it just washes over me with a profound feeling of peace, telling me "It is time. You know what needs to be done." As much as I really dislike job-hopping (because I've done so much of it over the years), I sense that now is a circumstance where it may be justified.

The problem is that I have nowhere to go, and I have no idea where to look for a replacement position.

Scum Rises To The Top.

My buddy Fred, who works over at "Big Blue," turned me on to a wickedly hilarious website called "WallMart Sucks Dot Org." Let me share with you a recent article from their blog, illustrating just how absolutely pathetic most sniveling retail managers can be:

http://walmartsucksorg.blogspot.com/2007/11/looking-for-lawyer-to-sue-wal-mart-10.html

You know the old phrase "read it, and weep." After reading some of the entries on that blog, it's hard NOT to weep, with laughter.

Eureka.

One of the side benefits of having an intense personality like mine is the ability to tap my intuitive side while still keeping step with my cranky, linear working methods. Sometimes the effect is so startling when it happens, it can be a literal "eureka!" kind of moment.

After stewing in a hard boil the last couple of days over "Mz. Waffelboot's" public demand that I stay out of her backroom, a solution to the problem presented itself to my forethoughts this evening, as it bubbled up from the depths of my fiendish motivations.

From now on, I will give "Mz. Waffleboot" exactly what she wants. I will make every excuse I can to never even go near "her" backroom. When a guest needs me to retrieve an item from the back for them, and a backroom person isn't immediately available just inside the door, I will give three calls on the walkie, and ONLY three calls, spaced 60 seconds apart.

If I do not receive assistance after that, I will tell our guest that nobody is available in the backroom, and I can't get them what they want. The guest will then ask me why I can't go get it myself, and I will tell them exactly the reason why: the company will not allow me back there, I cannot help them. I will bid them good day and go about my work.

If the company looses a sale because of their slavish devotion to bureaucracy, so be it.

Dark Things Are Circling.

I met up with my friend Cedric today. Cedric works for a grocery chain that I will term as "Big Yellow." I worked for them briefly in the past, which is why I know Cedric.

Cedric dresses in black, sharpens his fingernails into points, and is an ardent follower of "Ye Olde Religynne." By that I mean a religion that dates waaaay back into the Paleolithic era of stone age England. Let's just say that cosmically speaking, he has powerful connections.

Cedric listened to me discuss my troubles with "Mz. Waffleboot." He told me of a similar problem he had in the past when a certain stocking manager gave him grief. Cedric noticed that every time he had a confrontation with the manager, he would experience several days of bad problems thereafter.

Cedric suspected the manager had tricks of his own up his sleeve. It kept going on and on until it got to the point Cedric held a meeting with his fellow practitioners of Ye Olde Religion. In the days following, said stocking manager completely disappeared. Later it was discovered that the manager got put in jail for something he did while drunk.

Cedric offered have his friends help me with my "Waffleboot" problem. I told him that for now I'm ok, but the way things are going it just may come to that.

C'est L'amour (#3)

I checked in with my buddy "Rupert" out on the sales floor.

He's still love-sick for "Miss K," one of the team leaders. He really wants to invite her for some coffee in the Starbucks up at the front of the store, just as friends, just to be able to have friendly conversation with her.

I just had to say something to him. "I don't know, bud. She's trying to be a serious career-person. She doesn't need shenanigans from a silly doofus like you. Besides, both of you have obligations."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right. Forget I said anything....." he trails off as he falls into a dream state.

He should be glad he has me, to give him some clear headed advice.

She brought to him some paperwork to go over, regarding some of the merchandising work in the entertainment department. I couldn't help but laugh at him as he drifted away into the clouds while she explained the paperwork to him.

"Ah, Rupert. You're just hopeless."

Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!

It's just like the old 1960's TV show "Lost In Space," and that annoying, prissy robot going berserk every time his sensors picked up approaching trouble.

I woke up this morning with that nagging, rock-lock feeling I get in my gut whenever I just know that the work-day is going SUCK, and suck big-time. Add to that there was a creepy crawly feeling up my back that someone somewhere was pissed off at me over something.

Not even an hour or so into my shift I discovered what all the gut nagging was about. During the morning team huddle "Mz. Waffleboot" chewed me out for having retrieved items from the back-room on more that one occasion, when I'm supposed to have a member of HER flow team do it. In front of the whole group she made sarcastic remarks suggesting that I've been doing it to waste time and get out of serving guests.

"Mz. Waffleboot" has the hilarious habit of referring to everything in the store as "hers."

"Tell me, 'M.B.' " she whines sarcastically. "Exactly how many times are electronics people allowed in MY back room?! That's right, NONE!"

I'm thinking to myself "Lady, I have absolutely no desire to stain my person by entering YOUR back room, believe me."

"You want to know something, lady? Half the people on YOUR Flow Team look like recent parolees, the other half look like rehab drop-outs. I'm constantly having to put away stuff that YOUR people leave sitting all over the store isles when they go home. I'm constantly having to fix stuff that YOUR idiots stock in the wrong place on the shelves. Get over yourself. I'd be perfectly happy if I never again had to even see YOU or YOUR mangy, rat-infested backroom EVER, so @#%& off...."

The real reason I go retrieve items when I'm not supposed to is that I'm tired of waiting half an eternity for HER worthless flow team to answer calls on the radio when I have a guest standing in front of me with money burning a hole through their pockets, waiting for their product and looking at me like I'm some kind of ignorant, incompetent doofus. In the time it takes to call a back-room person to get something for a guest, I can usually retrieve three or four items, or more. Stupid -- absolutely stupid, and totally asinine.

The very idea that she would suggest I'm a time wasting incompetent just infuriated me. I went and ranted to the ETL/HR. I told them that I was going to start bringing a notebook with me to work, and keep records of all the times I can't get any help from the back room, especially at night an hour or two before close. All day long I was furious. I always do my best to try to be courteous and reasonable to people, so when some shrill, nasal, whiney, dingle-berry dangling dyke has the brass to insult me in public in front of the group, I just lost it.

I'm a Tape Recorder.

"Can you tell me where I can find this item that's featured in your wish-book?"

"I'm sorry ma'am, we don't have that here, they haven't sent it to us yet."

"But it's in your book."

"I know it's in the book, ma'am. We don't have it."

"When will you get it in?"

"I'm sorry ma'am but they don't tell us what or when they will ship us. I wish I knew."

Customer then proceeds to look at me like I'm an idiot.

"Can you tell me where I can find this item that's featured in your wish-book?"

"I'm sorry ma'am, we don't have that here, they haven't sent it to us yet."

"But it's in your book."

"I know it's in the book, ma'am. We don't have it."

"When will you get it in?"

"I'm sorry ma'am but they don't tell us what or when they will ship us. I wish I knew."

Customer then proceeds to look at me like I'm an idiot.

"Can you tell me where I can find this item that's featured in your wish-book?"

"I'm sorry ma'am, we don't have that here, they haven't sent it to us yet."

"But it's in your book."

"I know it's in the book, ma'am. We don't have it."

"When will you get it in?"

"I'm sorry ma'am but they don't tell us what or when they will ship us. I wish I knew."

Customer then proceeds to look at me like I'm an idiot.

"Can you tell me where I can find this item that's featured in your wish-book?"

"I'm sorry ma'am, we don't have that here, they haven't sent it to us yet."

"But it's in your book."

"I know it's in the book, ma'am. We don't have it."

"When will you get it in?"

"I'm sorry ma'am but they don't tell us what or when they will ship us. I wish I knew."

Customer then proceeds to look at me like I'm an idiot.

Shouting From The Rooftops.

ATTENTION MARKETING EXECUTIVES:

IF YOU ADVERTISE THINGS YOU CAN'T SHIP IN TIME TO YOUR STORES, YOU LOOSE CUSTOMERS.

IF YOU ADVERTISE THINGS YOU CAN'T SHIP IN TIME TO YOUR STORES, YOU LOOSE CUSTOMERS.

IF YOU ADVERTISE THINGS YOU CAN'T SHIP IN TIME TO YOUR STORES, YOU LOOSE CUSTOMERS.

IF YOU ADVERTISE THINGS YOU CAN'T SHIP IN TIME TO YOUR STORES, YOU LOOSE CUSTOMERS.

IF YOU ADVERTISE THINGS YOU CAN'T SHIP IN TIME TO YOUR STORES, YOU LOOSE CUSTOMERS.

IF YOU ADVERTISE THINGS YOU CAN'T SHIP IN TIME TO YOUR STORES, YOU LOOSE CUSTOMERS.

IF YOU ADVERTISE THINGS YOU CAN'T SHIP IN TIME TO YOUR STORES, YOU LOOSE CUSTOMERS.

IF YOU ADVERTISE THINGS YOU CAN'T SHIP IN TIME TO YOUR STORES, YOU LOOSE CUSTOMERS.

IF YOU ADVERTISE THINGS YOU CAN'T SHIP IN TIME TO YOUR STORES, YOU LOOSE CUSTOMERS.

Knowledge Is Power.

This is a continuation of the previous entry, discussing the need for information to do my job and how I have to get it on my own because the company won't provide it.

One particular a day guest asked me what brand of LCD TV I recommended. The first rule in sales is "pitch the high ball first." So I showed my guest some models by OLEVIA, which is a premiere brand of TV's. Olevia is a fairly new entry into the consumer electronics business, and my customer was an older gentleman from the country who hadn't heard of them before.

"What the hell kind of nonsense brand is that? I never heard of them. I don't want that garbage."

The customer expressed displeasure that he didn't want anything to do with some new fangled unknown brand. I spent some time explaining how they were fairly new in the industry, their products were quality, top of the line items. I explained to him how industry journalists had given them good reviews, and that they were ranked very well in the customer satisfaction surveys. The customer left in a huff, insisting I was trying to push something on him. He said he would go over to [Big Blue] where they had "real" TV's and brands.

A couple of days later he came back, somewhat repentant and more interested in my help. He told me that [Big Blue] had the exact same brands we did, and they charged far more for them than we did. He said that his friends told him about Olevia, and the model I showed him was a reasonably good buy for the price.

So, he asked more questions about the product and the model, I helped him see how it worked, and he purchased it. Several hundred dollars later, the guest was happy and the company had a little more to add to the bottom line.

Now, if it had been some average schmoe working the department that day, like many I have seen work in our store, they would have basically given a response somewhat like "hell if I know, I just work here. I have no idea who Olevia is either. It's just a TV. Either buy it or not, I don't care, I'm just holding the keys until someone else comes to get me outta here." Most likely we would have lost that sale.

Because I had taken the time to learn information the company won't give me, I saved a sale for them anyway. Fairly soon I may just take my knowledge to a competitor who will value what I've learned.

It's Pathetic.

My company expects me to be knowledgeable enough about my department to serve our guests with distinction, but no matter how much I beg, they refuse to provide me any information whatsoever.

Case in point: The geniuses in the corporate marketing department dropped a 48 page flyer in today's paper. It's a wish-book for our toy customers. Nobody informed us at the store this was going to happen. We had to find out from customers who came in wanting to know where all these items are that have been featured in the book.

We had no idea what they were talking about, because our store did not carry any of the items in the flyer. I find out several hours into my shift that we only received TWO copies of the flyer for the entire store, and nobody bothered to give one to the toy department people like me who just MIGHT need it in order to serve our guests. The flyer mentions in very small print in only a handful of places that the items are only available at the company website.

The whole shift I was wondering what kind of moronic pencil-pushing bureaucrat-numb-nut came up with this b*s* campaign? Nobody in logistics had any idea where the products were, either. They haven't received any of them.

I was beyond furious. It was a floating-up-on-the-ceiling, looking-down-at-my-body, kind of furious.

Here is what's really sad -- in order to find out information on products and new releases featured by our department, I have to go read the company website, on my computer at home, on my own time. I know that "Big Blue," our competition, copies everything we do down to the last detail, so I go look at their website as well, to find out what my own company is doing.

People ask me when we are going to receive certain titles in music or movies. Since the store management refuses to provide me that information, I have to read up on it at the company website on my own time without pay. I do that only because I truly care about our customers. I don't give a rat's a* about the careers of the leather-chair executives who haven't a single clue what sales-floor work is all about.

W.T.F. kind of b*s* is that?

Even though the company won't pay me any kind of sales commission, the guests expect me to "sell" them when I help them with the digital cameras and video games. People actually ask me what I know about product news and reviews.

I believe I just may have to leave this company and go to work for someone who will pay me enough in sales commissions to make it worth my time to read up on products, trends, and reviews. They only pay me enough to be a cashier, nothing more. Not enough to be tech support or a salesman.

There's an old saying in business: "you get what you pay for." Since they don't pay me much, guess how much they're going to get.

You Won't Find This In Business School.

Top 10 US marketing flops

10. Chevrolet Nova didn't do well in Spanish speaking countries... Nova
means 'No Go'...

9. Bacardi concocted a fruity drink with the name 'Pavian' to suggest
French chic... but 'Pavian' means 'baboon' in German.

8. A peanut-packed chocolate bar targeted at Japanese teenagers needing
energy while cramming for exams ran headlong into a belief that eating
peanuts and chocolate causes nosebleeds.

7. Parker Pens translated the slogan for its ink, "Avoid Embarassment -
Use Quink" into Spanish as "Evite Embarazos - Use Quink", which also
means "Avoid Pregnancy - Use Quink."

6. When Gerber first started selling baby food in Africa, they used the
same packaging as in the USA - the cute baby on the label. Later, when
investigating lower than expected sales figures, they found out that
it is common practice in Africa to put pictures of the contents on
food package labels.

5. Coors slogan, "Turn it Loose," translated into Spanish as "Suffer From
Diarrhea."

4. Puffs tissues had a bad name in Germany since "Puff" is a colloquial
term for whorehouse.

3. Jolly Green Giant translated into Arabic means "Intimidating Green
Ogre."

2. When Coca-Cola first came to China, it was given a similar sounding
name... but the characters used for the name meant "Bite the Wax
tadpole."

1. Chicken magnate Frank Perdue wants us to know that "It takes a tough
man to make a tender chicken," but the Spanish translation came out as
"It takes a sexually stimulated man to make a chicken affectionate."

Good Ole' Fred.

My buddy Fred, who works over at Big Blue, the competition, was talking with me in StarBucks the other day. He told me a joke he'd heard from one of the overnight stockers.

One day a factory worker died and ended up before St. Peter at the gates of Heaven. Saint Peter welcomed the worker and told him to come in, for they had a special place reserved just for hard working people. Only people who truly work hard all their lives get to come here, our factory worker was told. Saint Peter took the worker on a tour.

"Over here, we have the Shipyard lounge," he pointed, as the worker observed porters, stevedores, and dockworkers sitting at a bar sipping coffee. Music was playing in the jukebox.

"Next, we have the Mill Room." The worker saw dark tanned, leathery skinned men in Bermuda shorts sitting underneath cool fans and sipping iced tea. "These people worked in the steel industry with super hot blast furnaces and slag kilns."

"To your right, you'll see the Diner room -- this is where tired waitresses go." The worker saw women getting massages, make-overs, and shopping for jewelry.

"Over here is the Bubble Bath." The worker saw dozens of oil-field drill-men and coal miners showering all the mud, coal, and thick crude oil from themselves in luxurious saunas and steam rooms.

Then, Saint Peter started to tip-toe. "Shshshhhh..." he said.

"Why do we have to be quiet?" the factory worker asked in a whisper. Saint Peter pointed over at The Throne Room. Women sat on huge thrones, with jewel encrusted crowns, and multitudes of people worshipping them.

"Those are the soft lines workers from the retail industry." Saint Peter whispered.

"They think that they are the only ones here."

Wo Unto You, Scribes, Pharisees, Hypocrites!

The other night one of the team leaders found some soft lines items at the last minute while we were zoning toys. He took them over to the soft lines department so that they could be put away. Technically, the rule is that if you find other departments' returns in your own department and you don't have them delivered at least an hour before closing, you have to put them away yourself. He was fairly new and didn't know that.

Here's the rub -- when anyone brings returns back to soft lines later than an hour before closing, they come absolutely unglued, and throw whiney b*ing tantrums over it. So when this new team leader I just mentioned did his thing, "Miss Beluga" the Soft lines team leader got on the walkie and chewed him out over the air, in front of the whole store.

That really pissed me off.

First off, the rule is that conflicts are supposed to be discussed in private and not on the walkies. Secondly, soft lines is not the only department in the store that has work to do. I'm so tired of their martyr game where they act like they're so picked upon. People bring me late returns all the time. I don't complain because I consider myself a team player and I do what it takes to get the job done.

The very next day, "Mz. Waffleboot" complained to "Miss Beluga" about all the planogram work she left for the stock people to pull on a Saturday morning, when that is the busiest day for the backroom people who have to work incoming freight. The rule is that planograms have to be set before the weekend anyway.

I never really liked "Miss Beluga" to begin with because she is such a whining b* about her department, but when she chewed out someone over the air over late returns, and then left extra work for the back room to do on their busiest day of the week, that really made me dislike her even more.

I said it a million times, and I'll say it again. If I ever become manager of a "big-box" retail store, I swear on a stack of ad circulars I will do everything within my power to make sure whining soft lines people shut the f* up and stay shut up. I will make them haul pallets of pet food or bottled water all day, so they'll learn what *real* work feels like.

A Hazy Shade ofWinter.

We've been having gorgeous Autumn afternoons, just like that Simon and Garfunkle song with the words "hazy shade of winter."

Speaking of gorgeous...I checked in with "Rupert," my co-worker who's love sick for Miss "K," our boss.

"How goes it with Miss blue-eyes?" I asked.

"Actually, they're hazel," he replied, sheepishly. "They're 'mood eyes.' You know, the kind that change tint with her moods." He went on to explain that while speaking with her briefly yesterday, sunlight from the Autumn sunset coming through the front windows shone in them, making them a brilliant emerald green. Yes, he explained, he still gets lost in them.

"Whatever you say, Romeo." I teased him. It all sounded like Romeo's famous line "hark! what light through yonder window breaks? 'Tis the East and Juliet is the sun..."

That evening, I watched Miss "K" give my friend instructions to quickly stock an end-cap at the last minute before everyone was to leave. He dutifully went to fulfill her request. Her wish is his command. It was like watching Helen of Troy, launching a thousand ships with her beauty; or like Annakin Skywalker hopelessly devoted to Padme Amidalla -- she a prestigous Senator, and he a lowly Padawan Jedi.

Ah, yes. That's my buddy Rupert. He's such a doofus.

Ancient Wisdom.

There's an old African proverb that goes something like this:

"When a great ruler passes, bow deeply (and fart silently)"

The last couple of weeks they've assigned the new electronics specialist to be hardlines team leader during the closing shifts. The power has gone completely to his head. He's been going around micro-managing everyone on the floor, even other team leaders who have been with the company for years.

They didn't want me for the position. Fine. Then they hire some guy right off the street with prison tattoos that say "trust no man" and give him the spot sight unseen. I had to answer his questions for a couple of weeks. Now he's in charge of the place. Almost everyone hates this guy. He had a couple of people so pissed off the other night they almost quit on the spot.

I don't know exactly what their beef with me is. I've gone out of my way to be helpful to as many people as possible, I work crazy hours on the weekend, (like closing at midnight, only to return at 5am to hang ad signs) I know more about electronics that this moron, I've been in management in more than one position and place, and they give the position to this bozo.

I need to spend more time in contact with....

The Powers That Be.

S.S.D.D. 24/7

THE USUAL

Just about every time I enter the break room over the last couple of days, I see an absolute filthy mess.

I don't mind, really. I don't particularly care. The one thing that bothers me is that the room stays in a filthy condition for hours on end, until the janitorial crew cleans it up at night -- but if I leave my coffee cup out on the counter for ONE LOUSY MINUTE, some do-gooder zealot has to throw it out.

Once they've thrown my cup out, they leave the break room without even touching any of the other filth and trash that piles up in the place across they day. All that stuff doesn't matter to them. Just as long as they throw out my coffee cup. Just gotta do it. It's a divinely decreed imperative from God that I must not have a coffee cup.

There's a male employee who harasses the young women who work at the store. He says all sorts of dirty stuff to them, touches them, and pokes them. The women have complained high and mighty, but for some reason that joke-for-an-employee STILL keeps his job.

They're willing to let a known sexual harasser work for the company, undisciplined, WHILE HEAVEN FORBID I SHOULD LEAVE MY COFFEE CUP ON THE COUNTER FOR SIXTY SECONDS.

I'd say it's time to appeal to a HIGHER POWER. I have my ways. It shall be done.

Monkey Business Career Strategy #3

SICK DAYS.

If your boss is a hard nose about "calling in," show up for work really sick. Spread your germs everywhere. Be especially sure to spread your germs on your boss. Breathe and cough all over his office, handle his paperwork with sneezy hands, the whole nine yards. When the jerk gets sick and has to call in for himself, rub it in. Tell him that you came to work sick, so what's the problem?

According to Forbes Online, some companies are having a problem with sickees actually showing up.

While hard to believe, there are the gung-ho employees who insist on being at work even if they're terminally ill. Companies actually had to find ways to dissuade these workers from showing up. Who knew? A survey conducted by CCH, a human resources information company, dubbed this behavior "presenteeism," and found that 54% of employers urge workers to stay home when sick, while 40% educate workers on the importance of staying home when sick. If you're lucky enough, you work for the 9% of employers who offer more sick days just to be safe.

(read interactive article here.) [link]

AH! C'est L'amour....

My coworker "Rupert" is in love with one of our managers, "K"

"K" is one of those women with a quiet, sweet demeanor, but wherever she goes you can always sense her solid, grounded, "mother earth" type presence, like an oak in the forest, but with singing birds in the canopy. Pretty and demure on the outside, intelligence and a tower of strength on the inside.

"K" has a set of big blue puppy-dog eyes. "Rupert" always tells me "Her eyes are as deep and blue as the ocean, and I tell you, everytime I look into them I'm lost at sea...."

"K" also happens to be a married mother of two, and that just makes her all the more adoreable for him. "Rupert" just LOVES caring, kind, and sensitive domestic types. He knows that for him it is all impossible, because he and she are both taken, and they're coworkers, but nary a day goes by when I don't spot him dreaming, pining for her.

It's really funny. When she comes up to give him instructions, he tenses up like a deer in the headlights, and he can barely stammer out a response. He then tells her "yes ma'am," and he'll move heaven and earth to get her orders done. That a slight, five foot woman can have such sway over a big, almost six foot man is just too cute for words!

It's a shame that such attractions happen like that, without hope of fulfilment. Ah, such is love.

If Wishes Were Horses, Beggars Would Ride

COFFEE CUP WARS, PART THREE.

It's really hilarious when you watch beauty pageants, and they ask the contestants what they wish for most. The girls will demurely purr while batting their oversize lashes over their puppy-dog eyes, and they'll say things like "world peace," "Thanksgiving with my grandma who passed away," and other such drippy syrup.

I confess I only have myself to blame for screwing my life up and ending up working retail at age 41, when I could have been an engineer or an attorney if I had run my life properly. It's my own fault, so I don't expect much now.

The one thing I really, really wish I could have, that I would even take less pay and a demotion for, is the simple human dignity of being able to keep a coffee cup of my own by my workspace and leave it there, unmolested and in peace, without somebody zealously throwing it out because it's against the rules. My own team leaders leave their KFC drink cups behind the camera counter, but freaking heaven forbid I should leave my ceramic coffee cup back there and someone just has to throw it out. A fellow employee was kind enough to spot my cup and grab it for me before it got sent out with the trash this evening

God Dammit.

It's a simple thing, really. It's not like I'm demanding they organize a union, or give me a month's paid vacation for cryin' out loud. A simple coffee cup. That's all I ask. A simple, f* coffee cup. What would it hurt them? They sit in their leather chairs, collect their six figure salaries and stock options, vacation in The Hamptons or Martha's Vinyard, but they can't allow me the simple human dignity of having a coffee cup where I work?

WTF?

Is it necessary for me to sell my soul to get a career where I can be considered enough of a legitimate human being to keep a coffee cup nearby, without someone throwing it out?

You're on MY turf, bub.

Since corporate has gotten uptight about the number of times customers have been pushing the help buttons in the store, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I decided to come out from behind the camera counter and establish a defensive perimeter around the call button on the counter.

I stand out in the middle of the aisle in front of the button and I annoy the living daylights of every customer who passes by it with syrupy-cheerful service and conversation. Anything to keep them away from the button. I suggest other products and direct them to areas AWAY from the button. Nobody's gonna push that button while I'M on duty, come heck or high water.

Naturally, management in their infinite wisdom, comes up with yet another way to complicate my job. While I'm trying to defend the call button with assertive guest service, a manager trainee comes by and orders me to go straighten the halloween costumes all the way at the other side of the store. I had to explain to her that the other managers told me I couldn't leave the camera counter because our call button numbers are in the red (which they have). She gave me a sideways look, and said "so you're saying that's not your department?"

Jeez. Don't sass me lady. Just because I've been stuck in retail since before you were born doesn't give you the right to treat me like an idiot. Just to be nice, I did what she wanted me to do, and went down to the seasonal aisle to straighten. No sooner had I gotten there when someone pushed the call button at the electronics counter.

Dammit. Another button push on the corporate report.

So, I had to high tail it back over to electronics. I try to do what I'm told, and I can't win. What do I have to do to get one of those jobs where I can sit in a leather chair, earn six figures, and shout at store managers over stuff I haven't the foggiest clue about in reality?

Monkey Business Career Strategy #2

"I took my daughter to 'Bring Your Children to Work Day,' " Joe said.

"She did nothing but gab on the phone, surf the Internet, and pretend to be doing things."

He shook his head. "Boy, these kids sure get the hang of office life quickly."

(stolen from www.fastcompany.com)

Monkey Business Career Stragegy part 1

Q: How can you tell if your company is strapped for cash?

A: When the H.R. department mentions that among the perks there's an opportunity to participate in the employee football betting pool.

Monkey Business Management Secret #21

MOTIVATION

The boss sent his secretary to get him a coffee.
She was upset, and said she wanted more responsibility.
So he said "Okay, get me a Danish too."


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(stolen shamelessly from www.fastcompany.com)

Monkey Business Management Secret #20

How to handle a Bear Market

Here's some nice little tips for market timing that I read over on another blog:

http://corporatecartoons.blogspot.com/2007/08/how-to-handle-bear-market.html

This Place Is A Pain...

The other night at work I stood up from a squatting position as I was zoning the shelves in the toy department. As I did so, I stepped wrong with my left leg, and as a result for the past several days my leg has been hurting, sometimes awfully, in the shin area, deep into the bone. It's really sore and the bone is tender. At the end of my shift it can become excruciating at times, such that I can't even walk. The weird thing is that once I get home, the pain goes away and I can walk.

Here's the interesting part -- last night I dreamed that Sherlock Holmes spoke to me. He said "look alive, Watson! there's dirty work afoot!" (the pun obviously a Freudian symbol) Then I saw a vision of a certain co-worker I've always had trouble with. I saw her holding a voodoo doll with my name on it. She stabbed the left leg with a huge pin, and stuffed cotton into the little mouth (probably referring to the cold I've been trying to shake for two weeks.)

This vision changed to a scene in a deep forest under a full moon, where I was standing in the center of a circle of huge stones. A big man came from out of the forest, and told me his name was "Grand Bay-wah" He wore a big coat and a Masonic Apron. He struck his staff upon the ground, thunder rumbled, and I started to hear the problematic coworker screaming, smoking, shrinking, and disappearing into the ground, just like the witch in The Wizard of Oz.

I woke up and I thought to myself "jeez man, can this get any weirder?"

"My Mamma Always Told Me...."

"STUPID IS, AS STUPID DOES...." As I deal with the kind of people I had to deal with today, all I can do is shake my head in utter disbelief. Just like ol' Forrest Gump.

If I were to go to Stephen Hawking and demand that he teach me Astrophysics in the space of an hour, I'm sure he would laugh at me so hard he would fall out of his wheel chair.

Continuing that analogy, today I had to deal with a steady stream of people demanding that I give them full educations in consumer electronics in the space of 30 seconds or less, about the length of their lazy, ignorant attention spans.

I'm talking people who are completely ignorant of all things techno, and they are too lazy or stubborn to learn enough about the products to know what they want. They want me to sell them. I'm sorry, but since I earn slightly above minimum wage, and not a proper salesman's commission, HOMEY DON'T PLAY DAT.

How does one explain to a fifty year old "Lawrence Welk" hold-over the difference between "digital" and "analog?" She demanded to know what it was because the words appeared on the product box. Lady, it doesn't matter. Just buy the damn phone and leave me alone.

Another lady held me up for fifteen minutes asking a rapid fire series of questions about the digital cameras, looking at me like I was speaking a foreign language as I desperately tried to explain the features in words small enough for her to understand. She insisted on taking notes, demanding that I repeat myself. Each answer I gave engendered three or more new questions, or at least a blank stare accompanied with the words "now, what is that?" All the while I was thinking to myself "puh-LEEEZE lady, can you go be stupid someplace else?"

While I was dealing with her, another guest was standing there with $350 burning a hole in his pocket waiting to be rung up for the VCR/DVD-R combo he wanted to buy. Finally the stupid b* let go of me and she left without buying a single thing. I apologized profusely to the VCR guest as I rung up his purchase.

I believe it was comedian Ron White who said that nowadays you can fix just about anything, like teeth, noses, breasts, abs, you name it. It's just that you can't fix stupid.