To-day is a day where I will get my car’s oil changed, I will get rid of a ton of clothes I no longer wear, and eat dinner with La Moustache. But I do have things to write about, so back I will be.
Also, Crasian told a barista the other day that even though sin is bad, God is basically good. And that Chris talks like a girl. Hee, hee, hee.
To the bat cave! (By which I mean curb, for what is where my car is parked; sorry to disappoint, Robin. You can take your tights off.)
I am having the weirdest dreams every night, and I think it is because I am re-reading Interview With the Vampire. The past three nights have been filled with creepyweirdness, but the worst part is, I don’t remember any of it. I usually remember my dreams, though. VAMPIRES ARE SUCKING DREAMS OUT OF MY HEAD, OH MY GOSH, OH MY GOSH ANNE RICE!! THANKS A WHOLE BUNCH!
Actually, I am not ashamed to say that one of my first thoughts upon waking up, aside from the usual, “..coffee, please, sdjhfksdhkf coffeeeeeeeee”, “If I go back to bed, I’m sure somebody else can open the store”, and “Ugh”, was indeed, “Somebody is sucking dreams out of my head”. I am losing it. It is early. I am having my coffee now.
I should be in bed, as I’ve got to be up at 6 for work, but I stayed up late last night, managed a shift at work on four hours of sleep, came home, napped, and now I am wide-awake again. A vicious cycle, indeed.
One of the things that I am currently thinking about is just how annoying people can really be. By ‘people’, I mean customers in retail. This is a topic that I have discussed many a time before, and will probably write my thesis on one day if I decide grad school is worth it. In the meantime, I am forcing the internets to suffer my brainwaves. I don’t think that was even close to proper English. O Queen, I beseech thee, forgive my grammarly soul!
My sister worked an early morning shift today, as I did, and had a Customer From Hell (CFH) within her first half-hour. She works in a pharmacy, and there was a lady and a man standing at the counter. She is not sure who was actually there first, but the lady had an Arizona iced tea and an enema (breakfast?) and the man had a question. As she had rightly guessed, the man had an issue with his prescription, and it was something that needed to be dealt with at that moment so he could get his medicine. It isn’t something that can be handled at the front of the store — unlike the iced tea and enema. Mm, mm. Nothing like a home-cooked meal, am I right or AM I RIGHT?
So while my sister is helping this gentleman, the lady begins to get angry. I am surprised she did not turn green and into Edward Norton, but perhaps my sis caught her in the nick of time. The lady demands to know why on earth she was not helped first.
“There was a customer who had a problem,” my sister says. “I’m.. sorry?”
“BUT I WAS HERE FIRST,” the lady snarls. What is she, three?
“I didn’t see you, I’m really sorry. I can help you now, though.”
“I WAS HERE FIRST, AND YOU SHOULD HAVE HELPED ME FIRST.”
She’s lucky anyone helped her. Seriously! And of course, all she wanted was her damn drink and buttplug.. she could have easily gone to the front of store. WHICH IS WHERE SHE’D HAVE TO GO TO EXIT THE BUILDING. Some people, I know, feel more comfortable with buying “drugstore” items at the pharmacy. Like if there’s a male cashier up front and I needs my lady products, hell yeah I’ll go to the pharmacy if there’s a lady back there. But if not, big deal, whatever. I’m not going to hold up a line of people for something that nearly every woman has to deal with. People are terrible, but, it seems, only in public.
I’ll give you another example. Today, I am called to the register. The cashier is nervous and says nothing but, “..Can I get a manager to the front?” which translates to “This is a coupon issue.. stand back and have your fire extinguisher on hand and at the ready OH GOD I THINK THEY JUST BREATHED FIRE ON ME”
When I arrive at the front, I find a normal enough middle-aged woman. She looks slightly annoyed, but nothing to write home about. I stand there and wait for the explosion.
The cashier starts to explain, gets flustered, and the customer interjects loudly.
“I bought this YESterday,” she says, holding up a paperback book, “and I did not know whether or not I was ELIGIBLE for any COUPONS at the TIME. I went HOME, checked my MAIL, and SURE ENOUGH, there was a coupon.”
So she wants to get a price adjustment. We used to do this all the time, because we were stupid and nice, but now, as long the coupon is still within the right time (i.e., they can’t use a coupon for a book today that expired yesterday even if they found it in their inbox today because we don’t fucking backmail coupons AND DO NOT TRY TO TELL ME THAT WE DO, I KNOW HOW THE INTERNET WORKS THANK YOU AND GOODNIGHT), the customer has to return the item, go to the shelf, hope that we have another copy of the original item, and rebuy it with the coupon. Is this tedious? Yes. Do I wish we could do it in one fell swoop? Of course. But am I going to get fired for doing it the way the customer wants? Uh, no.
I explain what I’ve just explained — return this, go to shelf, get another, repurchase. She looks at me.
“So you’re saying I have to get ANOTHER one?”
“Yes, that’s the only way we can do this for you.”
“I have to GO to the SHELF and GET another COPY.”
“Yup!”
She starts to go, stops, turns around, and asks, again, if that is in fact what she has to do. I tell her, again, yes. She gets her damn book, with her damn coupon, and leaves. Satisfied. I guess.
I don’t know, is it just me, or do people turn into huge babies when they get into a store? It’s like the minute they see things for sale, they want it all for free, they want coupons, they want everything 75% off with cash back.. I’m sorry, but the world just doesn’t work that way. Companies are being nice when they email you coupons, or hand them out in the store. We don’t owe you anything. You’re a consumer, I’m a consumer, we’re all going to have to buy this shit sooner or later. But you don’t have to buy it this instant. You’d be surprised how many impulse book buyers we get. (I am one of them — but I do not return my bookly goods. I read them. Like you do.)
I used to be patient, but that ended in 2004. Coincidentally the same year I went into retail. Ho, hum. So it goes.
Also, Halloween is Friday (as we all know), and yet we are setting up Christmas on Election Day. Is this weird? Is this just me? Why do retail stores insist upon shoving each and every holiday down our throats until we’re choking on tinsel and gift wrap? I like the holidays, I really do. I like how crisp the air is (not like I go outside, but I’ve heard it’s crisp), the magic of snow (seen through my windows), and, of course, presents. I like the madness of each and every store, how despite Christmas being on the same damn day every damn year except maybe back in biblical times, people will always, always wait until the last minute. I think it’s fun to go out on Black Friday. But it’s just weird, weird, weird that there is never a proper break between holidays. At least let me have turkey first, y’know?
Here’s to five restless hours of sleep, whereupon I will dream of sugarplums and snowmen, customers and craziness.
I spot a mysteriously bare endcap in Religion. I sigh, shake my head, and start grabbing books at random from the section to put on the shelves. As I am bent down by the bottom row, I hear a cheerful, “Helloooo!”
“Oh, HI,” I say, as I look up and see Crasian.
“Hi. Hi. What are you doooing?”
“I’m straightening these books.”
“Why?”
“Because they fell over.”
“Whyyyy?”
“..because I’m making a display, and I had to take some out.”
“Whyyyyyyyyyy?”
“Do you want me to stop? I can stop if you want me to.”
“Oh, no, no! It’s your job, silly!” She giggles. I cock my head. This is weird. (When is it not?)
She holds out a book. “I’m reading this book. It’s written by this guy, this.. Philip S. Foner.”
It’s about the Women’s Movement. I nod. “Oh, that looks, um, nice.”
“HE’S SEXIST.”
“Is he?”
“YES, and he’s probably wealthy. Really wealthy, because of this book and because he’s SEXIST.”
I am not sure why a sexist man would write a book about the Women’s Movement, or, indeed, why a man would be writing about that at all, and shrug in the direction of her outstretched arm, clutching the battered library book. She’s done this before, bringing books from home or from the library to our bookstore. I don’t get it. We have plenty. Maybe she’s got special notes inside.
“Well, I’m sure he’s filthy rich,” I say, to reassure her.
“Yeah. Yeaaaah. Okay, well, good-bye,” she says, and scuttles away.
Later, I am in Cooking and she approaches me again. This time, she shifts her weight from foot to foot, looks at the floor a lot, and basically does her best impression of a shy six-year-old girl. This is borderline creepy.
“Hiii,” she calls.
“Hello again,” I say. I am trying to find a cookbook with a meatloaf recipe for a co-worker.
“I’m going to Bryn Mawr,” she says. “Are you coming?”
“I didn’t know I was invited,” I say, honestly. She makes things up, and also has no real sense of reality, so it’s possible she thinks we had this conversation. And I’m sure we did, in her head.
“Of COURSE you are!” she says, shocked. “We’re gonna drive, in my car, and go to Bryn Mawr!”
“Isn’t that where you went to college?” I ask.
“Yes, I went there.. and I’m going back.”
“Oh, I see.”
“There’s going to be a tea party!”
“Yeah? Is the Queen going to be there?”
“Mmmhm.”
“What about Prince William?”
She glares at me.
“Anderson Cooper is coming,” she says, smiling. She hates Anderson Cooper, and has told me this on many occasions. But this smile seems genuine. I am confused.
“Oh? But what about Prince William?”
“HE IS NOT INVITED,” she half-yells. “He isn’t coming. Just me, and you, the Queen, and.. Anderson Cooper.” She giggles.
“That sounds.. great,” I say.
“They’re your exes, too,” she says, so softly I almost don’t hear her.
“Who’s my exes?”
“Prince William. And Anderson Cooper. They’re my exes, and they’re yours.”
“Well, they must have been pretty boring, because I don’t remember that.”
She smiles, and it stretches into a hideous grin and erupts into a cackle. She tells me she is leaving now, and calls me “Honey” over the row of books as she walks away. It floats in the air, hanging there, as I walk to the Info Desk and wonder how on earth this woman has a license, and better still, why her family lets her out by herself. And why she likes me best.
Must be the Queen’s doing.
I still feel a little weird having this in my possession, but maybe she wanted it that way.
Crasian made her first appearance the other night for the first time in about a month; she was extremely angry and not at all pleased. I approached her three times, three! and she ignored me each time, instead choosing to stomp past me in pursuit of Justin. This is particularly intriguing and disturbing. Like Chris, who she was previously in love with and even went so far as to leave him a note depicting what her wedding dress would look like, Justin also has red hair. Aside from that, they share no other similarities. But still. As much as I love the Crasian, to have her blow me off for my boyfriend is a bit scary. Plus, she’s never talked to him before; he’s been witness to a few encounters but only knew most of the stories based on what he’s heard from me and other employees.
Anyway, here’s what happened. Because that’s what’s important.
Crasian: ..so I married the Emperor of the Universe, and now he won’t even talk to me. He ignores me.
Justin: Hmm, it sounds like he’s really not interested. It sounds like he needs a.. Universal Divorce.
Crasian: YES I WANT TO SUE HIM FOR EVERYTHING HE’S GOT I WANT ALL OF HIS MONEY ALL OF IT EVERYTHING you know, he married me because I am so holy.
Justin: Oh?
Crasian: Yes, I am the Virgin Mary.
Justin: …oh.
She went in and out of the store no less than five times, would not speak to anyone aside from Justin and a brief word to Chris because she wanted an ice water, and the last time she came in she spoke to an imaginary person. I openly watched her from the Info desk, confused as to what exactly was going on. She was standing by the front doors, hissing at a “person” six inches in front of her.
Crasian: Why couldn’t you just be a little nicer? To the little Asian girl who had no friends.. NO FRIENDS.. growing up? Would it have hurt you? Would it?
I held my breath.
Crasian: FUCKHEAD.
That she yelled, and promptly strode out of the store. I have never wanted to simultaneously kick out and hug a customer at the same time. She is my hero, even if she is a touch insane and has that tragic Oedipal thing going on.
*
I have work tonight, and again tomorrow, but Sunday promises to be a day filled with New Hope. (The town, that is; I wasn’t trying to pull an A.A. Milne and capitalize random adjectives and nouns. Although I guess it could really go both ways.. but I assure you, it is the name of a town and that is all I honestly meant. I am just realizing how genius I seemed for a minute there.) And that is really the best kind of day. Hopefully sometime this week, all of the secrets and mysteries will finally come to an end and I’ll finally be able to talk about a few things. Until then..
My birthday was just so incredibly intense, mind-blowing, wondrous, etc, that I have been recovering from it ever since and have only just crawled out of my sickbed to tell the world of it. Or I’ve been busy. You decide.
In all honesty, my birthday was very good to me, as were the people who helped me celebrate it. Among my many gifts, where the theme was decidedly unicorns and/or Hello Kitty, I have to say a few stand-outs were indeed my golden banana of an iPod nano (inscribed on the back with “Your faithful servant, Margaret Thatcher”; she is named Queen Elizabeth II); a gigantic Domo-Kun which is simultaneously frightening and delightful; The Adventures of the Gummi Bears on DVD (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BRTSZZgCUik); and of course what birthday would be complete without a trip to the mall and, therefore, a trip to the Sanrio store within.
You’d think I’d just turned 6 and not 23, judging by most of that. Well, anyway, it was a great weekend, and made even more great when we found out that a certain somebody had an interview at last. And then maybe somebody else has an interview too. And so you see, there are things I cannot discuss because I believe strongly in jinxing myself, and also because The Secret by Rhonda Byrne tells me to “think positively” and all things will come true. No, for real. I just saved you like, $17. That’s all that damn book is about. I mean, that’s all that wonderful, amazing, inspiring book is about.
On a note of something that is no secret, my love for the Crasian has increased tenfold. Chris came up to me at work last night and said, “I have a question of ethics for you.”
I said, “..yes?”
He said, “Well, the Crasian left this. It looks like it’s for her mom, so I don’t know if I should read it, or –”
It was at that point that I snatched it from his paws and eagerly read the note inside. The envelope was addressed simply to “Mother” and the note?
“You are my favorite mother, Jackie. But why? Read James Joyce. Blessings be with you. <3 (she drew a heart), your daughter.”
THIS, MY FRIENDS, IS A WHOLE NEW LEVEL OF INSANITY.
1. The ‘Jackie’ she refers to is indeed Jackie O.; she has told me previously that that is her mother. However, she also said that the actress in Memoirs of a Geisha, and I am assuming she means Zhang Ziyi, is also her mother. But according to the note, she might have more than one “mother”.
2. James Joyce BLOWS, so why on earth she would want anyone to read him is beyond me. Here, let me summarize Dubliners for you: “We’re Irish, life’s rough.. aw, fuck it, let’s have a pint! Meet ya there, Patrick!”
3. Nothing really, I just felt silly having only two points.
I will be sure to take a picture because, for a crazy lady, she does have surprisingly nice handwriting. But she’s still crazy. No doubt about it.
My manager has given at least three other people in the store a taste of her nasty, evil head-cold and I have not really been my usual self these past few days. Once the cold is officially out of my system, and everybody has gone on their interviews and found out results, then I will be able to talk freely and without fear of Jinx. I am not referring to the Pokemon, Jynx. Actually, maybe I am.
Let’s leave it at that, then. ‘Til next time.
