(Current earworm: Iridescent by Linkin Park. Love this song; it is going to be in Dark of the Moon, after all.)
The last few days have not been good, to say the very least.
Thursday, I came down with what I suspect was food poisoning: I was fine until I ate lunch but an hour or so later I began to feel like hammered slag.
Didn't work on Friday and it wasn't by choice. I had to call in. There was no way I could sit upright for more than a few seconds, so you could forget about me standing. It was a good thing I did. I spent most of the day sleeping and ridding my body of whatever toxin had invaded. It was painful as hell and I hope I never have to deal with that sort of bullshit ever again.
The only thing I could keep down was Jell-O (which I can't friggin' stand) and Poweraide. Solid food? The very thought of the stuff made me want to gag.
I am just now feeling really normal. For the last few days I've still felt a bit off, dealing with cramps and feeling like someone slammed me straight in the gut with Mjöllnir. Yeah, not pleasant don't even begin to cover this. I haven't even been doing my usual Golett rescues on GTS. Didn't EV train at all, either. I just felt too bad to even mess around with my DS.
But wait! It gets better!
Yesterday, I was doing a bit of editing, listen to some music, and perusing the web as always when Alexa-1, my darling laptop started to behave strangely. Everything seemed fine, then at around 4:50, she powered herself down. I thought at first I had inadvertently yanked a cord or something, but everything was still connected.
I shook my head, hit the power button and Alexa seemed to power up, then she shut down again. Now I was getting worried. So I tried switching her on again. She made it to the "Start Windows" screen and shut down again.
Now, I was completely panicked. Something was wrong and I had no clue as to what. I did the one thing I always do when shit happens and I'm clueless as to what may have occurred.
I called Prime.
I was all but screaming in hysteria when I told him what had happened, that something was wrong with Lexi and I couldn't get her to power back up. He told me he would be home soon and he'd take a look at her.
He fixed her. Seems she got a bit overheated, so she shut herself down. She's fine now, or else you wouldn't be reading this.
Yeah, it's been an interesting few days. I could use a few that are nothing like this, I tell you. If I go through this sort of crap again, I may end up bald before BotCon.
--Weasel, "And I thought my damn job was the biggest source of stupid on the planet. Silly me."
Showing posts with label "From The Department of What the Fuck". Show all posts
Showing posts with label "From The Department of What the Fuck". Show all posts
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
You're Supposed to be DONE!
Isn't it supposed to be spring? Yes? Okay then--WHY THE HELL IS THERE SIX INCHES OF SNOW IN MY DAMN YARD?! It's supposed to be over--finished!
I guess the hell not. Fucking winter.
Pic from here.
I guess the hell not. Fucking winter.
Pic from here.
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
Five Degrees of Pissed Off
As of this very moment, it is taking every bit of restraint in my body not to throw my stupid mouse across the room.
I was doing a few rewrites and edits to my work and thought I had saved. Or rather, I was attempting to save when the fucking mouse pulled the "What the fuck, you don't need this shit open anymore" bullshit that it's been pulling for the past few weeks. So my file was closed out. Before I could save.
When I reopened the file, I could see the word count was off.
There went a thousand words and a shit-ton of tweaking on my part. I'm surprised I'm not mute right now, I howled so loudly. (Oh, and I have a chest cold. That'll do wonders for my slagging voice.)
Prime's pretty much under orders: New mouse. Now.
No, I have zero desire to use the damned touchpad; that's the little fucker who "helped" reformat my work several weeks ago without me asking. That was damn near a week of cursing I'd rather forget.
Here's hoping Prime can do something with Auto Recover. If not, I'm fucked. And doing this shit again tomorrow. :grumble:
--Weasel, "Me, the old mouse and a sledgehammer. That's all the hell I'm asking for..."
I was doing a few rewrites and edits to my work and thought I had saved. Or rather, I was attempting to save when the fucking mouse pulled the "What the fuck, you don't need this shit open anymore" bullshit that it's been pulling for the past few weeks. So my file was closed out. Before I could save.
When I reopened the file, I could see the word count was off.
There went a thousand words and a shit-ton of tweaking on my part. I'm surprised I'm not mute right now, I howled so loudly. (Oh, and I have a chest cold. That'll do wonders for my slagging voice.)
Prime's pretty much under orders: New mouse. Now.
No, I have zero desire to use the damned touchpad; that's the little fucker who "helped" reformat my work several weeks ago without me asking. That was damn near a week of cursing I'd rather forget.
Here's hoping Prime can do something with Auto Recover. If not, I'm fucked. And doing this shit again tomorrow. :grumble:
--Weasel, "Me, the old mouse and a sledgehammer. That's all the hell I'm asking for..."
Monday, December 13, 2010
COMMUNICATIONS INTERRUPT: Most Wonderful Time of the Year, My Skidplate
So the first major snowfall of the year for Wisconsin has come and gone, thankfully. That was some fairly bitter scrapmetal, there, that made me wish I had had a snowblower canopy. Or a ski mask. Or a winter cap. (Well, Weasel took care of the latter pair last night. Think I'm on my own for the former.)
Damned wind could not seem to choose a direction and stick with it. North, south, east or west, it seemed whichever direction I pushed that ol' John Deere winter warhorse was against the wind, and the blown snow invariably wound up in my face and down my jacket. (Thankfully, Weasel was not in much position to lay optics upon my beardage displaying more white than usual; she would've tried to get a snapshot and I would've had to hit her in the face with the shovel I didn't want to use yet or something equally absurdly hilarious.)
Add to that the city's inexplicably quarter-assed (they're not getting credit enough for a pronouncement of half-assed from me) job of plowing the streets and I had a dammit-I-am-already-tired-of-this-slag series of moments in clearing the driveway and sidewalks. (How the city plows managed to leave several centimeters on the roads and yet create a 60cm wall in our driveway, I can't fathom.)
The city did finally make another pass-through this morning, it seems--there was a smaller wall in the driveway waiting for us to leave for work. Far easier to get Scamper up-and-over that.
I shouldn't complain too much, I suppose. This is my home state, I chose to live here, it could be said I dragged Weasel here...I may be a moron.
Just waiting for the next damned snowfall--
+++PRIME OUT+++
Damned wind could not seem to choose a direction and stick with it. North, south, east or west, it seemed whichever direction I pushed that ol' John Deere winter warhorse was against the wind, and the blown snow invariably wound up in my face and down my jacket. (Thankfully, Weasel was not in much position to lay optics upon my beardage displaying more white than usual; she would've tried to get a snapshot and I would've had to hit her in the face with the shovel I didn't want to use yet or something equally absurdly hilarious.)
Add to that the city's inexplicably quarter-assed (they're not getting credit enough for a pronouncement of half-assed from me) job of plowing the streets and I had a dammit-I-am-already-tired-of-this-slag series of moments in clearing the driveway and sidewalks. (How the city plows managed to leave several centimeters on the roads and yet create a 60cm wall in our driveway, I can't fathom.)
The city did finally make another pass-through this morning, it seems--there was a smaller wall in the driveway waiting for us to leave for work. Far easier to get Scamper up-and-over that.
I shouldn't complain too much, I suppose. This is my home state, I chose to live here, it could be said I dragged Weasel here...I may be a moron.
Just waiting for the next damned snowfall--
+++PRIME OUT+++
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
That's a Deathin'
Man burns down house after mother throws away toy robots.
Yeah, this is where I insert a quick "Touch my Bumblebees and die". I'm not kidding.
--Weasel, "Hands off my 'bots, slaggit!"
Yeah, this is where I insert a quick "Touch my Bumblebees and die". I'm not kidding.
--Weasel, "Hands off my 'bots, slaggit!"
Tuesday, August 03, 2010
Technical Fucking Difficulties
Well, this is fucking awesome. I have to reformat the hell outta my work.
Yeah, I'm frickin' pissed. But big whoop. I can deal with this, I guess.
--Weasel, "I hate Terran technology. It sucks."
Yeah, I'm frickin' pissed. But big whoop. I can deal with this, I guess.
--Weasel, "I hate Terran technology. It sucks."
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
And Today in "What the Flying Fuck?!"
You know DA, I have to admit I'm seriously glad you're not going to SDCC this year.This is why.
Fred Phelps is going to Comic-Con. Can I get a "What the fuck?" here?!
His reasoning? Oh, it's stellar, trust me:
Are you kidding?! If these people would spend even some of the energy that they spend on these comic books, reading the Bible, well no high hopes here. They have turned comic book characters into idols, and worship them they do! Isaiah 2:8 Their land also is full of idols; they worship the work of their own hands, that which their own fingers have made: 9 And the mean man boweth down, and the great man humbleth himself: therefore forgive them not. It is time to put away the silly vanities and turn to God like you mean it. The destruction of this nation is imminent - so start calling on Batman and Superman now, see if they can pull you from the mess that you have created with all your silly idolatry.
You know something, Freddie boy? I haven't called out to your god in a very long time. The last time I did, I was in my twenties and your god did absolutely nothing to help me. He simply sat on his heavenly posterior and watched me squirm. So I quit calling to him, since it's obvious he won't fucking answer.
Instead, I have called out to HIM. HE has answered. HE has granted mercy. So tell me, Freddie boy: which god is truly real? The one from your holy tome or the one from the damned comic book? Because I will tell you, the one from the comic has been much more helpful than the one from your tome. Make of that as you will.
--Weasel, hell bound idol worshipper and damned proud.
Fred Phelps is going to Comic-Con. Can I get a "What the fuck?" here?!
His reasoning? Oh, it's stellar, trust me:
Are you kidding?! If these people would spend even some of the energy that they spend on these comic books, reading the Bible, well no high hopes here. They have turned comic book characters into idols, and worship them they do! Isaiah 2:8 Their land also is full of idols; they worship the work of their own hands, that which their own fingers have made: 9 And the mean man boweth down, and the great man humbleth himself: therefore forgive them not. It is time to put away the silly vanities and turn to God like you mean it. The destruction of this nation is imminent - so start calling on Batman and Superman now, see if they can pull you from the mess that you have created with all your silly idolatry.
You know something, Freddie boy? I haven't called out to your god in a very long time. The last time I did, I was in my twenties and your god did absolutely nothing to help me. He simply sat on his heavenly posterior and watched me squirm. So I quit calling to him, since it's obvious he won't fucking answer.
Instead, I have called out to HIM. HE has answered. HE has granted mercy. So tell me, Freddie boy: which god is truly real? The one from your holy tome or the one from the damned comic book? Because I will tell you, the one from the comic has been much more helpful than the one from your tome. Make of that as you will.
--Weasel, hell bound idol worshipper and damned proud.
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
Are You Fucking Shitting Me?!
Really, Shakesville? This is what gets your fucking knickers in a twist? You're serious about this?
Grip: Get one. Seriously. And the "concern trolls" are absolutely right. But you won't read any of their words on the blog page; you have to hit DISQUS to read everything. Gotta love censorship.
janestclair84 · 1 day ago
Oh, for Chrissake.
The man was making a hokey joke about his pre-teen daughters squeeing over a band of pop stars, coincidentally a band that creates an uncomfortable dichotomy between their squeaky clean promise ring image and the none-too-subtle sexualization of their act and persona (foam cannons, really?) If anything, it's you are insisting on essentializing them as pawns of sexual politics, rather than the human father and daughters they in fact are.
I read here occasionally for a "wow, I never thought of that" sense of awareness about race and gender in society, but really- not everything is a battlefront on which your oh so enlightened worldview is assaulted. Get off the high horse, and get a grip on your ego and sense of self-righteousness.
Lot of truth in that statement. So much so that Liss couldn't handle it.
That's it. I'm done. I'm turning in my feminist card. I refuse to get tied up with that sort of bullshit anymore. I've got better ways to waste my time.
--Weasel, "I'm leaning more towards being a humanist anyways..."
Grip: Get one. Seriously. And the "concern trolls" are absolutely right. But you won't read any of their words on the blog page; you have to hit DISQUS to read everything. Gotta love censorship.
janestclair84 · 1 day ago
Oh, for Chrissake.
The man was making a hokey joke about his pre-teen daughters squeeing over a band of pop stars, coincidentally a band that creates an uncomfortable dichotomy between their squeaky clean promise ring image and the none-too-subtle sexualization of their act and persona (foam cannons, really?) If anything, it's you are insisting on essentializing them as pawns of sexual politics, rather than the human father and daughters they in fact are.
I read here occasionally for a "wow, I never thought of that" sense of awareness about race and gender in society, but really- not everything is a battlefront on which your oh so enlightened worldview is assaulted. Get off the high horse, and get a grip on your ego and sense of self-righteousness.
Lot of truth in that statement. So much so that Liss couldn't handle it.
That's it. I'm done. I'm turning in my feminist card. I refuse to get tied up with that sort of bullshit anymore. I've got better ways to waste my time.
--Weasel, "I'm leaning more towards being a humanist anyways..."
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Are You Shitting Me?!
I did not just read this: Obama plan expands offshore oil drilling.
Awesome. Just fucking awesome. I've been down this road before--twenty years ago when I was living in NC. I fought like hell to make sure this bullshit wouldn't happen. We were able to dodge the bullet for a while but not anymore, it would seem.
They'll be drilling in Virginia. How long will it be before the Outer Banks are ruined? What are the chances Wrightsville Beach will end up spoiled? We all know spills have a tendency to spread out; like it or not this will affect NC. To hell with Michael Bay, this rapes my childhoods. I could absolutely cry.
Stop the world, I wanna get the fuck off. NOW.
Primus, am I ever glad I voted third party.
EDIT @ 1:08PM: CNN just showed us a nice big fat map of areas approved for offshore drilling. Guess who's on there? If you said the coast of North Carolina, you'd be right. (I just screamed at the television in abject rage when I saw that.) Godmotherfuckingdammit. Now I am going to go cry.
Awesome. Just fucking awesome. I've been down this road before--twenty years ago when I was living in NC. I fought like hell to make sure this bullshit wouldn't happen. We were able to dodge the bullet for a while but not anymore, it would seem.
They'll be drilling in Virginia. How long will it be before the Outer Banks are ruined? What are the chances Wrightsville Beach will end up spoiled? We all know spills have a tendency to spread out; like it or not this will affect NC. To hell with Michael Bay, this rapes my childhoods. I could absolutely cry.
Stop the world, I wanna get the fuck off. NOW.
Primus, am I ever glad I voted third party.
EDIT @ 1:08PM: CNN just showed us a nice big fat map of areas approved for offshore drilling. Guess who's on there? If you said the coast of North Carolina, you'd be right. (I just screamed at the television in abject rage when I saw that.) Godmotherfuckingdammit. Now I am going to go cry.
GAH!
That's pretty much what I said about twenty minutes ago. Only it was louder and a lot angrier.
As you may or may not know, I've been on the world's biggest writing tear as of late. I'm doing my damnedest to write what looks to be a novel (which is why I've been slacking in the blog department... gotta work on that...) and it's been coming along pretty decently. So twenty minutes ago I opened up my file on Alexa, preparing for another fruitful day of writing.
That's when I noticed that the word count was off by nearly 2,500 words. Oh and seven pages had simply vanished.
What. The. FUCK?!
Where the hell did my work go?! Sure, it doesn't seem like a whole helluva lot, but it's a shit-ton of blood, sweat and tears for me. And here it had simply disappeared into the freaking ether or something. About a third of a chapter was gone, along with a bunch of edits I had made to some of my previous stuff. It wasn't there. It was as if I had closed the file without saving any changes at all. And yes, that is completely impossible because I hit CTRL+S about three times before I closed the file late yesterday. I always make sure I save my stuff. Always.
Yeah, I kinda wanted to cry at that point. And trudge back upstairs to get my notebook so I could re-transcribe everything I had written yesterday. Not an awesome prospect, I tell ya.
That's when I remembered that I had always backed up my file on a 40 gig drive that Prime had purchased from a coworker a couple of months ago. Earlier this month, I told him I didn't exactly want just one lone copy of what I was working on; bad things could happen and if the file was accidentally deleted, I'd be in a shitload of trouble. So he suggested I save a back up on the 40 gig. It sounded like a good idea, so I did. So I opened up the external drive and prayed that the same thing hadn't happened to my secondary file.
The back up was fine. Everything was there. So that external hard drive just paid for itself by saving my sorry ass. (Thank you, Prime. I seriously owe you for this!)
So what did we learn, class? "Always back your shit up!" Very good! Trust me, it's a lesson I ain't gonna forget.
--Weasel, "Now if my damned heart rate would come the hell down and my hands would quit shaking, I'd be fine...!"
As you may or may not know, I've been on the world's biggest writing tear as of late. I'm doing my damnedest to write what looks to be a novel (which is why I've been slacking in the blog department... gotta work on that...) and it's been coming along pretty decently. So twenty minutes ago I opened up my file on Alexa, preparing for another fruitful day of writing.
That's when I noticed that the word count was off by nearly 2,500 words. Oh and seven pages had simply vanished.
What. The. FUCK?!
Where the hell did my work go?! Sure, it doesn't seem like a whole helluva lot, but it's a shit-ton of blood, sweat and tears for me. And here it had simply disappeared into the freaking ether or something. About a third of a chapter was gone, along with a bunch of edits I had made to some of my previous stuff. It wasn't there. It was as if I had closed the file without saving any changes at all. And yes, that is completely impossible because I hit CTRL+S about three times before I closed the file late yesterday. I always make sure I save my stuff. Always.
Yeah, I kinda wanted to cry at that point. And trudge back upstairs to get my notebook so I could re-transcribe everything I had written yesterday. Not an awesome prospect, I tell ya.
That's when I remembered that I had always backed up my file on a 40 gig drive that Prime had purchased from a coworker a couple of months ago. Earlier this month, I told him I didn't exactly want just one lone copy of what I was working on; bad things could happen and if the file was accidentally deleted, I'd be in a shitload of trouble. So he suggested I save a back up on the 40 gig. It sounded like a good idea, so I did. So I opened up the external drive and prayed that the same thing hadn't happened to my secondary file.
The back up was fine. Everything was there. So that external hard drive just paid for itself by saving my sorry ass. (Thank you, Prime. I seriously owe you for this!)
So what did we learn, class? "Always back your shit up!" Very good! Trust me, it's a lesson I ain't gonna forget.
--Weasel, "Now if my damned heart rate would come the hell down and my hands would quit shaking, I'd be fine...!"
Thursday, December 31, 2009
I'm Doomed! OMG!!111eleventymillion11!!
At least according to this article.
For those of you who don't want to click over to the fail, here's a rundown of some of the "gems" on the list:
Don't be smarter than your mate.
Don't have an "immature" hobby. (Action figures? Comic books? Video games? Oh no!)
Don't take a dump in front of each other. (Gotta maintain the "mystery", whatever the hell that means.)
Don't take separate vacays.
Don't have kids.
Don't have a big bed. (You totally need a cramped little twin sized bed so you can like cuddle and make out and stuff!)
Don't have a TV in the bedroom.
Don't change your appearance. At all. Ever.
Prime and I collect Transformers. Our hobby is the reason why we met. We had a big TV in our bedroom at one point... and used it to play video games. I dyed my hair red a few years ago. We sleep in a huge-ass king sized bed. And we just got married this year, after being together for damn near a decade. Yeah, we're seriously doomed. /sarcasm
--Weasel, "This just in, CNN fails. Film at whenthefuckever."
For those of you who don't want to click over to the fail, here's a rundown of some of the "gems" on the list:
Don't be smarter than your mate.
Don't have an "immature" hobby. (Action figures? Comic books? Video games? Oh no!)
Don't take a dump in front of each other. (Gotta maintain the "mystery", whatever the hell that means.)
Don't take separate vacays.
Don't have kids.
Don't have a big bed. (You totally need a cramped little twin sized bed so you can like cuddle and make out and stuff!)
Don't have a TV in the bedroom.
Don't change your appearance. At all. Ever.
Prime and I collect Transformers. Our hobby is the reason why we met. We had a big TV in our bedroom at one point... and used it to play video games. I dyed my hair red a few years ago. We sleep in a huge-ass king sized bed. And we just got married this year, after being together for damn near a decade. Yeah, we're seriously doomed. /sarcasm
--Weasel, "This just in, CNN fails. Film at whenthefuckever."
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Insert Scream
As if dealing with cranky customers isn't bad enough...
The past few days have been pretty slagging busy and filled with enough bullshit to choke an elephant. But nothing can compare to what happened on Sunday.
Sunday I was on the grocery self checks, talking to the cashier on register 4. It seems our wonderful heads have a new trick up their sleeve. They're talking to cashiers, at least six a day, and telling them how they can improve their customer service skills. Among one of the points? You guessed it! Smile more!
Not only are they fucking spying on us, they're busting us for a bullshit reason. This is seriously getting out of hand.
Tell me again why I tolerate this shit? Oh yeah, I don't want to live in a cardboard box by the fucking river. But that's the only goddamn reason.
--Weasel, "Let's skip this horseshit and go straight to BotCon. Now."
The past few days have been pretty slagging busy and filled with enough bullshit to choke an elephant. But nothing can compare to what happened on Sunday.
Sunday I was on the grocery self checks, talking to the cashier on register 4. It seems our wonderful heads have a new trick up their sleeve. They're talking to cashiers, at least six a day, and telling them how they can improve their customer service skills. Among one of the points? You guessed it! Smile more!
Not only are they fucking spying on us, they're busting us for a bullshit reason. This is seriously getting out of hand.
Tell me again why I tolerate this shit? Oh yeah, I don't want to live in a cardboard box by the fucking river. But that's the only goddamn reason.
--Weasel, "Let's skip this horseshit and go straight to BotCon. Now."
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
Dear Mattel,
You're the same toy company that has a huge problem with making any female action figures, yet you produce this?
Palm Beach Sugar Daddy Ken. Are you serious?!
I guess so. Wow.
But seriously, what the fuck? This looks like a freaking parody, not a legitimate collectible.
Maybe you guys should quit while you're ahead. Or take a cold shower. Or both. Me, I'm just gonna go slam my head against my brick fireplace until I pass out. Then maybe I'll think that this was just a bad dream.
Sincerely,
--Weasel
Palm Beach Sugar Daddy Ken. Are you serious?!
I guess so. Wow.
But seriously, what the fuck? This looks like a freaking parody, not a legitimate collectible.
Maybe you guys should quit while you're ahead. Or take a cold shower. Or both. Me, I'm just gonna go slam my head against my brick fireplace until I pass out. Then maybe I'll think that this was just a bad dream.
Sincerely,
--Weasel
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
It's All Downhill From Here
It's only October and I'm about to burn out. We haven't even hit the "real" Ca$hma$ shopping season and I'm about ready to rip my hair out.
Work is going straight to hell. And there is nothing I can do to stop it.
For the past several days I haven't been anywhere near the self checks; all but one of the heads have been going out of their way to make damn sure I don't get sent to either one. Instead, they're sending people who hate being on self checks over there and it's pissing everyone off. I've had other cashiers asking me why I'm not over there: I just say that I haven't a clue.
We're short a head and a cashier, so the front end is in a total disarray, there are fucking spies who are reporting people to management on bullshit charges, the latest schedules are total messes, it's a fucking nightmare.
And there is nothing that can be done about it. The company knows that the job market is extremely tight right now, so they can abuse us and we won't do or say anything.
I don't know how much longer I can deal with this. I'm close to the breaking point as it is.
--Weasel, trying to make it to BotCon....
Work is going straight to hell. And there is nothing I can do to stop it.
For the past several days I haven't been anywhere near the self checks; all but one of the heads have been going out of their way to make damn sure I don't get sent to either one. Instead, they're sending people who hate being on self checks over there and it's pissing everyone off. I've had other cashiers asking me why I'm not over there: I just say that I haven't a clue.
We're short a head and a cashier, so the front end is in a total disarray, there are fucking spies who are reporting people to management on bullshit charges, the latest schedules are total messes, it's a fucking nightmare.
And there is nothing that can be done about it. The company knows that the job market is extremely tight right now, so they can abuse us and we won't do or say anything.
I don't know how much longer I can deal with this. I'm close to the breaking point as it is.
--Weasel, trying to make it to BotCon....
Saturday, September 05, 2009
It Would Be Funny If It Weren't So Damn Stupid
Today I'm covering a lunch break on grocery self check when head cashier John comes over to have a chat with me. When he starts, he admits that what he's about to tell me is one of the dumbest things he's ever had to say, so I know in advance that this is going to be bad. Really bad.
We have a brand spankin' new rule, just handed down from management. All cashiers, while on the clock and working, have to look "pleasant" and smile. Constantly. Doesn't matter if your day sucks ass, if you've just been screamed out by a customer, if your life is a living hell and falling apart around your ears, you have to smile and be all insipidly happy-looking so the customers don't think you're "grumpy".
Oh, and if you're not smiling you could get coached.
Yep, you could get written up if you're not pleasant enough. Good luck trying to enforce that rule.
This is part of the "Fast-er, Friendli-er" bullshit that's just been rolled out. I knew this shit was a bad idea from the start but seriously, this is out of control.
The word is already spreading. Most cashiers think it's a joke; the heads and management hardly ever smile or act pleasant at all. Same with the other floor associates. One cashier said flat out that the customers would probably find all this more creepy than anything else. I have a tendency to agree. But hey, what do I know?
I tried my damnedest to act as happy as possible today. But it was a half-hearted attempt. You can't fake being happy; it looks really forced when you try.
When I was done for the day, I was drained, frustrated and utterly tired of the stupid. So I wandered down the toy aisle, trying to clear my mind and relax a little. The toy department is one of my favorite areas of the store. And the sight of Transformers always lifts my spirits. It doesn't matter if I already have them in my collection; seeing one hanging on the pegs at work is a bit like seeing an old friend. (I'm weird, I know.)
I'm glad I did. What should be waiting for me but a Transformers RPM Battle Pack--Bumblebee versus Barricade.
Another Bumblebee. Popping up after I've had a really bad day. The guardian angel appears again.
I could really get used to this, you know. It makes the stupid a lot more bearable.
--Weasel, "Between him and BotCon, I honestly think I can make it through the workplace idiocy."
We have a brand spankin' new rule, just handed down from management. All cashiers, while on the clock and working, have to look "pleasant" and smile. Constantly. Doesn't matter if your day sucks ass, if you've just been screamed out by a customer, if your life is a living hell and falling apart around your ears, you have to smile and be all insipidly happy-looking so the customers don't think you're "grumpy".
Oh, and if you're not smiling you could get coached.
Yep, you could get written up if you're not pleasant enough. Good luck trying to enforce that rule.
This is part of the "Fast-er, Friendli-er" bullshit that's just been rolled out. I knew this shit was a bad idea from the start but seriously, this is out of control.
The word is already spreading. Most cashiers think it's a joke; the heads and management hardly ever smile or act pleasant at all. Same with the other floor associates. One cashier said flat out that the customers would probably find all this more creepy than anything else. I have a tendency to agree. But hey, what do I know?
I tried my damnedest to act as happy as possible today. But it was a half-hearted attempt. You can't fake being happy; it looks really forced when you try.
When I was done for the day, I was drained, frustrated and utterly tired of the stupid. So I wandered down the toy aisle, trying to clear my mind and relax a little. The toy department is one of my favorite areas of the store. And the sight of Transformers always lifts my spirits. It doesn't matter if I already have them in my collection; seeing one hanging on the pegs at work is a bit like seeing an old friend. (I'm weird, I know.)
I'm glad I did. What should be waiting for me but a Transformers RPM Battle Pack--Bumblebee versus Barricade.
Another Bumblebee. Popping up after I've had a really bad day. The guardian angel appears again.
I could really get used to this, you know. It makes the stupid a lot more bearable.
--Weasel, "Between him and BotCon, I honestly think I can make it through the workplace idiocy."
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
This Week in "Epic Fail"...
For the past couple of weeks, we've had a woman (sometimes with a large group of her friends) who would come into our store several times throughout the day. She would cart up a crapload of items, try to check them out, then void all but three (or fewer) items because she never had enough money for everything. She would then come back much later that night (usually at around 9 or 10) with $150 to $200 worth of items to return. Now remember, this is the exact same woman who didn't have enough money to cover her purchases earlier. So where the hell was this slag coming from?!
As if that wasn't enough, she claimed that she had been employed in a retail store, had been fired and was currently trying to sue them. She also claimed she was looking into suing our store for discrimination.
Yeah, a real piece of work, this one.
But thankfully, her little games are now over.
This Saturday, she came into the store again. (This had to be the fourth time that she had come in that day, but I digress.) Again, she's pulling the exact same BS--trying to buy a heap of slag, then voiding off most of it. She then leaves and returns.... with an enormous pile of returns and no receipt. She swears she'll be back with her receipt and leaves again. It goes without saying that management was alerted. Immediately.
When Ms. StickyFingers came back with her receipt, it got interesting fast.
Management refused the returns. Ms. StickyFingers tried to leave and was promptly met at the door by the police. One of our loss prevention guys was on her tail, too. She had nowhere to run.
Ms. StickyFingers has officially been banned from our store. I have no idea if she was treated to a nice cozy pair of silver bracelets, nor do I know if management is pressing charges. But from what I hear, they have a shitload of documentation on her, so if they wanted to do so, there's no reason they couldn't. In any case, that's one problem out of our hair.
Fast forward to Sunday.
One of Ms. StickyFingers' friends came in, with a few bags. She claimed that they were from a local competitor. The people greeter who spotted her made her tie the bags shut and we let management know that we had another potential problem in our store.
The friend was tailed, but nothing came of it. She didn't really do anything illegal. But I have to wonder; if you know your ringleader was busted, why in the hell are you going to go into the same damn store that busted her?! That makes no damn sense to me, I swear.
--Weasel, "The good guys won.... for once. Next time may be very different."
As if that wasn't enough, she claimed that she had been employed in a retail store, had been fired and was currently trying to sue them. She also claimed she was looking into suing our store for discrimination.
Yeah, a real piece of work, this one.
But thankfully, her little games are now over.
This Saturday, she came into the store again. (This had to be the fourth time that she had come in that day, but I digress.) Again, she's pulling the exact same BS--trying to buy a heap of slag, then voiding off most of it. She then leaves and returns.... with an enormous pile of returns and no receipt. She swears she'll be back with her receipt and leaves again. It goes without saying that management was alerted. Immediately.
When Ms. StickyFingers came back with her receipt, it got interesting fast.
Management refused the returns. Ms. StickyFingers tried to leave and was promptly met at the door by the police. One of our loss prevention guys was on her tail, too. She had nowhere to run.
Ms. StickyFingers has officially been banned from our store. I have no idea if she was treated to a nice cozy pair of silver bracelets, nor do I know if management is pressing charges. But from what I hear, they have a shitload of documentation on her, so if they wanted to do so, there's no reason they couldn't. In any case, that's one problem out of our hair.
Fast forward to Sunday.
One of Ms. StickyFingers' friends came in, with a few bags. She claimed that they were from a local competitor. The people greeter who spotted her made her tie the bags shut and we let management know that we had another potential problem in our store.
The friend was tailed, but nothing came of it. She didn't really do anything illegal. But I have to wonder; if you know your ringleader was busted, why in the hell are you going to go into the same damn store that busted her?! That makes no damn sense to me, I swear.
--Weasel, "The good guys won.... for once. Next time may be very different."
Saturday, August 22, 2009
And the Universe Smacks Me Over the Head.... Again
The last couple of days at work have been hell. I wish I was kidding about that fact, but it is unfortunately very true.
On Thursday most of my breaks were late. Not by a few minutes, either. This was anywhere from 30 to 50 minutes late. Frustrating? You better believe it. Friday wasn't much better. In fact, I'd say it was a slagload worse.
It's Friday. I'm on lane 17. I get a customer who brings up a Packers sweatshirt. It's one I've never seen before and it rings up at $27. The customer says it was on a clearance rack and points to a price sticker (a slightly wrinkled sticker, I might add) that reads $5. The tag itself says $23. She wants this thing for the $5 price.
Yes, that's a $22 difference. So, no, I'm not overriding that without an approval. (If I did, a head cashier, department manager or some other member of management would be up my ass like you wouldn't believe. And I don't know about anyone else, but I like being able to have a paycheck to pay my damned bills.) So I call Men's wear. They start looking for something similar. They can't find one. So I walk to Men's wear and show them the stupid thing. They scan it with their Telxon and it comes up $27. So the associates in Men's wear state that we can only sell the damned thing for the price it scans. So I get back to my lane and tell her this; she leaves.
Here's where it gets insanely stupid.
Thieving customer comes back.... with management. Management takes sweatshirt and sells it to thief for $5.
Yeah, I'm pissed. Even worse, management wants to know why I couldn't just override the damn thing, forgetting that if I did, they would be chewing my ass out.
The dull thud you keep hearing? It's just my head slamming into the nearest brick wall. Don't worry, I'm used to it. After a while the pain is quite refreshing, really.
I am now so pissed that I can literally not see straight. I want nothing more than to either scream or strangle something or both. Thankfully, I get sent to break, so my sanity is spared for a few precious moments. But my break is over far too soon and I must return to Idiot Central aka my crappy job.
I am loathe to return to lane 17, so I decide to do a little tidying up first--I take a basket back to the GM doors, I take back some items that were left behind, run and take a quick drink of water, you name it. As I finally make my way back to myprison cell register, I start to think about the past two days. And remembering my track record, I can't help but think I should be finding something amazingly awesome.
All right Primus, I think. It's been a shit couple of days; you seriously owe me and you better pay the hell up!
Not long after this little exchange I discovered that it's never a good idea to snap at a god. They take it pretty seriously. And Primus is no exception.
He paid up all right. Boy, howdy, he paid up.
Not ten minutes later, I get a kid (10 or 12 years old) with a Transformers Optimus Prime book cover and a Voyager-class ROTF Optimus Prime. The book cover scans, but the toy won't. I stop and stare at my register; this seems impossible. We sell Voyagers all the blasted time, so why the heck won't this one scan? Then I look at the UPC code; it's 13 numbers long. I look at the back of the box and there is no tech spec, only an abbreviated bio that happens to be in 12 different languages.
In my hands is a European Optimus Prime. It's all I can do not to freak.
I tell the kid that we have a small problem with this one, tuck EuroPrime behind my check reader and race to Toys. After a frantic few moments of searching I manage to find a domestic Optimus. I run back, ring up the domestic Voyager and do everything in my power to keep EuroPrime in my sights. I was giddy, to put it mildly; the only European toy I've ever seen was a Universe Acid Storm that one of our friends found in the same manner and sold to us.
Ten minutes later, I overheard a page for Toys. A cashier two aisles away has a second EuroPrime. How did I find this out? A customer in my lane told me; she said that the other cashier was having trouble with "that exact same toy" and pointed to the Prime that was still occupying space by the check reader.
Two European toys. In my store. It seemed impossible, but here it was. I could feel the blood rushing to my head, I was so excited.
I immediately cashed out her order, shut my lane down and raced over to register 21. "I know what to do!" I cried. "I can fix this!" I race to Toys yet again, find another domestic Prime and quickly make another swap.
Two European ROTF Optimus Primes. Both now resting safely at my register. I am nearly dancing with delight. I can barely wait for lunch so I can call Prime and tell him of my discovery.
When I do, he asks if we have anymore Euro toys (like, did someone in China screw up an entire Voyager-class case?). As I go back and check, I find a lone Bumblebee Battle Charger. He was simply sitting atop a Bumblebee roleplay cannon, as if he was waiting for me to come by and take him home. Of course, I did.
The rest of the day was a lot better. I got to take over GM self checks, which is my favorite place to be.... other than Toys, that is. And once I was done for the day, Prime and I went and took in another viewing of Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen at a local second chance theater-cafe. Two and a half hours of kicking back in a plush-comfy chair while eating some really kickass pizza? Yes, please.
So yeah, I'd say Primus delivered that day. Maybe I should be a bit more grateful from now on; if he can drop stuff like that my way, I'd hate to see him pissed.
--Weasel, "Yeah, that could be pretty bad now that I think about it."
On Thursday most of my breaks were late. Not by a few minutes, either. This was anywhere from 30 to 50 minutes late. Frustrating? You better believe it. Friday wasn't much better. In fact, I'd say it was a slagload worse.
It's Friday. I'm on lane 17. I get a customer who brings up a Packers sweatshirt. It's one I've never seen before and it rings up at $27. The customer says it was on a clearance rack and points to a price sticker (a slightly wrinkled sticker, I might add) that reads $5. The tag itself says $23. She wants this thing for the $5 price.
Yes, that's a $22 difference. So, no, I'm not overriding that without an approval. (If I did, a head cashier, department manager or some other member of management would be up my ass like you wouldn't believe. And I don't know about anyone else, but I like being able to have a paycheck to pay my damned bills.) So I call Men's wear. They start looking for something similar. They can't find one. So I walk to Men's wear and show them the stupid thing. They scan it with their Telxon and it comes up $27. So the associates in Men's wear state that we can only sell the damned thing for the price it scans. So I get back to my lane and tell her this; she leaves.
Here's where it gets insanely stupid.
Thieving customer comes back.... with management. Management takes sweatshirt and sells it to thief for $5.
Yeah, I'm pissed. Even worse, management wants to know why I couldn't just override the damn thing, forgetting that if I did, they would be chewing my ass out.
The dull thud you keep hearing? It's just my head slamming into the nearest brick wall. Don't worry, I'm used to it. After a while the pain is quite refreshing, really.
I am now so pissed that I can literally not see straight. I want nothing more than to either scream or strangle something or both. Thankfully, I get sent to break, so my sanity is spared for a few precious moments. But my break is over far too soon and I must return to Idiot Central aka my crappy job.
I am loathe to return to lane 17, so I decide to do a little tidying up first--I take a basket back to the GM doors, I take back some items that were left behind, run and take a quick drink of water, you name it. As I finally make my way back to my
All right Primus, I think. It's been a shit couple of days; you seriously owe me and you better pay the hell up!
Not long after this little exchange I discovered that it's never a good idea to snap at a god. They take it pretty seriously. And Primus is no exception.
He paid up all right. Boy, howdy, he paid up.
Not ten minutes later, I get a kid (10 or 12 years old) with a Transformers Optimus Prime book cover and a Voyager-class ROTF Optimus Prime. The book cover scans, but the toy won't. I stop and stare at my register; this seems impossible. We sell Voyagers all the blasted time, so why the heck won't this one scan? Then I look at the UPC code; it's 13 numbers long. I look at the back of the box and there is no tech spec, only an abbreviated bio that happens to be in 12 different languages.
In my hands is a European Optimus Prime. It's all I can do not to freak.
I tell the kid that we have a small problem with this one, tuck EuroPrime behind my check reader and race to Toys. After a frantic few moments of searching I manage to find a domestic Optimus. I run back, ring up the domestic Voyager and do everything in my power to keep EuroPrime in my sights. I was giddy, to put it mildly; the only European toy I've ever seen was a Universe Acid Storm that one of our friends found in the same manner and sold to us.
Ten minutes later, I overheard a page for Toys. A cashier two aisles away has a second EuroPrime. How did I find this out? A customer in my lane told me; she said that the other cashier was having trouble with "that exact same toy" and pointed to the Prime that was still occupying space by the check reader.
Two European toys. In my store. It seemed impossible, but here it was. I could feel the blood rushing to my head, I was so excited.
I immediately cashed out her order, shut my lane down and raced over to register 21. "I know what to do!" I cried. "I can fix this!" I race to Toys yet again, find another domestic Prime and quickly make another swap.
Two European ROTF Optimus Primes. Both now resting safely at my register. I am nearly dancing with delight. I can barely wait for lunch so I can call Prime and tell him of my discovery.
When I do, he asks if we have anymore Euro toys (like, did someone in China screw up an entire Voyager-class case?). As I go back and check, I find a lone Bumblebee Battle Charger. He was simply sitting atop a Bumblebee roleplay cannon, as if he was waiting for me to come by and take him home. Of course, I did.
The rest of the day was a lot better. I got to take over GM self checks, which is my favorite place to be.... other than Toys, that is. And once I was done for the day, Prime and I went and took in another viewing of Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen at a local second chance theater-cafe. Two and a half hours of kicking back in a plush-comfy chair while eating some really kickass pizza? Yes, please.
So yeah, I'd say Primus delivered that day. Maybe I should be a bit more grateful from now on; if he can drop stuff like that my way, I'd hate to see him pissed.
--Weasel, "Yeah, that could be pretty bad now that I think about it."
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
As the Toilet Clogs
Guess who signed with the Minnesota Vikings?
Yep, you guessed it.
I can't believe that people actually thought Brett would stay retired.
To the Vikings fans, you have my sympathies. The guy's almost 40 and had surgery. And he's a diva to boot. (A former coworker at Target will vouch for that last one.) But I can barely wait to get back to work on Thursday, for there will be much wailing and gnashing of teeth.
And I will love every moment of it. Others will not (and do not), but man oh man...
I had to hear all the "Ted Thompson is evil" bullshit all last season. This is like a gift from the baby Primus. I am going to milk this for all it is worth.
--Weasel, "I'm evil like that."
Yep, you guessed it.
I can't believe that people actually thought Brett would stay retired.
To the Vikings fans, you have my sympathies. The guy's almost 40 and had surgery. And he's a diva to boot. (A former coworker at Target will vouch for that last one.) But I can barely wait to get back to work on Thursday, for there will be much wailing and gnashing of teeth.
And I will love every moment of it. Others will not (and do not), but man oh man...
I had to hear all the "Ted Thompson is evil" bullshit all last season. This is like a gift from the baby Primus. I am going to milk this for all it is worth.
--Weasel, "I'm evil like that."
Friday, August 14, 2009
Friday, August 07, 2009
Permission to Freak Out, Captain?!
It has not been a good week. At all.
Yesterday, I got ripped off. A customer came through my lane with a buy one get one free coupon. No big deal, right? Well, it turned out to be a very big deal--the customer was buying a $3 bottle of shampoo and trying to get a $6 styling aid for free. Needless to say, the register did not let the coupon go through. When that happens, we're not supposed to take the blasted things.
Here's where it gets stupid: the head cashier overrode the damned thing because the customer threw a fit. Why is this a big deal? The customer is an employee!
It's one thing when it's some random jerk off the street who's trying to scam you. It's entirely another when the person trying to scam you frickin' knows better. Or at least, they should know better. (That dull thudding sound you hear? It's my head slamming into the nearest wall.)
Today was no blasted better. The alarm didn't go off this morning, so Prime and I had to bust our skidplates to get ready. (Didn't really help Prime all that much, unfortunately.) Then I got to work. And it got interesting.
At 1:40, I was ringing up an order for a pair of female customers. As I bent over to grab one of the items on the belt, I heard one of them say, "Are you all right?" It seems while I had my head ducked, one of the women had wandered over to register five and slipped. She was now on the floor near the bagging area.
One of the other cashiers managed to flag down a head. It took a few moments, but management came up, got statements from the customers and got statements from me, the other cashier and the head who contacted management. Oddly, though, 'moments' was too long, and one of these women mentioned (snottily) how if this had happened in Target, people there would have been over to help them quick as a blink.
Doesn't that sound, if you think about it for a second, a little suspicious to you?
Yeah, I was a little bit freaked out by the whole incident. I couldn't wait to get my butt home. At least I have a Human Alliance Bumblebee to cuddle up with. I think I've earned it.
--Weasel, "Can I freak out now? Please?!"
Yesterday, I got ripped off. A customer came through my lane with a buy one get one free coupon. No big deal, right? Well, it turned out to be a very big deal--the customer was buying a $3 bottle of shampoo and trying to get a $6 styling aid for free. Needless to say, the register did not let the coupon go through. When that happens, we're not supposed to take the blasted things.
Here's where it gets stupid: the head cashier overrode the damned thing because the customer threw a fit. Why is this a big deal? The customer is an employee!
It's one thing when it's some random jerk off the street who's trying to scam you. It's entirely another when the person trying to scam you frickin' knows better. Or at least, they should know better. (That dull thudding sound you hear? It's my head slamming into the nearest wall.)
Today was no blasted better. The alarm didn't go off this morning, so Prime and I had to bust our skidplates to get ready. (Didn't really help Prime all that much, unfortunately.) Then I got to work. And it got interesting.
At 1:40, I was ringing up an order for a pair of female customers. As I bent over to grab one of the items on the belt, I heard one of them say, "Are you all right?" It seems while I had my head ducked, one of the women had wandered over to register five and slipped. She was now on the floor near the bagging area.
One of the other cashiers managed to flag down a head. It took a few moments, but management came up, got statements from the customers and got statements from me, the other cashier and the head who contacted management. Oddly, though, 'moments' was too long, and one of these women mentioned (snottily) how if this had happened in Target, people there would have been over to help them quick as a blink.
Doesn't that sound, if you think about it for a second, a little suspicious to you?
Yeah, I was a little bit freaked out by the whole incident. I couldn't wait to get my butt home. At least I have a Human Alliance Bumblebee to cuddle up with. I think I've earned it.
--Weasel, "Can I freak out now? Please?!"
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