Friday, January 21, 2005

Hey, three posts in 26 hours. Not bad, not bad. Just wanted to share one more link with you all. This one is a DVD Talk thread from the past couple weeks. It's basically a bunch of retail workers and consumers swapping shoplifting tales. Pretty entertaining stuff! Hasta la vista, amigos. -Tim

Two very good reasons I should kiss my job and hug it very tight and call it pretty names (from

"A little boy (probably about 8 or 9) was crying in the corner of the store one night, so I go inflate a balloon, thinking it would cheer him up. I give him the balloon, he stops crying, and vomits all over me. I yell for "the mother of the kid who's crying in the corner of the store" to come over. She does, and I ask her, actually quite nicely, to please clean up the vomit on the floor with the paper towels and cleaner stuff I hold out to her. She refuses, and still wants me to ring her up. I tell her that I'm not going to unless she cleans up the puke. She again refuses, and I tell her to never come back.

A second little boy (probably about 8 or 9) takes a shit in the middle of one of the aisles. I once again present the cleaning stuff to this other kid's mother, asking her quite politely to clean it up. She refuses. She demands I still ring her up. I tell her no, I will not, until she cleans up her little hell-child's shit. She still refuses and says that she will never come back. I tell her that I really hope she doesn't, as I don't need to clean up the shit of a child who obviously has a fucked-up sense of values if he thinks it's ok to pull down his pants and take a shit in the middle of a store."


Thursday, January 20, 2005

*** warning: This post is a whingeing rant ***

I was standing here just now, watching two customers paw through the rap CDs for a few minutes. In typical shifty fashion, one stayed there to chat on his cel while the other sauntered lazily over to the far corner of the room, as if I'm going to be fooled into thinking modern high schoolers have suddenly taken an interest in the Beach Boys. A minute later I started hearing the tell-tale sound of plastic CD wrapping crinkling so I made my move to go intercept. Of course, that's when a nice little old man came out of nowhere to purchase his country disc and ask me for some information, giving the kids enough time to complete their thievery and make their exit.

Sure enough, as soon as the old fellow was gone I went down to the rock/pop 'B' section and unearthed the remains of "The Greatest Hits of Ol' Dirty Bastard." Doesn't it figure? The one sale I have in two hours and it has to be at exactly the moment I needed to focus my attention on a couple of scumbags. Made the rounds of the entire mall but they were already gone. I'm telling you, this job really kills me sometimes. I think about the old classmates my age, making triple my salary and tending to their families and pricing new cars on the weekend, and I think -- what the fuck am I doing here, policing the likes of EminemClone#187341Q and his hetero lifemate Bubba? It's hard to say which noose is worse, the actual one that will someday be around my neck thanks to this fucking gig or the necktie I'd have to wear in my little cubicle at a higher paying vocation. Gah! There must be something in between, some magic bullet of a job that will keep me sane for the next few decades. I'll let you know if it pops up.

*** We now return you to your regularly scheduled edutainment ***


Sunday, January 16, 2005

It's me, right? I'm overreacting? Manners and human decency aren't going to shit? Because for a second there, while I was ringing up a Gwen Stefani album for the college blonde -- the one with too much makeup on who walked up to the counter talking on her cel phone, handed me the money while talking on her cel phone, grabbed her change while talking on her cel phone, and left the store still talking on her fucking cel phone -- I could have sworn human relations had reached their nadir.

But then, I'm a little wary of the over-utilization of the cel phone. They're a marvelous extension of the telephone idea and have made my life easier at times, but common sense should be applied. Just as you should turn off your cel in a movie theater, it's pretty weak to do business while using it (like the aforementioned boorish lass). Likewise, you might consider performing certain bodily functions without the aid of its use. That would seem unnecessary to mention if it weren't for past experiences involving same. Yes indeed, my friend Mark was in Boston once using the restroom when he heard a phone ringing. Much to his surprise and our eternal head-shaking, the guy at the next urinal answered with a hearty, "Hi ma. No, I'm just takin' a piss." You sir, are a walking advertisement for the "pro-choice" movement.

Sadly, it doesn't end there. Last week in Las Vegas I stopped by Caesar's Palace to watch the uber-rich lay down $1000 minimum blackjack bets instead of pulling out their checkbooks for tsunami aid. That done, I sauntered into the men's room on a urinary whim. I never expected to out-do my friend in the Shocking Bathroom Tales category, yet there I stood, listening to a man answering his cel phone nonchalantly, "Hello? Oh hi, I'm just taking a dump. What are you up to?" I'll spare you the accompanying noises emanating from the stall in question.

So it's me, right? It must be. I'm sure we've all been Ugly Americans for centuries. Abe Lincoln must at some point have stepped off the road for a quick slash against the side of a building, chiding his nearby cabinet members, "Come now fellows, surely you have previously witnessed a president micturating in a public forum? Why not make a Collodian wet-plate image of the event, I am sure it will last longer."


Thursday, January 13, 2005

Man oh man, what a day. We had a triple team of regulars in this afternoon, each of them a heavy hitter in their own right. First up was Ed, due in for his every-other-day inquiry about the status of the new Bellamy Brothers album. Then it was Carol (see 20th December entry) attempting to order more albums. And finally it was "S." He's short and hunched over, probably in his mid to late 50s, with grey curly hair and suspenders. His mouth is always stretched into an unintentional grin, revealing pointed teeth, and there's a small, wiry tuft of hair sprouting from his chin. He only buys country music, and his voice issues forth in a high-pitched groan, forced through that mirthless grin. I'm not saying he's a bad guy, no indeed. I don't really know him. In fact, I think a lot of it is due to some unfortunate disorder with a very long name. All I do know is this vague feeling of unease whenever he comes in. Can't explain it any further, won't try. Catch you later.


Wednesday, January 05, 2005

Dang, I really wanted to get an update happening before I left for Vegas, but 'twas not to be. I'll be back this Sunday and get something up then. Man, I really need this one. Last vacation I had was last May. Wish me luck at the tables! -Tim


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