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.