I Thought This Was America.

Okay, I'm not this crazy, but I couldn't title my blog what I did and fail to post a reference to this South Park gem.  Now on to the true rant.

Anyone who has met me knows I am not patriotic.  Usually I could give two fucks about anything relating to politics, laws, injustices, etc.  That being said, there is one thing that bugs me beyond words; people working, living, and shopping in America who are unable to speak English (haha, see what I did there?)!

No, this is not me being a grammar Nazi and pointing out the general populous' inability to differentiate between you're and your or there, their, and they're (although, this is another valid concern).  This is in reference to all of the people who move to America and refuse to learn the main language.  In case you haven't noticed, that main language is English.  For all of you that say, "Oh, but by 2023 half of the population will be speaking Spanish."  I don't give a fuck.  Was the US Constitution written in Spanish? Didn't think so.

Don't get me wrong, I am a big fan of immigration.  Or perhaps more accurately, I don't care enough that you chose to come live here.  I love listening to some of your accents.  They sometimes make not so hot guys so much hotter (wait, that could actually be another bad thing). Do what you want, just learn god damn English.  It sucks when all I'm trying to do is stuff my fat American face with fast food only to learn that the person on the other end speaks broken English.  I shouldn't have to explain what I mean when I say, "chicken nuggets." 

I suppose being in the line of work I am in (if you haven't read any other blog post, I work retail.  My primary job is training people on how to use their recently purchased electronics) I get a little more upset when the people that come in for assistance cannot understand me.  

An excellent example is of the woman I was forced to work with for over an hour last week helping her figure out her recently purchased tablet.  When she initially set it up, she put it in Hebrew.  The first problem is that she wanted me to train her on an application I had never personally used and had no prior training for.  The second problem was that she only speaks Hebrew.  She spoke very little English so she could not understand me nor could I her.  She was unable to even translate what the screen said back into English so I could even attempt to train her.  

I was spending more time trying to communicate with her than any other of my colleagues would have, that much I guarantee.

After us going around and around trying to understand one another, she got pissed at me for not understanding Hebrew.  One phrase she did know, "Speak to manager now." Cool, lady.  So I am the asshole because you live in America and do not speak the language.  How exactly do you think you're going to convey your message of disappointment to my managers who also do not speak Hebrew?  Good luck with that.

Dammit.  I think the Texas is rubbing off on me.....

The Sweeper.

If you have never played competitive soccer, you may not be familiar with the term.  In soccer, your "sweeper" is your last line of defense before your goalkeeper.  The sweeper is a position you definitely appreciate having on your soccer team.  Not so much on your sales team.

Although my job is not commission based, I am hyper aware of my sales performance.  I am kind of an attention whore.  I like to be the one getting all the praise for my hard work; when I've earned it.  I cannot stand that proverbial creeper anyone in sales has encountered who lurks around listening in on everyone's sales just waiting for their moment to butt in and steal that sale.  Sweeper!

When I have spent a length time dumbing down all the technological jargon and endured the idiotic questions customers inevitably always ask, I should at the very least be rewarded by the increase on my sales performance grid.  Why should I do all the leg work just to have the sweeper show up right in the nick of time and tell that customer, "Oh hey, I see Stef's explained *insert product here* to you.  I bet she did an amazing job.  Well if you're ready, I can ring you up right here."

How do you come back from that.  I'm sure I cannot start an argument in front of the customer as if they were some knock off handbag at your local flea market.  That would not go over well.  What's a girl to do?  

Sweepers across the land, do your own work.  Find your own customers.  And most importantly, stay out of my sales, before I chuck all caution to the wind, refuse social norms and derby check your ass across the store.  Thank you and have a good day.

The Customer Is Usually Wrong.

I want to personally find and subsequently punch in the throat whoever coined the phrase, "The customer is always right." This phrase has turned consumers into whiney, ungrateful, scamming pieces of shit.  It has also made the retail employee's job that much harder.  It is bad enough we have to sift through the misinformation (see my previous post, The Internet Does Not Make You Smart), but add to that their very skewed perception of business ethics and we have a war just to avoid giving everything away for free every time someone launches a complaint.

A few weeks ago, an angry customer came in wanted a refund on a VERY old and abused product. Said customer argued with my co-worker for awhile about how we should refund this because it shouldn't have broken so quickly.  By him dropping it.  In water.  How dare an electronic device not work after treating it with such care and proper use?! After the "lowly sales associate" (his words, not mine) was unable to refund his money, he demanded to talk to a manager.  That's cool, dude.  They are going to tell you the same story....

After he whined about the product's "failure to perform," our manager decided not to refund the customer's money.  It was a ridiculous request so I'm not quite sure why he was surprised..  Well, this guy was PISSED.  We actually thought his spout of random profanities was the end of his tantrum.  We were incorrect.  Instead, this guy pulls out his phone and dials 911.  NINE ONE ONE.  What the fuck, dude?   What has to go wrong in your brain to make you think this is the best use of the number that exists for life or death emergencies?!  Furthermore, what the fuck do you think the police can do about it?  Save for egregious lack of ethics, law enforcement can't really do much.  Enforcing store policy that is available to every customer on their receipt (thus binding them contractually to these terms) is hardly grounds for their involvement.

When the 911 dispatcher picked up, he started screaming at the top of his lungs into the phone, "Yes. Hi.  I am at *insert store I work for here* and they are refusing to refund my money for their piece of shit, defective product.  I need an officer out here immediately.  This is fucking bullshit!  I want my fucking refund.  No.  You send someone out here right fucking now.  I am the customer!  I am always right!"  Clearly they were not on the same page.

Needless to say, 911 dispatch hung up on him.  Moron.

Betcha Didn't Know I Could Bitch Too!

I'm not sure why I continue to put myself through the ringer for a job I am clearly above.  I certainly didn't spend nearly four years of my life in a competitive college program to wither away in a retail environment. And yet....

I am not the type who is content to just be an employee.  Present job excluded, I have always been immediately recognized as a leader and put in such positions as a result.  Yes, the monetary increase is always good, but I actually enjoy being in charge and developing my team.  This is the only job I've held where I have yet to be promoted and it is the job I have poured the most effort into with zero pay off.

Recently a new position opened up that I was made for.  I had to do very little research because it is an area of expertise for me.  Despite being fucked over numerous times in the past by this company, I decided I would give this one more whirl.  Clearly, I did not receive the promotion.

It is not about the other person or even that I didn't get the job.  It is the way these "leaders" constantly give the same, very unhelpful reasons on why I didn't get the job.

"I don't really have feedback to give.  It was a great interview.  We just chose someone else."   Oh. So what you're telling me is the interview process is a waste for anyone who isn't the person you first had in mind.  You should probably do the efficient thing and just offer that person the position instead. Idiot.

"You don't work in that department and the other person did."  Okay, so why not make that a requirement for applying for that position?  You continually waste people's time!

 Or, my personal favorite, "I just don't think you were passionate enough about *insert job description here.*"  I am so glad that people who have barely taken the time or effort to get to know anything about me can be the judge of what is or is not a passion of mine.  Since you clearly must be psychic, can you get me next week's Powerball numbers? Thanks.

Be an asshole.  Tell me the real reasons I don't get positions.  Honestly, I can tell you it has nothing to do with my qualifications and everything to do with the fact that I have made myself a person to be walked all over.  Which is odd considering I'm kind of a bitch in every other aspect of life.

Clearly, my logic has no place in the world of retail.  I forget that having passions that don't pertain to this company or do not interest the people in charge are not valid passions for one to have.  If one doesn't understand the necessity for balance between work and play in their life, then they are a perfect candidate.   Anyone who doesn't wake up every day LIVING for the company is clearly a waste of time no matter how intelligent, qualified or talented they might be.

That's cool, *insert company name here,* I won't waste anymore of your time, and you certainly won't get anymore of mine!

By the way...anyone need a writer?

Yes. I have tattoos.

A good friend of mine recently told me of a story where she was somewhere shopping or eating and had an older couple just gawk at her for a good ten minutes.  She has a blue mohawk.  They didn't say anything to her or to themselves.  Her solution?  Walk up to them, stand as close as possible, and say "HI!" very loudly devoid of any emotion.  It made them feel awkward as hell.  They left her alone.

Gawking is the quickest way to make shit awkward.  Want to make things even worse?  Go up to said gawkee, grab their arm and proceed to inspect their tattoos.  If that isn't enough, you can always start removing articles of clothing to show of your tattoos.  These incidents happen to me frequently.  But never in the same day.  Until today.

The first culprit; a short, middle aged man.  He stood staring at my collection of tattoos as if I were a museum display.  I walked up to him and asked if he needed some assistance because he was looking at me as if I could help him.  He the proceeded to silently grab my left arm by the wrist and start rotating it to see all of my work.  Not okay.  My right fist clenched and prepared to strike.  He let go just as I was about to release.  Lucky him.  When he finally spoke, he caressed my arm (ew) and told me my color was beautiful.  Um...I know.  Your compliment in no way makes up for you touching me!

I do not like be touched by strangers.  If you wanted to look at my work, cool.  Just ask.  Museums have a strict "do not touch the exhibits" policy.  If you choose to treat me like a display, at least be consistent.

After I calmed down, I had another customer interested in my work.  She at least understood the physical boundaries and asked to take a look instead of touching me.  This I appreciated.  Unfortunately, she did not understand that taking off articles of clothing in public to show me her shiiiiiiiitty prison style tattoos was also a boundary which should never be crossed.

This woman epitomized white trash.  I stood wide eyed and terrified as she started removing clothing.  She had roughly seven tattoos which she claimed were lions.  The combination of her leathery, over tanned, old skin with generally piss poor tattoos rendered them little more than blobs.

She eagerly awaited my approval to her blobs.  What do you say to that?  I realize I am supposed to be nice, but lady, you just got nearly butt ass naked in the middle of a big box retailer at peek hours.  And your tattoos weren't even well done!  All I could muster was a, "Neat."

I am not sure where people got the impression that touching me, or visually assaulting me with your horrible tattoos was proper social etiquette.  Please take this as your formal warning!

Snap, Whistle, Clap.

Snaps, whistles and claps are appropriate and accepted means to get your loyal dog to return to you after a game of fetch.  Snaps, whistles and claps are never, have never and (hopefully) will NEVER be an accepted means to get the attention of a customer service worker.

I'm not sure what kind of brain abnormality (other than general trashiness) one has to possess to think this is acceptable social behavior.  Where did you learn to socialize?  The zoo?  Perhaps that explains not only your lack of social skills, but your smell as well.

Though this happens on a fairly regular basis where I work, today's occurrence takes the cake.

I had the pleasure of helping a genuinely nice older couple who unfortunately didn't know shit about televisions.  When you get this type of customer, you spend an obscene amount of time dumbing down all the technical terms so they can sort of grasp all of the technical specifications surrounding electronics today.  

These people were not standing far away from me at all.  They were not silently debating their many TV options.  We were actively conversing.

Enter: quintessential rude, over privileged, trust fund toting, 20 something male.  Look, kid.  I am not commissioned.  Realistically I could give a shit less how much money you spend at this store.  You will shut the fuck up and wait your turn.

While my poor, techno-illiterate old couple was trying to absorb the knowledge I was dispersing, this piece of shit in a suit cleared his throat, made eye contact with me and proceeded to snap at me.  Not snapping to the beat of the wonderful musical stylings of The Bouncing Souls.  Oh no.  Snapping at me with a look that conveyed, "Bitch, come."

If you've met me, you are probably aware of my temper.  This temper just keeps getting shorter and shorter the more disgruntled I become.  An immediate way to make my restraint on said temper completely nonexistent is to treat me like I am stupid or beneath you.  This man, nay, boy, did both with only a look and a snap.

I smiled my, "you are just about to get your world fucked up" smile, cleared my throat, chuckled and responded with a raised index finger.  The raised index finger is the customer service worker's equivalent to a snap.  It is perhaps one of the rudest gestures someone can make to tell a person, "I'll be right with you."  It was one finger off from what he deserved.

I took my sweet ass time with my nice elderly couple, taking extra care to explain each individual specification in the easiest way possible.  I was executing my job to a "T" while doucher over there stood staring and audibly sighed every few seconds.

I eventually got to him and basically talked down to him the entire time.  He was not enjoying the fact that my intellect far surpassed his own (which, I might add, was less than impressive). Yes, I know more than you.  Yes, I am more articulate than you (this moron didn't understand the word "aesthetics." Fail.).  Yes, you improperly assumed I am uneducated because I work a blue collar job.  You lose on all accounts.

My hope is that one day I will be encouraged to respond to these customers in the only way that would generally make an impact; a good 'ole fashioned throat punch.

Me No English So Good.

Anyone who has interacted with me for more than five minutes can attest to the fact that I am offended by one thing and one thing alone.  That one thing is blatant disregard for the English language.  If you live in America, like it or not, it is the dominate language so learn to speak it properly or shut the fuck up.

It is bad enough I have to listen to the moronic customer base, but then I have to attempt to pick out the meaning behind my valuable training materials, provided by my multi-BILLION dollar company, amidst all the spelling and grammatical errors.

I suppose I should feel happy that my job is FINALLY allowing us time to learn things.  I guess they finally got sick of having employees who know less than the customers.

Today was a day I was allotted an hour to do some online training on whatever I wanted.  Instead of absorbing knowledge to be a better sales associate (hahahahahahaha), I ended up taking photos for what I knew to be my next blog content.

Let's play "What's wrong with this picture?" (Sorry about the flash dot. I was trying to be stealthy as we now have a "strict" no cell phone policy and didn't have time to turn the flash off.)

Holy shit.  Where can I find a 406 foot VGA cable?  More importantly, am I to believe there is something longer?! Is that a dot com only product?  Oh.  You meant 4 - 6.  Fail.

I think I'm doing something wrong.  I'm not entirely sure how to lat down.  Is that what all the cool kids are doing these days?  

Firstly, I (poorly) blurred out the brand name to avoid any bitching on their or my employer's behalf.  But I ask you, is it that difficult to use a backspace?  Clearly that ? doesn't belong in the middle of the word.  Unless....is it like a glottal stop? Should I be alarmed?  Is this the USB that will end the world? Hmmm.

Now before you say these are small, insignificant typos that any moron could decipher, I will say the significance of the problem is not the issue.  The issue is this company's lack of desire to invest the time to proofread before something is published this as a legitimate resource.  If you cannot avoid basic typos, why should I trust the validity of your information?  

One would think a company as the one in question could afford an editor.  Job opportunity for Stef, perhaps? 

Bucket List.

Most people construct a bucket list of important things they want to accomplish before dying; travel the world, bungee jump, or climb Everest.  Sometimes they're even quite noble; help the starving Ethiopians, find a cure for cancer, or even make amends with those you've wronged.  If you know me, you know I haven't the ability to construct a list so consequential or noble.  I have instead constructed my list of shit to do before I quit my job.


I have absolutely no intention of staying in the retail biz.  I am much happier and much more talented as a writer to waste my life away serving others. Also, as it turns out, I'm not really a fan of the general public.


But I digress....


This is how I intend to spend my last week in retail when I finally get out.


1)  Be as blatantly sarcastic as possible.
                Customer:  "Do you work here?"
                          Me:  "Funny you should ask.  I actually beat the shit out 
                                    of this girl in the bathroom a minute ago to steal her 
                                    uniform.  It's so pretty. Someone should really go 
                                    check on her...."


2)  Instate the "fresh air break."
                Look. If smokers get to go outside every hour for 10 to 15 
                minutes to get their nicotine fix, I can go outside and play in the 
                fresh air for 10-15 minutes. (For this fantasy, I quit when it's nice 
                outside. It makes sense in my head....)


3)  Remove the "with a smile" from the "condescending with a smile" sales 
     strategy.
                  Customer:  "I want that TV with 1020 pixels."
                            Me:  "Hm. I'm not familiar with a TV that only has 1020 
                                      pixels."
                  Customer:  "Obviously you don't know anything because it says 
                                      720p or 1020p on those tags! P is for pixels!"
                            Me:  "Oh.  I think you mean 720 vs. 1080 as there is no such 
                                      thing as 1020.  Furthermore, if your TV only had 1080 
                                      pixels it would look like shit.  The "p" stands for 
                                      progressive not pixels.  Moron."
                  *Don't come in and try to school me when you don't know your head 
                    from your ass.  Though I don't claim to know it all, do your research 
                    before attempting to showcase you know more than the good ole
                   (name of the company I work for here) employees.*


4)  I am going to attempt to incite a conversation like the one in the video 
     below with my management staff.  They talk about financing so much
     it shouldn't be that difficult. 
                   It is important to note that I did not make this.  If you read my blog 
                   regularly, you may remember this gem.
                      http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2o-IQCM88s4&feature=feedf


5)  Agree with all the utterly moronic things people come in and say.
                  Customer:  "This dude that my cousin's friend's girlfriend's 
                                      dad knows told me he read on the internet that
                                      I could install this wall mount on some plywood
                                      and hang my 65" Plasma that weighs about 130lbs
                                      on it."
                           Me:   "Yep.  That shouldn't be a problem."


This is by no means a complete list, but these are the ones I find myself wanting to do more and more everyday.  I certainly hope this last week ever is approaching soon...


                      *Disclaimer: I am merely having fun using my life
                                           for ridiculous satire.  If you are incapable 
                                          of taking my commentary at face value and 
                                         having fun with it, go fuck yourself. Kthanxbye. 

(Not) Above The Law.

About five years ago when Myspace was still slightly relevant, I attempted to keep a blog there.  True to my form, I used it as my own personal soap box to vent about injustice and unrest in the corporate world.  Five years ago, this lead my crack team of managers to have a talk with me about the content of my blog.

In case you are unaware, there is this nifty little document called, "The U.S. Constitution."  Within this official document there lies a set of amendments which grant further rights that were later deemed pertinent.   This is called, "The Bill of Rights."  The First Amendment protects us against any consequences for having an opinion and sharing said opinion with whomever will listen.  Allow me to type this verbatim for you fine folks at home.

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."

Now there are the obvious exclusions to the First Amendment.  Libel, slander, defamation, etc.  Basically, if my freedom of speech directly affects any of your basic rights then I am no longer protected.  That being said, it is extremely difficult to prove that mere words greatly impact any of your rights.

Okay, now that the history lesson is over.....

It's become a common practice for employers to look over your social networking sites to determine if you are a candidate worthy of working for them.  To an extent, I can see why this would be beneficial.  If you have an applicant selling stolen shit on Ebay from their previous employer, probably not someone you want working for you.  But, for the most part, what people say on those sites is unimportant and not an accurate or complete depiction of their character.

That being said, my job has once again felt entitled to tell employees that their social networking sites are being watched and content they deem inappropriate will be dealt with accordingly.

A few entries ago I mentioned how the company I work for thinks their law lives outside the normal every day laws we all must abide.  At that time, my store wasn't really the culprit.  This time they are attempting to cross a line by which I don't think they fully understand the potential repercussions they face.  If you think you have financial problems now, imagine how much your company will take a hit when they not only have to pay employees unemployment but also settlements from civil rights suits.

To my management staff: I will not be censored! Firstly, in no way have I directly mentioned the name of the company I work for.  I cannot be held responsible for the impeccable deductive skills of my readers!  You guys really are very smart.  :)

Secondly, it's a fucking blog.  Realistically how much damage can I do? The majority of my stories center around funny anecdotal tales of our customers.  Anyone who does a general Google Blog search with the company name can find a plethora of customer horror stories in dealing with the store which is far more detrimental to the business than some employee pointing out managerial flaws.

My blog is funny and until people stop reading, I will not stop posting. With that, I leave you with a, "Booyah!"

What's that brace for?

The obvious thing to do when you see someone wearing a knee brace is to ask, "Did you hurt yourself?"  No, actually I just want to start a new fashion trend.  Fucking morons.

The next obvious thing is to make me carry your shit across the fucking store.  We have already established that I have an injury that impedes my ability to walk comfortably.  What in your tiny narcissistic brain leads you to believe that I am here to be your personal mule?  Fuck you.  I'm hurt.  On a normal day (or a  heavily medicated one) I will walk it up for your inept ass even though I'm pretty sure you can handle that 5 pound, 19 inch LED all by yourself.

Which brings me to my next question; why would you come to purchase a television and walk right by the series of carts you pass to get there?  Do you think the mythical TV fairies teleport that shit into your car?  No.  It has to get there somehow.  So don't give me the stink eye when I say, "Okay, let me run up and grab you a cart."  Do you think my 5'2 self has the arm span capable to carry a 37" box?  The box is bigger than I am. What the fuck do you think?

I cannot wait until the day I eventually leave this place and get the pleasure of saying all of this verbatim to some unsuspecting brainless shopper.  Trust me when I say, that day will go down in infamy.....

No More Drum Solos!

There are some situations even the most creative of mind could not fabricate.  This is one such occurrence.

At my job, it is customary to take over for an employee who is helping out in your department once you are free.  I'm usually very observant when it comes to noticing a fellow employee in need of assistance.  I ran into what I thought was a co-worker in dire need of someone knowledgeable in speakers today.  Little did I know I mistook his look of fright for confusion..

The first indication this man was borderline insane should have been the fact that he brought in a stack of CDs to listen to in our system.  As I approached my co-worker, the customer began swaying back and forth and air drumming. When I asked if he had some questions about our speakers, his reply was something along the lines of, "You would never have guessed this was off vinyl, would you?  WOULD YOU?"  Me: "Uh...no?" Thus began the longest hour of my life. Yes. Hour. HOUR.

As if it wasn't bad enough that I had to listen to bootleg live Deep Purple, this man also had a horrible concept of personal space etiquette.  Look, dude, if I don't know you, the appropriate length to stand away from me is at LEAST 5 feet.  Unless you're hot.  He was not.

Oh. Did you catch the "bootleg live Deep Purple" part?  If not, let me reiterate. Live. Deep. Purple.  Have you heard a live album by any classic rock band?!  Every song is around 15 minutes with 10 minutes of drum solo.  I'm not sure how many drum solos you have heard, but NONE of them, and I do mean NONE are impressive if they last longer than a minute.  Drummers are hot and all, but you're not soloists.  Unless you're Travis Barker.  Again, he was not.

The music, the personal space issues, and lest we forget the commentary.  About every 10 seconds he would spout gems like, "Oh. Listen. Listen to this. Isn't that great? You would never hear anything like this on a new cd. Would you? WOULD YOU? No. You wouldn't. This guy. This guy that made this for me. It's an original vinyl.  You wouldn't ever guess it's vinyl. Let me tell you how he did it." Dude, I don't fucking care.  You are creepy.  Unfortunately, when I don that blue shirt, I feel obligated to fain interest.  Probably the worst decision I've made in awhile. 

This went on, like I said, for an HOUR.  An hour of my life I will never get back.  An hour of drum solos.  Classic rock drum solos.  And air drumming.  And commentary.  When I was seriously contemplating slitting my wrists with the dull box cutter in my back pocket, a poor innocent bystander was roped into his craziness.  I walked away.  Yep.  Just walked away.  What else could I do?  Next time I see a 50 something holding burned CDs hanging out in my department, I am running the other way.