So, I really hate head honcho people coming to check out our store. Trying to prepare the store to pass their stupid expectations is maddening. The things they think we should be able to accomplish are beyond unreasonable. For instance, if I am key holder for the night (kind of like a supervisor), at 7:30 I am supposed to count down my drawer, count the petty cash/bank, and count the days cash drops. I have to have that done by 8. Then I am supposed to cram sweeping the entire store and mopping in by 8:30, at which time we have to do the cigarette count. Then I have to add up the cigarette count and make sure it matches the cigarette report before 9. That in and of itself is tough enough. Then, when the weather gets nice, we have to have stuff out on the sidewalk in front of the store every day, which has to brought in after 7:30, when we are trying to get all the other stuff done. Oh, and add in the delightful fact that it is nauseatingly hot in our store and we have customers coming and going and needing assistance of some sort during the last hour and a half as well. Now, maybe this doesn’t seem like all that much to you, and maybe you’re right. But it sure as hell seems next to impossible to get it all done in the time allotted. So anyway, these head honcho dudes are coming this weekend and we have to work our ever-lovin’ bahookies off to make sure the store looks exactly how they think it should. Which includes making sure every item on the shelf is facing forward, is stacked to company specifications, is all pulled forward on the shelves, all signs are present and accounted for, all end caps are nice and full, the backroom is up to their specifications, etc etc etc. These are things we would love to keep just how they want us to…but it simply isn’t possible. Between doing truck and customer service, we barely have time each night to do a nice, quick recovery/straightening. We simply do not have time to do things the way they expect us to. It would be awesome to watch those fellas try to do all that crap that they seem to think is so easy. Ooh, and I would LOVE to see them have to take money soaked with boob-sweat when they can’t go wash their hands because there is a line of customers behind the boob-sweat woman and we are not allowed to keep hand sanitizer or wet wipes up by the register (their rules). Or watch them try to Windex the outside of the windows in the winter, when the Windex simply freezes. Or watch them do the recovery/straitening the way they think we should. Or see them finish a rolltainer of food in an hour or less (a rolltainer is a big old metal cart that is literally crammed full of boxes and such and usually stacked so high that some of my co-workers can’t even reach the top boxes. They are also usually packed so tightly that we have to practically destroy a few of the boxes just to get them out.), without putting anything in the wrong spot or opening any boxes that will not fit out completely, while carrying only one box at a time to its designated place. Fat chance! So, in summary, head honcho visits suck huge, hairy, smelly donkey ass.
Spell check, sanitizer is a word. You are stupid and should be fired.
Daily randomosity: Prednisone is the most despicable, vile, deplorably evil medicine ever created. If I was ever in a serious accident, I really hope I am unconscious when I arrive at the hospital, ’cause I would be all spazzy if they started cutting off my clothes. the whole E.R. would hear me bellowing, “But I love this shirt! And these are my best butt jeans–they make my ass look awesome! And do you know how much clothes cost nowadays? Maybe you can just buy new crap on your big old doctor income, but I am poor damn it! I haven’t got money for new jeans!! What the hell is wrong with you people?!?! A little Shout and they’ll be good as new as long as you back off with those scissors! Don’t you dare! I swear I will cut you!” And then they’d have to restrain me, since I threatened the staff, which would only piss me off even more, and then they’d probably have to knock me out…and then the bastards would cut my clothes off anyway, just ’cause I got snarky with them. It would rock to have my very own squirrel. Then, every time he came into sight, I’d stop whatever I was doing and yelp, “Squirrel!” and then I would have a legit reason for derailing my train of thought! And I would totally dress him up and get him a whole bunch of little squirrel-sized hats and teach him to do interpretive dance during awkward pauses in any conversation I may have. When I’m old, I’m totally going to wear bizarre outfits and curse a lot and pretend to forget people I don’t want to talk to and make up fascinating, yet completely unbelievably wacky stories that no one could possibly believe but no one will dispute since i’m old and shit and I’ll flirt shamelessly with any cute young fellas I see just to watch them squirm with discomfort. It will rock. You know, I say “totally” an awful lot. I should probably try to cut back on that a bit…I probably won’t, mind you, but I should. I wonder, if I watched nothing but English shows and movies and read only English authors, would I be able to pick up a nifty English accent? That would be awesome…except I already talk too much and if I had an English accent, I’d talk even more and I don’t suppose most folks would appreciate that so much. I think I would name my squirrel something like Jinglehammerschmidt (Hammy for short) or maybe Captain Kokomo. The first CD’s I owned: Cooleyhighharmony and Rhythm Nation and Best of the Bee Gees (pre-disco). I can’t remember the others I owned way back then. My brother once blew up my barbie’s head with a Black Cat firecracker.
That is all.