I stared at that cracker for a good twelve seconds before deciding not to touch it. I'm sure I passed it at least ten times throughout the day and I kept hoping someone else would notice it and pick it up. It was just so grotesque. A small, round relic of a sticky child with little manners. I could catch some kind of mysterious sickness from touching that cracker and I knew it! All kinds of dangers lurk around discarded food including but not limited to: influenza, measles, the plague, herpes, or worse the stupidity that infected the child who dropped it. I don't want to catch a customer's stupid so I ignore the cracker. Simple.
If I may though I'd like to rewind to the moment where the flaky little curse was dropped on the floor of The Bookstore. Where were the parents? Why did the little hellion have access to easily dropped foods? Maybe it would be safe to assume that CUSTOMERS... excuse me.. customers have no manners whatsoever and think that stores are a giant place mat for their child's unhealthy on-the-go snack attacks. Would you have me believe otherwise?
THEN YOU DEAL WITH THE CRACKER!
I just find it repulsive that employees of retail places have to clean up disgusting, half chewed, sketchy, and sometimes vile tidbits of peoples' eating disorders. Eat outside or something! Just DON'T BRING IT IN DOORS IF YOU CAN'T KEEP A GRIP ON YOUR FOOD.
Oh and to whoever thinks its cool to leave half finished coffee cups on the shelves in a bookstore.
WRONG. WRONG WRONG WRONG.
The Science Fiction section would like to thank one of you mopheads for the spilled cup of coffee that took the lives of six different books. Coffee ruins books people! Luckily the New Age section usually sees it coming and manages to stay dry, but that's the only exception.
When I see horrors like this it makes me want to dump some coffee on your car seat. HAVE YOU NO RESPECT? And if your excuse for not throwing your own trash away has anything to do with the distance you are from the nearest trash receptacle then maybe you shouldn't be consuming food anyway.
ATTENTION, UNRELATED TOPIC: If you brought your items to the register without a bag then why can't you take them to your car without one? YOU ARE KILLING THE PLANET YOU SELFISH BUNCH OF LARD BRAINS. Plastic bags clog the ground with unnecessary waste that NEVER TRULY DISINTEGRATE. Every time you use a bag you're enabling harm to the environment and if your dumb ass didn't notice THE ENVIRONMENT GIVES YOU THE FOOD YOU STUFF YOUR UGLY FACE WITH.
COME ON PEOPLE.
ATTENTION, RETURNING TO ORIGINAL POINT:Food and drinks are forbidden in some stores for a reason, so how about you SLOPPY PIG SNARKERS with your RAIN OF GOOEY SLOP go somewhere other than The Bookstore. I'd rather not spend my days scraping your slimy masticated waste off the floor. THANKS.
And have a nice evening. (Jerk.)
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Hovercrafts
Me: (Talking to myself...) "Hmmm I think I might actually finish this project on time today."
Wooooooooooshhhhhhhhhh........
(Turns around)
Me: "Ummm can I help you?" (How long has she been standing there?)
Awkward Sally: "HAI CAN U PLZ HALP ME FIND UH BOOK??" (Begins pawing at everything I've worked on.)
And so my dreams of finishing something are decimated... and not by an LOL Cat.
Welcome back to The Bookstore, hey how are you, howdy, hello, and whatnot. Today's subject is HOVERING!
Let's break this down for you so you understand me better. There's two types of hovering. We'll start with...
CLASS 1 HOVERING:
Have you ever been minding your own business when suddenly you get the feeling you're being watched/breathed on and you turn to find someone intently staring over your shoulder? And they linger.........
No?
WELL I HAVE...
You giant creeps come slinking up behind me in random aisles to, so it would seem, get in the way as much as possible.
TODAY, for instance, as I was setting a table with new merchandise, a table nobody EVER notices, a SWARM of people suddenly decided to take interest and began hovering like spaceships around my workspace. I cautiously tried to continue, but some little drooler decided to plant himself right next to my sharp elbow... WHY ME??
To make matters worse I had some annoyingly older woman start pawing at the things I was trying to move. Of course I can't SAY anything to stop her, but that didn't stop my death stare from burning into her soul. Apparently her soul is immune/nonexistent (I prefer to think the latter) because she simply continued her pawing, just pawing away, pawing like she'd never get another chance to paw at anything she had no intention of buying ever again.
Why are you people so interested in something AFTER I start moving it? What instinct is it that decides to possess your mind the second I need to change something?
GET A GRIP ON YOURSELF YOU ANIMAL!!!
Now that I've addressed the first class of hovering I think we need to talk about the second class... the weirder class, and quite frankly the much scarier class.
CLASS 2 HOVERING:
Okay please just stop. To all of you that do this JUST DON'T ANYMORE.
I'm talking about class 2 hovering aka STANDING OUTSIDE THE DOOR WHEN WE'RE CLOSED.
Whether it's before hours or after hours it's still CREEPY. You stand out there peering in at us with your GOOGLY eyes like your presence will somehow magically make The Bookstore open.
NO. WRONG. INCORRECT.
The hours are posted on the door and if you are not there within their parameters I am sorry you are out of luck. (Although I've heard "open sesame" helps?) Stores do not care if your car broke down, if your night job let out early, if your cat mauled your leg on the way out the door and held you up, OR any other reason why you may be late/early. MY LIFE starts when I am NOT WORKING. WOULD YOU REALLY HOLD UP MY LIFE FOR YOUR PURCHASE?
Actually... don't answer that.
Regardless of how I feel you people still HOVER outside the door like bees on flowers, or horses at the gate, or something less majestic than either of those two things. You may NOT come in, so go hover elsewhere and abduct a cow or something!
I hope you understand how it feels to get hovered around now. A simple "Excuse me" with a smile goes a long way with us retail folks, because when you hover over my shoulder and breathe on me...
I kind of want to hit you over my shoulder and break your glasses. (Hey Arnold!)
Now then, I have some more merchandising to do so please find yourself elsewhere, perhaps in the stars!
(And have a wonderful day.)
Wooooooooooshhhhhhhhhh........
(Turns around)
Me: "Ummm can I help you?" (How long has she been standing there?)
Awkward Sally: "HAI CAN U PLZ HALP ME FIND UH BOOK??" (Begins pawing at everything I've worked on.)
And so my dreams of finishing something are decimated... and not by an LOL Cat.
Welcome back to The Bookstore, hey how are you, howdy, hello, and whatnot. Today's subject is HOVERING!
Let's break this down for you so you understand me better. There's two types of hovering. We'll start with...
CLASS 1 HOVERING:
Have you ever been minding your own business when suddenly you get the feeling you're being watched/breathed on and you turn to find someone intently staring over your shoulder? And they linger.........
No?
WELL I HAVE...
You giant creeps come slinking up behind me in random aisles to, so it would seem, get in the way as much as possible.
TODAY, for instance, as I was setting a table with new merchandise, a table nobody EVER notices, a SWARM of people suddenly decided to take interest and began hovering like spaceships around my workspace. I cautiously tried to continue, but some little drooler decided to plant himself right next to my sharp elbow... WHY ME??
To make matters worse I had some annoyingly older woman start pawing at the things I was trying to move. Of course I can't SAY anything to stop her, but that didn't stop my death stare from burning into her soul. Apparently her soul is immune/nonexistent (I prefer to think the latter) because she simply continued her pawing, just pawing away, pawing like she'd never get another chance to paw at anything she had no intention of buying ever again.
Why are you people so interested in something AFTER I start moving it? What instinct is it that decides to possess your mind the second I need to change something?
GET A GRIP ON YOURSELF YOU ANIMAL!!!
Now that I've addressed the first class of hovering I think we need to talk about the second class... the weirder class, and quite frankly the much scarier class.
CLASS 2 HOVERING:
Okay please just stop. To all of you that do this JUST DON'T ANYMORE.
I'm talking about class 2 hovering aka STANDING OUTSIDE THE DOOR WHEN WE'RE CLOSED.
Whether it's before hours or after hours it's still CREEPY. You stand out there peering in at us with your GOOGLY eyes like your presence will somehow magically make The Bookstore open.
NO. WRONG. INCORRECT.
The hours are posted on the door and if you are not there within their parameters I am sorry you are out of luck. (Although I've heard "open sesame" helps?) Stores do not care if your car broke down, if your night job let out early, if your cat mauled your leg on the way out the door and held you up, OR any other reason why you may be late/early. MY LIFE starts when I am NOT WORKING. WOULD YOU REALLY HOLD UP MY LIFE FOR YOUR PURCHASE?
Actually... don't answer that.
Regardless of how I feel you people still HOVER outside the door like bees on flowers, or horses at the gate, or something less majestic than either of those two things. You may NOT come in, so go hover elsewhere and abduct a cow or something!
I hope you understand how it feels to get hovered around now. A simple "Excuse me" with a smile goes a long way with us retail folks, because when you hover over my shoulder and breathe on me...
I kind of want to hit you over my shoulder and break your glasses. (Hey Arnold!)
Now then, I have some more merchandising to do so please find yourself elsewhere, perhaps in the stars!
(And have a wonderful day.)
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Little Demons
"Hello!"
"HI I POOPED MY PANTS!"
Um okay, so why is your child shitting themselves in public and then telling me?
I guess another day at The Bookstore begins. Today's fiery topic: YOUR LITTLE DEMONS.
Some of you probably just gasped and I assure you that you're the guiltiest parents reading this. You're the feather headed loafs that let your spawn loose on the unsuspecting retail world. Knocking over displays, eating candy Mommy did NOT pay for, amassing piles of items from all over the store on a random chair, screaming for toys, throwing merchandise across the aisles, hiding merchandise under shelves, or just knocking over every single book in a section are just some of the things those little demons like to do while you're off reading the latest parenting magazine.
I'd like to say, on behalf of retail workers everywhere, that STORES ARE NOT DAY CARE CENTERS.
Now that I've gotten started on this issue I'd like to share a personal story about some small hell-raisers who visited The Bookstore today. Let's start with how the mayhem all began...
The door opens with a ding and like a trained animal I call out with a pleasant "Hello!" with extra hearts and stars. Several wild creatures run through the door screaming followed by their MOTHER (If we want to call her that...) who was carrying a laptop. The mother sat down in the cafe, bought nothing, and proceeded to screw around on her laptop all evening. MEANWHILE, the hellions ran rampant grabbing books left and right to pile up in our Kids section. The smallest one crept behind the counter while I was training the new girl (bless her soul) and asked us for food. I asked him to come out from behind the counter and he slowly edged out asking if we had food. I told him that we sold food in the cafe and to tell his mommy or daddy that he was hungry. He disappeared for a moment and then returned while I was talking to my manager. He interrupted us to say that he was hungry and wanted food. I asked if his mother gave him any money and he said that she didn't have money (Just a laptop...). He insisted that we give him free food and I told him that we could only give him food for money. He stomped his foot and growled at me...
LIKE A VICIOUS LITTLE DOG. WHAT THE HELL?
After he stormed off I thought things had quieted down... until the new girl and I visited the Kid's section on a training mission.
HOLY EFF....
Remember the part of the Jumanji where the monkeys get loose in the house? Okay maybe the part with the stampede... anyways the section was wrecked. Merchandise littered the floor, the books were in no sort of order on the shelves and a pile of them covered the table. Part of me kind of snapped on the inside and my heart grew three sizes too small. My smile melted into a puddle on the floor that I later had to recover to finish the night. I told the new girl that "This happens" and we fixed the whole thing.....
NOT FIVE EFFING MINUTES LATER THE LITTLE DEMONS TRASHED IT AGAIN...
You know those announcements you hear at night about the store closing soon and they tell you that you have ten minutes to finish shopping? Let's just put it like this, we don't do them every night.
It took an extra half hour to clean up ONE family's mess. So, I'm wondering why I'm not getting paid a Nanny's salary. If you aren't willing to raise your children with some respect then please give them to someone who will! I'm serious. It is not a retail employee's job to cater to your children. I actually like children!
BEHAVED ONES.
I THINK THEY'RE SUPER FRICKIN' CUTE.
The little demons YOU bring into the store... well... THEY SUCK. So in the future, please gauge the ability of your child to not be a complete freakzilla in public before you take them out. I don't bring my obnoxious Yorkie into your workplace and let her run free, so why would you let your child do so in my work place?(Yes, I DID just compare your child to my bitchy little dog.)
Now that I've finished hating on you I've got to go wipe the pee off the bathroom walls from your son's apparent misunderstanding of what a toilet is.
"Thanks for stopping by the Bookstore! Have a wonderful-
"MOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMM I WANTED THAT DANCING DINOSAURS BOOK! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
*Door muffles sounds of supersonic exodus
"HI I POOPED MY PANTS!"
Um okay, so why is your child shitting themselves in public and then telling me?
I guess another day at The Bookstore begins. Today's fiery topic: YOUR LITTLE DEMONS.
Some of you probably just gasped and I assure you that you're the guiltiest parents reading this. You're the feather headed loafs that let your spawn loose on the unsuspecting retail world. Knocking over displays, eating candy Mommy did NOT pay for, amassing piles of items from all over the store on a random chair, screaming for toys, throwing merchandise across the aisles, hiding merchandise under shelves, or just knocking over every single book in a section are just some of the things those little demons like to do while you're off reading the latest parenting magazine.
I'd like to say, on behalf of retail workers everywhere, that STORES ARE NOT DAY CARE CENTERS.
Now that I've gotten started on this issue I'd like to share a personal story about some small hell-raisers who visited The Bookstore today. Let's start with how the mayhem all began...
The door opens with a ding and like a trained animal I call out with a pleasant "Hello!" with extra hearts and stars. Several wild creatures run through the door screaming followed by their MOTHER (If we want to call her that...) who was carrying a laptop. The mother sat down in the cafe, bought nothing, and proceeded to screw around on her laptop all evening. MEANWHILE, the hellions ran rampant grabbing books left and right to pile up in our Kids section. The smallest one crept behind the counter while I was training the new girl (bless her soul) and asked us for food. I asked him to come out from behind the counter and he slowly edged out asking if we had food. I told him that we sold food in the cafe and to tell his mommy or daddy that he was hungry. He disappeared for a moment and then returned while I was talking to my manager. He interrupted us to say that he was hungry and wanted food. I asked if his mother gave him any money and he said that she didn't have money (Just a laptop...). He insisted that we give him free food and I told him that we could only give him food for money. He stomped his foot and growled at me...
LIKE A VICIOUS LITTLE DOG. WHAT THE HELL?
After he stormed off I thought things had quieted down... until the new girl and I visited the Kid's section on a training mission.
HOLY EFF....
Remember the part of the Jumanji where the monkeys get loose in the house? Okay maybe the part with the stampede... anyways the section was wrecked. Merchandise littered the floor, the books were in no sort of order on the shelves and a pile of them covered the table. Part of me kind of snapped on the inside and my heart grew three sizes too small. My smile melted into a puddle on the floor that I later had to recover to finish the night. I told the new girl that "This happens" and we fixed the whole thing.....
NOT FIVE EFFING MINUTES LATER THE LITTLE DEMONS TRASHED IT AGAIN...
You know those announcements you hear at night about the store closing soon and they tell you that you have ten minutes to finish shopping? Let's just put it like this, we don't do them every night.
It took an extra half hour to clean up ONE family's mess. So, I'm wondering why I'm not getting paid a Nanny's salary. If you aren't willing to raise your children with some respect then please give them to someone who will! I'm serious. It is not a retail employee's job to cater to your children. I actually like children!
BEHAVED ONES.
I THINK THEY'RE SUPER FRICKIN' CUTE.
The little demons YOU bring into the store... well... THEY SUCK. So in the future, please gauge the ability of your child to not be a complete freakzilla in public before you take them out. I don't bring my obnoxious Yorkie into your workplace and let her run free, so why would you let your child do so in my work place?(Yes, I DID just compare your child to my bitchy little dog.)
Now that I've finished hating on you I've got to go wipe the pee off the bathroom walls from your son's apparent misunderstanding of what a toilet is.
"Thanks for stopping by the Bookstore! Have a wonderful-
"MOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMM I WANTED THAT DANCING DINOSAURS BOOK! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
*Door muffles sounds of supersonic exodus
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Thank You, Muderer
"Welcome back to The Bookstore! Would you care to try one of our canvas shopping totes?"
OF COURSE NOT.
Dear Customer,
It has come to my attention that EVERY time you stop by you never fail to request a bag for ONE ITEM. And not just any ONE ITEM, but an item that could too easily fit into your purse/hands/bag/etc... Now why would I even bother to disrupt your shopping experience to tell you this? Oh I don't know...
MAYBE BECAUSE YOU'RE A SELFISH DOG KICKER WHO LIKES TO PUT PLASTIC IN THE GROUND?
Hey, why not buy a Hummer, spill weedkiller in a river, leave glass bottles on the roadside, and chop down every tree that blocks your view of your neighbor's bedroom?
OH WAIT, YOU'VE ALREADY DONE ALL OF THAT.
Could you honestly be any more selfish? You do realize that every time I ask if you need a bag that in my head I'm thinking, "Say no, say no, SAY NO, SAY NOOOOOOOOO!" and you answer me with, "YES. I MUST HAVE A BAG OR I'LL DIE." (Or something like that...) Then I hatefully throw your stupid book into a bag and thrust it towards you with the most fake smile I can muster. Which is pretty decent considering what retail does to your abilities to be fake. I swear I could out-fake a high school cheerleader.
NEWSFLASH: PLASTIC NEVER GOES AWAY. EVER. IT WILL ONLY BREAK INTO SMALLER PIECES.
Would it kill you to buy a canvas bag? Or reuse your old plastic bags? Or carry the purchase out yourself? OR ANYTHING THAT DOESN'T INVOLVE MORE PLASTIC?
For any of you mush brains that LIKE polluting the planet I hope you feel like dirt (plastic infested dirt) and plant an effing tree after this.
A BIG TREE.
Frankly, I judge you every time you walk into The Bookstore and leave with a plastic bag you didn't need. In fact I brand you in my mind as someone to point out to my friends and family so they'll know what a wasteful slob you are.
AND THEN THEY'LL JUDGE YOU.
AND THEN POINT YOU OUT TO THEIR FRIENDS AND FAMILY.
AND THEN THEY'LL JUDGE YOU.
So there, in about the time a squirrel can be called adolescent you'll have a reputation. A bad reputation, and all you had to do to avoid it was kick the lard out of your head and pay attention to the world around you.
Sometimes... I envy you customers. You think so highly of yourselves. It MUST be nice to imagine everything is owed to you. I'm SURE it feels great to care less about anything but your own convenience.
While you mull this over I'm going to go plant some shrubbery to counteract that sapling you ran over the other day.
"Enjoy the weather!" (While you still can...)
OF COURSE NOT.
Dear Customer,
It has come to my attention that EVERY time you stop by you never fail to request a bag for ONE ITEM. And not just any ONE ITEM, but an item that could too easily fit into your purse/hands/bag/etc... Now why would I even bother to disrupt your shopping experience to tell you this? Oh I don't know...
MAYBE BECAUSE YOU'RE A SELFISH DOG KICKER WHO LIKES TO PUT PLASTIC IN THE GROUND?
Hey, why not buy a Hummer, spill weedkiller in a river, leave glass bottles on the roadside, and chop down every tree that blocks your view of your neighbor's bedroom?
OH WAIT, YOU'VE ALREADY DONE ALL OF THAT.
Could you honestly be any more selfish? You do realize that every time I ask if you need a bag that in my head I'm thinking, "Say no, say no, SAY NO, SAY NOOOOOOOOO!" and you answer me with, "YES. I MUST HAVE A BAG OR I'LL DIE." (Or something like that...) Then I hatefully throw your stupid book into a bag and thrust it towards you with the most fake smile I can muster. Which is pretty decent considering what retail does to your abilities to be fake. I swear I could out-fake a high school cheerleader.
NEWSFLASH: PLASTIC NEVER GOES AWAY. EVER. IT WILL ONLY BREAK INTO SMALLER PIECES.
Would it kill you to buy a canvas bag? Or reuse your old plastic bags? Or carry the purchase out yourself? OR ANYTHING THAT DOESN'T INVOLVE MORE PLASTIC?
For any of you mush brains that LIKE polluting the planet I hope you feel like dirt (plastic infested dirt) and plant an effing tree after this.
A BIG TREE.
Frankly, I judge you every time you walk into The Bookstore and leave with a plastic bag you didn't need. In fact I brand you in my mind as someone to point out to my friends and family so they'll know what a wasteful slob you are.
AND THEN THEY'LL JUDGE YOU.
AND THEN POINT YOU OUT TO THEIR FRIENDS AND FAMILY.
AND THEN THEY'LL JUDGE YOU.
So there, in about the time a squirrel can be called adolescent you'll have a reputation. A bad reputation, and all you had to do to avoid it was kick the lard out of your head and pay attention to the world around you.
Sometimes... I envy you customers. You think so highly of yourselves. It MUST be nice to imagine everything is owed to you. I'm SURE it feels great to care less about anything but your own convenience.
While you mull this over I'm going to go plant some shrubbery to counteract that sapling you ran over the other day.
"Enjoy the weather!" (While you still can...)
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
The Parking Lot is Burning
Welcome back to "The Bookstore" where all your shopping dreams will come true. ("The Bookstore" is not responsible for or subject to any shopping dreams or any variety of dreams not coming true.)
Hello again, I'm surprised you're even reading this after how you yelled at me over the phone today. You customers always think the phone is an acceptable place to release your emotions on unsuspecting employees. You act as if I purposely told our warehouse to lose your book. And then following your accusations you insist I call the warehouse on your behalf to remedy the situation.
NEWSFLASH: THE WAREHOUSE HATES ME.
YOU might as well call the warehouse! Because when I politely call (despite knowing it will do no good) and begin describing the problem with your order they interrupt me to ask whether or not I'm making the call from "The Bookstore"...
AS IF I'D CALL FROM MY HOME ABOUT YOUR ORDER?
When I convince them I'm for real they offer me nothing I didn't already know (along with a big helping of sass) I switch back to the line you're waiting on and have to hear you scream about how you needed that potty training book yesterday. I try to tell you we have 8,513 other potty training books in "The Bookstore", but you tell me that only "Mr. Poopington's Potty Training Excellence" will suffice.
And ladies and gentlemen that's when I hear "THE SPEECH".
Let me explain "THE SPEECH". This completely pointless, and overused mound of verbal garbage is commonly wielded by the self righteous customer worldwide. It is more or less a mass of indignation covered in layers or sarcasm, wounded pride, and irrational anger.
An example of "THE SPEECH":
"What do you mean you can't have my book shipped from Japan in two hours? The lady yesterday said you could! WELL FINE. I don't have to shop here anymore! You OBVIOUSLY have no regard for the customer. YOUR CUSTOMER SERVICE SUCKS. I'm calling your CEO to complain and tell them about how I, GOD'S GIFT TO THE WORLD, didn't get my way! And that lady who told me my book WOULD be in... I WANT HER FIRED. I will camp outside of your store until I get her name and once I figure out who it was I WANT HER GONE. OH, and by the way, I'm putting this experience on my blog! I have 213 followers and they will ALL hear about what TERRIBLE service this place has! The Bookstore will go out of business when I, BITCHY IMPOSSIBLE CUSTOMER, am through!"
So you see, this is an example of THE SPEECH. Whether it's over a late order, a mislabeled item, an innocent mistake at the register, or the fact we don't carry the obscure Swedish clog shaping manual you want THE SPEECH is a reoccurring tragedy in the retail world.
And well, the truth is, us retail workers have heard it all before. You rage like a lunatic about the injustice we have served you, and act as if you have the power to crumble the company. We nod, apologize, smile, and roll our metaphoric eyes at your insults. The best part is, YOU ACT LIKE IT'S OUR FAULT. You yell at me as if I am the sole reason everything in your life is wrong.
WELL... If you're going to be like that you might as well scream at your mailman/mailwoman the next time a letter from your Grandma is late.
YOU PEOPLE ARE RUDE.
If my work caused you to contract venereal diseases, lose a suitcase full of money, or get an unsightly tattoo then I'd perhaps feel regret and understand your rudeness...
BUT ALL I DO IS SMILE AT YOU. DAMN.
Now, in conclusion to today's trip to hell, I have some advice.
DON'T THROW YOUR CIGARETTES ON MULCH. WHOEVER STARTED THAT FIRE IN THE PARKING LOT TODAY IS A DAMN BARBARIAN.
"We can't wait to see you again at The Bookstore!"
Hello again, I'm surprised you're even reading this after how you yelled at me over the phone today. You customers always think the phone is an acceptable place to release your emotions on unsuspecting employees. You act as if I purposely told our warehouse to lose your book. And then following your accusations you insist I call the warehouse on your behalf to remedy the situation.
NEWSFLASH: THE WAREHOUSE HATES ME.
YOU might as well call the warehouse! Because when I politely call (despite knowing it will do no good) and begin describing the problem with your order they interrupt me to ask whether or not I'm making the call from "The Bookstore"...
AS IF I'D CALL FROM MY HOME ABOUT YOUR ORDER?
When I convince them I'm for real they offer me nothing I didn't already know (along with a big helping of sass) I switch back to the line you're waiting on and have to hear you scream about how you needed that potty training book yesterday. I try to tell you we have 8,513 other potty training books in "The Bookstore", but you tell me that only "Mr. Poopington's Potty Training Excellence" will suffice.
And ladies and gentlemen that's when I hear "THE SPEECH".
Let me explain "THE SPEECH". This completely pointless, and overused mound of verbal garbage is commonly wielded by the self righteous customer worldwide. It is more or less a mass of indignation covered in layers or sarcasm, wounded pride, and irrational anger.
An example of "THE SPEECH":
"What do you mean you can't have my book shipped from Japan in two hours? The lady yesterday said you could! WELL FINE. I don't have to shop here anymore! You OBVIOUSLY have no regard for the customer. YOUR CUSTOMER SERVICE SUCKS. I'm calling your CEO to complain and tell them about how I, GOD'S GIFT TO THE WORLD, didn't get my way! And that lady who told me my book WOULD be in... I WANT HER FIRED. I will camp outside of your store until I get her name and once I figure out who it was I WANT HER GONE. OH, and by the way, I'm putting this experience on my blog! I have 213 followers and they will ALL hear about what TERRIBLE service this place has! The Bookstore will go out of business when I, BITCHY IMPOSSIBLE CUSTOMER, am through!"
So you see, this is an example of THE SPEECH. Whether it's over a late order, a mislabeled item, an innocent mistake at the register, or the fact we don't carry the obscure Swedish clog shaping manual you want THE SPEECH is a reoccurring tragedy in the retail world.
And well, the truth is, us retail workers have heard it all before. You rage like a lunatic about the injustice we have served you, and act as if you have the power to crumble the company. We nod, apologize, smile, and roll our metaphoric eyes at your insults. The best part is, YOU ACT LIKE IT'S OUR FAULT. You yell at me as if I am the sole reason everything in your life is wrong.
WELL... If you're going to be like that you might as well scream at your mailman/mailwoman the next time a letter from your Grandma is late.
YOU PEOPLE ARE RUDE.
If my work caused you to contract venereal diseases, lose a suitcase full of money, or get an unsightly tattoo then I'd perhaps feel regret and understand your rudeness...
BUT ALL I DO IS SMILE AT YOU. DAMN.
Now, in conclusion to today's trip to hell, I have some advice.
DON'T THROW YOUR CIGARETTES ON MULCH. WHOEVER STARTED THAT FIRE IN THE PARKING LOT TODAY IS A DAMN BARBARIAN.
"We can't wait to see you again at The Bookstore!"
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Welcome to Hell
"Hello! Thanks for shopping at The Bookstore!"
Now, let's start here, at this very statement...
How many times a day does the average awesome employee, "Me", greet the average American (or not) shoppers at illustrious "The Bookstore"?
Take about a ton of people/ungrateful sons of bitches an hour, times that by way more hours than a lazy bum like me wants to work and that comes to about...
TOO DAMN MANY.
Welcome to Hell or, as many people know it, Retail. The life of pretending you give a shit (or half a shit) about the numerous people/ungrateful sons of bitches and their "needs". Such a life revolves around YOU, the customer, and making your every little unreasonable wish come true. From a friendly (usually unanswered) hello to kissing your ass so my superiors won't kick mine, I do my best to make sure every trip to "The Bookstore" ends in a pleasurable shopping experience (for you).
DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW EFFING UNREASONABLE AND STUPID YOU ARE?
No, you don't, and as an employee of "The Bookstore" it is my duty to keep smiling and never let on that I want to run you over in the parking lot...
Well, do I really wish you bodily harm? Hardly. I simply wish for you to educate yourself on how to be a pleasant human being when interacting with me (the employee). I don't get paid enough to seem like a Stepford associate. BUT that won't stop "The Bookstore" from replacing me with some other toolbag who thinks it's worth the money.
So to all you BUMBLING TROLL HEADS who think they can just waltz in to "The Bookstore" and foam at the mouth...
You've got a rude awakening.
Because now it's my turn to reveal the utter stupidity, unruliness, and audacity that the general public musters on a daily basis at "The Bookstore". No more will your bullshit excuses, terrible odors, and snide remarks (that are quite hurtful) go unpunished. Perhaps someone somewhere thinks you are worth all of this pampering, but FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! BUY YOUR SHIT AND LEAVE.
"And have a wonderful evening." *waves
Now, let's start here, at this very statement...
How many times a day does the average awesome employee, "Me", greet the average American (or not) shoppers at illustrious "The Bookstore"?
Take about a ton of people/ungrateful sons of bitches an hour, times that by way more hours than a lazy bum like me wants to work and that comes to about...
TOO DAMN MANY.
Welcome to Hell or, as many people know it, Retail. The life of pretending you give a shit (or half a shit) about the numerous people/ungrateful sons of bitches and their "needs". Such a life revolves around YOU, the customer, and making your every little unreasonable wish come true. From a friendly (usually unanswered) hello to kissing your ass so my superiors won't kick mine, I do my best to make sure every trip to "The Bookstore" ends in a pleasurable shopping experience (for you).
DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW EFFING UNREASONABLE AND STUPID YOU ARE?
No, you don't, and as an employee of "The Bookstore" it is my duty to keep smiling and never let on that I want to run you over in the parking lot...
Well, do I really wish you bodily harm? Hardly. I simply wish for you to educate yourself on how to be a pleasant human being when interacting with me (the employee). I don't get paid enough to seem like a Stepford associate. BUT that won't stop "The Bookstore" from replacing me with some other toolbag who thinks it's worth the money.
So to all you BUMBLING TROLL HEADS who think they can just waltz in to "The Bookstore" and foam at the mouth...
You've got a rude awakening.
Because now it's my turn to reveal the utter stupidity, unruliness, and audacity that the general public musters on a daily basis at "The Bookstore". No more will your bullshit excuses, terrible odors, and snide remarks (that are quite hurtful) go unpunished. Perhaps someone somewhere thinks you are worth all of this pampering, but FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! BUY YOUR SHIT AND LEAVE.
"And have a wonderful evening." *waves
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