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.