In West Philadelphia: Celeste

Creating Drama in the Neighbourhood: 

I spent the summer working for the Ontario Government in North Bay this year, and lived  with a guy who was renting a room.

This particular townhouse was in the middle of a row of town houses that was in the shape of an L. with this in mind, there are some residents who would sit outside and watch the world go by. They would sit, and smoke, for seriously days on end. I would leave for work at 8am, and come home after double shifting around 1130pm, and BAM. There are these women still sitting and still smoking, in the dark. I have no idea what they’re watching, I wouldn’t be surprised if they couldn’t see a thing because it was so dark, but hey. Not my place to judge.

The only thing that I hated about this, was that I felt like my every move was scrutinized, they never talked to each other while I was walking to my car, but would talk amongst themselves when they felt they were unnoticed. It was a bit unnerving, I mean – I can just imagine what they were talking about when I suddenly showed up and moved in to this place. And I obviously moved in, with all my crap and having them watch me to go to work every day. It was also weird, that in even in inclement weather, they were still out there and still watching, talking (and then not talking) and smoking. It was insane! 

Anyway, so I suppose it didn’t come until after I had been there a few weeks and they had seen me come and go incessantly, that the guy I was living with and I decided to hit up a restaurant that was just down the street. So, of course, I come home from work and we decide to go out for dinner and are seen leaving the house together and walking down the street in the direction of this place. And obviously I’m living there and so is he, so I can kind of see why this may be perceived in a certain way. So, while I’m still feeling awkward about these women and their smoking, I’m trying to forget about feeling uncomfortable about it walking to my car, and running outside every night and have them stop when I run home or leave the house to get groceries.

Anyway, so about 3/4s of the way through my stay in the North, Greg decides he’s going to come for a visit. Perfect I thought, I’m almost done my contract, it will certainly give them something to talk about when this tall mysterious stranger comes out of nowhere with an overnight bag. 

To my surprise, it couldn’t have played out any better. Here is how it goes down: 

Erin comes homes from work expecting Greg to show up in an hour to stay the weekend.

Roommate comes home from work, also expecting Greg, but because it’s Friday has made dinner plans.

Roommate leaves the house, waves good-bye and is on his merry way.

Not 6 minutes after he leaves, Greg pulls up aggressively and throws the car into park, and leaps out of the car in a fit of excitement.

Erin decides to run out of the house (in complete awe of these women) leap into Greg’s arms and furiously make out.

It’s at this point, that all smoking and talking has ceased and only the subtle sounds of the North can be heard. Greg then whisks me into the house, and comes out to get his suit-case later.

We go out for ice-cream, go for a walk and do other various annoying coupley things (and of course, being Friday night, Roommate is out having a good time with his friends.)

After spending the weekend, Greg returns home and I carry on my weekly routine as though nothing has changed, but have the sweet satisfaction that I secretly played these women who were making assumptions, and no longer feel uncomfortable about them watching my every move. That moment will seriously give them something to put in their pipes and smoke.

Celeste was my choice for this week. North Bay was a beautiful place to spend the summer – sure its far away, but I really enjoyed my time there. The sky there was really amazing, and so clear – the air was amazingly fresh. It was a brilliantly vivid place to be.  

"Credit or Debit?" "Yes" - Phthalo

There are evidently a lot of things that make me angry. Of course they are usually in public, and usually when I'm working - therefore I must have an incredible amount of self control, or ulcers. Probably the latter, but one can hope. 
Anyway, so one of things that really gets my figurative goat is your use of Interac. (or Debit cards for those of you a little slow on the uptake.) I thought about a few of them, and composed a list for your reading pleasure. I suppose I should give the normal keep-your-hands-inside-the-ride spiel, but it's your keyboard, so do whatever you want. 

When you refuse to listen to the instructions (insertion): 

Don't get me wrong, I love to talk. But, for the most part, I don't have a whole lot of time between finishing scanning all of your cat food and potato chips to really get into an intelligent discussion on the meaning of life. The standard line for me is "Debit? Okay, chip in the bottom please." Which to me, seems like rather simple, straightforward instructions. This is often proceeded by you inspecting the debit machine rather ape like (No offence to apes of course) and begin to jam the card toward the machine hoping that somehow you'll get it in the right spot, and then looking at me as though I've just told you I like to punch kittens and exclaiming "Well, it doesn't fit!". I then follow with "Oh, just in the bottom there." By some miracle, you suddenly are aware that your ears and your brain are connected and manage to get the card into the machine. (It’s not nearly as complicated at you have made it out to be). Congrats, I've met primates who have figured out how to use simple tools to feed themselves - and you can't figure out how to make your ears connect to your brain. You sir, are an idiot. 

When you refuse to listen to the instructions (cash back):

 Being the good-guy that Wal*Mart is, they offer cash back at the register. Up to 100 dollars, but only in even denominations increasing by 20 dollars. It happens to be the first question on our screen - very simple, easy to understand: DO YOU WANT CASH BACK? and then of course, there are 2 options. Can you guess? You're right! They are: YES or NO. As a rule, people who want cash back select no, and people who don't, select yes. Lucky for them, if they have selected yes, you are then prompted to input how much, and there is also a black key that says NO. Good-guy Wal*Mart is prepared for your inability to read. Most of the time though, the knee-jerk reaction is to rip the card from the machine, cancelling the process and then blubbering about how sorry you are. Machines start beeping, receipts start printing and I usually make a point to have a condescending look on my face because that is better than saying something cruel about your IQ.

When you refuse to listen to the instructions (confirm the amount): 

 Right after this, the machine then asks to you to confirm the amount of the purchase (which I has been clearly stated both orally and then visually confirmed) and you have two options (Guess again!) Yep, YES and NO. Usually if people don't want cash back, and have correctly selected NO, they then select NO again (perhaps they think the debit machine has a stutter) which then cancels the transaction and burns down an acre of rainforest. Continue with blushing and poor explanations and we'll try 'er again. 

When you refuse to listen to instructions (using the machine):
 
Nothing makes me more annoyed and think you are more inept than your inability to follow simple on screen prompts, except one thing. That thing is when you don’t understand how the machine works, or need help navigating the complicated questions and menus but refuse to listen to the words coming out of my mouth. I am good at giving instructions if you would just stop being such a douche and listen for 3 milliseconds of your life. The screen is touch screen, and after pounding the keys to no avail, and many times of me politely saying ‘Oh, it’s touch screen’ continuing to pound the keys and then loudly exclaiming “WELL THE DAMN THING DOESN’T WORK.” No sir, your brain doesn’t work. TOUCH SCREEN. Means TOUCH-THE-SCREEN. Sometimes I wonder how you managed to get your trackpants on right this morning.. I’ll bet it took you a few tries – didn’t it?

When you throw it at me:

 It is very rare in our modern time that the cashier should actually have to swipe and/or insert your card into the hand held terminal. With the introduction of chip technology, you are the swipee (or.. insertee?) like, 98% of the time. So, at our first introduction I start with the standard "Hi, how are you?" (not because I care, but because I've been programmed rather well to make small talk.) and you grunt and look at me as though I'm about to spontaneously combust, with your mouth open a little, bit of a blank look on your face - usually paired with ratty trackpants and a NASCAR jacket. We then move on to your total, I verbally announce the final number (and point to the screen because it's apparent beyond grunting you're a bit slow) and you whip out a wallet from your trackpants pocket, force out a card that has strange stress marks in it and huck it down on the counter. At this point in my career, I don't even bother to touch the card that has been so haphazardly thrown in my direction - because as punishment for your attempt to tell me through your actions that because you don't work at Wal*Mart you're somehow higher than me on the social pole - I make you pick up the card yourself. (small victories, but helping with the ulcers) and pleasantly point to the debit machine and instruct you how to proceed properly. Message? Don't be such a douchebag, and put on pants with some structure. 

When you can't answer a simple question:
  
 Wal*Mart will take your money in any way that we can. (Trust me, one time a guy paid for a $90 purchase entirely in $1 and $2 bills) With our machines, you have to pick either the ‘credit’ key, or the ‘debit’ key – or it doesn’t work. You can insert your chip until you’re blue in the face, but if you select the wrong one, it won’t complete the transaction. Standard question “Is that credit or debit?” and the answer is always “yes.” Which, for obvious reasons – DOES NOT ANSWER MY QUESTION AT ALL. I can clearly see you have a card in your hand, and at one time in my career it was fairly easy to tell which it was, but now with all these fancy colours and styles – you could be holding a frequent customer card for Forbidden Pleasures and I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

You don’t know your PIN: 

Lucky for me, my credit card has the same PIN as my debit card, (probably shouldn’t admit that on the internet.) I suppose other users wouldn’t be so lucky. Nothing is more annoying then when you don’t know what the PIN is, and claim that it is in some way, my fault. I cannot simply make the machine just pump out a slip of paper for you to sign like the good old days, and I can’t just know what it is. Even if I was Rainman, I still couldn’t tell you beyond “Is it the same as your debit PIN?” what on earth it could be. My question is, how you ever use the card (other than online shopping, which I’m confident you could not manage based on our in-store interaction) anywhere, without know what the PIN is. Do you throw a fit at every store, and then revert to cash or your debit card after loudly commenting on my inability to do my job? You’d think that with enough stores using this chip business that you’d have figured it out by now, I mean – do you avoid shoes with laces so you don’t have to remember how to tie them up? I guess that would explain all the Velcro.

You insist on swiping the card:
 
For the last time, swiping is becoming a thing of the past. So much so, that our machines throw a small fit when you swipe, and beeping and receipt printing incurs when you’re inability to listen to instructions becomes apparent. Listen to the words that are coming out of my mouth – INSERT YOUR CARD IN THE BOTTOM OF THE MACHINE.
“Oh.. it’s chip?”
YES NUMBNUTS, I’VE ONLY SAID IT EACH TIME AFTER YOUR CARD CLEARLY WOULD NOT WORK AFTER SWIPING IT – do you hear beeping? Do you see any progression in your transaction? As my favourite Doctor (after my Dad of course) always says “The definition of stupidity is doing the same thing and expecting a different result.” (Thank you Dr. Phil) – which suggests, by definition.. you are stupid.

When you insist on swiping your card, after your chip doesn’t work: 

You exclaim “Oh, I’ll just swipe it.” Uhm, no you won’t. What would be the point of having a c hip in your card if you could just swipe it? Right. There wouldn’t be. Please see above.

When you insert or swipe your card before I finish ringing things in:
  
How much is the purchase? How can you even know if I’m not finished yet? This isn’t like the gas station, “Do you need a fridge fill-up, select yes to just BUY ALL OF THE GROCERIES.” You have to wait until I’m finished, why are you in such a rush? If you have something to do, or somewhere to be – don’t come to Wal*Mart. Especially on a Saturday. On a Saturday before a holiday. On a Saturday before a holiday and you don’t know what your PIN is. It makes things complicated.. and is very unproductive.

You hand me your debit or credit card before actually loading anything onto the counter to be purchased:
 
this isn’t really like a Chicken-Egg situation – I check things through, you pay for them. There isn’t a question of what comes first. Also, you insert your own card – haven’t you been paying attention?
And the one that really gets my figurative goat:

You show me the back of your card:
 
HOW DOES THIS ACCOMPLISH ANYTHING? There is no indication on the back of your card to instruct me on what type of payment you’re making, lets work on some verbal cues – you managed to make indignant comments about my under-employment, you’d think you could manage to tell me what type of card it is. If I was in Africa being mauled by a lion, I would probably have a better chance of knowing which payment method you’re using than if you were to flash the back of it and quickly jam it into the machine. Like, when your kid manages a B- on an assignment, do you stare at the blank bit on the back and tell them what an over-achiever they are? DOES THAT EVEN MAKE ANY SENSE? No. No, it does not. 

Okay, I feel a little bit better now that I've said my bit. Also, I thought I would include a small explanation to my colour choices (in the title) - Last time I picked a shade of brown, because un-awesome things are shitty - and so I thought it was appropriate. This time, I picked a shade of green because my debit card is green, and this is a bit of an ode to my debit troubles.  

Un-Awesome Things: Bole

Okay, so there has been a big hype about “The Book of Awesome” – which coincidently was written by a guy who works for Wal*Mart (how convenient). Anyway, so I thought maybe I would take this opportunity to be a Debbie Downer and talk about all the things that are not awesome. And I’m not talking like, world hunger, poverty, and war – that kind of thing. Of course those things are not awesome, they’re terrible. So terrible that I would not try to make light of them – the following things on the other hand, very un-awesome.

Burning the roof of your mouth:

This actually is so unbelievably un-awesome, but no one ever (especially me) learns to just wait until the thing you are going to consume is a reasonable temperature. Not only does it hurt like hell, but it’s really hard to avoid once the burning has started. I mean you can spit what ever it is out (but I think that doing that would take a lot more thought and more time to do than swallowing, simply because spitting out food suddenly is not a natural response), but most people swallow it or open their mouth in a weird way as to prevent the food from falling out but allowing some sort of awkward venting – making you look more like a weird seal (because sound effects and arm flailing often accompany this weird venting face) than effectively warning the other members of your party that the food is in fact too hot to ingest. Depending on how hot the food is, and your response, swallowing the hot food then hurts your throat and then your belly (once it makes its way down there) – but that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is the fact that you will have a constant pain in the roof of your mouth for the next 3 to 5 days, and will taste / eat nothing without reliving your most recent mouth burning.

(This can also be true for eating Captain Crunch; it’s like eating milky and delicious razorblades with a spoon)

Having someone mess up your drive thru order:

I know, I know. Drive-Thru is bad for you, it’s bad for the environment with all the idling and exhaust is kind of lazy and that’s the price you pay for convenience.

Aside from that, I HATE this. It drives me insane. And I have enough experience working in various drive-thrus to know it is not that hard. You take the order, punch it in to the register, it pops on the screen, someone makes it, you take the thing you just punched in and put it in a bag take the money and hurl the bag at the patron in the car in under a minute. There, done. Then you move on to the next person – and when it is particularly busy, you only have to do one of those things, like take the order, or take the money, or bag the food – you have one responsibility, and how one person in the chain manages to fuck it up is beyond me.

So you get your order, and you’ve entrusted your meal or beverage selection to the pimply-faced, under-motivated under-achiever in the starchy, weird coloured uniform that has proportions that Natalie Portman or Channing Tatum couldn’t even look reasonable in. Either have been tricked enough times to thinking your order is right when it isn’t that you check immediately, while still sitting in line and then find out that the order is in someway wrong and begin to knock on the drive thru window like a crazy person, aggressively hand the bag of (incorrect) food back and demand that they revisit the issue. (at this point, they’ve probably also forgot napkins and straws sending you further into rage) you get the right order eventually, and tell all your friends how some moron at blank-restaurant screwed it up and have a hard time enjoying it anyway..

-or-

You still have faith in the ability of drive-thru employees that you don’t check and go to consume your order to then discover it is wrong, but you’re already too far away to turn around and are still very hungry. You’ve also just spent 8 dollars on something, and you will damned well eat it – even if it is not to your exact specifications. You’ll still tell all your friends, and still promise yourself you won’t just drive away anymore – even though we all know you will. Very un-awesome drive thru asshat, very un-awesome.

Feeling Nauseous / Having a belly ache:

I hate everything about these two feelings. Because you can never be lucky enough to feel nauseous and then actually puke (because you know in your heart of hearts that projectile vomiting will be the one thing that makes you feel better) or just having a bad belly ache, because it is at the centre of your being, the core of your existence. And of course, the only option is to just wait it out while trying to feverishly get comfortable by tossing and turning and groaning in discomfort – or taking enough drugs to incapacitate an entire pod of orcas, to toss, turn and groan for the 20 minutes it takes the Gravol to kick in and then waking up from a weird, middle-of-the-day drug induced nap that you stupidly took while wearing your favourite jeans and can no longer feel your feet because of the belt you added to your ensemble this morning when you felt just fine.

When you do get lucky enough to feel sick and then puke, you never talk about those 5 agonising hours you spent writhing around like a cat with tape stuck to its fur, but how gross it was that you puked pizza and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and then how awesome it was that you felt so much better and could then actually enjoy your sick day napping and watching really awful (but really awesome) daytime television.

So, note to my internal organs: When Stomach decides to be a jerk, everyone has to work together to make sure that Stomach misfires and voms all over the bathroom, because then EVERYONE gets to enjoy being on the couch in their jammies after that.

Losing something 50 seconds before your ride is going to pick you up:

I am someone who is used to driving myself places. On some occasions, it makes sense for someone to come and pick me up, and as a personal preference I like to be at the door waiting and ready to run out of the house in a fit of excitement at the pending activity / occasion.

I also think that I am a fairly organised person, and when I need things or want to bring things with me, I can get ready early enough to have gathered my specialised items and pack them accordingly, and then be ready to leap out of the house as though OJ just came busting through the patio door. (I’m sure my mom would disagree because she sees the state of my room, but for the most part I think I’m an organised person when it comes to that kind of thing.)

So, on the special occasion that someone is coming to get me, nothing ruins my fit of joy like not being able to find the staple item for the night. (Keys, wallet, socks, whatever) and of course, thinking you knew exactly where they were until you go to run out the door and BAM. They’re gone. Now begins panic mode, where you throw everything that is anywhere to somewhere else and look as though you’re having a mental breakdown or psychotic episode. Which, I guess is kind of accurate.

Then you hear the car in the drive way, and the door slam as the person picking you up approaches the front door. There goes the being ready for them, so they don’t have to actually get out of the car. Now they’re at the door, and you yell for them to come in.. But they can’t hear you and you’re already out of breath from your little episode and all the physical exertion of throwing your worldly possessions from one end of the room to the other.

So, stop searching and answer the door. Look slightly dishevelled and breathing a little more heavily than is normal or expected, invite them in and quickly admit you’re ready but cannot find the magic object – they offer to help. Panic sets in (uhgain) as you try to decide if they should see what you just did to your room looking for said object, and commence searching.

Then, your ride finds it. Where? Sitting in plain site, where Stevie Wonder would have seen it. (It’s a joke; please don’t write me letters telling me he’s blind.) All embarrassment aside, you can now leave. And are now late.. And your ride now thinks you’re a spazzy hoarder who can’t just take 5 minutes to pick up your dirty underwear.

Mirrors and Change Rooms in Clothing Stores

Could just be me, but I’m pretty sure that everyone hates them. Not because they have bad body image, or like, that kind of thing – but the stores just can’t get them right.

Mirrors on the outside of the change room door – uhm, I’m sorry – the point of shutting the door is A) so no one sees you naked in public, and B) so no one has to see you in that awful outfit that you thought looked great on the rack that turned out horribly. Then you have to open and close, open and close, slam and lock slam and lock. I don’t care about this ‘it’s for theft reasons.” Shut it, I don’t care – simply obnoxious.

Mirrors are weirdly proportioned – okay, it can’t be possible that I am that unrealistic about that I look like. Some of these mirrors belong in the carnival, because I now look like Bozo the clown, and not because I actually do. Seriously, try before you install – rude.

They’re always locked, and no one works in the store – enough said.

The floor is filthy and feels like it’s a subfloor above a hockey rink – so you want to try on pants, and have to take off your shoes. Too bad for you, there is a colony of dust bunnies and the floor is frigid. Now your feet are cold, and you look like Bozo the clown.

They are dimly lit – not only can you not see what colour or how the thing you’re trying on actually looks, but this is usually paired with the mirror being on the outside, the door is locked and not an employee in site, your feet are now frozen and you’re pretty sure you look like Bozo the Clown, but you can’t be sure because you can’t see anything anyway.

Way un-awesome retail.         

 Telemarketers:

 

Yes, I know they are un-awesome without any help from me – but think about those times when they are particularly more un-awesome than they are regularly.

You’re in bed, and you hear the phone ringing. It’s a weird time of day for the phone to be ringing (or for you to be in bed) and it could be something important! Or someone you actually want to talk to. So, you’re in this weird state of new consciousness, you’re warm and wrapped in the bedding and the phone is getting angrier by the second. You leap out of bed, and it’s cold and now you’re in this weird dizziness and trying to awkwardly run in your house to the phone and you finally get there and say “Hello?” then, your bladder is like “Oh! We’re awake! We are functioning again! Victory will be mine!” and now, you’re cold, dizzy, underdressed, out of breath from your awkward running and suddenly felt like you haven’t peed since you were 10. There’s a pause, and the phone connects. You know immediately that this is a telemarketer and someone on the other line goes “Hello. My name is..” and you SLAM DOWN THE PHONE IN A FIT OF RAGE.

You’re having dinner. Life is great - you’ve sat down to a nice meal with your family, and the conversation is intriguing and stimulating. You can’t believe that the delicious thing that you’re eating is something you actually created, and people are actually enjoying it. The general rule is that at dinner – we don’t answer the phone. You hear it mid-chew, and think – I applied for jobs. Perhaps they’re calling me back for an interview or, my mother has been ill recently perhaps it’s her. You keep chewing; phone is now ringing inside your head, pounding between your ears with possibility. You struggle to put the fork down and move the chair back, lumber towards the phone and answer it with still lingering dinner on your lips, it’s deliciousness resonating with your senses. “Hello?” the anticipation is now moved to your belly and surely it must be good news if someone is calling at this hour, interrupting such an eventful and relaxing family opportunity. “Hello. My name is..” and SLAM DOWN THE PHONE IN A FIT OF RAGE.  

You’ve just put the key in the lock, and realise you left your Timmies in the cup holder in the car. Remove the keys; juggle your purse, sunglasses and cell phone and head back to the car. Your hands are already too full to carry one extra thing, but you’re already here and you’ll be taking it all in one trip - you won’t settle for two trips. Awkwardly reach into the car and get the cup, nearly spill the contents of your other hand and close the door with your bum. Hands are now extra full, and the Tim’s is hot and starting to hurt your hand. Get the door and wriggle the screen door open, and manage to get the key in the lock. It’s a struggle, and two almost-drops of your items has you thinking about all the other times you vowed to make it easier to get in the house. Hear the phone through the door – manage to jam the key in the lock but can’t quite get it turned with the two fingers you have left after holding your various objects. Your Tim’s hand is now burning past bearing, and you juggle everything to switch hands. Lock clicks, phone is on 4^th ring – you can feel it in your feet as you bound up the stairs and the pain in your hand demands attention – drop everything on the glass cutting board decoratively placed at the end of the counter and wince as the sound of glass scraping with metal and the phone ringing has your brain rattled – the phone is milliseconds away from going to the machine and you launch it off the cradle and catch it before it makes contact with your nose. “Hello?” you ask as you look at your hand expecting to see giant blisters from hot coffee. “Hello. My name is..”

You inhale. In a voice resembling the Joker’s you respond:

“I don’t care if you’re Inigo Montoya. I don’t know who you are, or how you got this number. I don’t know what you want, and I don’t have any money or interest in an investment opportunity in Istanbul. But I have a special set of skills acquired over a long career, and I will find you. And I will kill you.”

They are silent and then they say: “Hello, my name is..” AND YOU SLAM THE PHONE DOWN IN A FIT OF RAGE.

It’s those times that Telemarketers are way more un-awesome than normal.

There are a lot of things that are un-awesome and a lot of things that are totally awesome. The key is to having a day that is filled with a good combination of the two, so – you got to sleep in way late but were woken up by a telemarketer. Or, went shopping and got some great stuff, but ended up in the last store with a terrible change room and resembled a creepy clown for 40 seconds of your life. 

See? I can work at Wal*mart and write a book too.

      

Wal*Mart Blue

I love working at Wal-Mart. It’s pretty much the highlight of my life, which makes me a bit strange – but ‘normal’ is relative, and after spending copious amounts of time inside Wal-Mart, I have come to realise this.

I’ve certainly had some strange customers, and mostly enjoyed the conversations that I’ve had with them. What gets me the most is the questions that people have for me, especially older people. And bless the elderly, but seriously – who left them unattended? For the most part though, it’s often the same questions over and over again that make me wonder about people, and certainly the obviousness of the answers. Here are some examples of questions that are the most common, and sometimes people in the department have come up with some creative answers to them.  

Question #1 –

“Do you work here?”

This is by far the most common question that ever existed. Even though I’m dressed in a ridiculous shade of blue in the form of a vest, made of this terribly cheap synthetic material,  and this often is partnered with a sour look – it seems very obvious the answer to this question is yes.

Some creative answers include:

“Yes actually, thanks to the Prison Work Release Program, how can I help?”

(Twice people have given me the strangest look and are hesitant in continuing, and a few times people give me that same look and promptly turned around and walked away. We forgot our sense of humour at home today apparently.)

“No, this is my Halloween costume.. Pretty good huh?” (This person promptly agreed that it was a great costume and thought I actually worked there, and continued on to find someone else to ask questions)

“Only because the great prophet commands it” (I can’t remember who’s response that was, but the effect was amazing, probably a good way to get out of Jury Duty too)

It has been suggested that people simply lack the people skills, or ability to just approach someone and actually just ask for help. I suppose that his question poses as an ‘ice-breaker’ but I’m not just standing here in this vest because I think it’s fashionable or a good use of my time, so cut the crap and tell me what you want. The state of my employ I’m sure is not something that you actually care about.

Question #2

“Where are the batteries?”

This seems like a fairly standard question, especially because I work in Electronics, but this question is only ever asked when I (or any other member of the department) is standing directly in front of the batteries. Or they’re stocking the batteries or even holding batteries – never when someone might actually need to be directed any sort of distance to them. The only response is to just point and listen to the person gush about how embarrassed they are about being so blind. Of course I don’t care, although it seems that once people enter the store they lack the ability to actually see, or be observant. This is also likely why we have so many lost children – now you see me.. now you don’t!

Question #3

“Is this cash open?”

Okay, first of all, technically this question doesn’t make sense. English dictates that cash cannot be open, and this is simply English slang for “Cash Register” and second of all, there are two ways that this question drives me insane. First, if you’re standing at the register in Electronics, and ask me as I’m walking by (either helping another customer or stocking something) then it is obvious that because there is no one standing at it, operating the register that it is in fact not open. The second way that this question makes me fill with rage is when I’m standing at the counter and have just finished helping someone purchase their products and then you prompt me with that question. What would you like me to say? “Nope! Saw you comin’ and now I’m shuttin’ ‘er down!”  - Seriously people.

A more appropriate question would be “Can you ring me through please?” – Let’s work on that as a skill.

Question #4

“Is this where I buy the internet?”

I think that you would be surprised at how many times I am asked this question. You’re right, mostly by older people who don’t really understand that the internet is very similar to cable and the telephone in the fact that it comes out of the wall and requires a service provider, but the amount of people who are convinced that it is something that comes in a box that you just buy and take home to use. I am actually thinking about making small boxes, called them “The Internet” and inside them will just be like, a cookie and a set of instructions on how to actually get the internet – including how to buy and/or operate a personal computer to then access said internet. Maybe I’d make a killing! And maybe I would have a lot of old people egging my house for selling a product they’ve perceived as something it isn’t. Either way, this is still kind of a silly question.

Question #5

“How much is this / How much does this cost?”

Now, there is a rule at Wal-Mart that suggests that customers should never have to ask how much something costs. They should easily be able to access the information on the product they want, which includes the price. I agree, I think this is a great rule, but you can only lead a horse to water.. you can’t make it drink. 9 times out of 10, the thing they hand me is not only warm and slimy from being clasped desperately in their hand (which is just nasty.) but it has a giant price sticker on it.. indicating exactly how much that Wal-Mart is selling it for, minus those pesky sales tax. By the time my second year at Wal-Mart had rolled around, I had had enough of listening to “Well, I found it here and it said it was this much” or “I found it in the $5 bin.. so how much is it?” so now I’ve just resorted to telling them exactly what is on the sticker and handing it back to them with a no-nonsense look suggesting that it was a stupid question and I don’t care if you’ve found the bloody thing in Narnia, the price is on the sticker – perhaps you’ll be surprised when you get to the register and it comes up less, but rule of thumb is that you’ll never pay more than the sticker (because that’s illegal) so stop asking. We’re back to your lack of ability to see or be observant – and now I’d like to kick you in the head.

Question # 6

“Does anyone actually work here?”

Well, funny enough I think this may be a valid question. Yes, it is obvious that people are employed here, because opening a store with no one working in it doesn’t make any sense, unless you’re a bank machine or a pop-machine (or Zellers.. Har Har!) – and even then someone has to fill it. So yes, people are definitely employed at Wal-Mart. Whether or not they ‘actually work’ is something completely different. And I know that you’re just trying to express your exasperation at the fact that you can’t find anyone within yelling distance – but most of the time people will look directly at me, or say “hello, doesn’t anyone actually work here?” which really doesn’t make any sense.. because you’re saying it to me.. and I am employed here, so the only answer would be ‘yes’. Now, there are certainly people who ‘don’t actually work’ but are still employed.. which is completely different. Essentially, just stop asking me this.

Question # 7

“Does this thing actually work?”

Frig, I just can’t know the answer to this. My immediate thought is to say “Why yes, of course. Wal-Mart wouldn’t sell a product that didn’t do exactly as it claimed!” But.. Wal-Mart is itself a product that doesn’t do exactly as it claimed, and frankly the product doesn’t fall far from the Wal-Mart tree. (Like our return policy for instance.) I think to all of the consequences that this question has, because it’s a completely loaded question. So, if I say yes, and out of the box it happens to be a lemon, they come back and tell the entire world that I lied to them and that we sell crap, and they’ll never shop at the store again, and I should be fired and then people will show up with pitch-forks and torches. If it does work, then it is good, but if it doesn’t work EXACTLY as the TV showed them it would, then I’m still in trouble because I still answered positively toward the product and while it’s functional.. just not a very good product. This is why when people ask me that only thing I can ever think is “as far as I know..” accompanied by a shrug and a sceptical look. I suppose by being non-committal people can’t hold me responsible – well kind of.

Question # 8

“Can I return this as long as I don’t open it?”

Uhm actually you can return anything in any state, at any time you want – even without a receipt! All you have to do is complain loudly enough with something that we may have at one time sold and we’ll give you some money for it. Sometimes it’s even more than you paid.. and sometimes it’s not – but it doesn’t matter, because you as a customer are always right. The only thing you can’t return is your children, and for the most part – you probably should.

Question #9

“What time are you open until?”

I don’t mind this question, except that Wal-Mart has been open the same hours for like, ever. That, and to be worried about what time Wal*Mart closes means you need to go home. Like, right now. I also find it very strange when people ask me if we’re open 24 hours at say, 6 o’clock in the evening. I just wonder if they had planned to stay here for next 5+ hours, what could you possibly have to shop for that would take the next 5 hours? I do love Wal-Mart, but if you’re there longer than I am being paid to be there, you may just have a problem.

Question #10

“What is on sale in the flyer this week?”

This question is most likely asked over the phone and usually by old people. But, it annoys me because not only have you not given me any premise to what general kind of product you are looking for, and I know you’ve just mashed buttons on the touch-tone and managed to make it through the automated system and would have ended up unknowingly to Electronics but when you ask me there is actually a tone of reasonable expectation that I will not only know every single thing that is in the flyer off the top of my head, but that I will then tell you and wait patiently while you write it all down, ask me about what it is and what it does and if we have any in stock. The answer to all of these is no- I don’t know. I don’t know what it is or what it does, if we have any and whether or not it would look good in your living room. And frankly, I don’t care. Realistically I just do not get paid enough to care about whether or not your husband can drink pulpy orange juice after his angina episode last week, or whether or not your sister can wear the socks that are 10 bucks because she has circulation issues. I am not a doctor, and I just don’t care about your uncle’s cat who only eats a certain type of food, and why it is so expensive and that you have to go a pick it up for him and you don’t even like him.. or cats for that matter.

And finally, my least favourite, but most common question after “Do you work here?” and “How much does this cost?” Is:

Question #11

“Can you just hold it at the cash for me? I’ll be there in an hour (or 3 hours, or tomorrow or when I get paid, or when I get my cheque and so on)”

The answer is simply ‘no’. The ONLY time I ever even consider holding the thing that you want is if we have 1000 of them on the shelf, and I can just tell by this phone call that when you come in, you are going to make zero effort to find it OR you are just inept and would never find it even if you tried. That way, I know I am going to have to help you find it and then you’ll want to talk about it and ask me if I liked it and if I think it would make a good gift, or you mother would like it, or you’d like to tell me the plot line or demonstrate all the funny parts that happen, or how it works or why you need it or, who you’re giving it to or contemplate whether or not you should actually buy it even after all this (breathe!) and finally, whether or not I think you should buy it/liked it.

The answer to all of these things is ‘I don’t care.’ I get quite the workout just shrugging because people ask me about movies I’ve seen, or DVD players I’ve bought, TVs I’ve watched or batteries I’ve sold, and really, I just. don’t. care.    

So I guess this is kind of a public service announcement. Now you know that you shouldn’t ask anyone who works (or actually works) at Wal-Mart any of the above questions, it could be hazardous to your health. Or my health. Or fluffy kittens that I may feel the urge to punch.

My first Shade

Well, welcome!

I’m not so sure why I have decided to start this blogging adventure, likely because sometimes things happen that I just feel the need to tell a lot of people and this seems like a pretty good way to do it. Also to kill time while I’m at work, because even though I should be working.. I’m not – and that’s okay. (well, it’s not okay.. but it’s really okay.)

I should mention now that I do tend to write in the same way that I think, and that happens to be in run-on sentences. So as much as I think that I can’t possibly cram more things into a sentence, I manage to do it. Mostly to the annoyance of those marking or grading my writing, but if you aren’t doing either of those things then just remember to breathe – I can’t be blamed for any passing out because I don’t leave opportunities to pause and inhale.

(breathe here, in case you forgot already)

I don’t think that I am a very interesting person, but I do find myself in interesting situations often – simply because I’ve spend a lot of my life working with the general public. Now, I would say that I am a very gregarious person by nature, so talking to people and being around people is good with me (except shopping, people need to piss off when I’m trying to shop) however, to the delight of the people around me (mostly my Wal*Mart boss Krista) it seems as though the people who are just a little bit left of normal, or just a little bit past the hygiene-practice-renew date manage to find me in a seek-and-destroy type mission. I have gotten quite good at not laughing out loud or smiling at people when they say things to me that inside I just find beyond hilarious, but because of this internalisation of emotions in these situations I fear that one day I will behave very inappropriately when I find myself in another such scenario. (breathe!)

I also really enjoy the blog ‘Hyperbole and a Half’ and the fact that her stories are brilliant, and illustrated with pictures. I am a terrible artist, but maybe that is just part of the fun. So I figure – because I lack all artistic ability, can’t play an instrument, draw or paint, I’m not very good at sports and lead a fairly boring and domesticated life, the answer to the infamous question: “To blog, or not to blog?” (I paraphrased that) the answer is blog!