The Tempest
And so here I am, one month later, proud graduate of an "intensive" customer service training week, and proud employee of what I shall refer to as "Company X." I dream of those lost days of relaxation and working naught. These days I deal with screaming babies and angry customers, all while grappling with my sanity. With my mind on the brink, I turn to the only thing I think might help, entertaining the masses. Or, in this case, the eight other people that read this site.
Episode I: (4/11/03) (4.5/5 stars, 10 votes)
Today is my first day off in 10 days. I have successfully completed a 10 day stretch, and yes, it completely sucked ass. Now that I actually have some time to myself, I can gather my thoughts and my hastily scribbled notes and hopefully write something of substance. (Yes, I take notes at work. However, there is no paper supply, so I am forced to write, in tiny script, on pieces of register tape that I horde in my pocket.)
If I didn't like people in general before, you can be sure that I hate them now. I have to serve the most ignorant, self centered assholes I have ever met, and all with a smile. They bitch about the stupidest things and talk to me like I am Company X. The other day I overheard a customer telling another employee what a great sale we were having. Congradulating us, like we, the employees, had all gotten together last night and decided that there should be a sale this weekend. That's not how it works, dipshit. I hate you, I hate this job, and most of all , I hate fucking sales. There's something about a sale that brings out the absolute worst in a person. Everything that your mother taught you when you were little goes out the window. Suddenly you can't put things back where they belong, you have to break things, preferably things that I have to fix, and most of all you can't control your children.
Now it's the children that really get me. I sell clothes people, I am not working at a daycare. I am not here to pick up after you and your children. I don't watch them, and I'm not making sure that they are safe. If your kid is sucked under the escalator by his shoelaces, that sucks, but don't expect me to know where the little bastard has gone. Yesterday my manager asked me what I thought about kids. I answered "I think I'm not going to have any." I used to think that if I managed to keep my sense of humor, I could get through anything. I am coming to believe that this might not be true. Case in point: Early last week I was ringing some guy up. He was buying clothes for his daughter, who was about 3-4. I finish ringing him up, he pays and as he is about to leave, it happens. She stands still, looks at him, and pisses her pants. I swear to God, pees right there, in front of my register, all over the floor. He stares, I stare, she pees. She finally finishes, and I have no idea of what to do. The father takes her by the hand, and just leaves. I stare in disbelief. I then call maintenance and have them send someone to clean up. I hate kids
Episode II: Tempest's stereotypes of black people are shattered
(4/21/03) (5/5 stars, 6 votes)
I am sick. No, literally, I am sick. Each breath is a labor of spite, for I won't give them the satisfaction of killing me at work. Each blink of an eye is excruciating. To say my customer service skills have diminished would be a vast understatement. These people are lucky if I even acknowledge their presence let alone smile and talk. I am the walking dead and this is my purgatory. The fluorescent bulbs burn into my eyes and the sound of crying children almost makes my ears bleed. So, since being sick pretty much sums up my day, I will dredge something up from my notes that I was saving for later.
Everyone thinks I'm Mexican. Especially the Mexicans. I don't understand this phenomenon. Shouldn't they be able to tell their own? They are perplexed when I can't converse with them in spanish. I especially love it when they speak more slowly, as if I'll understand them then. I have encountered this anomaly before. Once in Missouri a gas station attendant stared at me for a full minute before I had to ask her if I could help her with something. I then had to explain to her my entire ethnic background. Since I've started working for Company X, nobody has been able to correctly infer my true ethnic origin, which is fine by me. I like it when people make assumptions, sometimes they say things they probably shouldn't in front of you. I work with a black girl. This is not an assumption, I know for sure that she is black. We have a lot of down time here at company X, so I try to spend most of it talking to my co-workers, not because I like them so much, but b ecause it beats the alternatives. In my brief conversations with black girl I have learned a few things about her. She only listens to R&B and rap, she has a black boyfriend and a white roommate, she is very young (18), and most defiantly not the brightest bulb in the bunch. Here's a comment she made to me in her own words, "I'm not any good at school." Although she might not be great at school, she does have many redeeming qualities. For instance, she can fold a stack of blue jeans very, very well. Also, she's great at putting away things.
At company X, each employee is assigned a number. For instance, my number is 497. We use them to clock in., log in to our registers, and check sales reports. Essentially, we are our number. So, black girl and I are having a conversation about employee numbers. (Yes, this is the stupid shit I have to talk about at work, especially since nobody there has ever heard of Rousseau or "Ulysses.")
Anyhow, I muse aloud, "I wonder who has number 187."
"I don't know.", replies black girl.
"I wish I was 187, it's pretty much how I feel all the time anyway." says I.
"Why? What's 187 mean?"
I felt as if my entire world were collapsing around me. Everything that I held dear and true was coming down. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with black people? Or at least this black person? How can you not know what 187 means? Wasn't it pounded into our collective heads back in '92? Isn't it practically in the dictionary by now? It's experiences like this that really make me re-examine my life and question reality.
Episode III: Tempest falls in like, girl moves away. (5/1/03)
(4 out of 5 stars, 10 votes)
Well here I am, sitting here, nursing my final beer, fearing that the warmth that it brings me may fade away soon. Although I complain about Company X, there have been some unexpected positive notes. Mainly that I met someone. Now I know that the majority of you believe that I'm totally money and that I get chicks all the time, well, except for one person. And even if this may be true, it doesn't necessarily mean that every girl I meet is right for me. Well it just so happens that I did meet a great girl at work. Now I feel that I must explain myself. Company X was the last place that I thought I would meet anyone of substance. I thought that I would be working with the lowest common denominator, and to a point, I do. I mean, for heavens sake, we talk about "Good Day Live", the weather, and other asinine shit. So, I never expected that I might meet somebody that I would be legitimately interested in, but I did.
I met her when I came in for my interview. Which, I might add, wasn't so much an interview, as a manager begging for me to work for Company X. God, sometimes I can't believe how awesome I am. We spoke, and I felt the vibe, but I dismissed it as I often do. So I began working for Company X, as you all know by now. Little did I know that Company X would become my new God. They govern my days, my nights, and even which days will become my weekends. I was to soon find out that Company X is a fickle God, and what he giveth he can, and probably will, taketh away. What he gave me was a great girl.
I mentioned before that I met her (shall we call "her", lets say... "Katie" from now on? Good.) during my interview, but I was soon to get to know her much better. From my nervous, frantic beginnings to our tragic end, I knew that I had found someone special. God, company X, had delivered me somebody special. We got to know each other slowly, with your typical first dates and various meetings at work. But I was soon to find out how truly awesome this girl was. Inexplicably, I began to be drawn to her. It's not that she was totally hot, which she was, but that she was entirely cool. Unlike the people I usually have to work with, she was funny, observant, and most importantly, intelligent. The world that I had constructed for myself began to spiral out of control. I had become enamored with her, which is usually not good.
My relationship with Katie began to progress, as relationships do. Not only was she fun and smart, but it turns out that she had the most kissable lips I had ever come across. I became convinced that I had met the best employee that company X had to offer, well, besides me, of course. I did all kinds of sappy romantic stuff for her What was I thinking? I dated her for about a month, just the right amount of time to really start to like someone, and then it was time for her to leave. Yes, time for her to leave. She was moving to California, as if you can't get much further than that. Turns out my sweet Katie is moving, moving far far away. The blessings that Company X bestows upon me always seem to turn out to be curses. For every ounce of happiness, there are tons and tons of sorrow. What good comes my way is always followed by tidal waves of woe. I am coming to realize that this may be a common theme in my life. I don't think I can trust anything that happens to me at work.
Episode IV: All the worlds a stage..... (5/28/03)
I think that the normal human being can only fold the same article of clothing a certain number of times before going insane. I'm pretty sure that my number is two. I can relate to those people who go on shooting rampages at work. However, with the amount of rage that I suppress on a daily basis, I'm pretty sure that I could make those postal workers look like a bunch of brownies. I watch the most ridiculous cast of players from the entertaining to the annoying and unconscionable. They all make me question the progress of humankind and re-evaluate my position in the cosmos. Most of the customers that I deal with on a daily basis can be grouped into several categories.
Nice People- Obviously this is the best possible group of people as well as the most rare. They are polite and civil. I often receive compliments from these people for my attitude and dedication to service. I haven't been quite de-humanized yet. The other day one lady thanked me for my smile. Isn't that nice?
Breeders- Breeders are exactly what they sound like. They arrive with a plethora of pups who seem to be programmed to destroy. They run amuck and thrash everything in their paths. Their apathetic parents do nothing in the way of actually parenting and I'm left to stare. Often I try to burn holes through their heads with my eyes.
Depositors- One of the first things my mother taught me was to put things back where they belong. Depositors obviously had no mothers to teach them. My theory is that they are the spawn of the Devil, and this would explain their lack of mothering. These people accumulate loads of things only to drop them off, for apparently no reason, in another part of the department or often other parts of the store. I usually don't actually see this occur, but sometimes I will witness the event in person. Who fucks shit up right in front of the person that has to clean it up? Devil spawn, that's who.
Price Checkers- Price checkers do several annoying things. Now, I don't mind if people bring things to the counter for a quick price check, but it gets annoying when they bring everything up, one at a time. Come on, look at the price tag, that's what they're there for. It's really not that difficult of a concept. The price checking phenomenon grows even more caustic when the customer in question leans all the way over the counter in order to read the numbers off of the screen. Trust me people, I am not trying to rip you off. In fact, if you ask, I'll even turn the screen to the side so you can look at the magic numbers with me.
In addition to your basic categories of people, there are a few individuals that really stand out. Either for their uniqueness or just because I see them so often. They are usually amusing and sometimes sad.
Cancer Lady- I don't know for sure if Cancer Lady really has cancer, but I'm pretty sure that she does. Her lack of breasts and constant precense of a ball cap with only a few wisps of hair are what lead me to such a conclusion. I see her every couple of weeks. She spends tremendous amounts of time picking out clothes, inspecting each article in detail. I once saw her scrutinize a baby shirt for over ten minutes. I don't really know anything about her, but I like to think that she's picking up items for the baby that she never had.
Corn row, tight roll- This guy makes me crack up every time I see him. Do you remember tight rolls? You know, back in 6th grade when we all used to roll the bottoms of our pants up, Hammer style? Well, this homie still does. But the best part is that he has gangsta corn rows going on too! What a fashion genious. This man is clearly schizophrenic or perhaps an idiot savante. I can find no other reason for those two opposing fashion statements to co-exist on one person.
French Baby Lady- I see this lady at least once a week. Who knows how often she is really there. I'm fairly positive that she's French, both from her accent and her nappy exterior. Other than her nationality, the only noteworthy thing about F.B.L. is the sheer amount of time that she must spend buying baby clothes. Seriously, how many clothes do babies really need? Perhaps French babies are really dirty just like French adults. I think that I'm just going to dress mine in tiny toga's made out of old bed sheets. It's not like they know the difference.
Episode V: The Pheonix Rises From The Ashes......... (9/03/03)
Hey kids, I know that it's been a long time since I wrote anything for the "chronicles" section of this website. I have many excuses. Mainly that I got really busy with all the wonderful things that have been happening in my life. I have since moved, to the wonderful city of Springfield, Missouri. It's no Austin, I'll tell you that right off the bat, but perhaps it�s for the better. I am enrolled in school again, which will become the focus of my next �regular," but we'll get into that later on. I suppose that the biggest reason that I stopped writing is that my life, at that point, really ceased to be funny. Sure, all the same absurd things were happening, and sometimes I could get a chuckle out of daily events. However, the reality of how sucky my life really was becoming became truly apparent. Working a shitty job and barely scraping by can only be funny for so long. Thus, I have traded in that reality to once again become a student, which still entails scraping by, but (and keep your fingers crossed) hopefully not for the rest of my life.
I am a student. It seems like (and rightly so) that I've been a student for most of my life, and for the most part, I was good at it. This time, things are going to be a little different. I am a nursing student, soon to be bitch for all those doctors out there, but in the mean time, I'm just bitch to all of my instructors. Where I am a student, should, and will remain unknown. Perhaps we can call it "institution X" or maybe "School X." Whatever. I was going to call my new regular "Adventures in Nursing," but after much discussion with the D, we've settled on "Needle in the Arm, and the Deed is Done." Tell me what you think.
Needle in the Arm, and the Deed is Done