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

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.

Friday, August 26, 2005

Disgusting Doesn't Even Cover This Crap

From Yahoo News:

>>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


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

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

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."

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.

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.


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

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:
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.

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

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.
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