"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.

Zombie Retail Workers, News at 11 (part 2)

I've been battling a bad flu for close to three weeks now. I need to go to the doctor, but I work in retail, so that's obviously out of the question. (The company sent me a sign-up package for insurance -- yeah, like I can afford the premiums after I support my four kids. I don't get paid like the stuffed shirt college preppy executives who sit in their leather chairs, look at our numbers, and hand down rulings and reprimands without the slightest clue of what we have to deal with on the sales floor.)

I really have a difficult time working. Most days I'm totally exhausted from lack of sleep at night, because I can't breathe. Cold medicines don't even touch it. My face is ashen and pale, my eyes have huge rings around them -- I look absolutely ridiculous. Straight out of the movies.

Today I fell asleep while standing behind the camera counter. I've been gulping down a steady stream of Echinacea, vitamin C, chicken soup, and orange juice. I'm just going to have to try to sleep more, and take long steaming showers. Soon I will go speak with The Elders, and ask them for an Anointing.

I'm hoping this won't develop into pneumonia like it once did a few years ago. In which case, I'll have to go to an emergency room for X-rays and industrial strength antibiotics. I don't relish the thought. Half the time antibiotics make me feel worse than what they're curing.

As the Navajo say, when one is lost and can't find the way, turn within. I'm going to have to take some time and do some serious spiritual journeying, and perform a Cleansing. Then, I will try to ascertain whether or not I am the target of any directed spiritual malevolence. If that is indeed the case, then we'll see how this plays out, after I get done with what I can do.

[Numbers chap 21, vs 6-9]

"He who hath ears to hear, let him hear."

"De-Motivator" Posters.

And Now...DEEP THOUGHTS, by Jack Handy.

Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead. Do not walk
ahead of me, for I may not follow. Do not walk beside
me either. Just pretty much leave me alone.

Monkey Business Management Secret #19

When handling the hiring and human resources in your business, sometimes it's good to use QUESTIONAIRES.

************************

MEMO: PROSPECTIVE EMPLOYEE ASSESSMENT

Subject: Prospective Employee Assessment
To: All Managers

The following guidelines shall be used when hiring new personnel:

 - Take the prospective employees you are trying to place and put them in
   a room with only a table and two chairs.  Leave them alone for two
   hours, without any instruction.  At the end of that time, go back and
   see what they are doing.

 - If they have taken the table apart in that time, put them in
   Engineering.

 - If they are counting the butts in the ashtray, assign them to Finance.

 - If they are screaming and waving their arms, send them off to
   Manufacturing.

 - If they are talking to the chairs, Personnel is a good spot for them.

 - If they are sleeping, they are Management material.

 - If they are writing up the experience, send them to Tech Pubs.

 - If they don't even look up when you enter the room, assign them to
   Security.

 - If they try to tell you it's not as bad as it looks, send them to
   Marketing.

 - And if they have left early, put them in Sales.

This -N- That, number 7

Giving The Devil Her Due, redux... In an earlier post I had mentioned maybe I should give "Mz. Waffleboot" some benefit of the doubt regarding her abrasive behavior, since the kind of people she has to work with on the Flow Team are some real idiots. I was thinking maybe I've been unreasonable, looking at her personality all wrong.

I had an experience a couple of days ago that set me straight.

I was talking briefly with some guy that I hardly know on the Flow Team, just making chit-chat. I asked him how things were. "Hey, life would be fantastic, if only [Waffleboot] was gone!..." he said, very emphatically, without a care as to who was listening. Ohhh....Kkkaaaaayyy....I guess that was pretty clear enough! Seems I'm not the only one who has the same viewpoint.

There's A Hole In My Bucket, Dear Liza, Dear Liza...(#2). Our company has a very strong customer service ethic. For that reason, they've placed electronic call buttons all around the store, so that guests can get help on those rare occasions they can't find us. Here's the catch: corporate doesn't allow us enough payroll to fully staff the floor, so most of the time we're helping two or more guests at a time, when we're not stocking a backflow of freight, running price checks, carryouts, and trying to finish our zoning before close. Small wonder then that the number of button pushes have gone up. Corporate gets unhappy when customers use the guest assistance buttons, and boy do they tell us.

Now, I'm no rocket scientist, but I thought our goal was to help as many guests as we can -- so if I wuz one 'o dem super-duper hie ed-juh-ma-kated eggs-ek-you- tif types, I would actually WANT the customers to push the buttons, so I could be sure I've helped them all. It just gets me -- they put the buttons in, but they don't want the customers to have to use them. W.T.F.? What kind of chicken-scratch bullshit logic is that?

SAY WHAT, NOW?....Another joke-wad called me up while I'm at the electronics counter cryin' about his PlayStation-2. He scratched a disk, and wanted to know how to fix it. He said that a tech support guy told him to put "vaginal cream" on it, and he wanted to know what I thought. I kid you not...I am not making this up. I told him I had no idea, and that he'd better talk to Sony, the manufacturer. Either somebody was playing a joke on me, or there's some people out there who really are that stupid. I'm praying they're not elected to public office.

Alas Poor Yorick, I Knew Him.

"To be, or not to be?....that is the question..."

"bari quipi boni."

Earlier I had mentioned making a personal study of consumer electronics so I can be more effective with the time they're making me spend behind the electronics counter at work. I think that I've decided to chuck that idea, and spend time boning up on my resume, instead. (get it? boning!)

To be a retailer, or a banker, that is the question. I decided that come hell or high water I'm going to break back into banking. It's going to be a trick, but I'll do whatever it takes.

Lately at the store they've been working out all the Halloween merchandise. They've got some cool stuff this year. Talking skeletons, the works.

Sphinctre Pucker Factor -- Elevated.

We had an inventory done the other day, and naturally we had corporate stuffed-shirts coming out of the woodwork, crawling all over the sales floor. All the store team leaders were edgy and uptight. Nobody wanted to be seen making any kind of mistake or looking stupid. Spare me, people.

WE'RE SHORT-HANDED LATELY.

Our store is really lacking in the personnel situation. We need people. Our hiring process is basically a revolving door of people day in and day out. Only the really innocent and the gluttons for punishment stay.

Everyone else who figures out what they're really in for turns tail and leaves faster than you can say "panicked American helicopters lifting off from the embassy roof-top in Saigon."

Money Where My Mouth Is

In recent weeks they've been making work the electronics counter more and more. Nobody else wants to do it, few people in the store are passably capable of salesmanship, few people in the store even remotely have any idea how to answer questions about electronic products. So, for the three or four of us who can even remotely satisfy the preceding criteria, we are permanently banished to a life sentence in the Siberian wasteland of the electronics counter.

Repeatedly management tells me to learn about the product category so as to serve the guests better. Ok, I'm fine with that. Train me then. Provide me with all the information I need to successfully serve my guests in this position. What's that? You don't have any, you say? Hem and Haw? How in the hell do you expect me to perform a job satisfactorily if you don't give me what I need to perform it? What kind of b* s*t is that?

To top all that off, they brought someone in from the outside to fill the specialist position I had applied for, and when he started he knew even less about the department, if at all, than I did. Are they seriously trying to piss me off to get rid of me?

Be that as it may, since I am unable to go elsewhere as of yet, the onus is upon me to make the best of a crappy situation. At least I have work, even though I think the whole situation stinks. I've got to take the lemons and make lemonade. I am most definitely NOT doing this for the company, since they've made it clear they don't care about me. I am doing this completely for my own benefit, and if the company just happens to benefit from what I do, so be it.

That being said, I am now taking the time to educate myself about the Consumer Electronics category. I'm reading as much as I can online through the Internet, and I have subscribed to trade publications in the industry. On my own time, without any pay, I'm going to study this material and learn it well enough to serve my guests, who I genuinely do care about, even though the company wants to profit from my efforts without providing adequate tools, recognition, or compensation.

After I have completed that, when the time is right, I shall take my knowledge and experience elsewhere to someone who will appreciate it, or possibly even start a business of my own, where I can pay myself what I believe I am worth, and to hell with the college preppy stuffed shirts who run the store. I've been in retail since I was fifteen. I know enough technically to be a district manager for someone. I even know enough how to be an obnoxious, abrasive, Neanderthal jerk just like many DM's I have seen.

For now, I may be Joseph languishing in a cell, interpreting dreams for the Pharaoh's butler and baker, but I swear to high heaven there will be a day when I shall ride the Pharaoh's chariot and wear his signet. [Gen 41:40-43]

Monkey Business Management Secret #18

"EXIT COUNSELING."

Concerned about the welfare of those employees with families you just laid off?

Not to worry! Just hire a third party consulting firm to prepare a booklet with "money-saving tips." Give the booklet to the unlucky losers as you hand them their final checks. Include such shining gems of wisdom as "don't be shy about dumpster diving," and "move somewhere with a lower cost of living."

Then, after the public backlash, blame the third party consultant. While you're at it, be sure to read how Northwes Airlines did precisely what I just mentioned, in this article at BloggingStocks Dotcom. [link]

Monkey Business Management Secret #17

The Americans and the Japanese decided to engage in a competitive boat race. Both teams practiced hard and long to reach their peak performance. On the big day the Japanese won by a mile.

The American team was discouraged by the loss. Morale sagged. Corporate management decided that the reason for the crushing defeat had to be found, so a consulting firm was hired to investigate the problem and recommend corrective action.

The consultant's finding: The Japanese team had eight people rowing and one person steering; the American team had one person rowing and eight people steering. After a year of study and millions spent analyzing the problem, the American team's management structure was completely reorganized. The new structure: four steering managers, three area steering managers, and a new performance review system for the person rowing the boat to provide work incentive.

The next year, the Japanese won by two miles!

Humiliated, the American corporation laid off the rower for poor performance and gave the managers a bonus for discovering the problem.

Boldly Going Nowhere......

"DAMMIT, JIM! I'M A DOCTOR, NOT A BRICKLAYER!"

For some reason, why I don't know, people think that just because I'm working the electronics department I have an encyclopedic knowledge of every single gadget and device sold in America.

I am there to cashier. Period, nothing more. I am not a technical support engineer. Nowhere does it state on the counter that I am one, or that we offer tech support.

Yet every time they send me back there, I get some joke-wad on the phone crying that their X-box won't work, demanding I tell them how to fix it. Or I'll get some air-headed Sierra-Club Ex-Granola Hippy Caddy-driving Soccer Mom who just bought a digital camera from us the day before, and she doesn't know how to use them (or computers of any kind) and she wants me to give her complete lessons over the phone.

C'mon lady -- do you honestly think that if I had any engineering training I would be wasting my time working here?

"IT'S WORSE THAN THAT -- HE'S DEAD, JIM!"

Every day I find out another person is gone from the store. It's really starting to creep me out. The other day, my buddy "J" from Asset Protection left, as well, to focus on his day job for the government. Now I have no one to talk to. The girl who used to bake the cookies at the snack counter just perfectly, the way I liked them, left this Spring for Florida. The Bodacious Blonde team leader I had a chippie for left last Spring to move back to California with her boyfriend. I found out about more people gone this week -- I am really bummed out.

There is one good thing however -- the Equal Opportunity Token team leader who thought she was "all that and a bag of chips," who chapped me for getting more product out for the guests who were asking for it, is also gone. I won't miss her shrieking over the walkie just because we don't answer her calls the split micro-second she releases the button.

"SENSORS INDICATE THAT IT'S LIFE, JIM, BUT NOT AS WE KNOW IT."

Right now I'm just laying low, watching things in the shop develop as they go. All sorts of people are getting promoted around me, I saw another announcement just today. I decided I'm not going to submit myself to another humiliating and embarrassing round of hoop-jumping for a position just to find out through the grapevine after the fact that I'm not wanted. I'm going to go where I AM wanted. At the very least, if I stay, I'm not going to beg for anything. I've had enough of that baloney. So....I'm just going to watch, observe, take notes, keep a secret C.Y.A. file, and bide my time until I know for certain what to do next.

"DAMAGE CONTROL IS EASY, JIM -- READING KLINGON, NOW THAT'S HARD..."

The card-board baler was left full by the back room team when they left today. The evening L.O.D. asked over the walkie if anyone knew how to empty it and make a bale. Having worked with all sorts of balers in the retail business since I was 15, I offered to help. She asked me if I had been properly "certified." I told her no, but I knew full well how to press the up and down buttons. Not good enough. She said leave it for the morning crew.

Words cannot express how unhappy it makes me feel when these people patronize me and treat me like I'm stupid. If the company thinks I'm too stupid to handle pressing a button, then I'm too stupid to do anything else for them.

Whenever I quote philosophy or the arts to my coworkers, they all tell me I'm too smart to be working there. I usually reply that management thinks I'm too stupid to do anything else.

"YA CANNAUGH CHANGE THE LAWS O' PHYSICS, JIM."

My coworker "D" was telling me how he had come up with some ideas to improve the zoning process we go through in the evenings recovering the store. I think his ideas are excellent -- they really would improve things, in my opinion. "D" told me how he had tried to discuss them with management. They just listened to him, smiled, and said "that's nice." Nothing changed. I told "D" that in this company, there's three ways of doing things: the right way, the wrong way, and the "company way." Trying to change "the company way" is like trying to tell the Earth to stop spinning or the sun to stand still.

Not gonna happen.

Giving The Devil Her Due

I've ranted on and on about "Mz. Waffleboot," but recent events have forced me to take a look at things through her eyes just a bit.

More and more, I'm starting to realize the a large number of the back-room people she has to oversee are complete, absolute, total, illiterate, dumb-ass idiots. I've met a good number of them, watched a number of the work, and have had to waste valuable time fixing the screw-ups they leave behind on the shelves after they stock.

Lately they've been making the evening people conduct shelf audits, in preparation for inventory. So many of us have come across places that have been mis-labeled or stocked incorrectly, necessitating the expense of time and effort switching things back around to match the shelf plan-o-grams. We've had to haul large amounts of merchandise to the back, because of over-stocking against the plan-o-gram.

It's become evident to us on the evening crew that the freight team is either too lazy to read labels, or are too illiterate to read them. Many of us are really pissed off, because much of the shelf discrepancies are blamed upon our zoning at night, when we know full well it's the freight crew screwing it up.

If I had to deal with a huge crew of dumb-asses like "Mz. Waffleboot" does, I'd end up just as abrasive and obnoxious as she is.

And Then There Were None....

It's like one of those old time movies, where the characters disappear one by one, eaten by aliens or zombies or whatever, and the remaining people are left to wonder what's going to happen next.

Since I started working at "Big Red" last Autumn, so many people I got to know and work with have come and gone. Not a day goes by when I come to work, ask around for someone I haven't seen in awhile, only to be told they're gone. People leave for a number of reasons -- a better job, going back to school, quit in frustration, or got fired over something.

As many years as I've worked in retail, I should know by now that turn-over is the nature of the beast. Still, at times, it can be just plain UN-NERVING. When people around you disappear and are all replaced by strangers, it's hard to keep from wondering if some rogue government agency is grabbing our people in the back room, stuffing them into a van, and replacing them with pre-programmed drones. It's just down-right eerie.

The last few days or so I've been looking around on the sales floor, and realizing that I hardly know anyone there. Retail is a business where you really need to have a social system built outside of the workplace, because no one is around long enough for you to build one inside the workplace.

It's Just an Accounting Error...Honest.

When I worked at a bank and somebody's cash drawer came up short a significant amount, we couldn't get away with just shrugging it off as being a mix up in the numbers.

Ace Hardware, it seems, has gotten away with just that. It's only a small error, just a trifle really, only about $154 million, give or take a few hundred thousand or so. (read the article at USA Today.) [link] Ace was on the verge of converting from a retailer owned cooperative to a for-profit-corporation when all of a sudden, lo and behold, $154 million is missing from the balance sheets.

Interesting coincidence.

How does one loose $154 million, and not even notice until a couple of years after the fact? Seems to me a couple of people need to loose their accounting licenses, and more than a few executives need to be looking for another job. Obviously, neither will have to.

I'd really like to know what I have to do to get a corporate job where I get to keep my position and perks, in spite of loosing $154 million. At the bank, if I lost more than $7.50 in a day I would get a write-up, with a possible suspension. What do I have to do? Sell my soul? Join the Mafia? Run for public office? Do all three, but not necessarily in that order?

Is The Word Stupid Written On My Forehead?

There's a particular team member who always seems to be on a fishing expedition whenever she and I converse. She'll make certain subtle statements of opinion, and then guage my reaction. She'll remark about a fault or a shortcoming of some member of management, one that is generally agreed upon by everyone as being true but remains unsaid, and phrase it in such a way as to evoke a response expressing frustration with the fault.

I realize that I'm not any kind of enlightened master of The Power Game, otherwise I'd be an executive VEEP by now, but even a sales floor doofus like me can recognize a trap like this one in a conversation. Lady, how stupid do you think I am? I mean, come on.

I always try to gracefully avoid subjects like that and move the conversation quickly to different topics. I learned from hard, bad experience long ago that anyone who pretends to be a sympathetic friend while striking up discussions about managerial faults is only out for one thing -- to stab me in the back.

Homie don't play that.

A couple of years ago I had some training in conversational hypnosis, for a sales position I held at that time. Right now I'm working on formulating some responses to those fishing expeditions that will use the person's energies against them.

In the words of comedian Ralphie May, "sometimes you just gotta 'Tai Chi' these things" -- redirect your oponent's strength and use it to defeat them.

Seagull Strikes Again.

The district manager was in the store the other day. It was one of those types of corporate visits I like to call "The Seagull Visit."

It works like this: the executive or officer swoops in swiftly, screeches alot and makes a lot of noise, lays out a lot of droppings all over the place, and then swoops out just as quickly as he came in without so much as a "by-your-leave," or even a "thank you for your dedication."

This week the guy blew a gasket because the clothing on our softlines tables weren't folded "crisp" enough.

W.T.F.?

Yeah, I can just imagine it now: "you know what Doris, the edges on these folded shirtS are out of alignment to a microscopic degree. That's just awful. As a casual shopper, just I can't handle that -- I'm going to go to the competition."

PUH- LEEEEEAZE.

What do I need to do to get paid a corporate salary, with perks, Enron-style hidden stock options, and vacations, just to be able to fly in and dog people about their garment sleeves. Ah yes, that would be the life for me.

Addendum

In my previous post I discussed the promotion situation at the store, and my decision to leave. Here's a tactical consideration. Any promotion that I may happen to get, by luck or by brown-nose, will inevitably place me in a position that will require closer proximity to "Mz. Waffleboot."

Because the company adores the results she delivers, not to mention the fact that I doubt any corporate executive wants her arrogant, abrasive keister anywhere near them, I suspect she's not going to be going anywhere else any time soon. Since I absolutely detest the person, just like over half the store does, my only choice is to leave and go elsewhere, if I want to make any professional progress.

That being said, I now have to set about the task of rebuilding a decent resume, and start my campaigning. That's going to take some time, given the fact that when I left the bank I worked at earlier, it wasn't on pleasant terms. Finding a bank company who is willing to look past all the libel and slander from that former employer is going to be a challenge. If I had time and money, I'd take them to court, but I have neither so I have to focus instead upon selling myself.

Pawn One, to Bishop's Knight 3. Checkmate.

I talk and brag about the Power Game. I can comment upon it very insightfully and shrewdly, like a retired has-been football star commenting upon the NFL, but my ability to actually PLAY the game effectively...well...quite simply SUCKS. Over and over, I end up allowing other people to push my buttons, control me, sidetrack me, backstab me, and ruin any prospects I may have developed.

They finally announced that the position I had applied for several months ago had been filled, and they introduced us to some guy they hired from outside to fill it. I withdrew my candidacy earlier because one night I realized the position would put me in continual proximity to "Mz. Waffleboot." THAT is a prospect I most definitely did NOT relish.

It didn't actually matter WHAT my candidacy was, anyway. Sources tell me that management processed my candidacy only as a formality, only to buy time until someone they really wanted showed up, which he did just recently. I don't mind that, really -- I knew before I started the application process that it was a long shot. I only wish they had the human decency to get back to me and tell me politely that I'm not what they're looking for, instead of leaving me hanging for months and letting the store gossip about it the whole time.

In another situation, people from a certain other department spoke to me frequently about the prospect of joining THEIR team. They really wanted me, which I deeply appreciate, and told me they would lobby for me if I pursued the matter. Later I discovered two interesting factors. The supervisor of the team did not share her subordinate's enthusiasm for bringing me on board, and I found out that a friend who I regard fairly highly had his heart set upon that position also, far more than any interest I may have had in it. I decided not to pursue the position because I really like my friend. I wanted to see him happy, which he really is, now that they gave him the spot.

I have to confess here that over the last month or so I have been a sort of gad-fly for the shop. My patience for other people's b.s. is really wearing thin, and I'm starting to spout my mouth off more and more. I know I'm wrong for the time and place of my words, but I also know that I'm completely correct about the CONTENT of my words. Other people have secretly told me they agree with me. The problem is that if I continue yapping my big mouth, I'm going to drive myself right out of a job, or at the very least ruin all hope of getting anywhere in this or any other company.

I know it is for that reason over the last month or so I've been seeing all sorts of people get promoted all around me, while I remain in the same place. My wife is going to school, so I can only work in the evenings, and that is also a factor which hampers me. As I mentioned in a previous post, spiritual guidance has prompted me very firmly that it is time to leave. I don't even have enough status at the store to rate the privilege of keeping my coffee cup next to the coffee machine in the break room without somebody stealing it or throwing it out ( I have to keep it under the counter, in a box with my name on it in big letters. Jesus -- I'm in freakin' kindergarten again.)

I really would like to know what I had to do to earn some respect somewhere. I'm willing to work long and hard, I'm willing to be honest, dependable, and humble. I'm willing to ignore any and all stupid, unethical, or illegal things managers do. I'm willing to keep my mouth shut.

I'm NOT willing to be condescended upon or patronized for the rest of my life. I really wish I knew what to do next.

Mabye, Just Maybe, There's Hope for America.

The other day they had me working the toy section again. I was zoning along in the aisles as usual, when a blue eyed, lively little blonde girl of 10 or so came to find me. She was pushing her little baby brother in her stroller.

She was a bright, happy, cheerful, wholesome and gorgeous child, the kind you knew was destined to become captain of the cheer squad, be voted most popular, and go on to become a super model or Miss America.

I expected her to ask me where the Barbies or the teddy bears were located. Please forgive me for having been led by stereotypes. What she asked for instead surprised the daylights out of me. She spoke in a cheerful, clear, confident, and very mature way.

"Sir, do you carry any microscopes here?"

Say What?

"Do you carry any microscopes? I saw on your corporate website online that you had some here in the store."

Confident, cyber literate, articulate, and interested in science. [Non Sequitur. Does not compute.] I took her to the section where we carried a line of science toys with the National Geographic brand name. She was VERY happy. Happier than a tornado in a trailer park. Happier than a Wal Mart security executive throwing smoke bombs on a crowd of union organizers in a store parking lot.

She gushed on and on about the planetarium sets we had. "This would be so awesome in my room! Look, it's even got the proper configuration of the planets, with Pluto orbiting inside of Neptune's orbit during a retrograde phase of its eliptical!"

"I take it you're interested in Science?"

"Yup! that's me! I confess, I'm a major science geek...."

She put down the planetarium, grabbed the microscope set, and turned around to go find her mother. Her long, blonde, cheerleader hair bobbed about as she went. I stood there, thinking. I thought some more. I wiped a tear from my eye, and I prayed to God that the young lady would be able to carry her love of science all the way through the materialism and confusion of youth, and go on to do something great for our world. I went to find her mother.

"Ma'am, please allow me to compliment you on your most exceptional child." Her daughter came up and kept chattering on about the microscope. "yeah, right ......tell me about it....."

"Ease His Pain..."

This evening while dealing with yet another asthma-inducing scene of intense aggravation at work, I felt peace wash over me. A gentle voice told me that my days there are finished -- it is time to move on.

It's one of those over-quoted, Kevin Costner "Field of Dreams" moments, when inspiration comes to you in a way that is calm and quiet, but very unmistakable and impossible to ignore.

It's one of those moments when "all the cosmic tumblers click into place, and the universe opens up to show you what's possible." I hesitate to use that quote because it's all over the Internet; trite and hackneyed. Everyone and their uncle and their uncle's dog has used it on their website at one time or another, yet there's no other way to adequately explain the experience. What else can I say? The Akashic Records have spoken, just as I asked for them to, in a previous post.

The time has come for "Big Red" and I to part ways. I've been in denial continually; now I must call a spade, a spade. The "Coffee Cup War" should have been my first clue. My interests are better served elsewhere.

Just exactly how I'm going to find that "elsewhere" is the problem. I'm hoping, like Ray Kinsella in the movie, that things will work out in the end, if I follow the promptings of my inner spirit.

Yeah, I'd Like To Hear An Answer, Too...

S. S. D. D. (Same @#$% Different Day)

Naturally, they made me waste my time today completing tasks that should have been finished by the day people before the evening shift got there. Little miss "Suzie Q," who is nothing more than an Equal Opportunity token, was on a rampage of "stand and point" management, as usual. I had to answer continual calls for back-up to the front lanes, I had to watch the camera counter for "W"s lunch, and I had to entirely re-set an endcap. All of which I don't mind, but if they want me to finish my zone before the end of the night, they need to allow me some time to do it.

I was not able to start my zone until 9 o'clock. Of course Chris, whose mouth is big enough for my to place my foot firmly within, did nothing about gripe and moan about how he had to come help me finish my zone, and about all the returns I still had left to do. I called the Hardlines team leader over and I told him that if Chris didn't shut up on his own, I would do it for him.

In addition to that, I've been seeing several people in the store get promoted, and I'm still stuck in the same position I started in, even though I've really bent over backwards to try and do the best job that I can, the whole time I've been there. The last time I applied for an opening, I had to interview with four different people, and they never got back to me to tell me yes or no. The left me hanging there like a complete idiot, all the while the whole store was gossiping like a ladies' tea club about my effort to get the position. All the other contenders for the position have since left the company, and I'm the only one remaining that I know of who had expressed any interest in it, yet still nothing.

They've been making perform the duties of the position more and more, as much as three or four shifts out of the week, yet I still have no title or any increase in pay. If they don't want me, that's fine and I can accept that. What I don't like is being made to perform the duties of the position without any recognition. THAT really pisses me off.

As the old Navajo proverb says, when one is lost and can't find the way, turn within. It's high time I dusted off my B.O.S. and consulted The Akashic Records. We'll see what the Universal Forces of Justice have to say about all this.

Syndrome Tells It Like It Is.

"...I learned an important lesson. You can't count on anyone, ESPECIALLY your heroes. See? NOW you respect me, because I'm a THREAT. That's the way the world works. Turns out there are a lot of people, whole countries who want respect, and they will pay through the nose to get it. How do you think I got rich?"

The Real Reasons I Take Dammitol.

You know those anti-depressant commercials where they roll out a long list of side effects at the end, like "anal leakage?" Check out this Flash Video.

Drugs I Need | Funny Jokes at JibJab

Wisest Is He Who Knows He Does Not Know

After all the bragging I've done about workplace politics in previous posts, I must make a confession here. There is one game that has troubled me all of my life, and still troubles me to this day. My mother and my wife both use it on me, and like a sucker I fall for it every single time. It's like a preprogrammed button with me. I am referring, of course, to the "poor suffering martyr" game.

Basically it goes like this: specific persons who are expert at this game figure out that I'm a hot head. Then they do little things to bug the ever living @#$% outta me, and n0 matter how long I try to be quiet and patient, they just keep it up until I blow my stack. Then, THEN is where the zinger comes. They whine, moan about, and shed tears about how picked upon they are, and they use my outburst as proof that I'm a terribly evil axe-murder-maniac-destined-for-the-gas-chamber type monster. They go out of their way to use and exaggerate my own faulty behavior to draw as much sympathy as they can for themselves.

As I point my finger at these people, I realize that five more of my own fingers are pointing back at me. If the game is to be broken, I am the only person who can take responsibility for my own behavior. I must break the response cycle. And there's the rub. No matter how hard I try, I still have yet to succeed at it. These people burrow under my shell, push my buttons, and have me acting like an idiot lightning fast, faster than I can consciously realize what's happening and try to stop my own behavior.

The reason I mention this is that in the previous few days I have seen members of the Soft Lines Department at my store use this game with the skillful grace of Judo masters. They used it on me, then I watched them use it on two other people besides me. For this reason I have nicknamed them the "poor way-faring souls of grief department" because of how well they play this game.

At the very least, I can say that now I know who to steer clear of. The uber-crazy drama-queens of the department reveal themselves to me every time they play this game. They may be able to lay low and camouflage themselves amongst the crowd for awhile, but once I see someone play this game on another employee, I know instantly who I need to watch out for. I guess that's about the only way I can beat the game.

Zombie Retail Worker: News at 11.

My allergies were really bothering me today. When that happens, typically I can't get out of bed all day, and when I wake up just before my evening shift, I look and feel like something that crawled out of a 1950's B-grade thriller movie.

My face is usually ashen, my eyes usually are all blood shot and my eyelids and upper cheeks are swollen red. Add to that the dead tired, frumpy expression I have on my face and I look terrible. I don't dare take very much allergy medicine because they cause me to have kidney stones.

Naturally, when I get to the store and people give me looks usually reserved for someone who has just been shot or lost an arm or something. Everybody asks me if I'm alright, and when I tell them I'm fine, they don't believe me.

I try really hard to give great guest service, but on days like today it's next to impossible for me to think coherently because my head is in such a fog. I'll be standing there watching a customer describe what she needs, I see her lips move, I know somehow that she's speaking English, but for the life of me I can't understand and/or remember what she says. So I have to give generalized answers, send her over to where I hope the product might be, and pray another team member can help her.

I tell you what -- if some chemist somewhere can invent something that could completely wipe away my allergies, without any side-effects whatsoever, I'll be the first to sign any petition to have him/her knighted, sainted, and given a Nobel Prize.

Monkey Business Management Secret #16

An easily-understood, workable falsehood is more useful than a complex, incomprehensible truth.

Special Retail Problem Solving Procedure

WorkPlace Windows

High Priority Memo

TO: ALL EMPLOYEES
FR: MANAGEMENT
RE: SPECIAL HIGH INTENSITY TRAINING

In order to assure the highest levels of quality work and productivity from employees, it will be our policy to keep all employees well trained through our program of SPECIAL HIGH INTENSITY TRAINING (S.H.I.T.). We are trying to give employees more S.H.I.T. than anyone else.

If you feel that you do not receive your share of S.H.I.T. on the job, please see your manager. You will be immediately placed at the top of the S.H.I.T. list, and our managers are especially skilled at seeing that you get all the S.H.I.T. you can handle.

Employees who don't take their S.H.I.T. will be placed in DEPARTMENTAL EMPLOYEE EVALUATION PROGRAMS (D.E.E.P. S.H.I.T.). Those who fail to take D.E.E.P. S.H.I.T. seriously will have to go to EMPLOYEE ATTITUDE TRAINING (E.A.T. S.H.I.T.). Since our managers took S.H.I.T. before they were promoted, they don't have to do S.H.I.T. anymore, and are all full of S.H.I.T. already.

If you are full of S.H.I.T., you may be interested in a job training others. We can add your name to our BASIC UNDERSTANDING LECTURE LIST (B.U.L.L. S.H.I.T.). Those who are full of B.U.L.L. S.H.I.T. will get the S.H.I.T. jobs, and can apply for promotion to DIRECTOR OF INTENSITY PROGRAMMING (D.I.P. S.H.I.T.).

If you have further questions, please direct them to our HEAD OF TRAINING, SPECIAL HIGH INTENSITY TRAINING (H.O.T. S.H.I.T.).

Thank you,

BOSS IN GENERAL
SPECIAL HIGH INTENSITY TRAINING
(B.I.G. S.H.I.T.)

What...does it SHOW?

Target Blows.

Why are there no Wal-Marts in Iraq?

Because they're all Targets.

Bad Day Medicine.

One of the absolute detestable BANES of the retail existence is the so-called "ad setup." Mention that word and people literally run the other way.

Most big box retailers will have one to three persons specifically hired to print off, sort, and sleeve the little signs that get placed on the shelf to designate sale items shown in the ad circular that gets put in the paper. In a fairly large store like the one I work in that's a job which can take almost all week.

At my store we've been limping along for several weeks without a regularly assigned person. Mz. Waffleboot succeeded in running off the last two or three people we tried to keep to do the job. This week the ad was exceptionally large, and management didn't fully realize the scope of what had to be done. Needless to say, Thursday through Saturday each department had teams of people seperating, sorting, and sleeving handbasket-fulls of ad signs, desperately trying to get it all done before 5 a.m. Sunday morning, when they were scheduled to be put up.

Naturally, this was my week to be one of the sorry suckers who have to come in a 5 a.m. Sunday morning to put all the signs up. Needless to say, the whole process was a cluster-#@$%& from beginning to end. Everything was all mixed up, and we had to spend valuable time re-sorting. There was only three of us working the set up, so we had to steal people from other departments. We didn't get done until well after Noon, and we were supposed to be done by 8 a.m.

When I got home at 2 p.m. I took some medicine and went to bed.

Dammit.

'nuff Said Already.

This -N- That, #5

HELL HATH NO FURY... Outside the store I work at, along the front sidewalk, there are large metal spheres embedded into the concrete, colored red (naturally, I work for "Big Red," as opposed to "Big Blue.") A couple of days ago some pregnant lady got really, REALLY mad at her boyfriend in the parking lot, and tried to run him over. The lady ran the car up on the sidewalk and knocked into one of the big metal spheres. Then she launched into him. A Flow-team supervisor was taking a break outside and saw the whole thing. We had to call the cops, and they took the lady away kicking and screaming. They booked her for "attempted" something or other, and she's cooling her heels in the klink even as I write this.

HELL HATH NO FURY, part 2...."K" is the manager of our Asset Protection team. She's normally a somewhat quiet, unassuming person. Thieves and perps misjudge her frequently. The day before yesterday, "K" had been tailing a shoplifter who attempted to leave the store with a purse filled to the brim with expensive clothes. The lady shoplifter thought that "K" was going to be a push-over and tried to resist the capture. BIG MISTAKE. Fifteen minutes and a couple of good bruises later, the thief b* was sitting handcuffed to the rail in the A.P. office, while "K" quietly filled out her reports. Special warning to criminal scum in Oklahoma City: Don't be messin' with The "K."

SHE'S CERTAINLY A "HEALTY YOUTH....." Today was "Tax-Free" day in Oklahoma City. Young mothers were out in force buying back-to-school stuff in the store today, and quite a good number of them were, shall we say, fairly "healthy" looking. Not to mention the millions of curvy college co-eds who came out to buy school supplies and dorm furnishings. My co-worker "W" and I were discussing the scenery when my supervisor "K" (the OTHER "K") came up and asked us how things were going. We hemmed and hawed, and told her jokingly that we were discussing the beautiful scenery out doors in this lovely weather today.

SHE'S A HOT TAMALE....MUY CALIENTE....speaking of my co-worker "W," I forgot to mention that he has a deep and thorough fondness for lovely Latina ladies. It's to the point of obsession, almost. My buddy "J" in the Asset Protection department knows about this, and never misses an opportunity to torment the hell out of "W" over it. Fairly often "J" will walk past where "W" is working and leave behind a bottle of salsa or tobasco sauce. Sometime he'll throw Dora The Explorer pillow dolls at him.

Rest Assured, I Won't Make That Mistake Again.

Yesterday I noticed that the bulk display of loose-leaf paper and notebooks in the back-to-school section was empty. Guests had started to tear into the cases of product that formed the base of the display, in order to get what they needed. I though I would provide "Great Guest Service" (as my company calls it), so I opened up several of the cases of product from the base of the display. I placed several packages of product out onto the display so our guests could easily reach them, purchase them, and be happy. A couple of guests thanked me for it.

Lo and beheld, one of the senior team leaders approaches me and asks me very curtly, "are you supposed to open those up?" (This is the team leader who is, at best, a political token. She honestly believes that she is a significant contributor to the vast scheme of things, and that she really is something important.)

I explained that the display was empty, guests were tearing the boxes open to get the product they need, so I opened some boxes up for the guests. I wondered to myself, what kind of chicken sh* business is this where I need to get permission to serve our guests? Last I recall, the whole purpose of retailing was to SELL PRODUCT, not to win awards for artistically perfect displays.

=======================

Last night, people complained AGAIN about my joking over the walkie after closing time. It seems I forgot my place, again. My place isn't to be happy or have fun, even though the corporate mission statement includes the words "fast, fun, and friendly" describing our work experience. I'm just a peon. I'm not allowed to be happy at work, especially at closing time. I'm supposed to be cranky and pissy at closing time, just like the team executives are. I need to follow their example, and be just like them, if I want to succeed with the company.

===============================

Great Guest Service and Great Work Attitude. Rest assured, I won't make those mistakes again.

This -N- That, number 4.

ABANDON HOPE, YE WHO ENTER

We call it the "Bermuda Triangle" of the toy section. When you are zoning in the toy block, and you go into this certain aisle, you never come out. You become prisoner there until the end of time. [Jaws movie soundtrack rumbles in background]......it's none other than......[eeeeeeeek!] the action figure aisle! (no! please! don't make me zone that! I'll do anything! Please don't send me there!]

On a typical summer evening, kids get bored and rowdy, so parents load them into the car and head on over to our store and let them loose in the toy section just to look around, kill some time, and wear off some energy. Unfortunately for us, the kids just destroy any resemblance of order we have tried to achieve there during the day, especially in the action figure aisle. The team leads always complain to us that it never looks good, but everytime we zone it, five minutes later it's all over the floor again.

DUMB AND "DUMBER-ER."

Retail executives bend over backwards to design their store to maximize opportunities for impulse purchasing by the customers. The only problem is that impulse purchases often include big, bulky furniture that we have to haul out and help the guest figure out a way to cram into their little bitty rice-burner cars from Asia. This evening was no exception. A guy and his girlfriend saw a futon we had and decided on the spot to buy it. I had to stand there in the parking lot and listen to them argue about how they were going to get it into their little sled.

Jeez, people.

Not only are they stupid and refuse to come back with a bigger vehicle before they buy it, but they are the same upper middle class environmentalist hypocrites who rant about SUV's, and then complain when their furniture purchase won't fit into a little chopstick wagon.

AH, HUBBA HUBBA.

Coworker "R" and I were discussing various issues in the grocery block one evening. A hot blonde wearing a bikini top with a bust the size of Toledo walked by. We stopped talking. 'Nuff said.

Mr. Roboto.

This evening, after closing time, I was joking around with someone over the walkie. Naturally, a humorless, uptight member of management took me to task over it. Last I recall, in its own mission statement the company says they want to foster a "fast, fun, and friendly" work environment. I see now that's all just mere hypocrisy, like the window dressing lip-service most companies give to environmentalism or fair labor practices in their third world suppliers.

This is the last time. From now on, no more joking from me. I'm tired of all the stick-up-their-back people who complain about my joking, then get away with worse stuff than me. From now on, I'm just going to go to work, get my stuff done, say nothing, smile to no one, and go home. I shall be as emotionless as a robot.

Groovy, Man.

One of the interesting things about the store I work at, it's in an upper middle class area. That means we have all sorts of people with money coming through whose guilt about their affluence stands out like a sore thumb.

I was cashiering for a twenty-something little sprite, when she cheerily asked me if we had any paper bags, instead of plastic. When I told her no, the wrath of Mother Nature thundered down upon me. The air headed hippie wannabe bimbo lectured me about how paper bags were better for the environment.

Right -- as if I ran the company, and made all the bag purchasing decisions. Get out of my face, moron.

I wanted to ask this chick how much gas she saved by walking instead of driving her Beamer or Caddie, or how much animal habitat was destroyed when they laid the foundation for her huge upper middle class Northside house. Of course, I had no choice but to remain silent.

If the character "Cartman" from the T.V. show "Southpark" were real and standing next to me, he'd most likely say " @#$% off, ya damn hippie!" (Cartman hates hippies, and so do I.)

Poor Wayfaring Souls of Grief

A trustworthy source in the softlines department informed me that there's a certain team leader who's been telling the softlines people they don't have to answer cashier back-up calls to the front lanes. This confirms what I've suspected all along.

There's a team leader who believes that the hardlines staff just has all the people in the world and all the time in the world to do nothing but answer her walkie calls within a split second and a hop, skip, and a jump. The reality is quite the opposite. Most of the time we are short handed, and each of us is usually trying to deal with two or four things at once when she hollers at us for not answering her calls the very split second she releases the mic button on her walkie.

Needless to say, I'm pissed. From now on, I'm going to take my time answering her calls, and I'm going to wait until a softlines person answers first before I answer for hardlines.

If I end up as a store manager and if I ever hear a softlines woman whine and moan about how her work is too hard, I swear on a stack of circulars that I will instantly transfer her to the overnight stocking crew and make her haul pallet loads of bottled water and bulk pet food around.

Any woman in my store who wishes to be a managerial candidate must first spend time working frozen food, dairy, lawn & garden, meat market, and pet food, and she must have worked them for a decent amount of time (as in a couple of years). I refuse to promote any powder puffs. I am deadly serious -- I'll do it, and then do it again. I am so sick of all this garbage about equal opportunity, without equal responsibility.

Where does this come from, within me? I'll tell you.

My mother grew up in war-time Europe. Her father dodged Gestapo agents while traficking food on the black market. Her uncle took pictures of German troop movements from behind bushes and developed them for the Allies in his basement. My mother stayed up late at night peeking through the curtains watching Partisans battling the Gestapo in the corners and shadows of the streets of Aalborg. My mother had no choice but to quit school in the eighth grade and go to work in a munitions factory. She worked until her hands bled.

My mother saved her microscopic wages and came to America after the war, all by herself, at age eighteen. She found a sponsor, an apartment, a job, and learned fluent English all within a year of arriving. She continued to work in factories, until she married my father.

That's why I have no patience for whining powder puffs in the retail business. I have my mother to look up to. There is no woman on this earth who looms as tall as my mother -- a giant among workers.

These Boots Were Made For Walkin'

When I came to work yesterday everyone was all abuzz about the day's events. I just listened, drank it all in, and quietly chuckled with glee.

It seems that "Mz. Waffleboot" could not find a PDT or a walkie anywhere in the store when she needed them. Then, she blew her top.

Mz. Waffleboot called a huddle of all the store personel and then proceeded to harangue and harp about how no one was following the proper check out procedure for the equipment, and because of that she can't find any. (It never occured to her, of course, that there are few to begin with and there was a large number of people there using them that morning.) She really came unhinged and pretty much reduced herself to ranting. Needless to say, many people were not amused.

What's that sound, you say? I hear a sound, yes! It's the sound of many other pairs of boots walking right out of the store -- then going to work for the competition. After hearing about the day's events, I started to seriously consider whether or not my own boots should start doing some walking right out the door, too.

Coffee Cup Wars, Part 2

I figured out how to get my two cents worth across in the coffee cup war, as mentioned in a previous post. I got a new coffee cup, the fifth one, and put in with my creamer in another box which I keep under the counter. I never ever leave it out on top of the counter, even for one second.

Naturally, when people see me with the ridiculous setup every time I get some coffee, they ask about the box. Bingo. I tell them my story. I tell them that someone in the store keeps throwing out my coffee cups, and that this is the fifth one in a month. I tell them I have to hide it in order to have the simple human dignity of being able to keep it in the break room. Then I move on to other topics. This little gag has allowed me to make my complaint and garner sympathy without turning into a raving lunatic like I had in the initial phase of the game. People know what the deal is, now.

I've decided that it is all OK. I'll go ahead and let them treat me like a complete second-class human who doesn't even rate having the privilege of keeping his own coffee cup by the machine, even though all the execs have theirs on their desks. I'll allow people to treat me like I'm stupid. It's OK, and here's why: One of these days these managers are going to be replaced by myself or somone like me whom they've patronized. When that happens, I'll be propping my feet up on their desk, or an even bigger desk somewhere else, earning more than they do.

By all means, team leaders -- please underestimate me. Let yourselves be blinded by your own egos. Lull yourselves into that false sense of security you get from your low opinion of me. That way, you won't see me coming when I make my move, and trust me, I will.

Just Call Me "Stinky"

Here's one from the "must have been something I ate" department.

All day long while working at the store, I was passing some really nasty, god-awful, tear-gas, chemical weapon, exhumed corpse smelling, farts.

It made giving "great guest service" almost impossible. I had to keep myself a couple of steps back so people wouldn't smell it. I tried real hard to control the emission, but sometimes it would force out while speaking with guests. Talk about embarrassing.

I've tried Beano. That stuff just makes me worse. I'm not exactly sure how to handle it. But then again, I guess it's my way of giving back to the community for all the times people have been really nasty to me. Considering that, I don't feel quite so bad after all.

Six Sigma: Another Hairy Pair

Take a long, hard look at the logo for the Six Sigma Quality Management Program. Is it just me, or is there some phallic symbolism built into it?

(HEH! HE SAID "LONG AND HARD," HEH-HEH...)

My New Program, "Seven Zagma"

A Pox On Them All

A few years back when I was manager of a dollar store belonging to a certain chain headquartered in an Atlantic coast state south of the Mason Dixon, honchos would assign me to secret-shop from time to time. One of the things they would have us do is purposely and outrageously provoke a clerk to gauge their reaction.

I thought that this was absolutely despicable.

Retail clerks have enough naturally occurring stress in their lives and on the job. They don't need some overpaid stuffed shirt executive sending people in to antagonize them even further.

I'm still in retail, and so many times I can spot these secret shoppers a mile off, it's sad. Some are real slick and get by me, others are definitely not. I can tell who they are because they follow the exact same script every time they come in. When a real, legitimate customer is unhappy, I know how to handle them and help them to be satisfied. It's the ones who literally go out of their way to specifically insult me and refuse every effort to make them happy, even when I'm offering them the farm, that I can tell are the shoppers sent in to antagonize. They use the exact same words, fling the exact same insults, complain about the exact same policies, ask the exact same questions about the exact same merchandise, in ways I can tell that the average customer wouldn't even really care about.

Let me say something to retail executives who send in antagonistic secret shoppers:

I curse you.

I curse you and your spies, I curse the filthy lucre blood money used to line your paycheck earned from the blood and suffering of third world laborers you outsourced your production to. I curse you to an eternity of hell working the complaints counter in a department store. I curse you to an eternity of injured backs, pulled muscles, high blood pressure, hand callouses, toe corns, and hardening veins in your feet. I curse you to an eternity of nasty people shouting profanities at you.

I curse you, executives.

[spit].

I'll Use Small Words So You Can Understand.

The other day I asked a customer if I could help her. She giggled and said "no thank you, I'm trying to find my husband -- I'm just lost." To make a joke I said "maybe you should try Hare Krishna..." (referring to the come-on line used by cult recruiters in the 60's.) The guest laughed and continued on. She was middle-aged and appeared to be college educated, so she got the joke.

My co-worker was standing there, looking at me quizzically. "huh?"

I had to explain to him the whole deal behind Hare Krishna and the 60's bit. He still didn't get it. Never mind.

My buddy "J" who works in Assets Protection then told me that I have to realize that even though educated people like me and him understand it, most of my humor is WAAAAY over the heads of people in the store, including management. "You and I know, but the rest of them just think you're weird."

It's sad, really, it truly is. Are people that ignorant these days?

Sit And Point

A weekend or two ago I had the pleasure of assisting the flow team work out a shipment. As usual, "Mz. Waffle-boot" logistics director was sitting in the cafe drinking her coffee and chatting with "lipstick and purse" store manager while directing the work over the walkie. (I use the term "Mz." because in her case "Mrs." or "Miss" would be a drastic misnomer.)

It really gets me how the corporate office puts up with that. Other places I've worked, executives would really kick the manager's keister if he wasn't out on the floor moving his groove thing. One thing is for certain -- the only constant in life is change -- and one of these days corporate is going to change around enough to where somebody is going to start wondering why these women are standing or sitting around so much.

Size Does Matter.

After a two-year long study, The National Science Foundation announced the following results on Corporate America's recreational preferences:

1. The sport of choice for male unemployed or incarcerated individuals is BASKETBALL.
2. The sport of choice for male maintenance level employees is BOWLING.
3. The sport of choice for male front-line workers is FOOTBALL.
4. The sport of choice for male supervisors is BASEBALL.
5. The sport of choice for male middle management is TENNIS.
6. The sport of choice for male corporate officers is GOLF.

Conclusion: The higher you are in the corporate structure,

the smaller your balls are...

Union Busters.

My buddy Fred told me he saw an interesting notice on the bulletin board the other day.

It was an anouncement demanding the presence of all the team leads at training classes held at the district office. They were going to be told how to deal with unions, and how to keep union organizers out of the stores and the company.

Ah, yes. It's union busting season again.

Here's what cracks me up. Fred's company brags all the day long about the zillion-bejillion-gozillion dollars they donate to charity. But when it comes to giving their floor associates a few measly cents an hour in extra pay, it's major heresy.

Fred's company spends millions of dollars on P.R. about how they're a socially responsible company. Then they spend God knows how much paying lawyers to help them keep unions out. The cashiers and stockers are paid less than the garbage collectors and janitors in this town, hell--even the convenience store clerks earn five more dollars an hour than they do at Fred's company.

Fred tells me the cashier line at his company is a revolving door of people leaving the company right after they start. Why? Because his company won't pay. When people can get better money by walking, they'll do it in a heartbeat. Then the managers at his company scratch their heads and wonder why their customers aren't satisfied well, and they can't keep employees.

Yep, I tell ya. It's real rocket science, folks. I don't gots me an ed-ya-muh-cay-shen with a fancy M.B.A., so I doesn't know what I'm talkst 'bout.

Odds And Ends

Cousin Ralph

Every 28 days or so my wife jokes about being visited by "Aunt Flo." When I catch a flu bug and want to toss my cookies, I talk about being visited by my "Cousin Ralph." All day yesterday Ralph was right there with me at work. Luckily I didn't toss anything, but Ralph was sure trying to bug me.

Grow Up, Dork

I worked the electronics counter again this weekend. As usual, we had a continual parade of phone calls asking if we received any more NintendoWii's. It's like your kids asking you over and over "are we there yet?" "NO! Dammit! stop asking!" I want so desperately to tell these hopeless losers to get a life, and go exercise or spend some time with their families, instead of letting their brains rot sitting in front of a damn video game. These people are so stupid. They are letting a Japanese game company jerk their chain around with an artificially created shortage of game consoles.

She Might Chip A Nail

The store manager called over the walkie to have someone retrieve a heavy item stored on an upper shelf in the back room. She said she can't operate the forklift. Another reason to apply equal opportunity. She is such a "token," it's not even funny. One of these days, some cranky, scrappy new executive at corporate is going to make store managers to do some actual work, and when that happens, this chick is out of luck.

Monkey Business Office Lingo #9

DEJA MOO -- [Day-Jah Mu] noun. The distinct feeling you've heard the same bull before.

More Inconvenient Truth

A friend of mine used to work for Family Dollar Stores. We'll call her Jeanie.

Jeanie shared with me a website containing employee opinions about F.D. from surveys.

http://www.vault.com/companies/company_main.jsp?product_id=6569&co_page=10

Read them and be forewarned. Don't walk -- RUN, when anyone from there tries to recruit you.

New Addy For The Link List

http://www.retail-sucks.com/index.php

This is a bulletin board, or forum, for retail employees who will tell it to you straight without all the corporate bullshit you see in the commercials.

Monkey Business Management Secret #15

First, I need to quote to you some *legitimate* management advice:

“Hire the best. Pay them fairly. Communicate freely. Provide challenges
and rewards. Get out of their way. They’ll knock your socks off.”
~ Mary Ann Allison

Next, let me tell you how to turn that into a Monkey Business Management Secret (tm).

"Hire the next person that comes along. Keep them in the dark. Give them impossible tasks. Punish them for failing. Micromanage their every move, and stay in their way. Then they'll give you what you pay for -- mediocrity."
~ Monkey Business Manager

Big Box Mart

Check out this funny video about my life in retail.

Big Box Mart
|Funny Jokes at JibJab

The "Coffee Cup" War.

"Lemmee 'splain....no, there is too much. Lemmee sum it up..." (~Inugo Montoya, in The Princess Bride)

OK, I'll bring you up to speed. Somebody at work keeps throwing away my coffee cups. I buy one from the dollar store, use it at work, leave it under the counter, and the next day it's gone. I've gone through four cups. After loosing the third cup, I started to keep my new cup and my creamer in a box under the counter. I wrote a dire warning on the box, stating that if anyone threw out my cup again I would personally hunt them down and throw it at them.

All hell broke loose.

People saw the note and complained high and mighty. I had to sit and listen to a scolding from the store manager and the H.R. director. My note qualified as "threat" speech, and under company guidelines I was given a write-up with a final warning (meaning, "one more mister, and you're gone.") I protested about the cups. They completely blew it off. They said that the cups had been thrown out when cleaning the counter. It's all my fault for not keeping them in my locker, taking the bar code off of them, and putting my name on them. Nobody in the store will come clean and tell me who's been doing it.

Needless to say, I am royally pissed. I would have thought it was common sense that a ceramic coffee cup sitting by the coffee maker just might be some one's property, and that common decency would lead people to respect another person's property. I see now I was wrong.

Yesterday, I discovered the fourth one disappeared. Before I left that night, I poured a puddle of coffee on the counter and left the carafe on top of it. Today I am off, so I'm going to let them stew on that for awhile. I'm going to go in early to work tomorrow and do some shouting. Whether or not I remain there after this week remains to be seen. Stay tuned.