From the Dec. 28, 2005, editions of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel (and worst of all, it is true):
Attackers sought in driver's beating
'They were having fun,' shocked witness says
By JOHN DIEDRICH and RAQUEL RUTLEDGE
Posted: Dec. 27, 2005
A 50-year-old Milwaukee man was dragged from a car he was driving and severely beaten Monday night by a group of at least 15 teens and young men after he honked at them to get out of the street they were blocking.
Witnesses said the attackers jumped off cars and did flips onto the man's head, laughed and blasted music as if they were having a "block party."
The victim, identified by family as Samuel McClain, suffered "severe head trauma" and was in critical condition late Tuesday at Froedtert Memorial Lutheran Hospital in Wauwatosa, a hospital spokesman said. His family was gathered at Froedtert, awaiting word on McClain's fate. It was unclear whether he would survive.
"He really took a beating," said Anne E. Schwartz, Police Department spokeswoman.
Late Tuesday, one police source said some arrests had been made in the attack. But an official with the department’s detective bureau, Lt. Jeff Point, would not confirm that, saying only that several people were in police custody for questioning.
McClain's former wife and the mother of four of his children, Tina Bost, said McClain is a "happy-go-lucky man and a real nice person."
"I don't understand how that could happen to him," Bost said. "It's awful the way they did him."
Bost said McClain is remarried and also has children with his current wife.
Police are treating the case as an attempted homicide, Schwartz said. No one has been arrested. Detectives were searching for at least 15 participants, ages 16 to 23. They also were looking for two girls who apparently were stopped and harassed by the same group but made it through uninjured.
"We would love to chat with those girls," Schwartz said.
Police spent Tuesday night sweeping through the neighborhood with beefed up patrols, said Capt. Eric Moore.
"There is a significant saturation patrol in the area, and we're conducting a vigorous investigation," said Moore, adding that those arrested were being questioned in the beating.
McClain left his sister's home about 9 p.m. Monday, said his niece, Jennifer McClain. The family hadn't seen him in a couple of months, but he showed up for Christmas, she said. He has been working for a temporary service, she said, but wasn't sure where.
He said he was going to a friend's house on N. 36th St. and W. Hampton Ave., perhaps to play pool, she said.
As he pulled down 36th St. shortly before 11 p.m., he encountered a large group - as many as 30 people - standing in the street and blocking traffic, police said.
Minutes earlier, witnesses said, two girls encountered the same group, Schwartz said. The girl got out of her car and yelled at the group to let them through, which they did, she said.
When McClain honked, the group descended, dragging him from the car and into the street, police and witnesses say.
Jennifer McClain said her uncle is large, making it difficult to pull him from a car.
A 17-year-old visiting relatives nearby said he called police when he saw the group grab McClain and start beating him. The boy didn't want his name published for fear that the attackers would retaliate. He said he watched the whole beating, peering through the blinds of a bedroom window.
"They just started stomping on him, beating him," he said. "They were having fun, like it was normal, like it was an everyday thing."
They were drinking, laughing and playing music, he said.
"I was in shock," he said.
Britney King and her two sisters said they saw the attackers doing flips and cartwheels off cars onto McClain as he lay in the street.
"It looked like they were having a block party," King said. "They sounded like they were having a good time."
King said she and her sisters did not call police.
"It's just not me to call police," said LaToya King. "It would not cross my mind. In places like this, police don't come fast enough and solve anything. People here don't trust the police."
When police arrived, they found McClain in the street and that the crowd had dispersed, Schwartz said.
Mayor Tom Barrett called on the community to help solve the crime.
"We cannot put a police officer on every corner and midway down the block," Barrett said at a news conference at the scene of the beating.
"We need people to step forward especially in a crime like this. . . . If the community steps forward, we can get the people who perpetrated this crime off the streets," he said.
He encouraged anyone with information to call police at (414) 935-7360 or, to report it anonymously, to call the WeTip hotline at (800) 78-CRIME.
Barrett said police presence in the neighborhood is not the issue.
"It's a societal issue," he said. "We have to create hope (for young people), but at the same time we can't condone the violence."
Some community members backed Barrett's approach and challenged families to get more involved in the lives of their sons and daughters, nieces and nephews, siblings and cousins.
"The police have worked endlessly, day and night, to provide us the safest environment they can at 36th and Hampton," said Keith Bailey, owner of Bailey's Dry Cleaning and Laundry Service, just around the corner from the site of the beating. "The police can only do so much. We have lost accountability of our family members."
Last year, there were four mob-style beatings in four weeks in Milwaukee, leaving one man dead and three other people seriously injured. None of the beatings was related.
David Rutledge, a 54-year-old man with schizophrenia, was robbed and beaten July 4, 2004; he later died. Six teens were charged. One was convicted and one is awaiting trial; charges against the others were dropped.
Four days after the Rutledge beating, a 14-year-old boy was kicked, punched and hit in the head with a piece of lumber after he had exchanged words with a girl on a playground. She summoned older relatives, suspected of beating the boy.
Two weeks later, a Milwaukee man was beaten by a group of men after a girl in the neighborhood falsely accused him of indecently touching her.
And on July 29, 2004, a 16-year-old boy and his brothers were beaten by a group armed with bats, bottles, sticks and socks stuffed with canned food.
In 2002, Milwaukee drew national attention after the fatal beating of 36-year-old Charlie Young Jr. Young was pummeled by at least a dozen people, including children as young as 10, who used shovels, tree limbs and other weapons.
Police are looking for two suspect cars in the McClain beating: a black, late- model four-door Mercedes with a broken-out back window covered with plastic and a 1980s Mercury station wagon with imitation wood side paneling and a license that includes either "617 or 627," Schwartz said.
jdiedrich@journalsentinel.com
Weasel's thoughts: If you ever come across a group of teens standing in the middle of a Milwaukee city street, fuck 'em. Rev your engine and run the little bastards over. If you try and warn them, they'll simply use you as a human punching bag.
And people wonder why I have no faith in humanity.
--Weasel, "Two words. Speed. Bumps. End of problem."
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Friday, December 23, 2005
Boned for the Holidays
I am so fucking pissed off right now.
Seriously. Pissed. OFF.....!
The entire week has more or less sucked ass, but today was the coup de grace, so to speak. Here goes:
We were busy today. Insanely busy.
It was as if every resident in Northeastern Wisconsin woke up this morning, farted, then sat up screaming, "Holy fuck! Chri$tma$ comes in two days! I haven't gotten any gifts for Uncle Nancy and Aunt Bob!" So every resident in Northeastern Wisconsin jumped into their cars and went shopping. And every resident in Northeastern Wisconsin came to my fucking store.
What made things worse? I walked into the building early. I will never make that mistake again.
I clocked in 45 minutes early. One of the head cashiers told me that if I came in early, I would be able to leave early.
That wasn't the case. I left at 8:30, which was my scheduled time. (And there is a hilarious story involving that....!)
My register had a line of customers that was at least seven people long; it didn't thin out until 6:30. Because of that (and the idiot head cashier who never changed my schedule on the chart), I got every one of my breaks late. By at least thirty minutes. To top it all off, the Sow was being her normal overbearing self, so I had to fight the urge to strangle someone. Man, was I ever happier than hell when 8:30 rolled around. I shut down my lane, put my drawer together, dropped it and left.
Not five minutes after I clock out, one of the heads was calling me back to the podium. It appears whoever wrote my schedule down royally screwed up: they had written me down for 11:30 to 9:30. A ten hour day. The longest we are supposed to work is nine hours.
They wanted me back on my register. I had to tell them that A) I had checked my schedule yesterday and it had said I would leave at 8:30 and B) 11:30 to 9:30 would be a TEN HOUR DAY. I even counted it out to illustrate my point. Rather than admitting she was wrong, head cashier KS (the same dumb bitch that bawled me out for "being late" on my breaks) said, "Well, you dropped your drawer anyway. Just go."
Wow, how big of you. Can't even admit that you're wrong. Either that, or you're too goddamned retarded to know that you're wrong.
I sometimes think I'm the only person in that building that has a functioning brain.
--Weasel, not looking forward to tomorrow at all.
Seriously. Pissed. OFF.....!
The entire week has more or less sucked ass, but today was the coup de grace, so to speak. Here goes:
We were busy today. Insanely busy.
It was as if every resident in Northeastern Wisconsin woke up this morning, farted, then sat up screaming, "Holy fuck! Chri$tma$ comes in two days! I haven't gotten any gifts for Uncle Nancy and Aunt Bob!" So every resident in Northeastern Wisconsin jumped into their cars and went shopping. And every resident in Northeastern Wisconsin came to my fucking store.
What made things worse? I walked into the building early. I will never make that mistake again.
I clocked in 45 minutes early. One of the head cashiers told me that if I came in early, I would be able to leave early.
That wasn't the case. I left at 8:30, which was my scheduled time. (And there is a hilarious story involving that....!)
My register had a line of customers that was at least seven people long; it didn't thin out until 6:30. Because of that (and the idiot head cashier who never changed my schedule on the chart), I got every one of my breaks late. By at least thirty minutes. To top it all off, the Sow was being her normal overbearing self, so I had to fight the urge to strangle someone. Man, was I ever happier than hell when 8:30 rolled around. I shut down my lane, put my drawer together, dropped it and left.
Not five minutes after I clock out, one of the heads was calling me back to the podium. It appears whoever wrote my schedule down royally screwed up: they had written me down for 11:30 to 9:30. A ten hour day. The longest we are supposed to work is nine hours.
They wanted me back on my register. I had to tell them that A) I had checked my schedule yesterday and it had said I would leave at 8:30 and B) 11:30 to 9:30 would be a TEN HOUR DAY. I even counted it out to illustrate my point. Rather than admitting she was wrong, head cashier KS (the same dumb bitch that bawled me out for "being late" on my breaks) said, "Well, you dropped your drawer anyway. Just go."
Wow, how big of you. Can't even admit that you're wrong. Either that, or you're too goddamned retarded to know that you're wrong.
I sometimes think I'm the only person in that building that has a functioning brain.
--Weasel, not looking forward to tomorrow at all.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
So Close... So Very Close...
I was playing Pokemon XD yesterday and made some major progress; I've hit Citadark Isle.
I'm so close I can practically taste it.
Not long now and Shadow Lugia will be mine... and I will make him whole again.
.....
.....
IT'S DRIVING ME CRAZY!
I know good and damn well that I'm not nearly strong enough to go up against Greevil; I want to be at level 57 at least. I'll have to leave the island to go to the Colosseums and level up as much as possible. I know I have to do it, but it feels like an unnecessary delay to me. I really, really really want to Snag that Lugia. And I want to do it now. Leveling up just feels like a waste of time.
..........
Okay, that's it. I'm hitting the 'Cube. Now.
--Weasel, hoping she doesn't get Nintendinitis.
I'm so close I can practically taste it.
Not long now and Shadow Lugia will be mine... and I will make him whole again.
.....
.....
IT'S DRIVING ME CRAZY!
I know good and damn well that I'm not nearly strong enough to go up against Greevil; I want to be at level 57 at least. I'll have to leave the island to go to the Colosseums and level up as much as possible. I know I have to do it, but it feels like an unnecessary delay to me. I really, really really want to Snag that Lugia. And I want to do it now. Leveling up just feels like a waste of time.
..........
Okay, that's it. I'm hitting the 'Cube. Now.
--Weasel, hoping she doesn't get Nintendinitis.
Monday, December 19, 2005
Loss
Just walked back from the post office. Doesn't sound so bad, but the temperature is -4 out there. To put it mildly, it's damn cold.
Couldn't sleep last night, even though I went to bed about an hour later than Prime. It was nearly 2am when I slipped beneath the blankets. I was exhausted as hell. Even then I didn't go to sleep; I merely sat up in bed and stared out the window, looking at the moon and the stars and the snow-covered rooftops and the denuded trees and the ever present steam from the paper plant by the river. I sat there for Primus knows how long. Fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes maybe? I don't know; I didn't even bother looking at the clock. When I finally laid down I couldn't sleep then, either. I didn't want to sleep. At least twice I yanked myself out of dozing off (at one point I had begun to snore lightly), just to stare out the window and sigh.
How do you measure a life?
Is it measured in the number of breaths you take, or the number of times your heart beats? Is it measured by how many people love you? How well you love your job? How much wealth you've amassed? In the end, does it even matter?
No one is supposed to die at age twenty five.
At twenty five, you're supposed to get married, find a house, have a few kids, enjoy the better part of your career, hang with your friends, and plan for your future. Cancer isn't supposed to enter the equation and if it does, you're supposed to make a full recovery. You're not supposed to die.
But whoever said the Fates played by anyone's rules, except their own? Even the Gods could not oppose their will.
Prime's back at work today. I'm glad he is, but then again, I'd rather have him here with me. I don't like being alone.
I'm still pissed off at work; we've had other employees who have had minor tragedies (compared to this) befall them and management holds pot-lucks to raise money for them. There's a death in my family and I get squat. No wait, that's not fair; I did get something. I got yelled at by the head cashiers and I got my breaks cut short. Management wonders why our morale is so low.
Prime wants me to call a few Wal-Marts and look for some new Transformers. I'll do it later today. I'm thinking that this will be pointless as hell; Wisconsin is the ass end of nowhere and we rarely get new toys in our area. But I'll do it to make him happy.
All I want to do is crawl back into bed, stare out the window, and sigh.
--Weasel, trying to make sense of it all.
Couldn't sleep last night, even though I went to bed about an hour later than Prime. It was nearly 2am when I slipped beneath the blankets. I was exhausted as hell. Even then I didn't go to sleep; I merely sat up in bed and stared out the window, looking at the moon and the stars and the snow-covered rooftops and the denuded trees and the ever present steam from the paper plant by the river. I sat there for Primus knows how long. Fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes maybe? I don't know; I didn't even bother looking at the clock. When I finally laid down I couldn't sleep then, either. I didn't want to sleep. At least twice I yanked myself out of dozing off (at one point I had begun to snore lightly), just to stare out the window and sigh.
How do you measure a life?
Is it measured in the number of breaths you take, or the number of times your heart beats? Is it measured by how many people love you? How well you love your job? How much wealth you've amassed? In the end, does it even matter?
No one is supposed to die at age twenty five.
At twenty five, you're supposed to get married, find a house, have a few kids, enjoy the better part of your career, hang with your friends, and plan for your future. Cancer isn't supposed to enter the equation and if it does, you're supposed to make a full recovery. You're not supposed to die.
But whoever said the Fates played by anyone's rules, except their own? Even the Gods could not oppose their will.
Prime's back at work today. I'm glad he is, but then again, I'd rather have him here with me. I don't like being alone.
I'm still pissed off at work; we've had other employees who have had minor tragedies (compared to this) befall them and management holds pot-lucks to raise money for them. There's a death in my family and I get squat. No wait, that's not fair; I did get something. I got yelled at by the head cashiers and I got my breaks cut short. Management wonders why our morale is so low.
Prime wants me to call a few Wal-Marts and look for some new Transformers. I'll do it later today. I'm thinking that this will be pointless as hell; Wisconsin is the ass end of nowhere and we rarely get new toys in our area. But I'll do it to make him happy.
All I want to do is crawl back into bed, stare out the window, and sigh.
--Weasel, trying to make sense of it all.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Life's a Bitch
Gods, I fucking hate my job.
As you all know, the glorious fuckers at my place of work (aka the 69th Layer of Hell) decided that attending Prime's brother's funeral was an unexcused absence. Before anyone asks, yes, I went in on time. It was a "good" thing I did. The moronic head cashier who had taken my call earlier that morning had not marked me as being potentially late. In other words, had I skipped out on the first few hours of work, the idiots in charge of that hellhole would have tried calling my apartment, wondering where in the hell I was. And when I would have arrived there, I would have ended up in the Ad Office getting my ass chewed out for being late. Worse still, since I called in Monday, I probably would have been written up or fired for missing time on Friday. And these idiots bitch and whine that the media is after them, trying to make them look bad.
But it gets "better". Just yesterday, one of the busiest shopping days of the season, I'm stuck on an express lane, getting yelled at by the heads to go faster because we have lines. Uh, no shit, asshole! Of fucking course we have lines! And me ratcheting up my speed didn't help the situation much. For every one customer I got out of the store, three more got in my lane!
But nothing tops what the assholes have been doing lately. On Tuesday and Wednesday, they've been calling me back early from my breaks. Not because we're busy, just because they think I've been gone too long. I swear to Primus, I damn near walked out Wednesday, when head (case) cashier KS tried to bawl me out in front of customers.
Man, I can't wait for tomorrow. I'll be checking for any local job openings. If I score a new place of employment, my current hellhole won't know about it.
--Weasel, "Fuck the two week notice shit. They don't deserve it."
As you all know, the glorious fuckers at my place of work (aka the 69th Layer of Hell) decided that attending Prime's brother's funeral was an unexcused absence. Before anyone asks, yes, I went in on time. It was a "good" thing I did. The moronic head cashier who had taken my call earlier that morning had not marked me as being potentially late. In other words, had I skipped out on the first few hours of work, the idiots in charge of that hellhole would have tried calling my apartment, wondering where in the hell I was. And when I would have arrived there, I would have ended up in the Ad Office getting my ass chewed out for being late. Worse still, since I called in Monday, I probably would have been written up or fired for missing time on Friday. And these idiots bitch and whine that the media is after them, trying to make them look bad.
But it gets "better". Just yesterday, one of the busiest shopping days of the season, I'm stuck on an express lane, getting yelled at by the heads to go faster because we have lines. Uh, no shit, asshole! Of fucking course we have lines! And me ratcheting up my speed didn't help the situation much. For every one customer I got out of the store, three more got in my lane!
But nothing tops what the assholes have been doing lately. On Tuesday and Wednesday, they've been calling me back early from my breaks. Not because we're busy, just because they think I've been gone too long. I swear to Primus, I damn near walked out Wednesday, when head (case) cashier KS tried to bawl me out in front of customers.
Man, I can't wait for tomorrow. I'll be checking for any local job openings. If I score a new place of employment, my current hellhole won't know about it.
--Weasel, "Fuck the two week notice shit. They don't deserve it."
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Breaking Point
They've finally done it.
The job has pushed me to the edge.
If they fire me, they'd be doing me a favor.
We lost Wavebreaker Monday. He slipped away peacefully. The funeral is today.
Just called the fuckers at my workplace, asking if there was any way I could go and pay my respects. If I were to come in late because of the funeral, it would be unexcused.
An unexcused absence. For a goddamned funeral.
These are the same assholes who bitch and whine that the media just wants to tarnish their image. The media's not tarnishing it, you dumb fucks: you are. Get a goddamned clue.
--Weasel, wondering if she should go in to work today and start telling her customers just how "wonderful" it is to work for her company.
The job has pushed me to the edge.
If they fire me, they'd be doing me a favor.
We lost Wavebreaker Monday. He slipped away peacefully. The funeral is today.
Just called the fuckers at my workplace, asking if there was any way I could go and pay my respects. If I were to come in late because of the funeral, it would be unexcused.
An unexcused absence. For a goddamned funeral.
These are the same assholes who bitch and whine that the media just wants to tarnish their image. The media's not tarnishing it, you dumb fucks: you are. Get a goddamned clue.
--Weasel, wondering if she should go in to work today and start telling her customers just how "wonderful" it is to work for her company.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
The Mommy Militia Strikes!
Okay, this is just classic:
the Mommy Militia is boycotting a Chicago bakery that has posted a sign asking for children to behave and use their "indoor voices".
(I'd love to know how they'd react to the sign at the pet supply place my mother frequented. It read: "All unattended children will be sold into slavery.")
Yes, you are reading that correctly: these dipshits are pissed off because this poor guy is asking parents to (GASP!!) make sure their children behave! Oh, the horror, the horror! What next? Will parents be forced to actually discipline their children, rather than let them run wild in public places? Oh, the humanity!
I've got some advice for the Mommy Militia: quit your bitching and get the fuck over it.
Remember, I work as a cashier. I have seen more misbehaving children than I care to go into. And I have seen more "parents" just stand the hell by and let their "pwecious widdle peanut" get away with whatever they want.
Newsflash, idiots: people are fucking tired of your bratty children. We are sick and damned tired of your "perfect widdle pwincess" screaming "I WANT CANDY/TOYS/WHATEVER NOW!" or your "sweet widdle pumpkin" racing around the supermarket, running into people and displays as if he's in a playground and not a place of business. And we are royally sick and damned tired of all you "parents" doing absolutely nothing to stop your children's bad behavior. Really now, were you allowed to act like that in public? I seriously doubt it.
I come from a time when "Children should be seen and not heard" was the general rule. My parents would not allow misbehavior in public. If I screwed up, there were consequences. Severe consequences. And I knew ahead of time that there would be severe consequences if I did not behave. If I was extremely lucky, I'd get dragged out to the car by my mother who would then tell me that we were going home NOW. If I really screwed up, I'd get walloped on the ass, dragged out to the car, then grounded for at least a month the very nanosecond I arrived at home. Was it harsh? Yes. Did it keep me in line? You bet your sweet ass it did. I'm not saying I was perfect (and no, I wasn't), but I did try to behave decently in public whenever I could.
Now, why can't other parents do that? Is it because they lack testicular (or ovarian) fortitude? Do they just not want to be the "bad cop"? Or do they just not want to make "the same mistakes" that their parents "made"? What gives?
It doesn't really matter, though. I can't wait until the Mommy Militia starts dealing with their spoiled, bratty teenagers. By then, they may understand why Mr. McCauley posted that sign.
--Weasel, who supports the public tasering of naughty children
the Mommy Militia is boycotting a Chicago bakery that has posted a sign asking for children to behave and use their "indoor voices".
(I'd love to know how they'd react to the sign at the pet supply place my mother frequented. It read: "All unattended children will be sold into slavery.")
Yes, you are reading that correctly: these dipshits are pissed off because this poor guy is asking parents to (GASP!!) make sure their children behave! Oh, the horror, the horror! What next? Will parents be forced to actually discipline their children, rather than let them run wild in public places? Oh, the humanity!
I've got some advice for the Mommy Militia: quit your bitching and get the fuck over it.
Remember, I work as a cashier. I have seen more misbehaving children than I care to go into. And I have seen more "parents" just stand the hell by and let their "pwecious widdle peanut" get away with whatever they want.
Newsflash, idiots: people are fucking tired of your bratty children. We are sick and damned tired of your "perfect widdle pwincess" screaming "I WANT CANDY/TOYS/WHATEVER NOW!" or your "sweet widdle pumpkin" racing around the supermarket, running into people and displays as if he's in a playground and not a place of business. And we are royally sick and damned tired of all you "parents" doing absolutely nothing to stop your children's bad behavior. Really now, were you allowed to act like that in public? I seriously doubt it.
I come from a time when "Children should be seen and not heard" was the general rule. My parents would not allow misbehavior in public. If I screwed up, there were consequences. Severe consequences. And I knew ahead of time that there would be severe consequences if I did not behave. If I was extremely lucky, I'd get dragged out to the car by my mother who would then tell me that we were going home NOW. If I really screwed up, I'd get walloped on the ass, dragged out to the car, then grounded for at least a month the very nanosecond I arrived at home. Was it harsh? Yes. Did it keep me in line? You bet your sweet ass it did. I'm not saying I was perfect (and no, I wasn't), but I did try to behave decently in public whenever I could.
Now, why can't other parents do that? Is it because they lack testicular (or ovarian) fortitude? Do they just not want to be the "bad cop"? Or do they just not want to make "the same mistakes" that their parents "made"? What gives?
It doesn't really matter, though. I can't wait until the Mommy Militia starts dealing with their spoiled, bratty teenagers. By then, they may understand why Mr. McCauley posted that sign.
--Weasel, who supports the public tasering of naughty children
Monday, December 05, 2005
Weasel's News Round-Up
I report the news, so you won't have to jump around the net!
Our first story for today: an eighth grader removed a hidden camera from the boys bathroom, netting himself a five day suspension. Yes, you read that right. He's being suspended and this is going on his permanent record as "stealing" school property. If that doesn't piss you off, then this will:
"That was the interesting part to me that surprised me -- Ms. Massengil, the middle school principal, nor the teachers were aware. No one seemed to be aware besides the principal at the high school," Champion said. "I had told the high school principal, Mr. Fore, that he needed to come up with another solution -- that this wasn't appropriate. His response to me was he was going to continue to film." (All emphasis mine.)
Mr. Pervert High School Principal needs to have his sorry ass fired. Immediately. If not fucking sooner. Can we say "potential molester/pervert"? Sure we can! Gods, what an assbrain!
In other news: Newsmax proves it's only good for lining the bottom of birdcages. I just love their "logic" or lack thereof. "Hey, if torture broke John McCain, then we should use it!"
"That McCain broke under torture doesn't make him any less of an American hero. But it does prove he's wrong to claim that harsh interrogation techniques simply don't work."
Um, yeah. You dipsticks realize he signed a paper confessing his crimes that was not in his native language?! Hello, McFly! How fucking "useful" is that?! But, it doesn't matter much anyway. Love some of the "techniques" being used:
"Long Time Standing: This technique is described as among the most effective. Prisoners are forced to stand, handcuffed and with their feet shackled to an eye bolt in the floor for more than 40 hours. Exhaustion and sleep deprivation are effective in yielding confessions.
The Cold Cell: The prisoner is left to stand naked in a cell kept near 50 degrees. Throughout the time in the cell the prisoner is doused with cold water."
This one makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about it:
"Water Boarding: The prisoner is bound to an inclined board, feet raised and head slightly below the feet. Cellophane is wrapped over the prisoner's face and water is poured over him. Unavoidably, the gag reflex kicks in and a terrifying fear of drowning leads to almost instant pleas to bring the treatment to a halt."
Yeah, I'm sure shit like this will bring about "confessions", all right. By the time these dipshits are done with this poor son of a bitch, he'll claim he shoved a bomb in his scrotum and the sky is purple with hot pink spots! As it's stated in the article, this is ..."bad interrogation. I mean you can get anyone to confess to anything if the torture's bad enough," said former CIA officer Bob Baer.
And in our last story for today, a "doctor" proves that he's a total moron by denying an 18 year old Wiccan girl birth control pills. Gotta love it: "I found out later he did diagnose me with depression because I cried."
Uh-huh. A diagnosis of depression because she cried. I diagnose him with "cranial-rectal impact" or "head up ass" syndrome. There's no real cure for it Doc, short of a common sense transplant. But in your case, it won't fucking help. You're a clear example of a waste of a college education. Dumbass.
That's all for today. This has been your anchor-ferret,
--Weasel, signing off.
Our first story for today: an eighth grader removed a hidden camera from the boys bathroom, netting himself a five day suspension. Yes, you read that right. He's being suspended and this is going on his permanent record as "stealing" school property. If that doesn't piss you off, then this will:
"That was the interesting part to me that surprised me -- Ms. Massengil, the middle school principal, nor the teachers were aware. No one seemed to be aware besides the principal at the high school," Champion said. "I had told the high school principal, Mr. Fore, that he needed to come up with another solution -- that this wasn't appropriate. His response to me was he was going to continue to film." (All emphasis mine.)
Mr. Pervert High School Principal needs to have his sorry ass fired. Immediately. If not fucking sooner. Can we say "potential molester/pervert"? Sure we can! Gods, what an assbrain!
In other news: Newsmax proves it's only good for lining the bottom of birdcages. I just love their "logic" or lack thereof. "Hey, if torture broke John McCain, then we should use it!"
"That McCain broke under torture doesn't make him any less of an American hero. But it does prove he's wrong to claim that harsh interrogation techniques simply don't work."
Um, yeah. You dipsticks realize he signed a paper confessing his crimes that was not in his native language?! Hello, McFly! How fucking "useful" is that?! But, it doesn't matter much anyway. Love some of the "techniques" being used:
"Long Time Standing: This technique is described as among the most effective. Prisoners are forced to stand, handcuffed and with their feet shackled to an eye bolt in the floor for more than 40 hours. Exhaustion and sleep deprivation are effective in yielding confessions.
The Cold Cell: The prisoner is left to stand naked in a cell kept near 50 degrees. Throughout the time in the cell the prisoner is doused with cold water."
This one makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about it:
"Water Boarding: The prisoner is bound to an inclined board, feet raised and head slightly below the feet. Cellophane is wrapped over the prisoner's face and water is poured over him. Unavoidably, the gag reflex kicks in and a terrifying fear of drowning leads to almost instant pleas to bring the treatment to a halt."
Yeah, I'm sure shit like this will bring about "confessions", all right. By the time these dipshits are done with this poor son of a bitch, he'll claim he shoved a bomb in his scrotum and the sky is purple with hot pink spots! As it's stated in the article, this is ..."bad interrogation. I mean you can get anyone to confess to anything if the torture's bad enough," said former CIA officer Bob Baer.
And in our last story for today, a "doctor" proves that he's a total moron by denying an 18 year old Wiccan girl birth control pills. Gotta love it: "I found out later he did diagnose me with depression because I cried."
Uh-huh. A diagnosis of depression because she cried. I diagnose him with "cranial-rectal impact" or "head up ass" syndrome. There's no real cure for it Doc, short of a common sense transplant. But in your case, it won't fucking help. You're a clear example of a waste of a college education. Dumbass.
That's all for today. This has been your anchor-ferret,
--Weasel, signing off.
Friday, December 02, 2005
Wake Me Up When December Ends
(My apologies to Green Day for "borrowing" one of their song titles.)
You know, with the way things are now, I say we skip straight to January 1. No one bitches and whines about a faux "war" over New Year's Day.
Apparently, Jerry Falwell and his ilk won't stfu over this supposed "war" on Chri$tma$. (If the site wants you to login, just hit up bugmenot.com to by-pass it.) But this little comment from said article really cracked me up:
"The renaming of Christmas trees to holiday trees is symbolic of what's happening with Christmas," Staver said. "When people seek to rename what otherwise is a secular symbol simply because of the name 'Christmas,' that shows the depths of political correctness run amok."
Excuse me, I'm sorry but... BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA (gasp...)HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA!!!
Guys, seriously, you need to read this.
You're reading that right. The "Christmas" tree has PAGAN origins! Ooopsie!! Many of the trappings of the holiday are Pagan, which is why there are certain Christians sects who refuse to celebrate the holiday. But leave it to the hypo-christians to conveniently forget about that. Or not bitch about the fact that their "holy day" has been whored out by all the major merchants, who use the "holiday" to fatten their pocketbooks.
Well, at least I'm not the only one who's sick of this crap. Nearly laughed my ass off when I read:
"Our nation's slogan should become: "In God We Trust and Shove Down Your Throats!" That'll show the Godless mud people who aren't like you and me that if you dare sneak into our country, we fully intend to shove a plastic Nativity Jesus down your various dirt-worshipping heathen throats."
Yeah! You tell 'em, Bob! If they don't conform, we'll force 'em!! YEAH! (snicker)
As far as the work front, it was a normal day. I'm doing my damnedest to stay the hell out of the Sow's way; it's working. Now, if only I can make it through another holiday season...
--Weasel, sick of it all
You know, with the way things are now, I say we skip straight to January 1. No one bitches and whines about a faux "war" over New Year's Day.
Apparently, Jerry Falwell and his ilk won't stfu over this supposed "war" on Chri$tma$. (If the site wants you to login, just hit up bugmenot.com to by-pass it.) But this little comment from said article really cracked me up:
"The renaming of Christmas trees to holiday trees is symbolic of what's happening with Christmas," Staver said. "When people seek to rename what otherwise is a secular symbol simply because of the name 'Christmas,' that shows the depths of political correctness run amok."
Excuse me, I'm sorry but... BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA (gasp...)HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA!!!
Guys, seriously, you need to read this.
You're reading that right. The "Christmas" tree has PAGAN origins! Ooopsie!! Many of the trappings of the holiday are Pagan, which is why there are certain Christians sects who refuse to celebrate the holiday. But leave it to the hypo-christians to conveniently forget about that. Or not bitch about the fact that their "holy day" has been whored out by all the major merchants, who use the "holiday" to fatten their pocketbooks.
Well, at least I'm not the only one who's sick of this crap. Nearly laughed my ass off when I read:
"Our nation's slogan should become: "In God We Trust and Shove Down Your Throats!" That'll show the Godless mud people who aren't like you and me that if you dare sneak into our country, we fully intend to shove a plastic Nativity Jesus down your various dirt-worshipping heathen throats."
Yeah! You tell 'em, Bob! If they don't conform, we'll force 'em!! YEAH! (snicker)
As far as the work front, it was a normal day. I'm doing my damnedest to stay the hell out of the Sow's way; it's working. Now, if only I can make it through another holiday season...
--Weasel, sick of it all
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Why I Blog
I’ve hit a milestone here at Rhymes With Idiot: I’ve just made my fiftieth post.
It’s a bit surprising; I really wasn’t expecting to hit fifty until sometime next year. In any case, I thought that this would be a good time to look back and reflect on why I do this.
I blog for many reasons: exercising my freedom of speech, sowing the seeds of dissent, voicing my opinion for the entire world to see (and read), because I enjoy writing (and blogging is cheaper than hiring an agent), shits and giggles, etc. But the biggest reason?
Drum roll please: I finally have the chance to quash stupidity in its many forms.
This blog serves as my venting point, my shoutdown to all the idiots in the world who would try to make things worse for this planet. Whether it’s someone whining about “violence” in the media or an idiot who brings a full cart of groceries to a 10-items-or-less lane, I can finally put them in their rightful place. I can put the smackdown on someone who opens their mouth and inserts their ass. I can finally slap down the stupidity that fills my life.
And I enjoy every second of it.
Like today, for example!
First off, it was a noon to nine shift. I hate noon to nine. But it just gets better! And more full of stupidity!
I was slapped on self check. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it 8,214,696,784 times, I hate self check. Yes, they were still malfunctioning, yes #45 was still doing the “Rear Arch Block” and #43 decided to join in the fun, yes I had an assload of ID-10T "errors", but that wasn’t the best part. The best part happened right after lunch.
I’m standing at the podium, waiting for a head cashier to tell me where to go (back to self-check, I’m afraid) when I notice just who is standing at the cashier’s podium.
It’s the Sow.
Elton John said it best, “The Bitch is Back”.
It all went downhill from there. The self-checks kept locking up, then #44 decided to freeze... and when I told head cashier “KS” that 44 was frozen, she said it wasn’t. I had to tell someone from cash office what had happened. At least the associate from cash office agreed with me, thank Primus.
Yes, the fucking thing was frozen up. Gods, how could KS not fucking see that?! Oh right, she’s an idiot.
I’m so glad I have this blog. I can air out the stupidity here. And in a few years, I’ll get a good chuckle out of this bullshit.
Maybe.
--Weasel, actually enjoying her battle versus idiocy
It’s a bit surprising; I really wasn’t expecting to hit fifty until sometime next year. In any case, I thought that this would be a good time to look back and reflect on why I do this.
I blog for many reasons: exercising my freedom of speech, sowing the seeds of dissent, voicing my opinion for the entire world to see (and read), because I enjoy writing (and blogging is cheaper than hiring an agent), shits and giggles, etc. But the biggest reason?
Drum roll please: I finally have the chance to quash stupidity in its many forms.
This blog serves as my venting point, my shoutdown to all the idiots in the world who would try to make things worse for this planet. Whether it’s someone whining about “violence” in the media or an idiot who brings a full cart of groceries to a 10-items-or-less lane, I can finally put them in their rightful place. I can put the smackdown on someone who opens their mouth and inserts their ass. I can finally slap down the stupidity that fills my life.
And I enjoy every second of it.
Like today, for example!
First off, it was a noon to nine shift. I hate noon to nine. But it just gets better! And more full of stupidity!
I was slapped on self check. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it 8,214,696,784 times, I hate self check. Yes, they were still malfunctioning, yes #45 was still doing the “Rear Arch Block” and #43 decided to join in the fun, yes I had an assload of ID-10T "errors", but that wasn’t the best part. The best part happened right after lunch.
I’m standing at the podium, waiting for a head cashier to tell me where to go (back to self-check, I’m afraid) when I notice just who is standing at the cashier’s podium.
It’s the Sow.
Elton John said it best, “The Bitch is Back”.
It all went downhill from there. The self-checks kept locking up, then #44 decided to freeze... and when I told head cashier “KS” that 44 was frozen, she said it wasn’t. I had to tell someone from cash office what had happened. At least the associate from cash office agreed with me, thank Primus.
Yes, the fucking thing was frozen up. Gods, how could KS not fucking see that?! Oh right, she’s an idiot.
I’m so glad I have this blog. I can air out the stupidity here. And in a few years, I’ll get a good chuckle out of this bullshit.
Maybe.
--Weasel, actually enjoying her battle versus idiocy
Monday, November 28, 2005
Busted!
So much for our “spectacular” Blitz this Friday; it was a bust, just as I had predicted. We were busy from about 5am until 6, and then..... nothing. And I mean nothing. The crowds were just gone. Poof. Like that. It was as if we had never been busy to begin with. Just like last year. We had at least twelve cashiers standing around, red-lining and doing absolutely nothing.
To be totally honest, I have no idea why in the bleeding hells we even bother with Blitz anymore. We’re getting our ass handed to us by most, if not all, of our competitors. They have better deals, better stuff, pretty much better everything. If we’re even going to attempt this again next year, we need to have some actual, honest to Gods damned deals in our circular. None of this “off-name, cheap ass, it breaks in six months” electronics bullshit. None of this “we had it last year, so have a second helping” bullshit. None of this “the only toy deals you’ll get is maybe a two pack of some crappy lame and outdated electronic toy” bullshit. Give the consumer something to get excited about.
Which is what our competitors keep doing. Every year now.
Management just doesn’t get it. And they probably never will.
It gets "better" as the weekend progresses, though. Saturday wasn’t so bad; we were moderately busy and the day went by pretty fast. It was Sunday that royally bit ass.
I was stuck on self-check. As damn near everyone knows by now, I fucking hate self-check. First off, the damn things didn’t want to half work; they were slower than hell and kept freezing up or hanging up the rear arch. Number 45 had at least ten incidents of “Rear Arch Blocked” errors. If the idiocy of the machines wasn’t irritating enough, there was the idiocy of the customers.
I’d say about 2/3 of the remaining errors I was dealing with was USER ERROR:ID-10T. Precious few of the humans who use self-check know just what in the hell they are doing. How damn difficult is it for someone to understand “Carry this item to the bagging area”? Apparently, it’s damn near impossible because these morons will shove the item through the arch and lock up the machine. Then they bitch that “these damn machines never work right”. No, for once the machine is fine. YOU ARE THE PROBLEM, JACKASS! Jeez, how hard is it for your brain-dead fucks to listen to fucking directions?! “Duh, lissen too duh-rexshuns? Wut iz dat?” GAAAAAHH!! (slamming head into wall)
Thank Primus I’m off today and tomorrow. I might have snapped otherwise.
--one exhausted and frustrated Weasel
To be totally honest, I have no idea why in the bleeding hells we even bother with Blitz anymore. We’re getting our ass handed to us by most, if not all, of our competitors. They have better deals, better stuff, pretty much better everything. If we’re even going to attempt this again next year, we need to have some actual, honest to Gods damned deals in our circular. None of this “off-name, cheap ass, it breaks in six months” electronics bullshit. None of this “we had it last year, so have a second helping” bullshit. None of this “the only toy deals you’ll get is maybe a two pack of some crappy lame and outdated electronic toy” bullshit. Give the consumer something to get excited about.
Which is what our competitors keep doing. Every year now.
Management just doesn’t get it. And they probably never will.
It gets "better" as the weekend progresses, though. Saturday wasn’t so bad; we were moderately busy and the day went by pretty fast. It was Sunday that royally bit ass.
I was stuck on self-check. As damn near everyone knows by now, I fucking hate self-check. First off, the damn things didn’t want to half work; they were slower than hell and kept freezing up or hanging up the rear arch. Number 45 had at least ten incidents of “Rear Arch Blocked” errors. If the idiocy of the machines wasn’t irritating enough, there was the idiocy of the customers.
I’d say about 2/3 of the remaining errors I was dealing with was USER ERROR:ID-10T. Precious few of the humans who use self-check know just what in the hell they are doing. How damn difficult is it for someone to understand “Carry this item to the bagging area”? Apparently, it’s damn near impossible because these morons will shove the item through the arch and lock up the machine. Then they bitch that “these damn machines never work right”. No, for once the machine is fine. YOU ARE THE PROBLEM, JACKASS! Jeez, how hard is it for your brain-dead fucks to listen to fucking directions?! “Duh, lissen too duh-rexshuns? Wut iz dat?” GAAAAAHH!! (slamming head into wall)
Thank Primus I’m off today and tomorrow. I might have snapped otherwise.
--one exhausted and frustrated Weasel
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Blitz or Bust
I'm thinking our sales on Black Friday are not going to be all that wonderful; the "$400 Laptop" is going to sell for $632. This is all thanks to a wonderful Wisconsin law that does not allow selling items below cost. There are a lot of pissed customers out there; most are kicking themselves for spending their Thanksgivings here in the Dairy State and not Minnesota or Michigan. (Both states will have the $400 laptops. I say if they want it that bad, hop the damn border.) In any case, I'm figuring it's going to be a big fat waste of my time getting up at 3:45 in the morning, just like it was a big fat waste of time the last couple of years getting up at 4am. Maybe I'll be wrong about this.... but I doubt it.
--Weasel, gritting her teeth and getting ready for Hell Day aka Black Friday.
--Weasel, gritting her teeth and getting ready for Hell Day aka Black Friday.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Dear Jerry Falwell,
Please just stfu.
From the article itself:
"That they're doing this in the name of religion is very, very sad," Gunn said. "It would be one thing if they're talking about consumerism of the season or something, but they're not."
Jeez, maybe somebody has been paying attention after all. It would be nice.
--Weasel, getting damned tired of having to say the exact same thing every frakking year
From the article itself:
"That they're doing this in the name of religion is very, very sad," Gunn said. "It would be one thing if they're talking about consumerism of the season or something, but they're not."
Jeez, maybe somebody has been paying attention after all. It would be nice.
--Weasel, getting damned tired of having to say the exact same thing every frakking year
If This is a Joke...
I ain't laughing.
I mean, seriously. This has got to be a damn joke.
Whether or not it is, I'll say this much: it ain't one damn bit funny.
This is how most Wal-Marts are: if you dare criticize the company in any way, shape, or form, you will get your happy ass hauled into the ad office for a coaching. Why? Any criticism of the company "brings down morale", no matter how true that criticism may be. (And having clueless, dumbass managers who kiss up to greedy, lying customers won't? What the fuck ever!) Hell, this even sounds like their "logic" or lack thereof:
I mean, seriously. This has got to be a damn joke.
Whether or not it is, I'll say this much: it ain't one damn bit funny.
This is how most Wal-Marts are: if you dare criticize the company in any way, shape, or form, you will get your happy ass hauled into the ad office for a coaching. Why? Any criticism of the company "brings down morale", no matter how true that criticism may be. (And having clueless, dumbass managers who kiss up to greedy, lying customers won't? What the fuck ever!) Hell, this even sounds like their "logic" or lack thereof:
“These kinds of smears on America’s biggest employer, no matter how true, are bound to demoralize our troops and embolden our enemies.”
Where did they get this? Straight from a store manager's mouth? Parody or not, it sounds just like the kind of crap they would spout at the "world's biggest retailer". If you don't believe me, ask a few former associates. They'll tell you just how bad it truly is there, how saying the wrong thing to the wrong person about the company can get you a verbal coaching or worse. Even the associates who hate their jobs speak highly of Wal-Mart. You have to, or you will get termed. There is nothing funny about that. Trust me on this.
In other news, Prime is still sick and still sitting on his skidplate (What else can he do? Run a marathon?) here at home. This is the second day in a row I've had to call him in due to illness and lack of sleep. Wavebreaker is doing as well as can be expected; Claymore is still here in WI. I have no idea when they'll call Claymore back to Iraq; hopefully, it will be after the funeral. I myself happen to be bracing for the most insane damn day in retail, Black Friday.
If you aren't sure you want to get up and hit the malls at 5(!) in the morning, you can always point your browser over here to check out all the deals at your local stores. If you want my advice, it's this: it ain't worth it. You do not want to be physically assaulted by an eighty year old woman wielding a shopping basket, or screamed at and slapped by a foul-mouthed soccer mom who wants the last Giggle-and-Puke Elmo that you just happen to be holding, or constantly fighting the greedy bastards trying to take items out of your cart. Stay home and sleep in that day. You won't have to deal with a huge credit card bill and you'll keep all your limbs in tact. It's a much better deal than a $150 off brand big screen TV that will only begin to malfunction in three months. Besides, will anyone in your family really care that you got up at 3:30 in the morning to stand in front of a local Buy-Mart just to get a cheap ass Barbie doll for your sixth cousin's four year old? I highly doubt it.
--Weasel, bracing herself for the worst in sales and human behavior.
Monday, November 21, 2005
Post Office Blues
Just checked the mail not 45 minutes ago and I must say, one of our letter carriers must be retarded. Or just plain stupid.
How hard is it to put a few envelopes and a small magazine in a top-loading mailbox? Apparently, it's very hard for this jackass. Instead of folding the magazine around the envelopes to easily slide everything into our mailbox, this moron crams the envelopes in first. S/he then shoves the magazine in, crushing and tearing whatever is sitting inside. I've lost count of just how many times Prime has called our local post master to lodge complaints about this sort of thing. (We've had more damaged mail at our current address than I'd like to count. Trust me, it's a shitload.) We don't want to have to rent a P.O. box just to receive our mail in good condition, but that may be our last and only resort.
At this point, it's very damned tempting.
--Weasel, about to go completely postal... on the post office
How hard is it to put a few envelopes and a small magazine in a top-loading mailbox? Apparently, it's very hard for this jackass. Instead of folding the magazine around the envelopes to easily slide everything into our mailbox, this moron crams the envelopes in first. S/he then shoves the magazine in, crushing and tearing whatever is sitting inside. I've lost count of just how many times Prime has called our local post master to lodge complaints about this sort of thing. (We've had more damaged mail at our current address than I'd like to count. Trust me, it's a shitload.) We don't want to have to rent a P.O. box just to receive our mail in good condition, but that may be our last and only resort.
At this point, it's very damned tempting.
--Weasel, about to go completely postal... on the post office
The Eternal Question
Why is it that men can dress up in nothing but a thong and body paint at a mid-December football game (with windchills of twenty below no less!), but fall to frigging pieces when they catch a little cold or flu virus?
--Weasel, who is almost always stuck working, cooking dinner, washing dishes, doing laundry, etc. every time she has a Primus-awful illness...... (I kid, really!)
EDIT: No, my man isn't that bad, it's just an observation on men in general, okay? (Mine doesn't do the football thing; he collects transforming robots. Lots and lots of robots. Tons and tons of... oh God our apartment is full of 'em! And he isn't too whiny when sick.... no more so than usual!* ;)
*I'm kidding, honey! You're not whiny! ;P
--Weasel, who is almost always stuck working, cooking dinner, washing dishes, doing laundry, etc. every time she has a Primus-awful illness...... (I kid, really!)
EDIT: No, my man isn't that bad, it's just an observation on men in general, okay? (Mine doesn't do the football thing; he collects transforming robots. Lots and lots of robots. Tons and tons of... oh God our apartment is full of 'em! And he isn't too whiny when sick.... no more so than usual!* ;)
*I'm kidding, honey! You're not whiny! ;P
Saturday, November 19, 2005
All Stressed Out...
...and no one to choke.
Wavebreaker's home. If I recall correctly, he's getting hospice care. "Claymore", the youngest and last of Prime's brothers, is back in Wisconsin for a bit. He visited Wavebreaker a few times while he was in the hospital. Claymore's taking this pretty hard, but then again, how the hell are you supposed to take losing a brother? I'm so upset about all this, I could just lay in bed and cry all day. Unfortunately for me, I can't.
I work this Thursday. That's right, I work Thanksgiving. A full eight hours. I could scream, but that will do exactly jack and shit to help the situation. Even worse, I work the Friday after Thanksgiving aka Black Friday. And that hellhole of a store wants me in at 4:45 in the damned morning. Seems we're starting our Blitz at five in the fucking morning because one of our competitors did the exact same last year and kicked our asses in sales. Lovely. Just fucking lovely. I'll have to drag my ass out of bed at 3:45 in the frakking morning to go to that frakking hellhole just to stand behind a damned cash register to ring up the orders of assholes and idiots. (Don't believe in evolution? Shop the day after Thanksgiving. You'll be treated to free viewings of the pack behavior of the North American Spotted Fucktard. Trust me on this.) At least I get out of there at a relatively early hour; I'm done at 12:45. I am so taking a nap when I get home.
As for today, we were so insanely busy I could have screamed right at my register. All the deer hunter widows came in to do their Chri$tma$ shopping. We had front and back registers open and still had long ass lines, up to five people deep. I swear, on days like this the only thing that keeps me from losing what little I have left of my mind is the fact that I'll be coming home to Prime. It also helped that we saw our friend Shawn (who brought us new toys! Whee!!) and we spent about two and a half hours shooting the shit with him. That rocked. And now, to settle my nerves completely, I'll be heading to the bedroom in our to stomp the hell out of a few Cipher Peons and Admins. Yes, I got XD. And oh man, it rawks!
--Weasel, "It's the most deplorable time of the year."
Wavebreaker's home. If I recall correctly, he's getting hospice care. "Claymore", the youngest and last of Prime's brothers, is back in Wisconsin for a bit. He visited Wavebreaker a few times while he was in the hospital. Claymore's taking this pretty hard, but then again, how the hell are you supposed to take losing a brother? I'm so upset about all this, I could just lay in bed and cry all day. Unfortunately for me, I can't.
I work this Thursday. That's right, I work Thanksgiving. A full eight hours. I could scream, but that will do exactly jack and shit to help the situation. Even worse, I work the Friday after Thanksgiving aka Black Friday. And that hellhole of a store wants me in at 4:45 in the damned morning. Seems we're starting our Blitz at five in the fucking morning because one of our competitors did the exact same last year and kicked our asses in sales. Lovely. Just fucking lovely. I'll have to drag my ass out of bed at 3:45 in the frakking morning to go to that frakking hellhole just to stand behind a damned cash register to ring up the orders of assholes and idiots. (Don't believe in evolution? Shop the day after Thanksgiving. You'll be treated to free viewings of the pack behavior of the North American Spotted Fucktard. Trust me on this.) At least I get out of there at a relatively early hour; I'm done at 12:45. I am so taking a nap when I get home.
As for today, we were so insanely busy I could have screamed right at my register. All the deer hunter widows came in to do their Chri$tma$ shopping. We had front and back registers open and still had long ass lines, up to five people deep. I swear, on days like this the only thing that keeps me from losing what little I have left of my mind is the fact that I'll be coming home to Prime. It also helped that we saw our friend Shawn (who brought us new toys! Whee!!) and we spent about two and a half hours shooting the shit with him. That rocked. And now, to settle my nerves completely, I'll be heading to the bedroom in our to stomp the hell out of a few Cipher Peons and Admins. Yes, I got XD. And oh man, it rawks!
--Weasel, "It's the most deplorable time of the year."
Friday, November 11, 2005
And So It Begins...
As it does every frakking year now: another battle over Chri$tma$.
It seems that a Catholic group was going to boycott Wal-Mart, but called it off because of an "inflammatory" employee email defending the company practice of wishing customers "Happy Holidays" and not "Merry Chri$tma$".
This happens every damned year. I have just one thing to say to these morons: if you really care about your damned "holiday", you will wrench it from the money-grubbing paws of the retailers and put it back in your houses of worship. Immediately. If not sooner.
Listen up, dimwits: the only thing that Wal-Mart cares about when it comes to Chri$tma$ is how fat the CEO's wallet gets. They don't give two craps about the "sacredness" or "holiness" of that day. To them, it's a shitload of dollar signs. And it's the same general attitude with every other retailer out there. Why do you think I refer to the "holiday" as Chri$tma$ or "Giftmas" and not Christmas? The "holiday" is little more than a joke, overshadowed by the orgy of gift buying. "Savior? What Savior? I gotta buy that Giggle and Puke Elmo for little Janey and that Planet Ranger Doofus Farce for little Bobby!"
Get that through your thick skulls, pinheads, before you pull any more of these ridiculous stunts. I don't want to have to post this again.
--Weasel, already dealing with the Chri$tma$ rush.... and hating it.
It seems that a Catholic group was going to boycott Wal-Mart, but called it off because of an "inflammatory" employee email defending the company practice of wishing customers "Happy Holidays" and not "Merry Chri$tma$".
This happens every damned year. I have just one thing to say to these morons: if you really care about your damned "holiday", you will wrench it from the money-grubbing paws of the retailers and put it back in your houses of worship. Immediately. If not sooner.
Listen up, dimwits: the only thing that Wal-Mart cares about when it comes to Chri$tma$ is how fat the CEO's wallet gets. They don't give two craps about the "sacredness" or "holiness" of that day. To them, it's a shitload of dollar signs. And it's the same general attitude with every other retailer out there. Why do you think I refer to the "holiday" as Chri$tma$ or "Giftmas" and not Christmas? The "holiday" is little more than a joke, overshadowed by the orgy of gift buying. "Savior? What Savior? I gotta buy that Giggle and Puke Elmo for little Janey and that Planet Ranger Doofus Farce for little Bobby!"
Get that through your thick skulls, pinheads, before you pull any more of these ridiculous stunts. I don't want to have to post this again.
--Weasel, already dealing with the Chri$tma$ rush.... and hating it.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Life Sucks
"And twenty-five cents equals a quarter." Thank you very much Captain goddamn Obvious.
It's been said that "the shit rolls downhill" and it certainly seems to be doing so: our customers are getting crankier and crankier, management is getting stupider and stupider and I'm about two and a half seconds from having a complete breakdown and strangling someone. I'm getting sick and damned tired of having to listen to our wonderful in-store ads that feature country singers and R&B artists yowling that they'll be "Home for the holidaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaays!" I'm sick of the screaming kids, bitchy parents and clueless head cashiers. And things aren't going to get any damn better, especially in the next few weeks, not on the job or at home.
Prime's younger brother, for argument's sake we'll just call him "Wavebreaker", was diagnosed with cancer last year. We didn't think much of it, at least not until recently. Then we got the latest update on his condition: the cancer has taken over a kidney and is spreading into his lungs. Prognosis? Wavebreaker has two to six weeks.
Two to six weeks. That's it.
I could scream. Primus knows I fucking want to badly enough. For the last three days I have been repressing the urge to scream at someone. I just want to know why. Why the fuck does this shit have to happen? I could cry, just thinking about it.
Cry and pray, that's all I want to do right now.
Poem copyright Weasel Productions, November 2005. No distribution is allowed without permission of the author or else I'll put a smack-down on ya.
From Primus do all sparks come,
To Primus all sparks return.
O Primus,
Mighty Allspark,
He who is the Light in Our Darkest Hour,
look upon our comrade's spark.
Take it within thy hands
and grant him
rest.
Til the Day All are One.
--Weasel, trying not to cry now.
It's been said that "the shit rolls downhill" and it certainly seems to be doing so: our customers are getting crankier and crankier, management is getting stupider and stupider and I'm about two and a half seconds from having a complete breakdown and strangling someone. I'm getting sick and damned tired of having to listen to our wonderful in-store ads that feature country singers and R&B artists yowling that they'll be "Home for the holidaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaays!" I'm sick of the screaming kids, bitchy parents and clueless head cashiers. And things aren't going to get any damn better, especially in the next few weeks, not on the job or at home.
Prime's younger brother, for argument's sake we'll just call him "Wavebreaker", was diagnosed with cancer last year. We didn't think much of it, at least not until recently. Then we got the latest update on his condition: the cancer has taken over a kidney and is spreading into his lungs. Prognosis? Wavebreaker has two to six weeks.
Two to six weeks. That's it.
I could scream. Primus knows I fucking want to badly enough. For the last three days I have been repressing the urge to scream at someone. I just want to know why. Why the fuck does this shit have to happen? I could cry, just thinking about it.
Cry and pray, that's all I want to do right now.
Poem copyright Weasel Productions, November 2005. No distribution is allowed without permission of the author or else I'll put a smack-down on ya.
From Primus do all sparks come,
To Primus all sparks return.
O Primus,
Mighty Allspark,
He who is the Light in Our Darkest Hour,
look upon our comrade's spark.
Take it within thy hands
and grant him
rest.
Til the Day All are One.
--Weasel, trying not to cry now.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Baby Blues
Luckily, this has nothing to do with me. I don't like kids, remember?
It seems two of our head cashiers, KB (female) and BR (male) are expecting. KB is pregnant; BR's the daddy. As to whether or not they'll get married, I have no clue.
I should have expected it, come to think about it. They did like horsing around while on the clock. Man, I was just kidding when I told 'em to "get a room"!
--Weasel, still trying to shake off a nasty head cold
It seems two of our head cashiers, KB (female) and BR (male) are expecting. KB is pregnant; BR's the daddy. As to whether or not they'll get married, I have no clue.
I should have expected it, come to think about it. They did like horsing around while on the clock. Man, I was just kidding when I told 'em to "get a room"!
--Weasel, still trying to shake off a nasty head cold
Monday, October 24, 2005
Today's News Update
From your trusty anchor-ferret, Weasel.
Yes, I'm back.
Well, actually, I've been back, but I haven't been able to update worth a damn. So sue me.
PUT DOWN THAT DAMN PHONE!!
My BotCon report should be up within a week; I have some heavy duty editing to do. Also, I'll have to post it in sections because it's pretty lengthy, but expect it soon.
About a week after that, I'll post my Pokémon Rocks America report. It won't be as long, since the event only lasted a day, but it too may need some rather heavy editing. It should be up by the end of the month.
Any Blog-through for Pokémon XD will be a long while coming. Due to lack of money from BotCon and an amazingly high credit card bill, I haven't gotten the game yet. I hope to rectify that situation sometime soon and when I do, it will be posted here immediately. Again, that will probably be a long read, so be prepared.
Yes, I'm back.
Well, actually, I've been back, but I haven't been able to update worth a damn. So sue me.
PUT DOWN THAT DAMN PHONE!!
My BotCon report should be up within a week; I have some heavy duty editing to do. Also, I'll have to post it in sections because it's pretty lengthy, but expect it soon.
About a week after that, I'll post my Pokémon Rocks America report. It won't be as long, since the event only lasted a day, but it too may need some rather heavy editing. It should be up by the end of the month.
Any Blog-through for Pokémon XD will be a long while coming. Due to lack of money from BotCon and an amazingly high credit card bill, I haven't gotten the game yet. I hope to rectify that situation sometime soon and when I do, it will be posted here immediately. Again, that will probably be a long read, so be prepared.
Once I am caught up with all that, I will begin posting on a regular basis. It will take a bit, but it will happen. I just want to finish up those projects before I move on. So I'm asking my readers (all two of you) to please continue to be patient.
In other news, the Sow farrowed about two weeks ago. The baby girl is cute, but you can't tell that Mommy Sow lost any weight; she's still that obese. Gods, I feel sorry for that child.
--Weasel, up to her armpits in editing and other work.
Monday, September 19, 2005
An Update
I want to give my readers (all 2 of them) a quick "head's up" as to what will be happening in the next few weeks.
First of all: today will be the last day that I will be making any major updates to Rhymes With Idiot. I'll be too busy on Tuesday and Wednesday to write anything, because of all my last minute preparations and such. On Thursday, I'll be flying out to Frisco, Texas for BotCon 2005 and won't be back until the following Monday. Expect a full BotCon report on Wednesday the 28th.
In early October, I'll be grabbing a copy of Pokémon XD: Gale of Darkness. Expect a few "blog-throughs" of my quest. A few days afterward, I'll be heading to Chicago's Navy Pier to get myself a Mystic Ticket at Pokémon Rocks America. Expect a report on that as well, although it will be quite a bit shorter.
After that, I'll be doing something a little different: I'll be baring my soul, so to speak. I won't go into the details just yet, but I'll be telling my side of a story that took place eight years ago. It'll be long, hard and a difficult read (and even harder to write) but I need to do this to help myself move on and let go.
Now, I know what you're going to say, "Let bygones be bygones, Weasel. Don't air dirty laundry." Well, it's been about eight years so this slag is hardly new, most everyone who knows me knows about it, and it's about frigging time I told my half of the story. Nobody else wanted to hear about it eight years ago, but by the Gods, they will hear it now, whether they like it or fucking not.
And that's pretty much everything. Today I'll be cleaning up the apartment, packing and hopefully doing a little bit of laundry later. Tomorrow, I'll be heading out to pick up a few essentials and Wednesday I'll help Prime pack his suitcase. (Squeal!) I can count the hours now!
--Weasel, "I'm going to BotCon! I'm going to BotCon! I'm going to BotCon! Wheeeee!"
First of all: today will be the last day that I will be making any major updates to Rhymes With Idiot. I'll be too busy on Tuesday and Wednesday to write anything, because of all my last minute preparations and such. On Thursday, I'll be flying out to Frisco, Texas for BotCon 2005 and won't be back until the following Monday. Expect a full BotCon report on Wednesday the 28th.
In early October, I'll be grabbing a copy of Pokémon XD: Gale of Darkness. Expect a few "blog-throughs" of my quest. A few days afterward, I'll be heading to Chicago's Navy Pier to get myself a Mystic Ticket at Pokémon Rocks America. Expect a report on that as well, although it will be quite a bit shorter.
After that, I'll be doing something a little different: I'll be baring my soul, so to speak. I won't go into the details just yet, but I'll be telling my side of a story that took place eight years ago. It'll be long, hard and a difficult read (and even harder to write) but I need to do this to help myself move on and let go.
Now, I know what you're going to say, "Let bygones be bygones, Weasel. Don't air dirty laundry." Well, it's been about eight years so this slag is hardly new, most everyone who knows me knows about it, and it's about frigging time I told my half of the story. Nobody else wanted to hear about it eight years ago, but by the Gods, they will hear it now, whether they like it or fucking not.
And that's pretty much everything. Today I'll be cleaning up the apartment, packing and hopefully doing a little bit of laundry later. Tomorrow, I'll be heading out to pick up a few essentials and Wednesday I'll help Prime pack his suitcase. (Squeal!) I can count the hours now!
--Weasel, "I'm going to BotCon! I'm going to BotCon! I'm going to BotCon! Wheeeee!"
Sunday, September 18, 2005
YES!!
First off: I'm on vacation!
Second off: the Sow is on leave! I won't have to see her for at least three months! WOO HOO!!
--one happy Weasel
Second off: the Sow is on leave! I won't have to see her for at least three months! WOO HOO!!
--one happy Weasel
Saturday, September 17, 2005
SNAFU à Trois
It just keeps getting more and more interesting, so to speak.
Cashiers are no longer allowed to walk from the Customer Service Desk to their check-out lanes with any money: a head cashier has to escort them. Same thing applies if the cashier is leaving for lunch or for the end of their shift. Now according to one of the head cashiers I talked to, this was a procedure that should have been followed since the first day we opened. It's a little method that's supposed to help prevent theft. Fine. Whatever.
I also found out the real reason we lost the phones on the front lanes: dumbass customers. It seems idiots, jackasses and fuckheads called our home office, complaining that the paging was "too loud". Fine. Whatever. I can't wait until one of these same idiots needs a price-check at the front lanes. They'll have to wait until a head cashier can get back to the cashier, and Gods help Mr Idiot Customer if this happens in my lane. Mr Idiot Customer will be getting the unadulterated truth, no matter how much it hurts.
And our manager Assface is getting dumber and dumber, as if that could even be possible. When it comes to ad-matching, the customer does not need the ads. You read that right; they need no ads at all when it comes to our ad-matching program. Which means the customer can make up any price at all and we have to give them the item for that price. Fine. Whatever. But then it gets really stupid. If an ad has an item advertised for a "your price after mail-in refund/rebate" price, we have to give the customer the rebate price! Which means the customer can get the rebate doubled! But I sigh and say again: fine. Whatever.
But if Assface wasn't stupid before, he's really gotten moronic with this little brainfart of his: he wants to stop group carding. Okay, let me explain: if a group of customers who look like they may (or may not) be old enough to purchase tobacco and alcohol try to purchase these items, we have to card everyone in the group. The reasoning? Someone in that group may be buying the age restricted item(s) for an underage person, which is called a "third party sale". As far as I know, we're supposed to make sure these types of sales do not happen; as to whether or not third party sales of age controlled substances are legal, I'm thinking no, though I'm really not sure. But Assface wants to drop that little safety net. Fine. Whatever. But that little screw-up could cost Assface dearly. If someone makes a third party sale, and this happens during a sting operation, we could be looking at some serious fines. And losing our right to sell age controlled substances.
But, hey, what do I know? I'm just a cashier. Who has a little something called "common sense".
--Weasel, glad she's on vacation
Cashiers are no longer allowed to walk from the Customer Service Desk to their check-out lanes with any money: a head cashier has to escort them. Same thing applies if the cashier is leaving for lunch or for the end of their shift. Now according to one of the head cashiers I talked to, this was a procedure that should have been followed since the first day we opened. It's a little method that's supposed to help prevent theft. Fine. Whatever.
I also found out the real reason we lost the phones on the front lanes: dumbass customers. It seems idiots, jackasses and fuckheads called our home office, complaining that the paging was "too loud". Fine. Whatever. I can't wait until one of these same idiots needs a price-check at the front lanes. They'll have to wait until a head cashier can get back to the cashier, and Gods help Mr Idiot Customer if this happens in my lane. Mr Idiot Customer will be getting the unadulterated truth, no matter how much it hurts.
And our manager Assface is getting dumber and dumber, as if that could even be possible. When it comes to ad-matching, the customer does not need the ads. You read that right; they need no ads at all when it comes to our ad-matching program. Which means the customer can make up any price at all and we have to give them the item for that price. Fine. Whatever. But then it gets really stupid. If an ad has an item advertised for a "your price after mail-in refund/rebate" price, we have to give the customer the rebate price! Which means the customer can get the rebate doubled! But I sigh and say again: fine. Whatever.
But if Assface wasn't stupid before, he's really gotten moronic with this little brainfart of his: he wants to stop group carding. Okay, let me explain: if a group of customers who look like they may (or may not) be old enough to purchase tobacco and alcohol try to purchase these items, we have to card everyone in the group. The reasoning? Someone in that group may be buying the age restricted item(s) for an underage person, which is called a "third party sale". As far as I know, we're supposed to make sure these types of sales do not happen; as to whether or not third party sales of age controlled substances are legal, I'm thinking no, though I'm really not sure. But Assface wants to drop that little safety net. Fine. Whatever. But that little screw-up could cost Assface dearly. If someone makes a third party sale, and this happens during a sting operation, we could be looking at some serious fines. And losing our right to sell age controlled substances.
But, hey, what do I know? I'm just a cashier. Who has a little something called "common sense".
--Weasel, glad she's on vacation
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Nice Move, Idiots
Warning! This post contains language that some people may find objectionable, so if you don't like swearing, leave now.
As if the reports of looting, murdering and raping after Katrina weren't bad enough.
It seems that members of some law enforcement agencies are shooting stranded dogs in St. Bernard Parish, Louisiana. I hate to tell them this, but they are shooting at the wrong goddamned animals. They should have been shooting those fucking looters and armed gangs that were terrorizing the city. Bravo, you jackasses, bravo.
--Weasel, liking human beings less and less each day
As if the reports of looting, murdering and raping after Katrina weren't bad enough.
It seems that members of some law enforcement agencies are shooting stranded dogs in St. Bernard Parish, Louisiana. I hate to tell them this, but they are shooting at the wrong goddamned animals. They should have been shooting those fucking looters and armed gangs that were terrorizing the city. Bravo, you jackasses, bravo.
--Weasel, liking human beings less and less each day
Monday, September 12, 2005
SNAFU Part Deux
What the frak is wrong with our store manager? I mean, is he stupid or just retarded?
Okay, I get to work yesterday, get on my lane (#9) and notice that the phone on that lane is gone. Puzzled, I look around. Every checkout lane that used to have a phone no longer has one; they've all been removed. By now, I'm pretty confused. I know good and damned well that there is no way in hell (barring an act of God) that every frakking phone on the front lanes could possibly go down. So I asked a head cashier just what in the hell was going on, where the slag were our phones and her answer floored me: the store manager, aka Assface, had them all removed. Every last damned one of them (except one on lane 6, which is now marked "for management use only"). When I asked why, her response was even more shocking: seems Assface didn't like hearing any of us cashiers page. He thought we were doing it too much and worse still, we weren't "professional" enough for his taste.
Well, Assface has just managed to completely fuck himself.
There were only two reasons I ever used those damned phones: for price checks and for requesting perishable items pick-up. Now, I can't do either. Which means I'll be tossing a helluva lot more perishables (hey, how can anyone pick them up if I can't call the department?) and if a customer says that a $150 television is $50, they get it for $50 minus the $3 dollar credit we offer for mispriced items. (I can't call back to the department and check, now can I? I have to take the customer's word for it.) It goes without saying that our already low morale will sink even lower and our already low store profits will drop like a rock.
And I laugh. For in a few days, I'll be on vacation and won't have to see that hellhole for the next ten days.
--Weasel, thinking of hitting the "help wanted" sites in her area
Okay, I get to work yesterday, get on my lane (#9) and notice that the phone on that lane is gone. Puzzled, I look around. Every checkout lane that used to have a phone no longer has one; they've all been removed. By now, I'm pretty confused. I know good and damned well that there is no way in hell (barring an act of God) that every frakking phone on the front lanes could possibly go down. So I asked a head cashier just what in the hell was going on, where the slag were our phones and her answer floored me: the store manager, aka Assface, had them all removed. Every last damned one of them (except one on lane 6, which is now marked "for management use only"). When I asked why, her response was even more shocking: seems Assface didn't like hearing any of us cashiers page. He thought we were doing it too much and worse still, we weren't "professional" enough for his taste.
Well, Assface has just managed to completely fuck himself.
There were only two reasons I ever used those damned phones: for price checks and for requesting perishable items pick-up. Now, I can't do either. Which means I'll be tossing a helluva lot more perishables (hey, how can anyone pick them up if I can't call the department?) and if a customer says that a $150 television is $50, they get it for $50 minus the $3 dollar credit we offer for mispriced items. (I can't call back to the department and check, now can I? I have to take the customer's word for it.) It goes without saying that our already low morale will sink even lower and our already low store profits will drop like a rock.
And I laugh. For in a few days, I'll be on vacation and won't have to see that hellhole for the next ten days.
--Weasel, thinking of hitting the "help wanted" sites in her area
Saturday, September 10, 2005
SNAFU Central
What a way to run a business.
Was stuck on self-check again and none of them were working correctly. One was completely silent, one had been shut down, and all four of the self-check lanes were freezing up left and right. But the kicker was this:
Self-check #43 ran out of receipt tape, in the middle of printing out a receipt. I ran to the pay station to get another roll and found a whole lot of nothing. So, I put in an order for receipt tape and waited... and waited.... and waited....! It took ten minutes before I got the damned paper and an additional five minutes to reprint the receipt from the previous order! Aaarrrrgh! I swear, my supervisors don't know their asses from holes in the ground!
--Weasel, "Why must I be surrounded by frickin' idiots?!"
Was stuck on self-check again and none of them were working correctly. One was completely silent, one had been shut down, and all four of the self-check lanes were freezing up left and right. But the kicker was this:
Self-check #43 ran out of receipt tape, in the middle of printing out a receipt. I ran to the pay station to get another roll and found a whole lot of nothing. So, I put in an order for receipt tape and waited... and waited.... and waited....! It took ten minutes before I got the damned paper and an additional five minutes to reprint the receipt from the previous order! Aaarrrrgh! I swear, my supervisors don't know their asses from holes in the ground!
--Weasel, "Why must I be surrounded by frickin' idiots?!"
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
The Sow that Broke the Weasel's Back
Today started out as a pretty decent day... until I got to work. And the Sow, my least favorite head cashier, had to open her big fat mouth. It's not just that she has a really bad attitude, it's not just that she's a complete and utter snob, it's the fact that she acts so damned condescending. Which is how she treated me. In front several customers.
Frak it.
I'm seriously considering calling the home office on her sorry ass, mostly because our manager (who has shit for brains) won't do a damned thing about her. The Sow literally has the entire management team wrapped around her piggy little hooves since she does nothing but kiss ass and she thinks she can get away with this crap. I mean, management has yet to step in and do anything about her poor attitude (and her tendency to stick her fat snout in crap that has nothing to do with her), even though a lot of other employees have complained about her. Gods, the front end was so much quieter and a lot less stressful when the Sow was in stationary. Why the hell did she come back to the frakking front end? Why the hell couldn't she have gotten a position in personnel so I'd never have to see her ever again?
At least I have my vacation coming up in three weeks... if I can tough it out until then.
--Weasel, job-hunting will commence in three... two...
Frak it.
I'm seriously considering calling the home office on her sorry ass, mostly because our manager (who has shit for brains) won't do a damned thing about her. The Sow literally has the entire management team wrapped around her piggy little hooves since she does nothing but kiss ass and she thinks she can get away with this crap. I mean, management has yet to step in and do anything about her poor attitude (and her tendency to stick her fat snout in crap that has nothing to do with her), even though a lot of other employees have complained about her. Gods, the front end was so much quieter and a lot less stressful when the Sow was in stationary. Why the hell did she come back to the frakking front end? Why the hell couldn't she have gotten a position in personnel so I'd never have to see her ever again?
At least I have my vacation coming up in three weeks... if I can tough it out until then.
--Weasel, job-hunting will commence in three... two...
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Bad News on My End
Ever feel like the Gods are kicking you while you're down? And even worse, they enjoy it?
Well, it's finally September, which means BotCon and my vacation are coming up soon. I was pretty happy about that until a few days ago: one of my best friends won't be able to go to the convention this year. It goes without saying that I'm upset. He's one of the main reasons I go to BotCon; Prime and I only get to see him once a year. Now, barring a miracle, we won't have the chance to see him.
This completely blows. If we're lucky, we'll see him next year... if the Gods don't decide to pull anymore bullcrap.
--Weasel, getting even more depressed than usual
Well, it's finally September, which means BotCon and my vacation are coming up soon. I was pretty happy about that until a few days ago: one of my best friends won't be able to go to the convention this year. It goes without saying that I'm upset. He's one of the main reasons I go to BotCon; Prime and I only get to see him once a year. Now, barring a miracle, we won't have the chance to see him.
This completely blows. If we're lucky, we'll see him next year... if the Gods don't decide to pull anymore bullcrap.
--Weasel, getting even more depressed than usual
Monday, September 05, 2005
Open Letter to an Unconcerned Citizen
This little diatribe was inspired by my overhearing a conversation between a female customer and another cashier. Feel free to cut and paste a link to this post in your own blog or on-line forum; please do not cut and paste this text. The following post is Weasel's Own Wise Words, Copyright 2005.
Dear Blonde American Female Citizen in Checkout Number One,
I'm the cashier who was standing not ten feet away from you. I overheard your little whine fest as my co-worker rang up your order. I understand that you're "sick and damned tired of hearing about that Hurricane Katrina crap" over and over on the news. I understand that you wish the news channels would simply "drop it and go on with their lives" like you have. I am truly sorry that the news media covering this disaster is disrupting your normal television viewing.
Oh, wait. I'm not.
Lady, all you have to do is push a button on your remote control and change the damned channel. After that, those images disappear; you no longer have to see them again.
I'm pretty sure the people of New Orleans would love to be able to do that; just click a button and poof, their lives would just go back to normal. No floods, no looting, no deaths, no nothing. But guess what? They can't. They have to live through conditions that are best described as Third World in nature. Have you ever had your house collapse around you in 165 mph winds? Have you ever squeezed your mother's hand and told her you loved her before rising floodwaters swallowed her? Have you ever heard your children scream in fear as shots ring out around you while you try to look for food in waist deep waters that are filled with dead bodies and fecal matter? Have you ever helplessly watched a person die of dehydration and heat exhaustion? Have you ever suffered like this at all?
I'm willing to bet your answer is no.
So I say to you, "woman": how dare you. How dare you whine and bitch and complain about your life being inconvenienced when there are people in an American city dying of starvation and sickness. How dare you complain that this is tiring to you, when there are people living in those conditions, dealing with the looters, rapists and murders, along with the potential for disease. You've never seen a person sitting next to you die. You've never had to dig food out of a garbage can for your children. You've never had to constantly look over your shoulder wonder if you'll be raped or shot simply by walking down the street. You've never lost every damn thing you owned, save for the clothes on your back. You've never had to listen helplessly to the screams as your home fills with water, killing your loved ones and pets. You've never had to live through hell.
"Woman", go back home and watch your soaps, reality television or other crap. You, and those like you, are what is wrong with this country today. As for me, I'll contribute what I can to the hurricane relief funds because unlike you, I actually give a damn. As for you, I hope your neighborhood is never struck with a natural disaster. If it is, I hope you learn a very valuable lesson. If you survive to learn it.
Sincerely,
Weasel
Dear Blonde American Female Citizen in Checkout Number One,
I'm the cashier who was standing not ten feet away from you. I overheard your little whine fest as my co-worker rang up your order. I understand that you're "sick and damned tired of hearing about that Hurricane Katrina crap" over and over on the news. I understand that you wish the news channels would simply "drop it and go on with their lives" like you have. I am truly sorry that the news media covering this disaster is disrupting your normal television viewing.
Oh, wait. I'm not.
Lady, all you have to do is push a button on your remote control and change the damned channel. After that, those images disappear; you no longer have to see them again.
I'm pretty sure the people of New Orleans would love to be able to do that; just click a button and poof, their lives would just go back to normal. No floods, no looting, no deaths, no nothing. But guess what? They can't. They have to live through conditions that are best described as Third World in nature. Have you ever had your house collapse around you in 165 mph winds? Have you ever squeezed your mother's hand and told her you loved her before rising floodwaters swallowed her? Have you ever heard your children scream in fear as shots ring out around you while you try to look for food in waist deep waters that are filled with dead bodies and fecal matter? Have you ever helplessly watched a person die of dehydration and heat exhaustion? Have you ever suffered like this at all?
I'm willing to bet your answer is no.
So I say to you, "woman": how dare you. How dare you whine and bitch and complain about your life being inconvenienced when there are people in an American city dying of starvation and sickness. How dare you complain that this is tiring to you, when there are people living in those conditions, dealing with the looters, rapists and murders, along with the potential for disease. You've never seen a person sitting next to you die. You've never had to dig food out of a garbage can for your children. You've never had to constantly look over your shoulder wonder if you'll be raped or shot simply by walking down the street. You've never lost every damn thing you owned, save for the clothes on your back. You've never had to listen helplessly to the screams as your home fills with water, killing your loved ones and pets. You've never had to live through hell.
"Woman", go back home and watch your soaps, reality television or other crap. You, and those like you, are what is wrong with this country today. As for me, I'll contribute what I can to the hurricane relief funds because unlike you, I actually give a damn. As for you, I hope your neighborhood is never struck with a natural disaster. If it is, I hope you learn a very valuable lesson. If you survive to learn it.
Sincerely,
Weasel
Saturday, September 03, 2005
Just a Typical Day
At least, it was in my neck of the woods.
Self-checks weren't working; one in particular had a faulty scale. The cashier who was working self-check nearly quit twice today. Once for management getting in her face for no good reason, the second, well.....
The store manager walked by self-check as it was royally frakking up. The cashier raced over and told him that one of the sc lanes had a bad scale. The store manager.... just kept walking. Never stopped. Never acknowledged that this cashier even spoke to him. That was the second time "D" nearly walked.
And store management wonders why employee morale is so blasted low.
--Weasel, "Can you say 'Duuuuuuuuuh'? Of course you can!"
Self-checks weren't working; one in particular had a faulty scale. The cashier who was working self-check nearly quit twice today. Once for management getting in her face for no good reason, the second, well.....
The store manager walked by self-check as it was royally frakking up. The cashier raced over and told him that one of the sc lanes had a bad scale. The store manager.... just kept walking. Never stopped. Never acknowledged that this cashier even spoke to him. That was the second time "D" nearly walked.
And store management wonders why employee morale is so blasted low.
--Weasel, "Can you say 'Duuuuuuuuuh'? Of course you can!"
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Phred Phrakking Phelps Pharts Again
Will somebody please shut this asshole up?
I mean, seriously, please.
Someone.
Shut.
His.
Dumb.
Ass.
Up.
He lives in KansASS, right? Is it wrong to pray for a tornado to slam into his church? God, please, would ya consider it?
--Weasel, repressing the urge to scream
I mean, seriously, please.
Someone.
Shut.
His.
Dumb.
Ass.
Up.
He lives in KansASS, right? Is it wrong to pray for a tornado to slam into his church? God, please, would ya consider it?
--Weasel, repressing the urge to scream
Insert Random Swearing
It just keeps getting better and frakking better.
Some idiot decided to start sniping at a hospital, and the looting in the hurricane ravaged areas is getting much, much worse. The violence is getting so bad that rescue operations have been slowed down. As Peggy Noonan put it, these looters (and other jerks like them) really do need to be shot.
And people wonder why I like cats over most humans.
--Weasel, thinking she should donate her money to United Animal Nations since animals don't loot stores and shoot at innocent people.
Some idiot decided to start sniping at a hospital, and the looting in the hurricane ravaged areas is getting much, much worse. The violence is getting so bad that rescue operations have been slowed down. As Peggy Noonan put it, these looters (and other jerks like them) really do need to be shot.
And people wonder why I like cats over most humans.
--Weasel, thinking she should donate her money to United Animal Nations since animals don't loot stores and shoot at innocent people.
An Urgent and Serious Message
This isn't the most serious blog on the net; I know that. But for once, I'm going to be serious and ask a favor from anyone who may be reading this. If it is at all possible, please make a donation to the American Red Cross to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina. If you can't do it by the net, then please call 1-800-HELP-NOW. You can also donate to the Salvation Army or by calling 1-800-SAL-ARMY. If you want to help the animals as well as the people, then I urge you to make donations to the United Animal Nations and to Noah's Wish.
Please, I'm urging everyone who is reading this to try and help out in this time of crisis. Thank you.
Please, I'm urging everyone who is reading this to try and help out in this time of crisis. Thank you.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Not A Happy Camper Here
Had yesterday off, which was great, but I have to work 12 to 9 today and 10 to 6 tomorrow. Don't get another day off till Thursday. I'm really not happy about this. When I only have one day off at a time, I feel completely drained during the week. I'm starting to think that they're trying to make me get disgusted with the place and quit in protest.
It's working.
I shouldn't complain over-much because they did approve my vacation in September (BotCon!) and gave me the weekend of October 15 off. (Pokemon Rocks America, here I come!) But other than that, my schedule is so out of whack it's not even funny. I don't have a set or stable schedule anymore, I don't have two days off in a row anymore, and I don't have any morning shifts anymore. I'm burning out. I really don't know how much longer I can take this bs. And my co-workers ain't helping matters.
Most are pretty crabby as of late, which is understandable, but I don't even want to hear their complaints, much less look at them. I'm still slighted pissed at "L", the co-worker who bit my head off for no good reason. Haven't had to deal with her since Saturday, when she waddled her fat self into the ladies bathroom and took the stall next to mine. I flipped her off behind closed doors. (I know she couldn't see it, but I didn't care.) Customers are just as cranky if not worse, so that isn't helping my attitude either. It's now even more of a chore going to work. I'm burning out and it isn't getting any better.
--Weasel, getting ready to face another work day
It's working.
I shouldn't complain over-much because they did approve my vacation in September (BotCon!) and gave me the weekend of October 15 off. (Pokemon Rocks America, here I come!) But other than that, my schedule is so out of whack it's not even funny. I don't have a set or stable schedule anymore, I don't have two days off in a row anymore, and I don't have any morning shifts anymore. I'm burning out. I really don't know how much longer I can take this bs. And my co-workers ain't helping matters.
Most are pretty crabby as of late, which is understandable, but I don't even want to hear their complaints, much less look at them. I'm still slighted pissed at "L", the co-worker who bit my head off for no good reason. Haven't had to deal with her since Saturday, when she waddled her fat self into the ladies bathroom and took the stall next to mine. I flipped her off behind closed doors. (I know she couldn't see it, but I didn't care.) Customers are just as cranky if not worse, so that isn't helping my attitude either. It's now even more of a chore going to work. I'm burning out and it isn't getting any better.
--Weasel, getting ready to face another work day
Monday, August 29, 2005
Deja Vu All Over Again
I've got the TV tuned to the Weather Channel and I'm watching the coverage of Hurricane Katrina. It finally made its second landfall at 6:10 am CDT with winds of 140 mph. The Gulf Coast did catch a bit of a break; it had winds of 175 mph yesterday.
I feel for them. I lived on the coast of NC for most of my life and had to tangle with more hurricanes than I care to count. It's a scary damn experience and something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. May the Gods be with all who are in the path of this hurricane.
I feel for them. I lived on the coast of NC for most of my life and had to tangle with more hurricanes than I care to count. It's a scary damn experience and something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. May the Gods be with all who are in the path of this hurricane.
Friday, August 26, 2005
Disgusting Doesn't Even Cover This Crap
From Yahoo News:
http://sg.news.yahoo.com/050825/1/3ui77.html
>>Brigitte Bardot, the 1950s and 1960s film star turned animal rights campaigner, has called on the French government to halt the reported use by fishermen on the island of Reunion of live puppies and kittens as shark bait.<<
If you'll pardon me, I'll be throwing up. And pitching out any French items I may have in my apartment.
--Weasel, who's going to go snuggle her kitty now
http://sg.news.yahoo.com/050825/1/3ui77.html
>>Brigitte Bardot, the 1950s and 1960s film star turned animal rights campaigner, has called on the French government to halt the reported use by fishermen on the island of Reunion of live puppies and kittens as shark bait.<<
If you'll pardon me, I'll be throwing up. And pitching out any French items I may have in my apartment.
--Weasel, who's going to go snuggle her kitty now
Whoops!
I hope I get to work on time; the man miss-set the alarm. Not that it matters much; I hate my job anyway.
--Weasel, ready for work.... again
--Weasel, ready for work.... again
Thursday, August 25, 2005
People Suck
And in other news, the sky is blue.
Is it my imagination, or are people just cranky as hell? I asked one of my co-workers a question today and she damn near bit my head off, after she did her damnedest to ignore me. So, you know what? Frak it. I'm done. I'll be polite to these idiots, but that's it. No more Ms. Nice Girl. And a side note to my co-worker: Fuck you. If you never speak to me again, it won't hurt my feelings. I'm sick of being nice to you assholes and having it shoved in my face. So step off and leave me the hell alone. I'm sick and tired of even looking at you.
--Weasel, just as cranky as the rest of them
Is it my imagination, or are people just cranky as hell? I asked one of my co-workers a question today and she damn near bit my head off, after she did her damnedest to ignore me. So, you know what? Frak it. I'm done. I'll be polite to these idiots, but that's it. No more Ms. Nice Girl. And a side note to my co-worker: Fuck you. If you never speak to me again, it won't hurt my feelings. I'm sick of being nice to you assholes and having it shoved in my face. So step off and leave me the hell alone. I'm sick and tired of even looking at you.
--Weasel, just as cranky as the rest of them
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
What is the Sound of a Head Slamming Into a Wall?
Ye Gods, my job is frakking ridiculous. There is absolutely no communication in that building whatsoever. Case in point:
On Monday I was sent outside to cover someone's break at the sidewalk sale. No big deal. There's a register out there, plugged in and running. Looks like I can ring people up out there, right?
Wrong. There's no damn money in the drawer. But I don't know that until after I ring up some poor putz and try to give him change.
Nice going, guys. Oh, and it was real classy of you to send my replacement out there and not tell her to let me know that I was wanted back in the fricking building. Ace job, you brain drains.
--Weasel, "Different day, same horseshit."
On Monday I was sent outside to cover someone's break at the sidewalk sale. No big deal. There's a register out there, plugged in and running. Looks like I can ring people up out there, right?
Wrong. There's no damn money in the drawer. But I don't know that until after I ring up some poor putz and try to give him change.
Nice going, guys. Oh, and it was real classy of you to send my replacement out there and not tell her to let me know that I was wanted back in the fricking building. Ace job, you brain drains.
--Weasel, "Different day, same horseshit."
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Eeeew! Creepy Much?
So I'm on my last break and I'm in the ladies restroom, waiting for a stall. The very first stall was unusable; it seems some idiot didn't know how to properly shit in a toilet without crapping on the seat. (Me, I think if you're that damned stupid, you should be permanently locked up in Massengill's Home for Retarded Douchebags, but I digress.)
All the other stalls are taken, and there is now a line forming in the restroom. The second and third stall are occupied by a mother and her child, the third by an unknown female. All three of these people are taking their sweet time. One of the women waiting in line starts tapping her foot. Me, I couldn't help it: I sucked in enough air to let loose a very loud and irritated sigh, hoping someone would get the hint. It seemed to work; the girl in the third stall finally flushed. But she didn't come out immediately. Instead, she dropped to the floor, calling to her mother, and tried to climb under her stall and into the one occupied by her parent! When she realized she was too big to climb under, she opened the door and zipped out. I stepped forward to claim her stall (I was first in line, after all) and got a good look at this kid; she had to be at least eight years old. As I locked the door to the third stall, the girl knocked on her mother's stall door.
Her mother let her in. This girl was eight years old, and by no means a helpless toddler, but Mommy let her in.
Even worse, the kid began to talk. (Like she couldn't have done that outside her mother's stall!) She talked about the cool new school supplies she was going to get and how she hoped her teacher would be nice.....
I was trying not to gag. When I was eight, I wasn't allowed in the bathroom with my mother. If I had to tell her something, I yelled it through the closed door. There comes a time, people, when you have got to cut the damn umbilical cord. This is one of them.
--Weasel, who wonders how Mommy would teach that girl sex-ed... and shudders at the thought.
All the other stalls are taken, and there is now a line forming in the restroom. The second and third stall are occupied by a mother and her child, the third by an unknown female. All three of these people are taking their sweet time. One of the women waiting in line starts tapping her foot. Me, I couldn't help it: I sucked in enough air to let loose a very loud and irritated sigh, hoping someone would get the hint. It seemed to work; the girl in the third stall finally flushed. But she didn't come out immediately. Instead, she dropped to the floor, calling to her mother, and tried to climb under her stall and into the one occupied by her parent! When she realized she was too big to climb under, she opened the door and zipped out. I stepped forward to claim her stall (I was first in line, after all) and got a good look at this kid; she had to be at least eight years old. As I locked the door to the third stall, the girl knocked on her mother's stall door.
Her mother let her in. This girl was eight years old, and by no means a helpless toddler, but Mommy let her in.
Even worse, the kid began to talk. (Like she couldn't have done that outside her mother's stall!) She talked about the cool new school supplies she was going to get and how she hoped her teacher would be nice.....
I was trying not to gag. When I was eight, I wasn't allowed in the bathroom with my mother. If I had to tell her something, I yelled it through the closed door. There comes a time, people, when you have got to cut the damn umbilical cord. This is one of them.
--Weasel, who wonders how Mommy would teach that girl sex-ed... and shudders at the thought.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
It Keeps Getting Worse
Three people quit yesterday. Just walked off. They were all bakery associates and had been with the store since it first opened. Apparently, something was nagging at them for a very long time (I have no idea what) and they felt this was the only recourse; probably because our manager (I'll call him "Assface") just doesn't give a damn and does nothing to help boost employee morale.
In other news, the head cashier that I absolutely canNOT stand, who left the front end and went to stationary, has come back to the front end. The Sow, as I call her since she is grossly obese, is pregnant and working in stationary was just too much of a strain to her.
I can't scream loud enough.
--Weasel
In other news, the head cashier that I absolutely canNOT stand, who left the front end and went to stationary, has come back to the front end. The Sow, as I call her since she is grossly obese, is pregnant and working in stationary was just too much of a strain to her.
I can't scream loud enough.
--Weasel
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
I Hate My Job
Noon to nines for the next two to three weeks. Thanks a lot, guys.
--Weasel, getting ready for work.... again
--Weasel, getting ready for work.... again
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Ace Job, Guys
Really, way to fucking go. A group of Wal*Mart employees managed to kill a suspected shoplifter by pining him to hot asphalt:
http://www.zwire.com/site/news.cfm?newsid=15014453
How damn stupid do you have to frakking be?
According to Portz, Driver began to plead with them men. "He's begging, 'Please call an ambulance, let me up, do something, I'm gonna die," said Portz. He said the loss prevention employees called the police more than once, but another bystander called for an ambulance after realizing Driver was in trouble. Portz said he eventually began to plead with the Walmart employees. "I told them, this guy doesn't look like he's breathing," Portz said, "They said, 'He's all right." He says he continued to plead with the men, pointing out that the man's fingernails were turning gray. "They said he's just high on something," adding, "They just kept him pinned down for twenty minutes or more until the ambulance came." He said he believed Driver was dead when the ambulance left with him, but he was not certain.
Now remember, this is all a big evil media conspiracy, trying to ruin a perfectly good company who does absolutely nothing but good for the communities that it's planted in. This is all just a big, bad biased report aimed at turning customers against this company.
Yeah, right.
--Weasel, who thinks those associates are guilty of "grand theft dumbass"
http://www.zwire.com/site/news.cfm?newsid=15014453
How damn stupid do you have to frakking be?
According to Portz, Driver began to plead with them men. "He's begging, 'Please call an ambulance, let me up, do something, I'm gonna die," said Portz. He said the loss prevention employees called the police more than once, but another bystander called for an ambulance after realizing Driver was in trouble. Portz said he eventually began to plead with the Walmart employees. "I told them, this guy doesn't look like he's breathing," Portz said, "They said, 'He's all right." He says he continued to plead with the men, pointing out that the man's fingernails were turning gray. "They said he's just high on something," adding, "They just kept him pinned down for twenty minutes or more until the ambulance came." He said he believed Driver was dead when the ambulance left with him, but he was not certain.
Now remember, this is all a big evil media conspiracy, trying to ruin a perfectly good company who does absolutely nothing but good for the communities that it's planted in. This is all just a big, bad biased report aimed at turning customers against this company.
Yeah, right.
--Weasel, who thinks those associates are guilty of "grand theft dumbass"
Monday, August 15, 2005
Stupidity Shorties Ver. 1
"Where you get a week's worthy of dumbasses in one handy-dandy dose!"
I'd say it was an average week, idiot wise... which isn't saying much.
I had an elderly lady early this week who bought a package of batteries and a couple of cards, which totaled out to $8.77. She decided that she'd pay for her purchase with a check that was written out for $25. No big deal, right? Well, this time was different: her check had her name in the corner..... and that was it. No address, no telephone number, no ID number, no nothing. When I saw this, I literally did a double take. The woman, noticing my confusion, piped up, "You're new here, aren't you?" (Uh, no you stupid old cow, I've worked here for the short term of about FOUR FUCKING YEARS...!) She then prattled on, "I've cashed checks here before." (Suuuuuuuuuuuure. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.) So I called a head cashier. The head cashier looked at the check and asked the old bat if she had her ID. And surprise, surprise, she didn't. "But I've cashed checks like that here before," she kept insisting. The head cashier told her we could happily accept it, if we could see her driver's license. Needless to say, the old bitch got pissed, tore the check out of the lead's hand, and stormed off, sans items.
A couple of days later, I was on an express lane, which is 20 items or less. This dumbass older woman comes up to my lane and starts unloading her cart. She has about fifty fucking items, which don't all fit on my lane, but she doesn't apologize to me or the person who is now waiting behind her. When the bags fill up, she doesn't even try to put them in her cart; she just stands there, as if physical labor is beneath her. Don't ask me how she mustered up the "strength" to unload everything; Gods forbid, the little snob could have broken one of her precious nails. So I load up her cart. Again, she says absolutely nothing, not a brief "thanks", not even a smile. She pays, then leaves, again without saying "thank you". You wanna know something, you snobby bitch with a bad dye job? I didn't have to take your sorry ass. And that customer behind you was well within her right to cuss your snobby little bitch-box out. Sad to say she was too goddamned nice to do it, you wrinkled old hag. But then again, if I was named "Verla", I'd be a bitter old cunt myself.
The next day, I'm on lane 19, situated near the jewelry counter. On one corner of the jewelry counter is our gift registry, which happens to be a major headache to cashier and jewelry associate alike. As I was waiting for a customer to approach my lane, this middle-aged woman taps me on the shoulder and asks, "Can you help me? I can't get the machine to work." She then drags me to the gift registry, which now has an error message on its screen. I flag down the person working in jewelry to come and help. She comes over and gets the machine back to the "Enter first and last name" screen. What was the problem? It appears our customer, in a fit of non-intelligence, decided to enter in only the first two letters of her friend's first and last name. Her response was classic: "Oh, you have to put in the full name? I didn't know that..." (No, lady, you can just plug the fucking machine directly into your brain and using telepathy, it'll automatically know which registry you'll need. Gah, what are you, a fucking moron?!)
And finally, yesterday I was on an express lane again. This little old lady totters up to my counter and starts loading up her items. Of course she's a good 15 over the limit, but she's got to be at least 80 years old, so I seriously doubt she notices that I have only two and a half feet of room on my lane. She has a 12 pack of diet 7Up, which is too heavy for her; she can't lift it. (Now just how in the hell she got that in her cart in the first damned place is beyond me.) So I walk over, pick it up and scan it through. After ringing in the other remaining items, she pulls out a wrinkled old piece of paper. Seems the 7Up was an ad match item. (If you see something advertised in a circular, we can match the price, with a few exceptions.) Trying to repress a sigh and the urge to strangle the old woman, I pick up the 12 pack again, void it out, and re-ring it for the advertised price. She pays and then stands there. Seems she wanted help out to her car. I flagged down a cart pusher and let them take care of her. By then, I'd had my fill of little old ladies, thank you very much.
I deal with this sort of shit on a daily basis. Any wonder why cashiers seem so damn crabby?
--Weasel, repressing the urge to scream while on the clock.
I'd say it was an average week, idiot wise... which isn't saying much.
I had an elderly lady early this week who bought a package of batteries and a couple of cards, which totaled out to $8.77. She decided that she'd pay for her purchase with a check that was written out for $25. No big deal, right? Well, this time was different: her check had her name in the corner..... and that was it. No address, no telephone number, no ID number, no nothing. When I saw this, I literally did a double take. The woman, noticing my confusion, piped up, "You're new here, aren't you?" (Uh, no you stupid old cow, I've worked here for the short term of about FOUR FUCKING YEARS...!) She then prattled on, "I've cashed checks here before." (Suuuuuuuuuuuure. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.) So I called a head cashier. The head cashier looked at the check and asked the old bat if she had her ID. And surprise, surprise, she didn't. "But I've cashed checks like that here before," she kept insisting. The head cashier told her we could happily accept it, if we could see her driver's license. Needless to say, the old bitch got pissed, tore the check out of the lead's hand, and stormed off, sans items.
A couple of days later, I was on an express lane, which is 20 items or less. This dumbass older woman comes up to my lane and starts unloading her cart. She has about fifty fucking items, which don't all fit on my lane, but she doesn't apologize to me or the person who is now waiting behind her. When the bags fill up, she doesn't even try to put them in her cart; she just stands there, as if physical labor is beneath her. Don't ask me how she mustered up the "strength" to unload everything; Gods forbid, the little snob could have broken one of her precious nails. So I load up her cart. Again, she says absolutely nothing, not a brief "thanks", not even a smile. She pays, then leaves, again without saying "thank you". You wanna know something, you snobby bitch with a bad dye job? I didn't have to take your sorry ass. And that customer behind you was well within her right to cuss your snobby little bitch-box out. Sad to say she was too goddamned nice to do it, you wrinkled old hag. But then again, if I was named "Verla", I'd be a bitter old cunt myself.
The next day, I'm on lane 19, situated near the jewelry counter. On one corner of the jewelry counter is our gift registry, which happens to be a major headache to cashier and jewelry associate alike. As I was waiting for a customer to approach my lane, this middle-aged woman taps me on the shoulder and asks, "Can you help me? I can't get the machine to work." She then drags me to the gift registry, which now has an error message on its screen. I flag down the person working in jewelry to come and help. She comes over and gets the machine back to the "Enter first and last name" screen. What was the problem? It appears our customer, in a fit of non-intelligence, decided to enter in only the first two letters of her friend's first and last name. Her response was classic: "Oh, you have to put in the full name? I didn't know that..." (No, lady, you can just plug the fucking machine directly into your brain and using telepathy, it'll automatically know which registry you'll need. Gah, what are you, a fucking moron?!)
And finally, yesterday I was on an express lane again. This little old lady totters up to my counter and starts loading up her items. Of course she's a good 15 over the limit, but she's got to be at least 80 years old, so I seriously doubt she notices that I have only two and a half feet of room on my lane. She has a 12 pack of diet 7Up, which is too heavy for her; she can't lift it. (Now just how in the hell she got that in her cart in the first damned place is beyond me.) So I walk over, pick it up and scan it through. After ringing in the other remaining items, she pulls out a wrinkled old piece of paper. Seems the 7Up was an ad match item. (If you see something advertised in a circular, we can match the price, with a few exceptions.) Trying to repress a sigh and the urge to strangle the old woman, I pick up the 12 pack again, void it out, and re-ring it for the advertised price. She pays and then stands there. Seems she wanted help out to her car. I flagged down a cart pusher and let them take care of her. By then, I'd had my fill of little old ladies, thank you very much.
I deal with this sort of shit on a daily basis. Any wonder why cashiers seem so damn crabby?
--Weasel, repressing the urge to scream while on the clock.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
My Life Among the Sheep
Interesting thing happened at work today. Seems one of the teacher's unions around here want people to boycott my company, due to use of child labor and other, shall we say, unsavory practices. Me, I say more power to 'em. My co-workers have a different opinion.
They think the teacher's union is full of shit. That they're picking on "our" company because it happens to be the biggest and "best" and this is all a great big media conspiracy.
Uh, riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.
The media's getting it right: our company is a huge hulking pile of crap. However, to hear my other co-workers talk, this company is the greatest thing since sliced bread. My co-workers claim to want people to "think for themselves" on this matter. Funny, none of them can. They've all been so damned brainwashed by the company that they'll believe any half-baked steaming pile of shit the corporate heads will set in front of them. They're more than happy to shake their rear-ends during that moronic cheer we recite every morning and believe that this company has their best interests at heart. They truly believe that this is the single greatest corporation on earth.
I say they're full of shit.
I used to love my company, until I started working for the place. Then I realized just how greedy, scummy and disgusting a company it truly was. I've seen too many good people fired for bullshit reasons, had to endure two different humiliations at the hands of management, and now I have no real life because I've been stuck on afternoon shifts. No one in the building gives a damn about their job or any of its duties. Does management support any of the cashiers or floor associates? No. Does management acknowledge any of our accomplishments? No. (We used to have a program to do just that, but our new store manager put a stop to it; it wasn't corporate policy according to him.) We've had several cashiers fired in the past week and several more ended up getting reprimanded for idiotic reasons. Our morale ain't gettin' any better: fact to business, it's getting worse.
Yet, so many of my other co-workers are happier than hell to defend this company, no matter how low it may sink.
Baa, sheep. Baa.
--Weasel, critical thinking wolf among lambs
They think the teacher's union is full of shit. That they're picking on "our" company because it happens to be the biggest and "best" and this is all a great big media conspiracy.
Uh, riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.
The media's getting it right: our company is a huge hulking pile of crap. However, to hear my other co-workers talk, this company is the greatest thing since sliced bread. My co-workers claim to want people to "think for themselves" on this matter. Funny, none of them can. They've all been so damned brainwashed by the company that they'll believe any half-baked steaming pile of shit the corporate heads will set in front of them. They're more than happy to shake their rear-ends during that moronic cheer we recite every morning and believe that this company has their best interests at heart. They truly believe that this is the single greatest corporation on earth.
I say they're full of shit.
I used to love my company, until I started working for the place. Then I realized just how greedy, scummy and disgusting a company it truly was. I've seen too many good people fired for bullshit reasons, had to endure two different humiliations at the hands of management, and now I have no real life because I've been stuck on afternoon shifts. No one in the building gives a damn about their job or any of its duties. Does management support any of the cashiers or floor associates? No. Does management acknowledge any of our accomplishments? No. (We used to have a program to do just that, but our new store manager put a stop to it; it wasn't corporate policy according to him.) We've had several cashiers fired in the past week and several more ended up getting reprimanded for idiotic reasons. Our morale ain't gettin' any better: fact to business, it's getting worse.
Yet, so many of my other co-workers are happier than hell to defend this company, no matter how low it may sink.
Baa, sheep. Baa.
--Weasel, critical thinking wolf among lambs
Sunday, August 07, 2005
My Laugh for Today
Don't know about any of you, but when I read this, I nearly peed my pants laughing.
http://www.landoverbaptist.org/news0805/cults.html
Yes, I know. It seems pretty insulting, but don't worry. They're not serious. It only seems that way.
--Weasel, still snickering
http://www.landoverbaptist.org/news0805/cults.html
Yes, I know. It seems pretty insulting, but don't worry. They're not serious. It only seems that way.
--Weasel, still snickering
He's Finally Lost It
Or maybe he never fucking had it. Found this running through my usual news sites; I honestly do not know whether to laugh or cry: http://news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/kmbc/20050806/lo_kmbc/2866367
Phelps' little group is protesting funerals. Military funerals. As in dead soldiers from Iraq. What the flying fuck?!
From the article: ' "The first sin was being a part of this military. If this young man had a clue and any fear of God, he would have run, and not walked, from this military," said protester Shirley Phelps-Roper. "Who would serve a nation that is godless and has flipped off, defiantly defied, defiantly flipped off, the Lord their God?"
One protester had an American flag tied to his belt that draped to the ground. He was holding a sign that read, "Thank God For IEDs," which are explosive devices used by insurgents to blow up military convoys.'
Keep it up, Phelps. Go right the hell ahead. By the time you're done, people will be protesting your funeral. Hope your family doesn't bitch and whine that it's disrespectful, you brain dead idiot.
--Weasel, who believes in the first amendment... and the second amendment as well
Phelps' little group is protesting funerals. Military funerals. As in dead soldiers from Iraq. What the flying fuck?!
From the article: ' "The first sin was being a part of this military. If this young man had a clue and any fear of God, he would have run, and not walked, from this military," said protester Shirley Phelps-Roper. "Who would serve a nation that is godless and has flipped off, defiantly defied, defiantly flipped off, the Lord their God?"
One protester had an American flag tied to his belt that draped to the ground. He was holding a sign that read, "Thank God For IEDs," which are explosive devices used by insurgents to blow up military convoys.'
Keep it up, Phelps. Go right the hell ahead. By the time you're done, people will be protesting your funeral. Hope your family doesn't bitch and whine that it's disrespectful, you brain dead idiot.
--Weasel, who believes in the first amendment... and the second amendment as well
Sunday, July 31, 2005
The End of an Era
At midnight EDT tonight (11pm CDT) Newsworld International will go off the air. Due to new ownership (they were bought out by Al Gore), the station will go in a "different" direction.
I discovered the news channel about two years ago, and being a bit of a news nerd, I fell in love with it immediately. It took the place of the Weather Channel as my favorite station. Where else could you watch Japanese news in English? :)
Thanks, NWI. You gave me perspectives on issues I wasn't able to see on US news stations. You will be missed greatly, and I hope you guys can find your way back to the American audiences who love your broadcasts.
--Weasel, signing off
I discovered the news channel about two years ago, and being a bit of a news nerd, I fell in love with it immediately. It took the place of the Weather Channel as my favorite station. Where else could you watch Japanese news in English? :)
Thanks, NWI. You gave me perspectives on issues I wasn't able to see on US news stations. You will be missed greatly, and I hope you guys can find your way back to the American audiences who love your broadcasts.
--Weasel, signing off
Saturday, July 30, 2005
Failure? We Don't Need No Stinkin' Failure!
Honestly, I don't know whether to laugh or cry:
http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/topstories/tm_objectid=15757277&method=full&siteid=94762-name_page.html
So, how far will this go? Will we find cute euphemisms for firing someone? Paying taxes? Causing traffic accidents? Death?
--Weasel, who hasn't stopped writing for today.... she merely "paused extensively"
http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/topstories/tm_objectid=15757277&method=full&siteid=94762-name_page.html
So, how far will this go? Will we find cute euphemisms for firing someone? Paying taxes? Causing traffic accidents? Death?
--Weasel, who hasn't stopped writing for today.... she merely "paused extensively"
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