Today's Vocabulary Lesson

According to dictionary.com, the following is a definition of rude:

discourteous or impolite, esp. in a deliberate way: a rude reply.

The following are examples of rudeness:

Approaching a customer and asking, "Ma'am, is that one of our display pieces?" (while pointing to the fully-assembled walker, with a tag that says, "Display unit only, not intended for sale" on it)

Checking in the stockroom for the piece the customer wants.

Apologizing to the customer because there are none in stock, and then offering to return the display piece to the shelve from which it was removed.

Responding, "No, we cannot," when asked, "You won't sell me this one?" (referring to the display piece).


The woman I was helping was kind enough to point out how rude the above behavior was to her companions and the complete strangers waiting at the layaway counter, and nearby shopping in menswear and shoes. Oh, I was also within hearing distance, and realized only then how unbearably rude I had been to this woman. She wanted to speak to a manager about how rude I was, but since she didn't ask me directly, and I was afraid of the reprimand I would receive for behaving so abominably to a customer, I did not offer to call one for her. (How rude of me!)

We live in the age of the TMI.

For the most part, I'm a techno-fan. I facebook, I blog, I text, I chat. I think it's amazing how quickly one person can touch so many lives, all through a key stroke. In addition to all of the good it can do, like spreading awareness for causes and keeping people in touch with family and friends, it can also open the door to the worst cases of TMI ever known.

There are things I am happy to see pop up in my facebook newsfeed. Things like:

You have a new boyfriend/girlfriend, you got engaged, or married, etc.
You or your significant other is pregnant or had a baby
You got a new job
You posted photos of your new house, pet, vacation, etc.
You graduated, or moved, or had a birthday party, or some other milestone occassion
Videos of you belting out Whitney Houston or Journey during karaoke

I even like to see some good sports taunting going on, or that quirky song lyric from the 90's that everyone has forgotten about, or an amusing anecdote from when you were grocery shopping. All of these are acceptable things to post on facebook for the purpose of informing or amusing your friends.

There are certain things that should never be shared on social networking sites. Among these are:

Your bowel movements
Details of your vomit (even worse, photos of your vomit)
Knock-down, drag-out fights between you and your ex
Up-to-the-minute updates while you are giving birth (or, better yet, having surgery)
Your plans to get jiggy wit' it
You just found out you have an STD
What day of your mentrual cycle you're on
An hour-by-hour rehash of your day and how bad it sucked
Photos of you, drunk, going to the bathroom
Photos of you, drunk, showing of your lady-bits
Photos of you, drunk, passed out in a bush, or on the sidewalk, or in the backseat of a complete stranger's car
Photos of you giving birth (I'm alright with, "I just had my baby, she's wrapped in a cute, warm blanket, isn't she gorgeous photos" but not okay when I can see the baby crowning or there is placenta visible)
On that note, videos of you giving birth

There are dozens of other things that I'm sure should never, ever show up in my newsfeed. Thankfully, I have yet to see them show up. Most of the aforementioned ones have, unfortunately, appeared at one point.

My philosophy is, if I don't want my parents, grandparents, brothers, boss, future employer, teachers, or students to see it, I don't put it on facebook. Usually, that keeps me from crossing the line.

I stressed less about my wedding dress than this shit.

The 'mart recently had a uniform change. Prior to October (or was it November?), we wore white polos, black pants, and black shoes. After the change went in to effect, we had to start wearing royal blue polos, black pants, and could wear any solid black, white, or brown shoe.

Okay, fine. I had to buy all new work clothes. Honestly, it was a little irritating, but it didn't upset me. What does upset me is that whoever is calling the clothing shots can't make up their mind about the little details.

First, we couldn't wear anything underneath the polos (like a long-sleeved shirt) or an undershirt (like a tank, if it would be seen) unless it was the same shade of blue. I don't know if anyone else has ever tried to find royal blue long sleeve t's, tanks, or thermals, but you'd probably be surprised how scarce the right shade of blue is. Finally, I find one at Walmart (blasphemy!) that is the correct color. I buy one. It gets freakin' cold in that store in the winter, so I knew one wouldn't be enough, but one was all I could buy. I figured they could deal with me stinky.

Then, they said we could wear white underneath (or long sleeves) but only if it was a turtleneck. I'm sorry, who wears turtlenecks under polos? Hell to the no.

We were also told that we could wear a light jacket (like a fleece or a button- or zip-up sweater) if it was, again, the same shade of blue. Again, try finding one of those (that isn't almost $30).

THEN, they change their minds again, and said that if we were something underneath our polos, it HAS to be white, and it doesn't have to be a turtleneck. Praise the LORD! I bought a couple of white thermals. Recently, I also found a really warm blue zip-up hoodie for under $15. Snagged that, and I've been wearing it for the last week or so. (Another girl in softlines has been wearing hers for about a month, and other people in the store have been wearing hoodies for that long too. This is important.)

A few days ago, someone decides to casually mention during our morning meeting that we're not supposed to wear anything with a hood. Excuse me? I honestly didn't see that in the printout they posted about the rules. There's a girl who works checkout who has spent the last 3 days watching her fingers turn blue because they won't let her wear a hoodie.

Oh, well, the morning crew who fills can wear hoodies, because they have to help unload the truck. But anyone who works on the floor cannot. So we all get to freeze.

And right now, it's done pissed me off. I don't care if the dress code is strict. That's fine. What I care about is that someone keeps changing his/her mind. I really don't know if it's corporate or if it's someone in-store. But I don't give a damn. MAKE UP YOUR DAMN MIND. I'm sick of spending money that I really can't spare buying clothes and wearing them for a week, and THEN being told that I can't wear them anymore. And having to spend more money on what has been deemed appropriate. Are you gonna change your mind about that next week?

I almost bought a pair of new shoes the other day, white tennis shoes, to wear. I'm glad I didn't drop the $20 on them, though, because I found out this week that, even though the new rules said black, white, OR brown, they're only letting us wear black. Let's disregard the fact that they think someone would wear solid brown shoes with black pants and a blue shirt. What's wrong with white? When did that change? They need to print out guidelines and give them to everybody. That way, we know the rules, and they can't keep changing their minds.

To whomever is making these stupid-ass decisions: Stop making me waste my money. And you know what else? If it's cold in the store, I'm going to wear my hoodie and you can shove your dress code up your ass. It's bull. And those of us that have to work the floor, we're getting damned sick of it.

The problem with dichotomies.

Today, a gentlemen came into the store. He had purchased a Christmas tree 2 weeks ago. It was quite obviously our tree. He wanted to exchange it for the exact same tree. When he had opened the tree recently to put it up, he found it to be defective. So he brought it back, wanting a different box holding, again, the same tree.

Our refund policy states that you must have a receipt for any return or exchange. Managers will, though, make exceptions if a customer used a rewards card (which allows the store to track the purchase) or if it was paid with credit card or check (again, allowing the store to track the purchase).

This gentlemen did not have a receipt. He did pay with a Sears credit card, but did not have the card with him. Our CSM called one of the managers, and they said he couldn't return it. He asked to speak with the manager. The manager called up and told the service desk to tell him he couldn't return it. They told her that he had requested to speak directly to the manager. So she paged the other one in the store and had him go up to the service desk to handle it. He, having already spoken with her on the matter, told the customer the same thing.

Needless to say, he got upset. With each time he was refused, he became more and more irate, finally leaving in a huff. He then came back in, with the tree in a cart, and rammed the cart so hard into the rows of carts by the door that it got wedged (and consequently, stuck, for quite some time) into the rows of carts. He yelled something akin to, "You can take your fucking tree and shove it up your ass!"

I have 2 problems with this experience.

First, with the customer. Who teaches people that it is okay to go into a public area and say things like that to a complete stranger? What kind of adult says something like that in a place where, more likely than not, there are children around? What does it prove to throw a temper tantrum in a store as if you are a toddler who didn't get his way? Why do people think it's okay to do this? I would be incredibly embarrassed if I was with that man, or anyone who did something similar in a store. Honestly, such violent anger does nothing, solved nothing, proves nothing, except for how unreasonable you are willing to become over some thing. Yes, it was expensive, and you didn't get your money's worth. But honestly? Employees are more willing to talk with you if you remain calm and reasonable.

My second problem with this is with the store. It was, in honesty, completely unfair to this man. Christmas trees, especially the ones I've seen in our store, are expensive. And it's not like this has never happened before. It was obviously our merchandise. He's not trying to rip us off, and if the tree was indeed defective, all we have to do is "damage" it and send it back. The store would be reimbursed and not lose money anyway. So what is the harm in letting him simply exchange it for another tree just like it on the counter? They've made exceptions for people before. So, I can understand the frustration of the gentlemen, but I also understand the managers' decision.

We have policies, and our policies are designed to protect the store's interest, not necessarily the customers. And these policies are designed by a corporation, one that doesn't have to handle day-to-day customer relations. Yes, it is wise to not allow someone to return an item without a receipt. Too many people try to return things to stores that they were not purchased from, hoping to rip the store off; or they may come in, grab something off a counter, and then try to return something they never purchased. So corporate has developed policies to protect those things, and many others, from happening.

Unfortunately for the man who came in the store this afternoon, today was not a day that the managers felt like bending the rules. It seems like nobody was a winner here. The man didn't get his tree, and, more than likely, the 'mart lost a customer (or several, considering he's probably telling this story now, too).

At least in this scenario, there wasn't really a "right" or a "wrong."

Black (and Blue) Friday

Well, I lived to tell the tale. And honestly, it wasn't as bad as I was dreading. Yes, people were lined up outside the store as early as 1 AM (we opened at 5). And people rushed in to get that unbeatable deal (*scoffs*) on electronics and toys. But they weren't as rude as I expected. Truthfully, I get bigger bitches in the store on any given Thursday than I encountered on Black Friday.

There was, however, the absolutely INSANE lady in jewelry. I had avoided jewelry all day because I knew it was going to be nuts. But, when others had to go on breaks, I had to help cover the department. This woman was YELLING. Not in an angry way, but in a way that made me think she was hard of hearing and didn't realize how loud she was speaking. She asked for a ring in our ad that was featured for $29.99. It was 1/10 of a carat diamond ring set in sterling silver. "Regular" price was $119.99.

(Now, this was YELLED with an I'm-an-old-lady-who's-not-from-Texas-but-sounds-like-a-Texan-hick accent.)

"Do you have any more of these hear $29.99 rings?"
"Yes, they're right over here in this case if you'd like to step around."
"How many do you have left?"
"I'll need to look and check."
[Pause, as I begin to unlock the first lock on the case.]
"How many of those rings do you have left?"
"I'm checking now, give me just a second."
[I have undone the first lock, and was removing the second and sliding open the door.]
"How many of those rings did you say you had left? I wanted to know how many you had left."
"I understand, ma'am. I'm trying to get into the case to see. You'll need to wait just a minute."
"Oh."
[I count the rings, find out there are 3 left in the case, and pull one out for her to look at. Then close and lock the case.]
"I wanted to see that ring."
"I know, I have one right here for you."
"Did you get one of those for me to look at?"
"Yes, it's right here."

She looks at the ring, tries it on, tells me 5 times how well it fits (even though I can see it sliding around in circle on her finger and the big gap at the bottom). She asks me a dozen times if it's the cheapest diamond we have. At first, I told her that the prices varied, and there may be something cheaper, but I'd have to scan the entire inventory to know for sure. Then when she kept asking, I finally told her that it was, because I knew that if I didn't, she'd keep bugging me and I just wanted her to go away. It got to the point that I just said yes to anything she asked to get her to shut up. And then I gave the ring to the other girl there to ring up and went on my lunch break.

Aside from that, though, there isn't anything crazy to report. I had to work from 4 AM to 2 PM and for the most part, I just wandered in circles, picking up slippers off the floor.

I can guarantee, however, that unless I find myself working in retail at this time next year, this will be first and last year that I will be in a store on Black Friday.

This is going to be EPIC.

In two days, I will experience my first real Black Friday. Yes, I worked at the 'mart last year, and I did have to work on Black Friday. But I only had to close (which was traumatic enough). This year, I'm going to be there when the store opens, and I plan on watching the absolute insanity as it happens.

This could be so awesome, or tragic.

Today's entry tastes a little bitter. But can you blame me?

Generally speaking, I like Christmas music. I like it all from secular to religious. True to that statement, I listen to and sing along with (occasssionally I may be caught dancing, too) the music when it plays at work. The Christmas music has been on for a couple of weeks now. For those of you who think that is too soon, I would like to point out that the first Christmas trees were going up in October, and we actually sold one during that same week.

Moving on.

A little while ago, I wrote about stupid song lyrics that I've heard while working. Well, the holiday season is no exception to that. Being the naturally cheery person that I am, I can put up with a lot of ridiculous if done in the spirit of Christmas. However, I would like to draw attention to one song: "The Joy of Christmas" by Marty Robbins. In one line of the song, he says, "People seem much friendlier this time of year." He then goes on to exclaim about the goodwill and merriment that commence as the mother of all holidays draws closer.

I call party foul, Mr. Robbins. You have obviously never worked in retail, and I would dare to venture have spent very little time even in a store around the holidays. I don't know who is "friendlier" but it sure ain't the people shopping at the 'mart.

(Maybe I'm working for the wrong chain? I'll bet they get real friendly down at the liquor store or the adult superstore. Hmmm . . . .)

It, quite simply, confounds me. Christmas is supposed to be about giving. And it's true, the people that come into the store are buying Christmas gifts. Things to be given away with the intent to make the receiver happy. But do people ever stop to wonder at the complete contradiction that the holiday shopping frenzy poses to that wonderful "Christmas spirit"? Okay, so we're out of the toy your child desperately wants for Christmas. That's no reason to piss and moan the people who work in the store and have no control over the inventory that gets sent in. You know what would make my holiday season? Someone, disappointed that we don't have what they want, saying, "It's alright. It's Christmas." And smiling and thanking the associate who dug through the entire stockroom looking for that one gift you wanted. Or who called four other areas stores trying to locate one for you. That's part of the Christmas spirit.

You know what happens instead? Scream. Rant. "You're ruining my kids' Christmas." No, you know what? YOU'RE ruining your kids Christmas by teaching them that the most important thing is getting everything you want, and not caring who you run over in the hunt for it. That if someone is wearing a nametag, it's okay to treat them like crap. That Christmas is about being a complete and utter asshole to people who spend their entire holiday season catering to your wants.

I've only worked in retail for two years, and I dread Thanksgiving. Simply because it is followed by Black Friday. I pray for this week to pass quickly. You know what I'm thankful for this year? That I was able to pay my bills. That my husband and I were able to save some money and not have to scrounge for change every month to eat. That we were able to afford to buy our families presents. That we survived another year, on our own.

And I was able to do all that because you, the American consumer, were nice enough to come into the store and yell at me for not having your shoe size in stock for two weeks in a row. Thanks, KMart shoppers.

This just in: Tomorrow--Tuesday, November 2--is midterm elections.

If that's news to you, then I'm afraid you need to visit the eye, ear, and nose doctor.

Get your eyes checked because you haven't noticed that everyone has re-landscaped their yards in election signs.
Make sure you don't have excess waxy buildup in your ears, because you've missed the debates, the youtube viral videos, the commercials, the radio interviews.
And check your nose, because if you can't smell the manure-slinging that's been happening across the country, you're . . . whatever the word is for someone who can't smell anything.

As a socially-concious America citizen, I've voted in almost every election (I think I missed a primary when I was in college) since I turned 18. In fact, you know what I did on my eighteenth birthday? I didn't go to the porn storn, I didn't buy cigarettes. I went and registered to vote. That's how crazy I am about it. I LOVE voting. I wish I could do it more often. I think it's exciting that I get to have an opinion on things that happen in our country. So many women in the world aren't allowed to have opinions about anything, even things that to me seem little--like what I want to wear that day. Voting is both an obligation and a privilege. To me, at least.

Tomorrow's elections are exciting, too, because for the first time in a long time, you can feel the tension and anticipation in the air. People CARE, when for so long, people were apathetic. But the last two presidential elections, and changes that have resulted because of them, have lit fires in people who were before content to watch the doings on television. Crucial things are hinging on tomorrow's voters. Power shifts, social change. Decisions are being, and will continue to be made, that may change the entire shape of our country and our government. To see citizens out there, being passionate about it for the first time in my life, is amazing. Voting matters again.

What's not to be excited about?

So who has two thumbs and will be first in line at her polling place tomorrow? THIS GIRL.

Screw the disclaimer.

You know how people, before saying something completely inappropriate, rude, offensive, etc., will preface it with, "I don't mean to sound 'xxxx', but . . . ." And then they inevitably follow that with something that sounds exactly like they said they didn't mean to sound? Yeah, not gonna happen here. I have some things to say, and frankly, they may offend you. They may sound rude. They may be un-PC. Screw it. I'm sick of tiptoeing around honesty because someone might not like what I'm about to say. If the right to free speech extends to religious extremists who want to protest outside military funerals because they hate homosexuals, then it certainly extends me the right to say the following:


Skinny jeans are taking over. I resisted. Oh, for a long time, did I resist the fad. And you know what broke me? It's not the jeans. It was the cute boots that you really have to wear skinny jeans with. Straight leg, boot cut, and flare jeans just don't tuck into those cute little booties the right way. I bought a pair of booties. And I want a pair of slouchy black knee-high boots that we sell at the 'mart. In order to wear those to their fashionista best, I needed skinny jeans. So I bought a cheap pair. And then my husband shrunk them in the wash (yet another reason I am in favor of traditional gender roles in my house--but that's a blog for another day). So now my skinny jeans are impossible-to-wear jeans.

Being a newcomer to this fad, I'm late catching up. I was resistant to skinny jeans, period. And then I break down and buy a pair, and it isn't as simple as I think it's going to be. I just wanted dark wash skinny jeans. But I had to jungle my way through stretch skinny jeans, regular jean skinny jeans, and then this strange thing dubbed a "jegging," which we will not even get in to. But I digress. Then, once I own these fad-ulous pants, I start noticing them everywhere. And it leads me to develop these:

Guidelines for Skinny Jeans
To the skinny jean maker:
Skinny jeans do not, in fact, make you skinnier. They do, however, look good on many body types. Because of this, I would ask that jeans manufacturers remember that all ladies, from a size 5 to a size 15 want to be fad-ulous. And that we aren't all built with the same proportions. For example:

Just because I can wear a size 5 jean does not mean that I want my calves to suffocate in your too-skinny-pants. Give my calves some wiggle room, please. (This also applies to cute-boot manufacturers. I wear a size 7. But my calves apparently need an 8 or a 9.)

Also, I'm short. Is it too much to ask that I don't have to roll the bottoms of my jeans (thus making it difficult to squeeze into my cute booties--the whole point of my purchasing skinny jeans) in order to not look like my ankles are totally bloated?

Let's talk about proportions. We have a line of jeans at the 'mart called "curvy fit," and they are designed for people like me. See, I have this problem that a lot of women I know have. My body is not perfectly proportioned. I have a butt, and compared to the size of my waist, my butt is big. I'm okay with this. I like having a little bit of curve. And these "curvy fit" jeans would be perfect--if they made a skinny pair. But they're all flare or bootcut. I need skinny jeans that love my ass as much as me. Cuz usually, I have to go up a size to accommodate my derriere, and then I'm left with a huge gap at the waist, which I will cinch with a belt, and THEN I'm left with gathered waistband jeans. See my problem?

I could go on, but I will refrain. Moving on
To the skinny-jean wearer:

Wear those jeans proudly at any size.

However, see that last note to the jean manufacturers about proportions? Yeah, this applies to you as well. I know it's a pain, but until things change, you may just have to buy a size bigger than you normally wear to look right in those jeans. Size is not a constant. I could go into 5 stores, try on 5 different brands of pants, and come out with 5 different sizes. Wear what looks GOOD, and screw the world that tells you that unless the label inside your pants says "3" or below, you're too fat. No one, including you, wants to see you muffin-topping over your skinny jeans because you wanted to buy a smaller size that what you needed to buy. You'd look a hellavu lot better if you just bought a bigger size. After all, when you have them on, I can't see what size they are anyway. I only see if they look right on you.

Finally, say no to crack. Buy a higher waist, wear a longer shirt. It's getting cold anyway, exposed skin is dangerous. And your exposed ass-crack in my store is incredibly dangerous. For both of us.

Oh, and on a side note, remember in the 90's and early 00's when everyone, everywhere was disdaining the "tapered" jean, and we all jumped on the "flare" and "wide-leg" wagon because tapered jeans were for women who just couldn't let the mullet die? What the hell do you think skinny jeans are, anyway?

Almost famous

So one of my (KMart-rant-free) posts has been picked up by a nifty website called Blogher. It's being run on the homepage--so cool--so you should go check it out. And check out some of their other stuff too. It's a pretty interesting site.

I'm almost famous! :D

Clicky, clicky:
Blogher

a question of mortality

I am being quite remiss in my posting these days. The only thing I can think of is that not as much is happening at work because, unfortunately, I've gotten used to the abnormalities of the general public. I did get a prank call a couple of weeks ago, but it's not exactly easily translated into writing. There are important sound effects involved, as well as some necessary dramatic pauses. I guess you'll just have to call me if you're that curious.

I've decided that since I'm fresh out of crazy KMart stories, I might as well write about other things in my life. After all, this is supposed to chronicle my struggles and triumphs as a working not-so-professional, not only my retail experiences.

Today is my class day. I teach a night class at the local community college, and because of that, it is one of my days off from KMart. Usually, I'm pretty darn lazy on Mondays. I have no good reason either, I just am. Today was no exception. Except that instead of reading Harry Potter and Twiligh fanfiction all day, I played with my dog, read a book, and watched "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind." I also spent some time simply sitting in my living room, on my comfy couch, with the dog stretched out in the sunlight that was spilling across the floor. I had a cup of tea, and simply sat there. It was calming. And then a bit depressing when I looked over toward one side of the room and saw the peace lily that I brought home from my grandfather's funeral. In front of it on the table, propped up, was the leaflet from his funeral and the only sympathy card I received (from my husband's mother).

This was the first major death I've ever experienced. I've had family members die, but none that I truly remembered. Most were great-great aunts or uncles. People whom my parents grieved, and I was sad for them, but not for my own loss.

I remember very clearly the morning I got the phone call. It was the summer, so my husband was 3.5 hours away at his summer job. It was the end of July, the days were hot and muggy, even at 6:00 in the morning. I often sleep with my phone next to the bed, and almost always during the summer. In case something tragic happens, or if my husband has a work-related accident. Very rarely do I get phone calls overnight.

I had to be at work at the 'mart that day. At 10:00 AM. I didn't set the alarm because my dog is good to get me up between 8:00 and 8:30 every day. I was jarred awake at just after 6:00 by my phone. I picked it up to squint at the screen. "Mom" it said, displaying her cell phone number. A feeling of panic settled in to my stomach. Was it Dad? One of my brothers? She's been known to call me early in the morning, but never that early. So I answered. All I could hear was her choking sobs. She managed to apologize for waking me, and tell me that my grandfather had passed away during the night. I couldn't say any more than, "Mom . . ." before she cut me off, telling me she had to call everyone else. Looking back, I should have offered to do it for her. But if she's anything like me (and we are very similar), she wanted to do the calling. It gave her a way to channel her grief. A mission, something to do so she could momentarily suspend the inevitable moment when she would have to face that her father had died.

I listened to the line cut off, dropping the phone to the floor. The second that suspended it in the air before it thunked on the blanket below is etched into my emotional memory. The silent house, the glimmer of morning peaking through the curtains, my dog watching me intently from the foot of the bed, my inability to take or expel breath. And in that split second, I moved from stunned silence into sobs that wracked my entire body.

I cried myself hoarse over the next two hours. I tried to call my husband every couple of minutes. I found out later his phone was dead. Between the 4 or 5 voicemails I left and the same number of text messages, he was probably panicking by the time he woke up and called me back.

For the 4 hours between that phone call and when I had to be at work, I fought with myself. I wanted to stay home, because I would break down into tears and dry heaves at a moment's notice, but I wanted to go to work because I didn't think I could stand to sit in my house, alone, and have nothing but the knowledge of his death rolling through my brain.

Since his funeral, I have found myself experiencing strange sets of emotions. As I said, this was the first time I've had to truly confront death, and my own ideas of mortality. I've learned about the grieving process in school, and the biggest thing that has always been stressed is that everyone grieves differently. But some days, I can't help but feel like I'm doing it wrong. There was never, ever a moment of anger or denial. Never any guilt or bargaining. Though I've cried, there was never a time, since I answered that phone, where I didn't accept that it had happened, and knew it was right.

It's been two months, and I keep waiting for it to happen. I broke down and cried a few days ago, staring at the damn lily. I cry mostly because I miss him. His jokes, his smile, the smell of his house, his stubbornness, his sailor's mouth. Him teaching me to drive a boat, to water ski, letting me drive his '58 Chevy. Picking raspberries with me, telling me to stay away from boys, leaving in the middle of Mass.

I think about him often. Everyday, probably. I'm scared to let that lily die. I worry that I haven't let myself grieve, even though it doesn't feel that way. I worry that because I didn't cry more, it means I cared less.

I question if our belief in an afterlife, in something beyond death, is real, or if it's only an idea. A cold comfort after a loss. That it's not for the dead, but for the living, who are left to remember the dead.

Happy 50th Post!

This is my 50th post! Neat.

I shall fill it, though shortly, with today's hijinks.

We got some new sweatpants in today. Now, I work solely (ha, ha) in shoes for now, but we share a stockroom with the rest of softlines. So Emma and I are working together today, and she's working through ladies freight. She pulls out these pants, and I kid you not, she could fit in one pant leg, and I could fit in the other. They were a 5X that would have held both us at one time. THEY WERE HUGE.

Then, about 2 hours later, we get a menswear call. It's some woman on the phone, asking if we carry men's slacks in a 62-inch waist.

It was bring your fat-pants day at the 'mart.

Going Commando

So, updates on my life.

1. I didn't get the library job. And honestly, I don't care. Sure, it would have been cool. But at this point, I pretty much expect rejection. Sad, but true.

2. My big bro got hitched. We partied.

3. (And this is the best one, the reason you read this blog) I was walking back from girls wear today, after tagging the clearance ballet and tap shoes. This guy stops me, who, judging from his appearance, seemed pretty normal. He asked me if we had any "low-cut men's underwear." I direct him to the men's underwear section, and point out where those would most likely be. He then decides to tell me that he is not currently wearing underwear, but he has a doctor's appointment in 20 minutes. He then laughs and mumbles "you know . . ." and trails off.

Sorry, no, I don't know. I don't care WHY you need to purchase underwear. In fact, if your reason is because you're currently wandering around my store free-balling, I'd rather not know. That definitely qualifies as things you are reasonably allowed to keep to yourself.

But that, my friends, is not the best part. Oh no. I get on our little headsets, and tell everyone what just happened, and THREE other people had the SAME GUY come up to them and ask them the SAME THING. Except with three of them, he followed it up with asked for a brown belt because he got kicked out of somewhere because his ass crack was hanging out. Because he doesn't wear underwear on a daily basis.

Here I thought I was special, but turns out he was telling any woman that walked past him. Security had to run him out of the store. HA.

Let's try this again?

I have another interview on Thursday. It's just an "initial interview," but it's for my old high school. They're looking for a librarian, and said they "prefer someone with library science degree, but will consider someone interested in pursuing the degree." Well, I'm already in the process of pursuing. I know it's what I want, and if I didn't find a reason to stay in Quincy in the next year, I was going to move to wherever I wanted to go to school. I've already started the application process for a couple of schools.

We'll see how this goes. If I did get this job, then I could get job experience while getting the degree--something that has been severely affecting my attempts to find a job now. So this could be really good. Plus, I love my old school. And, with my English masters, I feel like I could be incredibly versatile for them. If they needed me to teach overload classes, or tutor, or anything like that, I'm already qualified. And I can keep teaching my night classes at the local community college, so I'm keeping up with my teaching experience as well. This could be a really, really good opportunity for me.

Wish me luck.

Having a big-girl job is SO overrated . . .

I am now officially full-time in footwear at the 'mart until our regular lead gets back. It could be 3 months, it could be 6. Either way, I'm working between 32-40 hours each week. And I hate it.

It's not so depressing anymore. Truly. Now, it's just tiring and annoying. At least being a temp-full-timer, I have some benefits that I didn't before. Like every other weekend off. Plus, the extra $ will be nice, especially with the holidays and a bunch of weddings coming up.

Right now, I was going to blog about what's been new in my life lately. But frankly, I'm too tired. So I'm going to go make dinner, and then settle down later to watch some Glee.

I miss being a kid.

But then again, endings can be really, really hard.

My Grandpa died early Friday morning. On Tuesday, I looked at him for the last time, and yesterday, they dug a hole and put him in the ground. At least now my Grandma isn't alone in the cemetery.

Sometimes, beginnings are just as hard as endings.

Thursday I got a phone call around 6:00 PM. I didn't have my phone on me, and it wasn't until two hours later that I checked and saw I had a message. It was about the job. The director of the department hiring had left me message, asking me to call him back.

I have to admit, I got a little excited. My figuring was that if it was for a follow-up interview, he would have mentioned times, etc. If it was to tell me I didn't get the job, well, I figured it would have been less messy to simply leave a voicemail.

I called him back the next morning. And . . . .

I didn't get it.

I remained calm, I was polite. And he kept jabbering on about why, and explaining that I was the second choice--but a really, really close one.

So I got off the phone. I called my husband, and I lost it. Blubbering all over the place. I stopped, he had to go back to work. So then I called my Mom. And I lost it again. After talking with her for a while, I calmed down. I figured I was good to call my Dad. As soon as he got halfway through, "Oh sweetheart, I'm so sorry . . ." I was balling like a baby again.

Truth be told, I was little annoyed at myself for getting so emotional. But I really, REALLY wanted this job. Hardcore.

So then I went and spent the weekend at a spa in Wisconsin (Bachelorette Party). I got a mani/pedi and went dancing. And now, I'm okay with it. I'm not happy about it. I'm still a little down. But I've accepted it and am looking to the future.

My boss at the 'mart informed me this week that one of the department leads (shoes) has to take a medical leave for 3-6 months and they want me to temporarily fill her position. I took it. It's full-time. As much as I hate going to work some days, we need it. Badly. So I'm going to suck it up.

Hubby and I made a decision, though. He's signed his contract for next year. This fall, I'm applying to MLIS programs. And WHEN I get accepted, we're moving to wherever that happens to be.

I'm thinking east coast.

Not-so-fast food

Today's entry is not about KMart. Enjoy, regardless.

On Mondays and Wednesday when I teach classes in the evenings, I am likely to stop by one of the fast-food places near my house to grab a quick bite before heading out of town.

Today, I went to McDonalds. Seeing how long the drive through line was, and wanting to make sure my ice/sweet tea ratio was acceptable, I decided to go inside and order. Mistake #1.

The girl taking orders was training. Of course, she was training without a trainer. So go to order. I ask for, and I quote, "I'd like a McDouble, with just ketchup on it. And a medium fry and large soft drink."

She starts punching buttons. After about 15-20 seconds, she looks at me and says, "You want what kind of McDouble?"

So I repeat. She punches a bunch more buttons. Then goes and asks the woman making smoothies to "come over here when you're done." So I have to wait for someone in the drive-through to get their strawberry-banana smoothie before Clueless can punch in "McDouble only ketchup."

Smoothie lady comes over, and does it for her. Asking all sorts of questions about substitutions and crap, and I'm like, "I don't want to substitute anything. I just want a McDouble with only ketchup." So she goes, "Oh, okay," and Smoothie goes "click, click, click" and orders me my damn McDouble. So then Clueless looks at me and says, "And you wanted what else?"

I was a little irritated at this point, because I needed to get driving. But I answer politely that I want "a medium fry and a large soft drink."

She punches about 20 buttons, gives me my total, I swipe the debit card, and I'm thinking, we're on our way. So I step back so she can help the next person. She turns and looks at me and says, "Did you want your sundae plain?"

I must have looked at her like she had a second head growing out of her abdomen or something, because I was like, "What foxtrottin' sundae?" Instead, I said, "I didn't order a sundae."

She looked like she was about to cry and asks again what I ordered. So I walk over and say slowly, "A McDouble, a medium fry, and a large soft drink."

Somehow, "Large Soft Drink," got translated into, "Plain Sundae." Thank Thor they were the same price. I figuered she would just hand me a cup. Oh no, she has to re-ring "Large Soft Drink" and I was gonna be t'd off if she tried to make me pay. Thankfully, she didn't. And by the time I filled up my cup with just the right amout of ice and sweet tea, my McDouble with only ketchup and the fries were ready to go.

She apologized for messing up the order, said that it was her first day training. After that, I felt a little bad for her, because she was alone at the registers, and it was 5:00. She was about to have a really, really bad first day. I may have gotten irritated, but I'm a helluva lot nicer than most people, especially hungry ones with screaming children, are.

I thought I was running late, only too find out I've been early my entire life.

It's amazing what hours of being alone with no one but your chihuahua to give you funny looks when you talk will do for your perspective.

Well, that and Keira Knightley movies.

My blog began with a very specific mission: to serve as an outlet for all the frustrations and disappointments I keep finding in my life. It was a way to deal with everything going wrong, a way to make me laugh when shit hit the fan. After starting it, all the crappiness turned into stories to write, pieces of my life to share with friends and strangers, and a different way to view things: a new perspective so that I could remind myself that in 5, 10, 20, years, I'll look back on this time and laugh, cry, and hopefully, be thankful that it happened.

My first entry, I wrote about never having a plan for after college. And the blog has morphed a bit into the kinds of things that you have to face in the "real" world that college never prepared me for. College never prepared me for not using my degree. It didn't prepare me for feeling like I've failed every time I see someone I used to know at KMart and feeling like I have to explain the "I'm here to help you!" nametag on my chest. It didn't prepare me for having to force a smile on my face and pretend like I don't feel like the biggest loser of all time. Like it doesn't bother me that I can't find a real job.

College prepared me to succeed. Everyone I've ever known, as a friend or mentor, has told me that I can do anything I want. That if I just try hard enough, I'll be successful. But it doesn't really work that way, does it? I've always been prepared for success. No one sits you down and says, "Sometimes, you're going to try really hard, and you're going to want something more than you've ever wanted anything else in your life, and you're not going to get it. Sometimes, you're going to fail. You're going to fail in small ways, but you're also going to fail in great, big, embarrassingly, heart-breaking messy ways. And it's okay."

So, I love Keira Knightley. I think I could be gay for her. Honestly. She's my hero. And I'll watch almost anything that has her name attached to it. I've watched Pride and Prejudice a dozen times (and I don't even really LIKE that adaptation. But it's Keira Knightely), Pirates of the Carribean twice as many times as that. And The Duchess a handful of times. And there's this line in The Duchess, where Georgiana (Knightley's character) says, "I fear I've done some things in life too early and others too late."

That's how I feel right now. All my life I felt like I was middle-aged. I've always been so level-headed. Always determined to do what's "right," even though I've come to realize that "right" can be a relative term.

I grew up early, by complete choice. I spent my entire youth longing for adulthood. And now that I'm here, I am, quite simply, afraid that I did it too early. That I made adult decisions before I was really ready to make them. Decisions that I can't undo. And I'm wondering if now, when I'm twenty-five and just now spending this time pondering the nature of the universe and meaning of my life--I wonder if I'm doing it too late.


*Note*
Check out the syndication of this post on BlogHer.

Screw you, fashion police.

I wish KMart had one of those dress codes that some other retailers have--the ones that say you can wear whatever you want, as long as it was purchased in the store. Because if they did, I would buy out the sarcastic graphic tees and wear nothing but tshirts with sayings like:

"I can only please one person a day. Today isn't your day. Tomorrow doesn't look too good either."
"Please don't interrupt me while I'm ignoring you."
"You can't be ugly and stupid. You have to pick one."
"It's all fun and games until someone loses a nut."
"Can we skip to the part where I care?"
"To all the haters: Thanks for the love."
"Silence! I keel you!" (With a picture of Achmed, the dead terrorist)
"FBI: Female Body Inspector" (Seriously, what would you do if you saw a chick wearing that?)
"What Recession?" (with Stewie from Family Guy pimped out)

And while we're talking about graphic t's at the 'mart, can we mention the totally racist shirt that has a picture of an ape wearing a huge chain with a dollar sign, one of the knuckle-ring things, a basketball jersey, and is spinning records? Srsly?

A bit of an epiphany.

The interview went well. I should hear in a week or so about any offers, follow-ups, or bitter disappointments. I really, really want this job, and not just for the money, or to get out of KMart.

This is the first time I remember truly being excited about a job. In my first blog post, I mentioned that I had never made a plan for my life after college. I had never given thought to what I wanted to do once I got my degree. I wondered about teaching, and though I do enjoy it, I feel like it's not where I want to be in my life right now.

For personal reasons, I cannot go back to school for a Library Science degree right now either, even though I think that may be where I really want to end up--working in a library, that is.

So for now, I have to consider my strengths, experience, and wants, and make something out of them. What I discovered as I was freelancing for this office for the past few months, was that I absolutely loved it. I really do.

So when they told me they had a full-time position opening, I was excited. For one of the first times in my life, I was passionate about a job or career, and one that was realistic for me to pursue at this moment.

So if I don't get the job, I'm going to be disappointed for a lot of reasons. One, because I want to get out of KMart. Two, because the pay raise/benefits would help my husband and me out immensely. Three, because I already knew all but 2 of the 8 people involved in the interview process. They know that I'm intelligent, efficient, and quick to learn. And four, and probably most importantly, I'll have a lost an opportunity that I really, really wanted.

All the other jobs I've applied for were merely ones to get me on a full-time schedule, and out of KMart. And to get a bigger paycheck. This one would actually offer some personal satisfication, in addition to those things.

And that's something, I now realize, that I've been desperately searching for since leaving school.

About damn time . . .

I feel like I never have anything to write about here anymore. The happenings at the 'mart have settled into a aggravating routine. I'm starting to recognize customers. I've officially been there too long.

Which is why there could be no better time for me to get AN INTERVIEW! Woo-hoo! I'm interviewing for a lead writer/editor position in a communications office. I already know most of the people who will be interviewing me, and a lot of others in the administration, so my foot's way in the door.

Here's hoping I don't royally bomb.

Wednesday, July 7th. 1 PM.
Wish me luck.

Hodge-podge

Yesterday was my first day back at the 'mart in a week. An entire week off--only 2 days of which I had actually requested (well, and the days of my summer classes). And boy let me tell you, it did not begin well.

I couldn't sleep the night before. Then my dog woke me at 6 AM, vomiting. That says "Mornin' Ma!" like nothing else will. Then I had to go to the store to buy him different food, because he wouldn't eat the food he had (and hadn't for about 3 days--hence the getting sick). I got to the store, realized I had forgotten my wallet (that's what I get for bouncing between handbags). So I drove home, back to the store, and home again. Fed him, wouldn't eat it. Tried to go back to sleep, couldn't. Tried to get online to pay some bills, internet wouldn't work. And to top it off, I had to go to work.

Hubby texted me to say, 'Hope your days gets better.' Oh, right, forgot to mention that it was my 3-year wedding anniversary, and the husband is out of town. FUN.

Anyway, I snort at above-mentioned text. I'm sorry, work at KMart isn't exactly high on the things-that-make-Holly's-day-better list. In fact, it's not even on the same continent as the list. Perhaps it's not even on the same planet.

It was hot, because the powers that be at the 'mart won't replace the outdated, overworked AC. I literally stood in jewelry (practically stationery) for 45 minutes and was dripping in sweat. That is stupid. I also watched another employee bring in a doctor's note saying that she couldn't work in the conditions at the store because it was making her, quite literally, sick. It's so stupid.

I went home, ate some dinner, fed my dog (who ate! YAY!) and watched tv all night. I also got to talk to the absent husband for longer than normal, which was nice.

Update on the job: no update. They've received all my crap, so hopefully I'll hear from them soon.

Peace out, chillins.

Say a Little Prayer for You (and Me!)

Just found out about a new job opening yesterday. It sounds like a great opportunity. Full-time, benefits. It's even in my field--kind of. It's a full-time writing position with a college communication's office. I've been freelancing for them for the last couple of months, so here's hoping I've got a foot soundly planted in the door.

Fingers crossed, prayers to whatever gods you hold dear.

Pass the salt, please.

Last night, I had to close, and man, was it eventful. But aside from the crazies that are always coming in, I'm going to sound off a bit about my unsatisfied self.

Corporate just took over scheduling around, 3 or 4 weeks ago. Basically, now my manager puts my availability in the computer, along with my productivity ranking, and the computer spits out a schedule. This doesn't work for several reasons. Mostly, it understaffs the stores. Now, most of my fellow soft-liners and I have decided that corporate took over scheduling in order to cut operating costs. Less people on the clock, more money in the pocket of the 'mart. The problem, is that now, we're not getting our work done.

Last night, for example. Usually, there are at least 3, sometimes 4 people, in softlines each night, and at least 2 of them stay until 10 PM when the store closes. Last night, there were 2 of us, and Keri (name changed), the other girl working with me, was closing manager. So not only did she have to straighten ladieswear, but she also had to answer all the management calls and walk around the store to make sure everyone else was getting their shit done. I was also informed when I came in that our District Manager was coming in the next morning, which meant everything had to look damn near perfect.

Now, I'll confess something here. It didn't look anywhere near perfect. In fact, it looked like someone kinda messed with it to give it the appearance of nice, but didn't actually straighten very well. Cuz that exactly what I did. When I have to put out drops for a total of 2 hours of my 5-hour shift, that leaves me with about 2.5 to actually straighten, once you factor in having to help customers in jewelry, layaway, and the fastest break known to man. So, in that 2.5 hours (which, really, was probably less) I straightened menswear, boyswear, girlswear, infants, fashion accessories, hosiery, cosmetics, shoes, and part of swimwear. Keri didn't get finished with ladieswear.

So yeah, DM was in this morning and probably gave my boss a talkin-to for the store looking like poo, but if anyone says anything to me, I might lose my composure. I've been very good about not losing it at work, but one reprimand for not doing my job well enough, and I'll smash their damn computer and tell them to schedule some more foxtrottin' people if they want the store to look nice. 2 people to straighten over half the store in under 3 hours? I don't think so.

I would like to clarify, that I'm not upset about the store not looking nice. Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn. I'm not on the KMart Career Path, so I'm not looking to show that I take pride in my store. But I do take pride in performing the duties of my job well. I also take pride in not stressing out. And they're doing nothing but causing their employees, and the managers, stress, because somehow, they expect the store to continue to operate at its normal level with half the workforce on the clock.

I don't like being rushed, and I don't like leaving parts of my job unfinished. And I really don't like people who ask me one question, but expect me to understand a meaning that they didn't state.

Like this lady:
She comes up to my while I'm working, tells me that she's just changed to a new billfold [and I care WHY?] and doesn't have the receipt for a shirt [which she described in great detail--again, unimportant] she recently bought. Wanted to know if she could return it. I told her we will not accept any returns without a receipt. She responds, very condescendingly, "I know that, honey. I just don't have it on me." [You didn't tell me you didn't have ON YOU, you told me you didn't have it, period. "I don't have my receipt" to me means, "I don't have my receipt" not "I don't have my receipt on me right this millisecond"] I tell her she has 30 days from the date of purchase to return the item with receipt. She leaves.

I HATE BEING CALLED HONEY. I may look younger than you (she looked to be about her late 30's or so), but I'm not a child. And I am certainly not YOUR child. So don't fucking call me HONEY. You don't know me from Eve, you do not get to use terms of endearment on me. Also, another note, I hate this just as much when I'm at a restaurant and the waitress calls me any form of honey, dear, sweetie, anything. Unprofessional, rude, and inappropriate. If you must call me something, call me ma'am. Or simply making eye contact and saying, "And what can I get for you?" is better.

Man, I'm salty today.

Really? I mean, no, like . . . really?

Sooooo . . . this chick came to layaway yesterday. Said she wanted to pick up her layaway. I asked for her original receipt. She didn't have it. I asked for her ID, she tried to hand me her debit card.

"No, ma'am, I need to see an ID. Like a driver's license. Something with a photo, and your address or phone number."
"You're going to make me go all the way back to my car and get my ID?"
"I'm afraid so. We can't let you pick up a layaway without ID. We have to verify that you are who you say you are, and that it is your name on the layaway account."
[rolls her eyes]
"Okay, well, wait right her for me then."
[Where the hell else am I gonna go?]

While she was gone, another person came over and put something on layaway. It was easy. Then she comes back.

She hands me her license.
"I hope that's going to be okay, because it's the only thing I have."
[gives me a dirty look]
[Did she miss that part of the conversation earlier? Where I specifically asked for her license? I guess so.]
So I process her payment. She's paying with her debit card. When you swipe any card at KMart, they ask you first for your zip code. She starts to put in her PIN, but catches it.
"Oh, it wants my zip code first."
"Just push the clear button on the keypad."
"There is no clear button."
"Yes, down next to the numbers on the keypad. There's a little yellow button that says clear. Just press it."
[she does]
"Now, my zip code first?"
"Yes."
She puts in 4 digits and pushes enter. It goes back to the same screen. I look down at the machine and tell her she has to enter her ZIP CODE.
"I did."
"Okay, well, try it again."
She puts in "6343" and pushes enter.
"No, ma'am, it needs to be your 5-digit ZIP CODE."
"I am putting in my zip code!"
"No, you're only entering 4 numbers. Your zip code is 5 numbers long."
"Mine isn't."
"Yes, it is. It has to be."
"Well, mine's never been 5 digits. It's 6343."
"There has to be a 5th digit. Is it 63435? Or 63436?"
"No, it's always been just the 4 numbers."
"All zip codes are 5 digits. There is no such thing as a 4-digit postal code."
"Well, mine is."
[I notice she has her driver's license still in her hand.]
"Will you check your license please? It probably says on that."
She looks, and then goes, "Oh! Ha!" and puts in her 5-digit zip code.

She procedes through entering her PIN number without incident. Then it asks if she wants cash back. She just stood there, looking at the screen.
"It's asking if you want cash back, ma'am."
"I don't."
"Then push the 'no' button on the screen."
[she looks down at the key pad]
"It's on the screen. You just tap the button on the screen that says no."

She pushes the "other button," which then prompts her to enter the amount she wants. She starts to put in her bloody zip code again and I tell her to stop.
"You need to push cancel, or you're going to get cash back."
"I told you I didn't want cash back."
"I know, but you pushed the 'other' button to tell it that you did, and now it's asking what amount you want. Just push cancel, and we'll start the transaction over."
She pushes cancel, reslides her card. It skips the zip code since she already entered it. She puts in her PIN. Then we get back to the cash back screen.
"Now, push the 'no button on the screen."
"There isn't one."
"Not down on the keypad, on the screen showing you the prompts. There is a 'no button' on your left, at the bottom."
"There isn't one there!"
I reach over the counter and push it for her.
"Well, that wasn't there the first time."
[HUH?]
I ask her to approve the amount. Once it's all said and done, she walks away, mumbling about how much she hates those damn machines, they never do anything right, it's too confusing.

What is so hard about looking at a screen, following the directions it gives you, selecting the correct numbers/answers as they apply to you, and knowing your own mother-loving zip code?

Can I go back on vacation, please?

Tuesday, an old man who could barely hear me hugged me after I helped him find a shirt.

Yesterday, a cross-eyed woman wandered in to my stockroom, looking for the clearance underwear.

Thus go my first 2 days back at work after vacation. Color me surprised.

That don't mean you KNOW me.

I had my employment review yesterday. To sum:

I'm awesome, but I need to smile more and be more approachable.
But I'm still pretty awesome.


If you're surprised by this, you really don't know me at all.

Too Much (clap clap) Time on My Hands

In all of my time spent at KMart, I've become less and less concerned with appearing to be sane while at work.

Point: I sing along to the radio and dance around the aisles while I'm filling.

Now, I have come to recognize certain songs, and have had ample "down-time" (my brain kind of goes on autopilot) to really listen to the lyrics. Some of these songs, I have never heard before in my life. Others, I listened to when I was young, or I recognize from listening to 80's radio (Oh, the 80's, how I love thee). Some of these lyrics--they are dumb. Just plain dumb. Some are crazy. 2 points:

"Been around the world and I, I, I, I can't find my baby. I don't know when, I don't know why, why he's gone away, and I don't know where he can be. My baby."

First of all lady, maybe he left because you emasculate him by constantly calling him "baby." Secondly, you sound like a crazy-stalker-bitch. Been around the world? You traveled AROUND THE WORLD looking for someone, and you're surprised you can't find him. I'd have done changed my name (possibly my sex) and moved to the Bermuda Triangle. Crazy bitch.

"I want to love you like Romeo and Juliet."

Seriously? Why in the world do people think that big, big lust-at-first-suicide is such a great love story? You want to love me like Romeo and Juliet. Let's see, you want to abandon a woman who loves you at first lust for another girl. Then, when you parents cry, "No! No! No!" You, rather than manning up and telling them to stick it, decide to off yourself? What does that prove? Only that William Shakespeare writes the worst endings ever. And now you've decided to immortalize this shit-stain on the world's underpants. Good job.

C'est la KMart.

Shop-Your-Way Rewards--FOR FEET ONLY.

A full weekend (and then some) of work amounts to a lot of ridiculousness.

Friday, a woman got snippy with me because I wouldn't tell her what piece of jewelry to buy for a 16-year-old's birthday--one she didn't even know. She told me it was "my job, isn't it?"
To pick out jewelry for strangers completely unknown to the stranger shopping in my store? No, can't say that's in the job description.

Saturday, I had to stay late because people started flagging me down in the infants section (it started as I was on my way to the timeclock to punch out) and kept asking for infant high chairs. Meanwhile, the other girl in the department was busy telling other employees a story about the crazy (seriously, though, he was freakin' nuts) guy who called the store looking for "1960's style, elastic-ankle swim trunks." WTH?

Today, I received a history/sociology/psychology/medical lesson from a man in shoes, all prompted by the fact that his 90-year-old mother liked a pair of shoes in the ad that she thought was a closed-toed dress shoe, but turned out to be an open-toed sandal. And also came in coral, not red. Oh, and we didn't carry it in a wide. And his point came down to this: Women are stupid because they think that shoes are meant to decorate, rather than protect (hence why we don't want an open-toed sandal). And, we're also subconsciously "rewarding" our feet for never changing size (once we reach maturity) by purchasing them more "decorations" than we deign to put on the rest of our bodies--which dare to fluctuate with age, diet, physical activity, and other biological factors.
Damn you, body, damn you, for not being like my feet. As punishment, you shall have to suffer in old, worn out, ill-fitting clothes while you jealously watch me buy pair after pair of new, shiny, perfectly-fitting shoes. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.

This is not a joke.

I chased down a shoplifter today.

Yes. That's right.

We had her detained, the LP manager stepped out of the office, and she took off. And yours truly chased her down.

Most. Exciting. Day. EVER.

Been around the world and found that only stupid people are breeding.

"Excuse me, where is your maternity section?"

"Oh, we've stopped carrying maternity clothes."

"What?"

"Yes, I'm very sorry, but we discontinued all of our maternity clothing last fall."

(huff)

(pause)

"What, do you think people are just going to stop getting pregnant?"

Real response: "I'm very sorry."
What I wanted to say: "Actually, yes. KMart has started this initiative, we're hoping it will catch on soon. In an effort to deter women from getting knocked up, we've stopped carrying clothing to accommodate them. We're hoping it will draw attention to the plight of all the orphans of the world, and encourage people to adopt children who need a loving home, rather than continue to overpopulate the earth."

Because clearly, the execs of Sears Holdings think that not carrying maternity clothes means people won't get pregnant. What kind of idiot question was that?

Inventory: KMart employee finds new definition of hell

Today we did inventory.

I now have new motivation to be a good person and try to get to heaven. Because I found out today what's in store for me in hell. No fiery pits, no Devil chuckling meniacly. Oh no. It's flourescent lights and never-ending little slips of paper demanding a verification count, which will never agree with the listed number.

My brain hurts, and I'm really, really hoping I don't fall asleep on the drive home from class tonight.

Oh, hell would also contain no coffee.

Pregnant Women

A woman stopped me in shoes today to ask me if we carried maternity clothes. We don't. So I told her. This whole exchange was completely harmless, except that she stood there caressing her baby bump like she was polishing the hardwood floors.

I get it. Pregnant women touch their stomachs. From what I've heard (since I have no personal experience myself), it's mostly a subconscious thing. Honestly, it didn't bother me at all. I just noticed, and it made me think of this:

When your teachers told you there was no such thing as a stupid question, they lied.

Yesterday was a day for the ridiculous at the 'mart. No one got in my face, no one called anyone any names, but I got asked really, really strange questions.

#1
C: Is there anyway I can get an itemized list of today's purchases?
Me: Um, your receipt should come out in just a second.
C: Is that itemized?

#2
C: I'm looking for a bassinet, but I didn't see any over in the infants' section.
Me: We only carry one style . . . (Walk her over to infants, show her bassinet)
C: Oh, no. I'm looking for, you know, like, a Moses basket? You know what I'm talking about?
My head: You want to float your infant down a river in a reed basket? WTF?
Me: Oh, sorry. We don't carry anything like that.
My head: You could go over to domestics and just buy a basket. Put a nice fluffy pillow inside.

#3 (phone call)
C: I'm calling about exercise shoes. Do you carry those?
Me: I'm sorry, could you be more specific?
C: I want those exercise shoes. The ones that help you get fit.
My head: Don't all sneakers, when employed during exercise, assist you in getting fit?
(Went on to describe one brand of shoe, like those new Sketchers that are supposed to help your posture.)


There were more, but I'm blanking. Those are definitely the highlights though.

Moses basket. *snorts*

But I Digress.

It has been an inexcusably long time since I have regailed you with my lively stories. My apologies. My only excuse is that I had about 4-5 days in a row off, so I had nothing to write about, and then I've been working close to the last two weeks solid, so I've had zero time to write.

Let's see, there's all sorts of little nuggets from the 'mart I could report, but if you'll excuse this little foray into self-examination, I think I'll skip the majority of them. I'm noticing that my life is being more and more consumed by stories of KMart, and I don't want that to happen. It seems like all I do is say things like, "So the other day at KMart . . ." and I refuse to let this job--this excuse for a paycheck--seep into my life and become an acceptable part of it.

On the other side of my life, the part that doesn't revolve around white collared shirts and being infuriatingly chipper no matter what, I'm doing okay. I'm still looking for jobs, and I'm still a little depressed every now and then that nothing's happening on that front, but there's a lot of good in my life right now. Of course, the majority of my free time has been consumed lately with devouring Charlaine Harris' southern vampire series. (Eric--yummy).

What I really need to be doing is writing my play. I've redone Act I, and I need to rewrite Act II so we can workshop it before the end of the semester. Hopefully I'll light a literary fire under my own ass and pen something this week. At least a scene. Maybe more. It's the tricky unwinding-messy-plot point, though, so it's difficult. I'm also worried it won't be long enough, but we'll see on that I guess. Only way to tell is to start writing. I'm hoping that if they do indeed produce it, as the current plan is, that it will get accepted into at least the regional competition. This could be the door that I need to get through to do something besides tell stories about KMart. Once this one is finished, I have the bare bones of a comedy I want to start. Hopefully my humor, which tends to go over the heads of my esteemed coworkers, will translate into an intelligent, witty play.

One can dream. And since the blog is supposed to chronicle my journey through my mundane job, I will offer this bit of funny: (a piece of flair I found on Facebook) "Jesus Saves [when he shops at KMart]."

Deja Vu

The cat urine lady came back and made a layaway payment. I had to go to the bath and body section after she left and smell all the lotions just to get the stench out of my nose and keep me from gagging.

Do you wash your clothes in Windex? Cuz I can see myself in your pants.

Let's be honest here, KMart is no high-end store. We sell cheap crap. Not necessarily bad, because people tend to "need" a lot of cheap crap to stuff their lives full. But anyway, we're a supermarket. Okay? Our clothes are going to fall apart sooner rather than later, and, in the case of my husband, our jeans are going to shrink to resemble capris after one washing.

So, Mr. I-don't-know-what-size-jeans-I-wear, I do not have a tape measure. We are not a men's clothing store. I will not look like I'm assaulting you on the security cameras because you "don't want to go through all the trouble" of trying pants on in the fitting room. I'm very sorry that you are unaware of what size pants you wear, perhaps you could consider purchasing the same size you are currently wearing, as they appear to fit you quite well. Don't know what size those are? Again, I direct you to the fitting rooms.

Please do not stand there and act surprised that a part-time filler in KMART does not carry a tape measure around in order to assist fine, redneck gentlemen like yourself to determine what size pants to wear. If you don't want to try them on, and don't want to buy them unless you know they're going to fit, I'd say you are SOL.

Enjoy your day and thanks for shopping at KMart.

Cell Phone Etiquette

Two days ago. Jewelry department. This happened:

A woman, browsing some of the cases. I was with another customer, so as soon as I was done with her, I went over to the woman waiting. She has her cell phone plastered to her ear, but she is not talking, so I assume that she may be on hold. I ask quietly, but loud enough for her to hear, "Can I help you with anything?"

She responds by giving me an exasperated face, and holding her finger up (you know, when you hold up 1 finger to indicate 'hold on just a minute'--yeah, that one) which kind of irritates me. If you're in my department (one specifically, where all the merchandise is in locked cases) and I ask if you need to help, get off your damn phone. Anyway. I stand there, for almost a full five minutes--do you realize how long that really is? It's ridiculous.--and after said 5 minutes, she hangs up, turns to me and says, "No thanks. I'm just browsing."

I want 5 minutes of my life back, please. I had other stuff I could have been doing instead of pretending not to listen to one-half of your unnecessary phone conversation.

You Can't Fix Stupid: Interactive Post

Okay, friendly readers, I'm inviting your enthusiastic participation in this entry. I'm holding a contest/poll so to speak. Today, I had several customers who seemed to want to compete for ask-Holly-the-stupidest-question-ever award. So, I'm going to brainstorm the stupidest questions I can remember being asked while working at the 'mart, and you are invited to add your own stupid questions (pertaining to whatever your line of work is) in the comments. Then, whoever was asked the stupidest question wins!

I'll begin.

Exhibit A: Today: A woman picks up 3 sweaters, all of which are on clearance. Two of them were originally priced $19.99, and are clearanced at $4.99. The other is oringinally priced $29.99 and is clearanced at $11.99. They're all on the same table. She gets to the checkouts and I get called up there because she wants to know why I won't give her all three sweaters for $4.99. Because they're different prices, I tell her. "But they were on the same table. Why are their clearance prices different?" . . . "Because their original prices are different." . . . "But they were on the same table!"
Her logic makes no sense to me.

Exhibit B: Today: (A woman in jewelry) "I was just at WalMart looking for baby earrings and they said they didn't carry them because they'd been banned in the state of Illinois. Do you guys carry any?" --I can find no proof that they have been banned, but the stupidity of her question still remains.

Exhibit C: A while ago: You may remember this one from an earlier post: "I'm looking for a size 3 shoe for a boy, and I found this 13. Are they the same size?"

Exhibit D: This happens all the time: "This sign says that clearance items are an additional 40% off already reduced items, so does that mean that the price marked is the price, or that I can take an extra 40% off the clearance price?"

Do these people hear themselves?

Okay, now, please post yours and we can all feel intelligent and superior to everyone else.

I really hate money.

I worked on checkout the last couple days. They were short and I wanted to extra hours, so I volunteered to cover a shift or two. Working the floor seems to be much more plentiful in "OH MY GOD" moments, but Checkout had its perks too.

For example, yesterday, a man came through my line and purchased condoms, Maxim, and various food items. And shortly after that, I sold KY Intense to an older couple, all while making innocent small talk.

I also had my first experience with someone getting angry at me for offering him a rewards card. The 'mart just started this program, actually a couple of months ago, much like a County Market Max card, or like the Shopko rewards program. We scan the card when they come through, and they earn 1% back for everything they purchase, and can also win instant prizes. Now, I realize that 1% is actually pretty pitiful--you have to spend $1000 to earn $10. But, it's still not hurting you to sign up, unless you don't want to give out your personal information, which is completely understandable.

Now, when working checkout, we are required to ask everyone if they have a rewards card, and if not, ask them to sign up for the program (and we are required to get 10% of the people that come through our lane signed up). Most people offer a polite, yet disinterested "no," or ask more about the program and then eventually sign up. But not this guy. I asked if they had a card, his wife said no, and that she hadn't even heard of the program. So I explained the basics to her. She turned to her husband and asked if he wanted to sign up, and he yelled, "WHAT?" So I repeated the benefits of the program to him. Then he looked at me, honestly angry and said, "One percent back? That's not worth a damn. My god damn time is worth more than that."

I said they were in no obligation to sign up, and if they changed their minds, they could always enroll at a later date. He proceeded to mutter under his breath, but still loud enough for me to hear, about how stupid it was, and not worth it, and ridiculous and just kept repeating, "My time is worth more than that."

I'm not quite sure what he meant by that, either. Unless he was trying to say that it wasn't worth his time to sign up for such pitiful savings, but it seriously takes less than a minute because I just type it all into the computer and skip the paper application.

But whatever. Other people get mad at me because they misread signs and are getting charged more than they want to be, and he gets mad because the store won't give him back more free money than he thinks his time is worth.

I hate money. I hate not having it, I hate fighting with people over it. I hate the stress it causes. We should just switch back to a barter system. I have a lot of useless crap I could exchange for other useless crap.

And now, our feature presentation.

Okay, now that I've at least slightly recovered from my emotional breakdown, I'll get back to the reason anyone reads this: the real stories of working in retail.

A woman called my boss a bitch, a fuckin' ho, and told her not to "fuckin talk to my son." And then she yelled loudly so anyone in range could hear (not that there was, because, really, who goes to KMart?) that she wasn't giving us "another damn dime," and she was "fucking going to Walmart." And all in front of her two young sons, one a toddler, and another who looked to be around 7 or 8.

We both smiled and wished her a nice day.

Earlier that same day, a man got furious at me, another girl in my department, and then my boss, because we didn't have the stroller his daughter wanted in stock, and we refused to sell him the display piece (on which, he actually cut the zip-ties holding it to the display area, and got it down on the floor, along with 4 other pieces). We can't sell display pieces, it's company policy because of liability issues. He screamed that we "just lost a sale," and when none of us seemed to care, he yelled it again, "In case you didn't hear me, YOU JUST LOST A SALE." My boss responded with, "Oh, I heard you. I just don't care. Leave the store now, please. And have a good afternoon."

Quite priceless. That same day, another girl in my department, who is 6 months pregnant, got called a "good-for-nothing fat bitch" because she didn't see a man waiting to look at a watch in the locked case, and waited on another customer first.

The things these people think are a matter of life and death astound me.

My bright is too slight to hold back all my dark.

I finally broke down last night. After months of frustration, anger, and hopelessness, I sobbed until my pillow was soaked.

I'm so sick of this job, and living paycheck to paycheck. We have $32 to our name right now. $32.

We have another paycheck on Monday, and then another 2 on Friday. But it's not going to make this any better. Because every last dime of it will be spent on rent, loans, and utilities. Then, we might have a little left over for groceries, if we clip coupons and eat spaghetti at least twice a week.

And then by this time next month, I'll probably be sobbing into my pillow again, worried about the bills, blaming myself for not being able to find a better paying, or at least a full-time, job. It's a bit ridiculous really. And after breaking down last night, I've moved on to being incredibly angry about it.

I have a mother-loving Masters degree. I have bled and cried to put myself through school, earn top grades, be involved, and work 3 jobs. And all I have to show for it is a part-time teaching job that pays shittier than my part-time KMart job. And it finally came crashing down last night.

I don't want to have to live like this, choosing between being late for a loan payment or buying groceries. Having to ask myself before I bake something, "Can I afford to replace the flour I'll use?" Before I drive to visit my parents, "Will I use too much gas so that I won't be able to drive to work on Monday and I can't get gas until after payday next week?"

When I turn the lights on at night, I wonder if I could stand the dark just a little bit more, if it meant keeping the electric bill down. Or if we couldn't keep the house just a degree or two cooler, when we're already walking around with sweaters and two pairs of socks on, cuddling under blankets.

I'm on the verge of losing it, for real. My husband hasn't gone to the eye doctor in almost 4 years, his glasses are permantly scratched and he can hardly see through them. I haven't been in 2 years. We haven't been to the dentist in at least 3, and we both need a thorough checkup, but we can't even afford our insurance's copays. If anything serious were to happen, we'd be screwed.

We're waiting for our internet contract to run out, so we can cancel it. As soon as we can get all the numbers changed, we're cancelling the landline. We're hoping for cash for our upcoming birthdays so we can pay off the credit cards we've had to use to buy necessities or gas when we've run out of cash.

I'm ready to cancel anything that is not imperative: internet, Dish, landline. I've even considered not renewing our cell phone contract and buying a pay-as-you-go phone. No one ever calls me anyway. I walk to work (at KMart) when it's freezing rain and below zero outside, so I don't have to use gas.

I've watched all these shows about being in debt and cutting back, and honestly, I envy those people. There's people on there who have more cars than drivers in their house, who go out to eat 3 or 4 times a week, who have shopping problems and can't control their spending, who have to cut their number of hair appointments from every 2 weeks to every 4.

I haven't even gotten my hair cut in almost a year, because I can't justify spending $20 which would pay for my dog's food for a month.

We have cut almost as much as we can, and we're still drowning. The natural solution, to me, would be to make more. Find a higher paying job. Full-time would be higher-paying for me, at this point. But how? I've tried. I counted today, I have about 20-25 resumes saved on my computer, all ones that have been sent out in the last 6 months. How many interviews have I gotten? Two. Maybe three.

And all places, except KMart, have hired people with less qualifications and less experience than me. All the other places may not have even looked at my resume. For all I know, it went straight into the recycle bin. I've called to follow up, I've sent thank-you notes to interviewers, I've tried to hand in my resume in person as often as possible. Nothing.

I'm still sitting here, drowning in bills, powerless to change anything.

And now I'm really wondering why. I said in an earlier post that I believe God always has a plan. That I'm always where I'm meant to be, I just don't find out until later why. But it's later. And now would be a good time for the Man Upstairs to enlighten me, because I'm really losing hope.

One of my many (and admittedly, stupid) pet peeves.

I have to sound off for just a brief moment about something completely unrelated to my glamorous job.

If you are a woman, and you drive around a Ford Explorer, or a Suburban, or any other form of gas-guzzling, ozone-destroying SUV, you ARE NOT, I repeat, you ARE NOT, driving a truck. Understanding this, you should never put a sticker on your vehicle that says, "Silly boys. Trucks are for girls." Regardless of whether or not that is a valid statement, you have no business putting that on your NOT-TRUCK.

Stickers like that are reserved for the bad-ass females who drive around a hoss of truck bigger and louder than any man's. They are not for your soccer mobile.

Sweet dreams are made of these.

Two little bits of awesome from the 'mart today:

1. Regional managers are coming in on Friday. Thank heavens I don't have to work tomorrow or Friday, which means I'm not going to be either a) running around like mad trying to detail, straighten, and clean anything I can find, or b) worried about being on my best behavior. Alas, it did mean that I spent at least half of my shift on checkout today scrubbing grime off the floor, polishing the sign holders in the foyer, dusting the candy and toy machines, and wiping down all surfaces I could reasonably do while not getting too far away from my register.

2. I was walking from the service desk to my register to pull my money for the girl coming in after me (it's about 3:27, I was supposed to be off at 3:30) and what should happen? Complete power outage. Which meant, of course, that all registers went down. They can only be brought up 2 at a time, in a specific order. Thank god mine was the second to go up. But then my screen froze. So I had to reboot it twice. Then I had to wait for all the other registers to go up before it was time to reboot the sporting goods register, where the time clock was, on which I had to punch out. I left at 4 PM. (So, an extra 30 minutes? During a week when my hours were drastically cut, I'm not going to complain. It was more of a pain in the butt than anything.)

Now I'm at home, waiting for my hubby to get here so we can spend some quality time together this evening. And by quality, I mean peanut butter cups, sweet tea, and bad t.v.

The stuff dreams are made of. :)

Urine Good Company

A woman came to the layaway counter yesterday, reeking of cat urine. It took me awhile to place it, but after a minute, I realized it was, indeed, the distinctive odor of old cat urine. She proceeded to put a fry daddy, 2 packages of underwear, 1 pair of pants, and a STACK of at least 15-20 magazines on layaway.

It was all a bit . . . unsettling.

I'd like an order of fries, with a side of stupid.

Okay, so, I'm straightening shoes (doesn't that sound the most exciting thing in the world?!) and this guy comes up to me asks, redneck accent and all, if a size 13 boy's shoe is the same as the size 3.

Say what?

I tried to explain that a size 13 is one size, and a 3 is a completely different size. He just kept repeating himself, saying that he was looking for a size 3, but found a 13 and thought maybe they were the same thing. Over and over and over.

I finally asked him to show me which shoe he was talking about. He walked me over to them, and said he couldn't find a 3, so he thought if he got a 13, it would be the same.

WHY? BECAUSE THEY BOTH END IN 3?

I explain again that a 13 is not the same as a 3, that in kids' shoes, it's actually smaller and that there are several sizes in between. He then asks if he could get another size then, because he didn't see any 3s. I look down at the shelf, and see 2 size 3s. I pulled one off the shelf and handed it to him. He thanked me and asked me AGAIN if I was sure that the 13 and 3 weren't the same because, "the bottom of his shoe said 3." Why we were still having the conversation at that point, I don't know, because he was standing there with the 3 in his hands. But, I suppose if I hadn't simply wished him a nice day and walked away, I'd probably still be standing there, listening to him tell me that the shoe had a 3 on the bottom of it, and that's what he wants, but he thought a 13 and 3 were the same.

Final thought: Wow. That really happened.