Okay, so today at work they asked me to cover the people greeter's lunch break and I'm standing by the door smiling at people, offering little kids stickers and occasionally scanning and marking things people want to return. Derek in dairy comes up to me on his own lunch break. Derek is a short, frighteningly energetic teenager who has been working dairy and frozen for a month now and who has spent the last three weeks trying desperately to get someone to let him transfer pretty much *anywhere* that isn't dairy or frozen.
So he comes up while I'm greeting and says, "I want this job! I could do this. I'm great with people. Here! Let me show you how good I am!" So he's standing next to me with his arms folded and a big, huge, scary smile and a blonde walks in, moving fast, and Derek says "Hello!" real friendly. She spins around and gives him the most hateful look, like, "you dare speak to me? DIE VERMIN!" I mean, I think I probably imagined the fangs, but I'm pretty sure she snarled at him.
So I'm laughing hysterically and Derek is all "I don't like this job anymore" in a tiny little voice, and then he sees another blonde coming so he's like, "wait! Wait! I'll get this one! Just check out THESE people skills!" She walks past, he gives her a big smile and a friendly hello . . . and she breezes past like he's not even there.
After that there were two or three groups of people and a few of them noticed him in a "better edge away from the maniacally smiling little guy there" kind of way and that bolstered his confidence. And then this big, scary guy came in. He kind of reminded me of Bluto if Bluto'd been a hunchback with a peg leg and a squint. Also, I suspect he was drunk. He comes in and Derek says "hi!" all big and friendly. The scary guy wanders around in a circle in front of the greeter's station, rattles the hand baskets like he wants one but maybe can't figure out how to pick it up, staggers into the newspaper rack, then lurches right over next to Derek, squints up at him and croaks, "baskets?"
Derek's leaning back going, "uhghgn" so I point towards the carts and say "they're over there" and the guy gives me a fishy stare, wanders over towards the baskets, then lurches back up to Derek, squints up at him again for several seconds, then staggers out around him and disappears in the direction of deli.
I'm like, "Derek, you're really good at this!" and he's like, "oh, shut up! I'll get it. Watch me now!" So a group comes through and he smiles and says hi and they pass without anyone paying any attention to him. Then a second group comes in and the same thing happens and then a third. At that point, our would-be people greeter gave it up and went back to lunch.
I think he was discouraged, but I was highly amused. :D
Showing posts with label Walmart. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Walmart. Show all posts
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
Weird Weekend
It started on Friday when a couple came up to me, horrified, and said, "those people over there are biting the corn and putting it back!" I walked over to where I could watch about five or six rednecks going through the corn and when they walked away I went through the display. Sure enough, I found bitten corn.
Then, on Saturday morning, it took me half an hour to get through the construction on Mile-Long Bridge while, in front of me, a slow-motion running battle of illegal passing, cutting one another off and screaming threats and obscenities took place between two guys in white SUVs, a motorcycle gang that had cut in line, and a guy driving an "Esser's E-Z-GO" tanker truck. (Esser's provides porta-potties to construction sites.)
Later, at work, I walked around the end of an aisle in time to see a man casually pop open a container of grape tomatoes, dig out a handful, put the container back on the shelf and stroll away tossing tomatoes into his mouth. Normally I wouldn't say anything. We have security and if they choose not to act on petty shoplifting that's their call, but the guy was so brazen about it that I was shocked into speaking and I think I scared him. I hope I embarrassed him! Seriously! He could at least carry it around in his cart and pretend like he's going to buy it and then ditch the empty container in "lawn and garden" the way everyone else does!
Our night manager wasn't feeling well, so he lent me his key so I could take out the organics recyclables without him. (We keep our rotting fruits and vegetables and dairy products under strict lock and key!) When I tracked him down to return it he was in the midst of a crowd at the service desk watching four paramedics tend to a semi-conscious woman who was lying on the floor. There were two ambulances with their lights going parked outside the front door and a state trooper came in while I was there.
The story I eventually got was that two groups of about five young people each (late teens, early twenties) were following each other around the store trading insults and threats. A person from one group made a comment about a member of the other group's pants being baggy and they acted like they were going to fight. Being outside, I missed the panicked calls for help from the service desk. (I also missed seeing Mitch The Night Support Manager Who Looks Like Ben Franklin run. This is kind of like missing Haley's Comet.) Anyway, somebody called the police and the stress of their impending arrival apparently triggered one young woman's seizure.
While the paramedics were loading her on a gurney I looked over and noticed my friend Cecil The People Greeter (Cecil is a woman, btw) standing at the customer service desk, about three feet from the action, talking to one of the girls at the desk. Now, you have to understand that Cecil knows everyone and everything that goes on in Benton County. She frequently tells me about them as if she thinks I know who everyone is too. ("See that guy in the green? That's that brother of Myra Staple's husband, the one that was married to Claire that used to work in shoes until she found out he was having an affair with Carol Brooke's niece and she stripped their bank account and left him for that guy she met on the Internet who . . . .") I ran into Cecil a little later, after everyone was gone except for the state trooper, and I asked her what exactly had happened. She told me that a bunch of people were going to fight over baggy pants and I said that I knew that, but what about the girl who had the seizure?
Cecil didn't know what I was talking about. She hadn't seen any girl and hadn't noticed the paramedics who were working right by her feet. Not only hadn't she noticed them, I don't think she believed me that they even existed!
So, in the course of two days we had The Perfidious Corn Biters, Road Rage on the Mile-Long-Bridge, The Naughty Tomato Nosher, The Manager's Malaise, The Baggy Pants Fight Club, Running Rare, and The Case of the Oblivious People Greeter.
And they tell me it wasn't a full moon!
Then, on Saturday morning, it took me half an hour to get through the construction on Mile-Long Bridge while, in front of me, a slow-motion running battle of illegal passing, cutting one another off and screaming threats and obscenities took place between two guys in white SUVs, a motorcycle gang that had cut in line, and a guy driving an "Esser's E-Z-GO" tanker truck. (Esser's provides porta-potties to construction sites.)
Later, at work, I walked around the end of an aisle in time to see a man casually pop open a container of grape tomatoes, dig out a handful, put the container back on the shelf and stroll away tossing tomatoes into his mouth. Normally I wouldn't say anything. We have security and if they choose not to act on petty shoplifting that's their call, but the guy was so brazen about it that I was shocked into speaking and I think I scared him. I hope I embarrassed him! Seriously! He could at least carry it around in his cart and pretend like he's going to buy it and then ditch the empty container in "lawn and garden" the way everyone else does!
Our night manager wasn't feeling well, so he lent me his key so I could take out the organics recyclables without him. (We keep our rotting fruits and vegetables and dairy products under strict lock and key!) When I tracked him down to return it he was in the midst of a crowd at the service desk watching four paramedics tend to a semi-conscious woman who was lying on the floor. There were two ambulances with their lights going parked outside the front door and a state trooper came in while I was there.
The story I eventually got was that two groups of about five young people each (late teens, early twenties) were following each other around the store trading insults and threats. A person from one group made a comment about a member of the other group's pants being baggy and they acted like they were going to fight. Being outside, I missed the panicked calls for help from the service desk. (I also missed seeing Mitch The Night Support Manager Who Looks Like Ben Franklin run. This is kind of like missing Haley's Comet.) Anyway, somebody called the police and the stress of their impending arrival apparently triggered one young woman's seizure.
While the paramedics were loading her on a gurney I looked over and noticed my friend Cecil The People Greeter (Cecil is a woman, btw) standing at the customer service desk, about three feet from the action, talking to one of the girls at the desk. Now, you have to understand that Cecil knows everyone and everything that goes on in Benton County. She frequently tells me about them as if she thinks I know who everyone is too. ("See that guy in the green? That's that brother of Myra Staple's husband, the one that was married to Claire that used to work in shoes until she found out he was having an affair with Carol Brooke's niece and she stripped their bank account and left him for that guy she met on the Internet who . . . .") I ran into Cecil a little later, after everyone was gone except for the state trooper, and I asked her what exactly had happened. She told me that a bunch of people were going to fight over baggy pants and I said that I knew that, but what about the girl who had the seizure?
Cecil didn't know what I was talking about. She hadn't seen any girl and hadn't noticed the paramedics who were working right by her feet. Not only hadn't she noticed them, I don't think she believed me that they even existed!
So, in the course of two days we had The Perfidious Corn Biters, Road Rage on the Mile-Long-Bridge, The Naughty Tomato Nosher, The Manager's Malaise, The Baggy Pants Fight Club, Running Rare, and The Case of the Oblivious People Greeter.
And they tell me it wasn't a full moon!
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Tales From the Customer Service Desk
My friend Stacy, who works at the customer service desk, has been telling me stories. Some of them are just too good not to share.
ONE
An elderly lady called the service desk and asked if we'd gotten any more corn in. Stacy assured her that we had.
Caller: That's good. You know, we looked at your corn the other day and there's something wrong with it. Did you know it's white?
Stacy: Yes, ma'am. It's white corn. It's supposed to be white.
Caller: White corn? I've never heard of such a thing. And it was so hard! I went over there and poked at it, and you know, I just don't think I could have chewed it.
Stacy: . . . you do know that you have to cook it first, right?
She didn't. She said she'd never heard of such a thing. Stacy gave her directions for boiling it. She (Stacy) said she wasn't about to try to tell her how to grill it.
TWO
A man called wanting advice about his "two stage, sit down transformer", but he didn't know what department he needed. Stacy didn't know what a two stage, sit down transformer was. He said it was "a thing". She asked him what he uses it for. He said "all kinds of stuff".
THREE
A lady called and told Stacy that she's nursing and she's developed a rash. She wanted to know if there's an anti-histimine she can take while breastfeeding. (We really need better health care in this country!)
FOUR
A teenage girl called to ask if she could re-use old earrings to get her ears pierced rather than buy a new kit. Stacy told her no, sorry, against health regulations. The girl said, "but I'm trying to do it at home and it's bleeding and it hurts!" (Heather in jewelry claims this is not an unusual request, btw.)
and FIVE
A woman called. She found a little blue pill on her bathroom floor. She didn't know what it was and wanted to know whether or not she should take it.
ONE
An elderly lady called the service desk and asked if we'd gotten any more corn in. Stacy assured her that we had.
Caller: That's good. You know, we looked at your corn the other day and there's something wrong with it. Did you know it's white?
Stacy: Yes, ma'am. It's white corn. It's supposed to be white.
Caller: White corn? I've never heard of such a thing. And it was so hard! I went over there and poked at it, and you know, I just don't think I could have chewed it.
Stacy: . . . you do know that you have to cook it first, right?
She didn't. She said she'd never heard of such a thing. Stacy gave her directions for boiling it. She (Stacy) said she wasn't about to try to tell her how to grill it.
TWO
A man called wanting advice about his "two stage, sit down transformer", but he didn't know what department he needed. Stacy didn't know what a two stage, sit down transformer was. He said it was "a thing". She asked him what he uses it for. He said "all kinds of stuff".
THREE
A lady called and told Stacy that she's nursing and she's developed a rash. She wanted to know if there's an anti-histimine she can take while breastfeeding. (We really need better health care in this country!)
FOUR
A teenage girl called to ask if she could re-use old earrings to get her ears pierced rather than buy a new kit. Stacy told her no, sorry, against health regulations. The girl said, "but I'm trying to do it at home and it's bleeding and it hurts!" (Heather in jewelry claims this is not an unusual request, btw.)
and FIVE
A woman called. She found a little blue pill on her bathroom floor. She didn't know what it was and wanted to know whether or not she should take it.
Like a Rocket to Heaven
Last Sunday promising young Warsaw, Missouri, sprint car driver Jesse "The Rocket" Hockett won his third race in three days. Last Wednesday, while preparing his trailer for a busy schedule of Memorial Day weekend races, he died in a freak electrical accident. He was only 27 and had just been married a matter of months.
I didn't know Jesse, though I'm sure I've seen him hundreds of times. His mother and grandmother-in-law, however, are both friends and co-workers. I'd like to extend to both of them, and to all his friends and family members, my deepest condolences.
I didn't know Jesse, though I'm sure I've seen him hundreds of times. His mother and grandmother-in-law, however, are both friends and co-workers. I'd like to extend to both of them, and to all his friends and family members, my deepest condolences.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Things I Keep Telling People
. . . in case they come in handy for anyone reading this.
1. Unlike many other fruits, strawberries do not ripen further after picking. If you buy green bananas they will last longer. If you buy green strawberries they will still be green when you either eat them or throw them away. Generally darker berries will be sweeter. You can tell that strawberries are going bad if there's mold (of course) or if they're starting to get drippy.
2. When buying corn on the cob, a dry husk does not necessarily mean the corn is bad. Look for plump kernels without dimples. The cob should be filled out all the way to the end. A fat, heavy ear of corn is better than a slender, lightweight ear.
The sugar in sweet corn begins to turn to starch the instant it's picked, so the less time between picking and cooking the better. You can't always tell fresher corn by looking. The bright, pretty green ears of corn just out of the produce cooler might be every bit as old as the ones that have been sitting out on the sales floor for three days while the husk turned papery. Your best bet is to find out where the corn is from. Corn that was grown close to wherever you are will always be better than corn that has been shipped in from far away.
Finally, if you are putting ears of corn into a plastic bag, especially one of the thin ones at the supermarket, put the corn tassel side down and it will not slice a hole in the bag.
3. When buying watermelons, the rind should be firm and not have any give to it. Yellow on the melon means it remained in the field long enough for the sugars to start coming through the rind. The more yellow, the sweeter the melon will be. Don't thump it for sound while it's laying down, or on a pile of melons. It will pick up the tones from its surroundings. Pick it up and give it a solid rap with the tips of your fingers. You will not be able to tell anything by slapping it gently, as I see so many people do. What you're listening for is a good, hollow tone like a drum. I like for watermelons to sound with a medium C or B flat tone, maybe a D. It should echo. The more high-pitched the tone, the greener the melon. The deeper the tone, the riper the melon. If it just gives a dull "thud" then the melon is overripe and the flesh will be mushy. Usually, by this time, the rind is starting to go soft as well.
4. If you're buying fruit that is pre-packed in a plastic bag and if it's not cold, avoid buying fruit that has moisture droplets inside the bag. If the bag has just been brought into a warm room from a cooler, the moisture is probably just condensation. But if the bag is room temperature and there is moisture, it means something in the bag is going bad.
5. Granny Smith and Jonathon are classic baking apples; however, you can cook with almost any variety of apple except Red Delicious. It has a high water content and will turn to mush when heated.
6. If you need potassium and don't like/can't get bananas, never fear. A serving of kiwifruit (two fruits) has more potassium than a medium banana and also more vitamin C than a grapefruit.
7. When buying grapes, the rule of thumb is that darker is sweeter. Red is sweeter than white/green and black is sweeter than red.
1. Unlike many other fruits, strawberries do not ripen further after picking. If you buy green bananas they will last longer. If you buy green strawberries they will still be green when you either eat them or throw them away. Generally darker berries will be sweeter. You can tell that strawberries are going bad if there's mold (of course) or if they're starting to get drippy.
2. When buying corn on the cob, a dry husk does not necessarily mean the corn is bad. Look for plump kernels without dimples. The cob should be filled out all the way to the end. A fat, heavy ear of corn is better than a slender, lightweight ear.
The sugar in sweet corn begins to turn to starch the instant it's picked, so the less time between picking and cooking the better. You can't always tell fresher corn by looking. The bright, pretty green ears of corn just out of the produce cooler might be every bit as old as the ones that have been sitting out on the sales floor for three days while the husk turned papery. Your best bet is to find out where the corn is from. Corn that was grown close to wherever you are will always be better than corn that has been shipped in from far away.
Finally, if you are putting ears of corn into a plastic bag, especially one of the thin ones at the supermarket, put the corn tassel side down and it will not slice a hole in the bag.
3. When buying watermelons, the rind should be firm and not have any give to it. Yellow on the melon means it remained in the field long enough for the sugars to start coming through the rind. The more yellow, the sweeter the melon will be. Don't thump it for sound while it's laying down, or on a pile of melons. It will pick up the tones from its surroundings. Pick it up and give it a solid rap with the tips of your fingers. You will not be able to tell anything by slapping it gently, as I see so many people do. What you're listening for is a good, hollow tone like a drum. I like for watermelons to sound with a medium C or B flat tone, maybe a D. It should echo. The more high-pitched the tone, the greener the melon. The deeper the tone, the riper the melon. If it just gives a dull "thud" then the melon is overripe and the flesh will be mushy. Usually, by this time, the rind is starting to go soft as well.
4. If you're buying fruit that is pre-packed in a plastic bag and if it's not cold, avoid buying fruit that has moisture droplets inside the bag. If the bag has just been brought into a warm room from a cooler, the moisture is probably just condensation. But if the bag is room temperature and there is moisture, it means something in the bag is going bad.
5. Granny Smith and Jonathon are classic baking apples; however, you can cook with almost any variety of apple except Red Delicious. It has a high water content and will turn to mush when heated.
6. If you need potassium and don't like/can't get bananas, never fear. A serving of kiwifruit (two fruits) has more potassium than a medium banana and also more vitamin C than a grapefruit.
7. When buying grapes, the rule of thumb is that darker is sweeter. Red is sweeter than white/green and black is sweeter than red.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Dear Persephone
I realize Hades is very sexy, what with that whole, powerful, Dark Lord of the Underworld thing going on. And I know you're going to miss him in the coming months and I sympathize. But a deal's a deal and it's SPRING already!
So kindly get your ass home to Mama!
Aaargh!
All day yesterday there were pale, shaky people coming into Walmart telling us how bad the roads were getting. It was snowing just INSANELY! I have a twenty mile drive over *extremely* bad roads. I'm talking three bridges, two of them under construction, and more hilly curves than I can count. The heater fan has gone out on my car so I have no heat and can barely keep a clear spot on the windshield. The Walmart truck driver came in with a horror story about a multiple fatality accident he passed in the direction I had to travel and my boss wouldn't let me leave while it was still daylight. He just said, "oh, it's not bad. The roads are fine! Just go slow, you won't have any trouble!" He finally let me go an hour early but by that time the roads were completely covered, the temperature had dropped below freezing, it was still snowing heavily and a rising fog had visibility down to zero.
After an hour and a half I finally managed to cover the fifteen miles to where I turn off the highway only to completely miss my turn and go nose-down in a deep ditch. Luckily for me, a guy I went to grade school with happened along right after and was kind enough to go home for a chain and then come back and pull me out. Another twenty minutes or so later I got to my own little dirt road and started to relax. Then I drove over a small tree that had fallen in the road and been buried by the heavy, thick, wet snow. (The trees drooping down across the road from both sides nearly made it impassable as it was.) I don't think I did any damage to my car but I really can't say for sure because I no more than got off the tree and turned into my driveway than I got stuck again. This time I was really stuck and alone, but the car is on my property so I left it and walked the rest of the way. I know it doesn't sound like much, but I have a long, steep driveway, with deep ruts I couldn't see in the dark, buried under a heavy snowfall. Plus, I was already freezing, what with the car heater not working.
I'm sure my manager meant well, but I know the roads I drive, I know my own driving skills and what my car will and will not do. And if the bosses at work won't trust my judgement when I say I need to leave, then next time I wake up to a heavy snowstorm (and may it please not be until next year!) I'm damn well calling in! I'm not going to do this again!
Seriously, Persephone! GO HOME!
So kindly get your ass home to Mama!
Aaargh!
All day yesterday there were pale, shaky people coming into Walmart telling us how bad the roads were getting. It was snowing just INSANELY! I have a twenty mile drive over *extremely* bad roads. I'm talking three bridges, two of them under construction, and more hilly curves than I can count. The heater fan has gone out on my car so I have no heat and can barely keep a clear spot on the windshield. The Walmart truck driver came in with a horror story about a multiple fatality accident he passed in the direction I had to travel and my boss wouldn't let me leave while it was still daylight. He just said, "oh, it's not bad. The roads are fine! Just go slow, you won't have any trouble!" He finally let me go an hour early but by that time the roads were completely covered, the temperature had dropped below freezing, it was still snowing heavily and a rising fog had visibility down to zero.
After an hour and a half I finally managed to cover the fifteen miles to where I turn off the highway only to completely miss my turn and go nose-down in a deep ditch. Luckily for me, a guy I went to grade school with happened along right after and was kind enough to go home for a chain and then come back and pull me out. Another twenty minutes or so later I got to my own little dirt road and started to relax. Then I drove over a small tree that had fallen in the road and been buried by the heavy, thick, wet snow. (The trees drooping down across the road from both sides nearly made it impassable as it was.) I don't think I did any damage to my car but I really can't say for sure because I no more than got off the tree and turned into my driveway than I got stuck again. This time I was really stuck and alone, but the car is on my property so I left it and walked the rest of the way. I know it doesn't sound like much, but I have a long, steep driveway, with deep ruts I couldn't see in the dark, buried under a heavy snowfall. Plus, I was already freezing, what with the car heater not working.
I'm sure my manager meant well, but I know the roads I drive, I know my own driving skills and what my car will and will not do. And if the bosses at work won't trust my judgement when I say I need to leave, then next time I wake up to a heavy snowstorm (and may it please not be until next year!) I'm damn well calling in! I'm not going to do this again!
Seriously, Persephone! GO HOME!
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Questions! I get questions!
A few days ago one of our new associates, a young man who works as a cart pusher, asked me shyly if he could bother me for a second. Silly question! I'm working. He can bother me for HOURS!
Anyway, he had a problem. He needed a zucchini for class the next day (I'm hoping cooking class and not, say, sex education, but I didn't ask). What's a zucchini? I know he felt silly having to have a common vegetable pointed out to him, but he really shouldn't have. That is FAR from the silliest question I've heard or heard of since I started working retail.
One of my friends came to Warsaw from Warrensburg, where she worked in the Walmart fabric and crafts department. One time someone asked her if they had any more of a certain kind of fabric and she told them brightly, "I'm sorry! I don't think the elves are making any more of that kind today." They stared at her in dismay and said, "well, can you go ask them?"
A few weeks ago my friend Matt answered a call that came to the deli. The caller wanted to know if the bakery had any fresh brownies. Matt told them that our store doesn't have a bakery to which they replied, "well, can you go look?"
Some years ago my friend Mitch was working in a large grocery store produce department somewhere in the city. He was at a counter coring pineapples and had a large stock of pineapples next to him, a coring machine in front of him and a goodly supply of packaged, labelled, cored pineapples on his other side. A customer came up and asked, "do you guys carry cored pineapple?" Mitch, incorrectly assuming the man was joking, said, "no, I'm sorry. We don't have any pineapple." The customer turned away in disgust, speaking into his cell phone. "We're just gonna have to go somewhere else, Mable. They don't carry it here!"
And just a few weeks ago a trio of teenaged boys, looking lost and confused* as teenaged boys often do, came up and asked me if we had any plums. I pointed them towards the plums and in a few minutes they were back with a bag of fruit.
"Are these peaches or pears?"
"They're nectarines. I thought you wanted plums."
"Yeah . . . these aren't plums?"
I guess I can't blame it all on retail madness, though. After all, my crazy uncle Lawrence did once call my mother up to ask her what her phone number was.
*Drunk and/or high
Anyway, he had a problem. He needed a zucchini for class the next day (I'm hoping cooking class and not, say, sex education, but I didn't ask). What's a zucchini? I know he felt silly having to have a common vegetable pointed out to him, but he really shouldn't have. That is FAR from the silliest question I've heard or heard of since I started working retail.
One of my friends came to Warsaw from Warrensburg, where she worked in the Walmart fabric and crafts department. One time someone asked her if they had any more of a certain kind of fabric and she told them brightly, "I'm sorry! I don't think the elves are making any more of that kind today." They stared at her in dismay and said, "well, can you go ask them?"
A few weeks ago my friend Matt answered a call that came to the deli. The caller wanted to know if the bakery had any fresh brownies. Matt told them that our store doesn't have a bakery to which they replied, "well, can you go look?"
Some years ago my friend Mitch was working in a large grocery store produce department somewhere in the city. He was at a counter coring pineapples and had a large stock of pineapples next to him, a coring machine in front of him and a goodly supply of packaged, labelled, cored pineapples on his other side. A customer came up and asked, "do you guys carry cored pineapple?" Mitch, incorrectly assuming the man was joking, said, "no, I'm sorry. We don't have any pineapple." The customer turned away in disgust, speaking into his cell phone. "We're just gonna have to go somewhere else, Mable. They don't carry it here!"
And just a few weeks ago a trio of teenaged boys, looking lost and confused* as teenaged boys often do, came up and asked me if we had any plums. I pointed them towards the plums and in a few minutes they were back with a bag of fruit.
"Are these peaches or pears?"
"They're nectarines. I thought you wanted plums."
"Yeah . . . these aren't plums?"
I guess I can't blame it all on retail madness, though. After all, my crazy uncle Lawrence did once call my mother up to ask her what her phone number was.
*Drunk and/or high
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Horoscope
I didn't read my horoscope for yesterday, but I figure, if it wanted to be accurate, this is what it should have said:
Saturday, May 10 -- One star (at best)
This is going to be an annoying day. You will be inconvenienced by another's lack of consideration.
Woman I barely know sends me a little email newsletter thingie with not one, not two, not three, but four ENORMOUS JPEG attachments. It took an hour to download via my dialup (only thing available here) and completely wiped out my morning online time. I think, from glancing at the letter, they were pictures of baby goats. They were so big you had to scroll to see them in the OE preview screen and mostly they seemed to be trees and sky. I didn't take time to open them -- by the time they downloaded I was running late for work. I almost cancelled the download and skipped the mail for the morning, but it could have been Janet sending me a book contract, you know. If it had been, say, a FIVE star day instead of a ONE star day . . . .
You will find what you need is out of reach and will be stymied by modern technology.
Walmart, in their infinite wisdom, has switched to a cheaper toilet paper that is roughly the same consistency as fog. As long as the roll is more than half full it is impossible to pull any off, because the weight of the roll is greater than the tensile strength of the paper. The result, of course, is that people both use more and waste more. If you try to pull some from a full roll, all you get is a little swatch the size of your fingertips (this is why the restrooms now are littered with little piles of paper snow under all the dispensers). The only way to get any is to spin the roll with one hand while pulling on the paper with the other, an awkward prospect at best.
Also, several years ago Walmart switched to automatic-flush toilets. There is a special place in Hell for the person who invented automatic-flush toilets. If you're lucky enough to be unfamiliar with these fiendish devices, they are electric-eye operated toilets that flush themselves, basically, whenever the hell they feel like it. They're supposed to flush when you stand up. Often they flush when you sit down. They flush if you move slightly, if you sneeze or -- and this is the really obnoxious bit -- if you reach for toilet paper.
Also, the genius who designed our particular Walmart built it with just one stall in the front women's restroom. This means that there is almost always a line, especially on busy holiday weekends.
So this is me yesterday using the facility. The closest roll of toilet paper was empty, but the holder holds two rolls so there was another, almost full one at the point where I could just barely reach it.
Roll. Rip. Damn! Flush. Little girl hopping up and down outside the stall. "Mommy! I have to go pee!" Roll. Rip. Damn! Flush. "Mommy! I have to go pee now!" Roll. Rip. Damn! Flush. "Why is the lady taking so long?"
A lack of attention to detail will set ill with you.
On lunch, in a hurry, I grabbed a cheap package of instant noodles without reading the ingredient label. Ate more than half of it before I decided to look and see why it tasted weird. Chicken fat and chicken broth. It's making me sick just thinking about it. I've been a vegetarian for 28 years.
I didn't throw up, but it was a near thing for several hours.
Your judgement is poor today; You're all wet.
I sat on the bench under the overhang for about ten minutes waiting for the rain to let up before heading to my car which, being as I work there, was parked all the way at the far end of the lot (uphill, of course). I timed it just perfectly to get caught half way in an enormous downpour. Good thing I have an umbrella. Too bad I left it in my car. I got there dripping wet, rain running down my back from my hair, my clothes soaked, heavy breathing steaming up the car windows (which is really no fun when you're alone!). Within two minutes the rain quit completely and didn't start again so far as I know.
Tonight: Back to nature.
The road from Warsaw to my house is a narrow, twenty-mile long ribbon of hilly, twisty pavement that is unwise to travel too fast on windy, foggy nights. It is also a road which, at ten o'clock on a Saturday night, has not a single open business with a public restroom. Fortunately, the last few miles run down gravel and dirt roads bordered by cow pastures. Cows are curious creatures with no manners about staring, but at least the bushes don't try to flush themselves and I think the less said about that, the better!
Saturday, May 10 -- One star (at best)
This is going to be an annoying day. You will be inconvenienced by another's lack of consideration.
Woman I barely know sends me a little email newsletter thingie with not one, not two, not three, but four ENORMOUS JPEG attachments. It took an hour to download via my dialup (only thing available here) and completely wiped out my morning online time. I think, from glancing at the letter, they were pictures of baby goats. They were so big you had to scroll to see them in the OE preview screen and mostly they seemed to be trees and sky. I didn't take time to open them -- by the time they downloaded I was running late for work. I almost cancelled the download and skipped the mail for the morning, but it could have been Janet sending me a book contract, you know. If it had been, say, a FIVE star day instead of a ONE star day . . . .
You will find what you need is out of reach and will be stymied by modern technology.
Walmart, in their infinite wisdom, has switched to a cheaper toilet paper that is roughly the same consistency as fog. As long as the roll is more than half full it is impossible to pull any off, because the weight of the roll is greater than the tensile strength of the paper. The result, of course, is that people both use more and waste more. If you try to pull some from a full roll, all you get is a little swatch the size of your fingertips (this is why the restrooms now are littered with little piles of paper snow under all the dispensers). The only way to get any is to spin the roll with one hand while pulling on the paper with the other, an awkward prospect at best.
Also, several years ago Walmart switched to automatic-flush toilets. There is a special place in Hell for the person who invented automatic-flush toilets. If you're lucky enough to be unfamiliar with these fiendish devices, they are electric-eye operated toilets that flush themselves, basically, whenever the hell they feel like it. They're supposed to flush when you stand up. Often they flush when you sit down. They flush if you move slightly, if you sneeze or -- and this is the really obnoxious bit -- if you reach for toilet paper.
Also, the genius who designed our particular Walmart built it with just one stall in the front women's restroom. This means that there is almost always a line, especially on busy holiday weekends.
So this is me yesterday using the facility. The closest roll of toilet paper was empty, but the holder holds two rolls so there was another, almost full one at the point where I could just barely reach it.
Roll. Rip. Damn! Flush. Little girl hopping up and down outside the stall. "Mommy! I have to go pee!" Roll. Rip. Damn! Flush. "Mommy! I have to go pee now!" Roll. Rip. Damn! Flush. "Why is the lady taking so long?"
A lack of attention to detail will set ill with you.
On lunch, in a hurry, I grabbed a cheap package of instant noodles without reading the ingredient label. Ate more than half of it before I decided to look and see why it tasted weird. Chicken fat and chicken broth. It's making me sick just thinking about it. I've been a vegetarian for 28 years.
I didn't throw up, but it was a near thing for several hours.
Your judgement is poor today; You're all wet.
I sat on the bench under the overhang for about ten minutes waiting for the rain to let up before heading to my car which, being as I work there, was parked all the way at the far end of the lot (uphill, of course). I timed it just perfectly to get caught half way in an enormous downpour. Good thing I have an umbrella. Too bad I left it in my car. I got there dripping wet, rain running down my back from my hair, my clothes soaked, heavy breathing steaming up the car windows (which is really no fun when you're alone!). Within two minutes the rain quit completely and didn't start again so far as I know.
Tonight: Back to nature.
The road from Warsaw to my house is a narrow, twenty-mile long ribbon of hilly, twisty pavement that is unwise to travel too fast on windy, foggy nights. It is also a road which, at ten o'clock on a Saturday night, has not a single open business with a public restroom. Fortunately, the last few miles run down gravel and dirt roads bordered by cow pastures. Cows are curious creatures with no manners about staring, but at least the bushes don't try to flush themselves and I think the less said about that, the better!
Monday, March 10, 2008
Monkee Business . . .
. . . on the Wal-Mart Radio Network!
On the off chance that there's anyone in North America besides Janet Reid who's never been in a Wal-Mart, allow me to explain. The gigantic Wal-mart corporation, which owns a huge chain of retail outlets under the Wal-Mart name and a huge chain of wholesale outlets under the Sam's Club name and a growing chain of grocery stores under the Neighborhood Market name also runs three communication networks to connect them all. There is a company intranet called The Wire*, The Wal-Mart Television Network, which supplies content (heavy on the advertising) for the televisions located throughout the stores, and the Wal-Mart Radio Network, which supplies the music and ads you can hear anytime you are out of range of one of the TVs.
Wal-Mart radio is arguably the strangest radio station in the world.
It is perfectly normal to hear a sequence of music such as this: Buddy Holly, Rod Stewart, Garth Brooks, Boy George, Jose Feliciano, Uncle Cracker, Sons of the Pioneers, Johnny Cash, Def Leppard and Judy Garland.
Lately, however, I've noticed a new trend. Somewhere in the animal cages that hold the radio programmers, there is a Monkees fan. I'm something of a Monkees fan myself from back in the day**, otherwise I probably wouldn't have noticed. But for the past several weeks, almost every day I work, I hear at least one obscure Monkees song. I'm not talking Daydream Believer, Pleasant Valley Sunday or Last Train to Clarksville here. Yesterday I heard Mary, Mary. The day before that (well, the last day I worked before that) it was Sweet Young Thing and the day before that was Take a Giant Step Outside Your Mind. In the past couple of months I've heard She, Valerie, On The Day We Fall In Love, Auntie Grizzelda and I'm Gonna Buy Me A Dog.
It's so weird being at work and suddenly hearing these old songs, like a blast from the past. Some of them I haven't heard, I don't think, since I wore out the last of my Monkees cassette tapes twenty years ago! I'm not complaining! I still like the Monkees and I'm enjoying the novelty of hearing them again, and the variety. (Wal-Mart television is mind-bogglingly repetitive! You get the same segments about every three minutes. I can now talk like Paula Deen. This is not something I learned voluntarily!) The only bad thing is that every time I hear one (I'm still waiting for Zam and Zor, Going Down, Shades of Grey and Western Union) I want to run and tell someone.
And nobody ever understands.
*Janet Reid says I should watch The Wire for some great writing, but so far all I'm seeing is cleaning guides and official dress codes.
**Back in the day being the late 1980s, when The Monkees was on Nick at Nite in reruns, not in the mid 1960s. Contrary to what my nephews think, I'm not that old!
On the off chance that there's anyone in North America besides Janet Reid who's never been in a Wal-Mart, allow me to explain. The gigantic Wal-mart corporation, which owns a huge chain of retail outlets under the Wal-Mart name and a huge chain of wholesale outlets under the Sam's Club name and a growing chain of grocery stores under the Neighborhood Market name also runs three communication networks to connect them all. There is a company intranet called The Wire*, The Wal-Mart Television Network, which supplies content (heavy on the advertising) for the televisions located throughout the stores, and the Wal-Mart Radio Network, which supplies the music and ads you can hear anytime you are out of range of one of the TVs.
Wal-Mart radio is arguably the strangest radio station in the world.
It is perfectly normal to hear a sequence of music such as this: Buddy Holly, Rod Stewart, Garth Brooks, Boy George, Jose Feliciano, Uncle Cracker, Sons of the Pioneers, Johnny Cash, Def Leppard and Judy Garland.
Lately, however, I've noticed a new trend. Somewhere in the animal cages that hold the radio programmers, there is a Monkees fan. I'm something of a Monkees fan myself from back in the day**, otherwise I probably wouldn't have noticed. But for the past several weeks, almost every day I work, I hear at least one obscure Monkees song. I'm not talking Daydream Believer, Pleasant Valley Sunday or Last Train to Clarksville here. Yesterday I heard Mary, Mary. The day before that (well, the last day I worked before that) it was Sweet Young Thing and the day before that was Take a Giant Step Outside Your Mind. In the past couple of months I've heard She, Valerie, On The Day We Fall In Love, Auntie Grizzelda and I'm Gonna Buy Me A Dog.
It's so weird being at work and suddenly hearing these old songs, like a blast from the past. Some of them I haven't heard, I don't think, since I wore out the last of my Monkees cassette tapes twenty years ago! I'm not complaining! I still like the Monkees and I'm enjoying the novelty of hearing them again, and the variety. (Wal-Mart television is mind-bogglingly repetitive! You get the same segments about every three minutes. I can now talk like Paula Deen. This is not something I learned voluntarily!) The only bad thing is that every time I hear one (I'm still waiting for Zam and Zor, Going Down, Shades of Grey and Western Union) I want to run and tell someone.
And nobody ever understands.
*Janet Reid says I should watch The Wire for some great writing, but so far all I'm seeing is cleaning guides and official dress codes.
**Back in the day being the late 1980s, when The Monkees was on Nick at Nite in reruns, not in the mid 1960s. Contrary to what my nephews think, I'm not that old!
Friday, March 7, 2008
Miscommunicado
In today's world it's very important to be careful not only of what you say but of how you say it. One misplaced syllable or unguarded inflection and the most innocent comment can be completely misconstrued. Take yesterday at work, for example.
I was just wandering around the produce department with my little cart, stocking the fruit displays when a man whom I know only very slightly came in and just such a misunderstanding occurred. What I said was, "hi, how are you?"
What he apparently heard was, "tell me all about your wife's explosive diarreah."
People, trust me. This is not something I am ever, ever, ever going to ask.
Ever.
I am not unsympathetic. If you or one of your loved ones is sick, then naturally I wish you well. I just don't need the details! Now, I could understand what was going on. Here was a man who is used to being cared for and cossetted by his wife and suddenly he found himself in the position of caretaker. Not only that, but the role had led him out of the safe confines of his living room into the scary wilds of a great big, huge, gigantic, incredibly-small-town Wal-Mart almost-but-not-quite Supercenter. He wanted recognition of this fact. He wanted to be patted on the head and told that he's a Good Boy. I can do that! The conversation goes like this:
Me: Hi, how are you?
Him: I'm good, but my wife's sick.
Me: Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that.
Him: Well, I'm taking care of her. I came to get her some medicine and things.
Me: Aren't you a nice husband!
Him: Yeah. What aisle's the chicken soup in?
And then I tell him and he finishes his shopping and I stock my fruit and that's IT! If he absolutely can't help himself he can ask me for directions to Pepto Bismal instead of chicken soup or even, if he MUST, Immodium AD.
I'd really rather he not ask about the Immodium AD, but doing so won't make me be mean to him in my blog. But that is the very LIMIT to what I am willing to be told about any infirmities suffered by himself or his family or anyone whose existence he is aware of.
I do not need to hear that she is "spewing out both ends like a volcano"! I do not need to know about the plastic trash bag she has to carry with her or that she "can't get off the pot without leaving a trail to help her find her way back"!
The banana girl does not want to know!
I do not discuss such things with my nearest and dearest*. If you are a relative stranger to me** then not only do we not need to talk about this, but the term "spewing like a volcano" should not ever, under any circumstances, enter any conversation we might ever have with the sole exception of if we are in fact talking about an honest-to-God actual volcano.
Is all that perfectly clear?
*The small handful of people I can stand.
**Even stranger than my relatives.
I was just wandering around the produce department with my little cart, stocking the fruit displays when a man whom I know only very slightly came in and just such a misunderstanding occurred. What I said was, "hi, how are you?"
What he apparently heard was, "tell me all about your wife's explosive diarreah."
People, trust me. This is not something I am ever, ever, ever going to ask.
Ever.
I am not unsympathetic. If you or one of your loved ones is sick, then naturally I wish you well. I just don't need the details! Now, I could understand what was going on. Here was a man who is used to being cared for and cossetted by his wife and suddenly he found himself in the position of caretaker. Not only that, but the role had led him out of the safe confines of his living room into the scary wilds of a great big, huge, gigantic, incredibly-small-town Wal-Mart almost-but-not-quite Supercenter. He wanted recognition of this fact. He wanted to be patted on the head and told that he's a Good Boy. I can do that! The conversation goes like this:
Me: Hi, how are you?
Him: I'm good, but my wife's sick.
Me: Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that.
Him: Well, I'm taking care of her. I came to get her some medicine and things.
Me: Aren't you a nice husband!
Him: Yeah. What aisle's the chicken soup in?
And then I tell him and he finishes his shopping and I stock my fruit and that's IT! If he absolutely can't help himself he can ask me for directions to Pepto Bismal instead of chicken soup or even, if he MUST, Immodium AD.
I'd really rather he not ask about the Immodium AD, but doing so won't make me be mean to him in my blog. But that is the very LIMIT to what I am willing to be told about any infirmities suffered by himself or his family or anyone whose existence he is aware of.
I do not need to hear that she is "spewing out both ends like a volcano"! I do not need to know about the plastic trash bag she has to carry with her or that she "can't get off the pot without leaving a trail to help her find her way back"!
The banana girl does not want to know!
I do not discuss such things with my nearest and dearest*. If you are a relative stranger to me** then not only do we not need to talk about this, but the term "spewing like a volcano" should not ever, under any circumstances, enter any conversation we might ever have with the sole exception of if we are in fact talking about an honest-to-God actual volcano.
Is all that perfectly clear?
*The small handful of people I can stand.
**Even stranger than my relatives.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Blame it on Mindy and the weather
For the past few weeks, every time I write my friend Mindy Tarquini a rude letter she responds that I need a blog. I've largely resisted the whole blogging trend on the twin grounds that (a) there are more than enough blogs in the world already and (b) I'm apt to get myself shot. An ice storm across west central Missouri kept me home today, however, and having a little extra time on my hands I have now given in and become a blogger. Since this is my first post, perhaps I should introduce myself.
Hi, I'm Loretta. Pleased to meet you!
I'm the evening produce stocker at the Warsaw, Missouri, Walmart. I'm also a writer. My first book is a murder mystery called The Reenactment, about a serial killer who is recreating nineteenth century homicides. The Reenactment is now in the hands of my agent and I'm working on the sequel.
When I'm not stocking bananas, of course.
I'm afraid I've also been decimating the local law enforcement agencies. Last year I asked a retired Kansas City cop, "if you find a body and it's obviously dead, can you say it's dead or do you have to try to revive it anyway until the coroner arrives?" (I had this kind of an image in my head of a police report reading, "efforts to revive the victim did not succeed, as we were unable to locate his head . . .") The officer in question kind of stammered out an answer and then moved to Arkansas.
Here recently I asked a Benton County Deputy, "if you're arresting a guy who's been shot in the nuts with a nail gun, do you read him his rights before or after they get him loose from the floor?" He kind of stammered out an answer and then moved to Utah.
Now I have another question. Anybody know a cop you want to get rid of?
Hi, I'm Loretta. Pleased to meet you!
I'm the evening produce stocker at the Warsaw, Missouri, Walmart. I'm also a writer. My first book is a murder mystery called The Reenactment, about a serial killer who is recreating nineteenth century homicides. The Reenactment is now in the hands of my agent and I'm working on the sequel.
When I'm not stocking bananas, of course.
I'm afraid I've also been decimating the local law enforcement agencies. Last year I asked a retired Kansas City cop, "if you find a body and it's obviously dead, can you say it's dead or do you have to try to revive it anyway until the coroner arrives?" (I had this kind of an image in my head of a police report reading, "efforts to revive the victim did not succeed, as we were unable to locate his head . . .") The officer in question kind of stammered out an answer and then moved to Arkansas.
Here recently I asked a Benton County Deputy, "if you're arresting a guy who's been shot in the nuts with a nail gun, do you read him his rights before or after they get him loose from the floor?" He kind of stammered out an answer and then moved to Utah.
Now I have another question. Anybody know a cop you want to get rid of?
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