Friday, February 22, 2013

The Rants of a Shopgrrrl

I used to work in retail. It's not a fabulous life, and quite frequently there were things that made me despise the realm of consumerism, of which, unfortunately, I was a part. With all of the customers that I came in contact with, eighty percent (and occasionally more, on days that we had a sale, for example) of them are horrible human beings. Sometimes when the customers and the situations were so outrageous, I felt as if I was in an Saturday Night Live sketch, or on a hidden camera show.

In the short amount of time that I worked retail, the more negative adjectives that customers used to describe me include unattractive, dumb, inattentive, weak, dense, and perhaps the best of all, useless. These comments come from a wide variety of people, including those who have more money than they know what to do with and feel the need to dump their inane problems on me, an innocent shopgirl who was (and still is) trying to pay off massive student loan debts. (And yes, I'm well aware that Steve Martin has the rights for both the novella and film with this story.) 



As it may be, these customers will forever be immortalized as completely worthless sacks of shit as I share with you the terrible comments and actions that these people said and did. Believe me folks, I kept track of these things, and not that I would wish for anything bad to happen to any of these customers, but if it did, I would be filled with such glee. Also, I must add that I do not in any way condone violence, but with these types of customers, I found that violence may be the only way to get any information into their thick skulls. A sharp smack to the back of one's head with a hard object like a frying pan, or laptop, could prove very beneficial in these situations. 


This first tale I share with you is from the very first customer that had an issue with me. I had been working on the floor (as opposed to being in training) for three days. Being a newbie, I was still a little nervous when dealing with things such as finding merchandise in our system, or taking merchandise to be returned. This story has to do with the latter. Because our store, and the other department stores in our particular mall cater to a group of people who, as I mentioned previously, have expendable incomes, or like to think that they do, our return policy is extremely lenient. Not quite as lenient as one of our other competitors, but with the way things are going lately, we will soon rival them with our policy and God help us all when that happens. 



In our department, fashion accessories, we have five registers - two in the middle of the floor where the jewelry is located, one in the sunglasses section, one at the watch counter, and one where the seasonal accessories are located (cashmere scarves and leather gloves when it's cold out, and silk scarves when it's not). At that particular time, I was standing at the watch counter. This woman comes up to me wearing a thick sweater, a wool cap, and glasses. Slight in build, she was somewhat even more dwarfed by the layers of clothes that she was wearing. This would not seem out of the ordinary had we been in New England during the fall. But we were in Orange County, California. In July. Wearing that much when it was at least eighty-five out was absurd. I should have known that a customer wearing that much was going to cause problems.

She plops a box down on the counter and states that she has a return. In our store, there are several ways to take a return. The easiest is with a receipt and the price tag with our special ticket showing our store name. With both of these items, it's quick and painless to return merchandise. No muss, no fuss. The second option is to use the price tag and the special ticket. It traces the original transaction, and gives us the form of tender used in the original transaction. A customer always has the option to have the amount given back to them on their proprietary card or credit card if that's how they purchased the item, or for store credit. If they used cash or a gift card, and it's been less than six months since the original purchase, that's an option as well. If it's been more than six months, that's when things start to get tricky. Sometimes we can't trace the original transaction just with our tag, and if it's been more than six months, the customer will get the lowest price that the item has been sold at during that timeframe. We can also use the credit card and the price tag to look up the original transaction, or if the merchandise was purchased online, we can use the order form that came with the item. Needless to say, problems arise all the time with this system, especially when people try to return items with no ticket or no receipt, or they argue that they paid cash for an item when in actuality they did not. 

This customer had a Burberry scarf that she needed to return, and a new one (also Burberry to exchange for the original. The item wasn't damaged, so it was fine for me to take back. She didn't have her receipt, but the price tag and our label were still attached, so I used the label to find the original transaction. Now, for whatever reason, the price that was coming up at the register was more than what she paid for the scarf.  I admit, this part was actually my fault, because she technically could have walked away with more money than what she should have received. But she did point the discrepancy out to me, and because I was new, I wasn't sure how to best proceed. In two seconds, she changed from what I perceived as a fairly decent human being, to a screaming, raging Minotaur that I was certain was going to rip me open from nose to navel. 

After trying to explain to her that I needed to double-check the prices so that she was in fact going to receive the correct amount of money for the exchange, you would have thought that I slapped her and said, "FUCK YOU, BITCH, I'M OUTTA HERE." That was one of things that I hated most about retail - I would try and help the customer, bust my ass for them, and they acted as if I was sitting with my finger up my nose. I should have learned early on from this particular case. Anyway, one of my fellow co-workers saw that I was struggling and came over to help me out. Once things were straightened out, and the exchange was made, the woman looked at me with such glee in her eyes that clearly said, "I bested you. I am better than you. I will now walk out of this store with my $300 scarf and you will still be a lowly shopgirl." 

From that point on, I vowed to keep track of these people, so, like I said previously, if it ever came down to it, and I met them on the street and was no longer associated with the department store that I worked at, I would pound their stupid, lazy faces into the ground in the most tortuous ways possible.

But I'm not bitter. At all.

Come back to read more tales from retail hell. 

How Is It That I Have a Face that Somehow Looks Like Someone You Already Know?

Lately two things have been happening to me. The first is that I either ask a simple question such as, "What are you doing tonight?" or in the case that I don't ask anything at all, somehow I end up getting the person's entire life story annotated for the five minute long conversation. Excuse me, the "conversation" actually turns into a monologue, during which I awkwardly wait until the person finishes speaking to say something groundbreaking like, "Well, that's interesting." I suppose what it is that causes people to do this is that my two places of employment are both customer-service oriented and somehow that translates to me acting a faux-psychologist at times.

The second thing that has been happening to me is that people have told me that I look or act or sound like someone they know. Have I been living a lie my entire life and are now finding out that I'm actually not as unique as I thought that I am? Or is the symmetry of my face just that malleable that I'm the human version of  Play-Doh and people mold me in their minds to look like someone else? Either way, I don't like my options.

So please, if you see me soon, don't give me your life story, or tell me that I remind you of someone. I would like to keep my sanity intact, thanks.

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Just when I thought that I had lost all faith in humanity...

...I see someone give up their seat for a handicapped person on the T.

My faith in humanity has been restored!...

...until someone shouts at me when I'm trying to give them the right extension on the switchboard.

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Because It Is a New Year and I Am in a New (Old) City

Ladies, Gentlemen, People Who Identify as Neither or Both, all are welcome here!

I've realized that I need to get back on this blogging kick. I'm a writer for goodness' sake, and write I shall! This first blurb is a short one, because frankly, I just wanted to say a howdy-do.

BUT! I will return! I will return with my thoughts on public transportation, romance (or lack there-of), literature, film, mammoths, (yes, now I realize I am listing some of my favorite things off: sue me, or at the very least, if it bothers you, just stop reading).

More to come!

Sunday, November 6, 2011

And now presenting, POETRY!


Laundry Day



The hem of her white dress is stained
Not only with memories, but with an ugly coal-black splat
She wore it to the airport and
The city welcomed her with a rainstorm
She dragged her dress through the angry wetness

Not enough money to wash the dress more than once
Gray hem, a shadow low on her backside
Dirty badge of air travel
Her granny tells her
You always wear that dress
She wore the dress on the airplane in defiance
She still loves her granny

The first time she wore the dress
The boy on the date said nothing about her nor the dress
She wanted him to say something, anything
But he was never good with words
The boy is gone and she kept the dress
Another boy told her she’s beautiful
She thinks he’s lying, that he’s referring to the dress, not her
His eyes were too bright to not be telling the truth

Scraping by on quarters and credit cards
For a pair of clean socks
Saturday is laundry day
Basement reading for class in between loads

She had once crammed too much in the washer to save money
The clothes had spilled out
Full of hot water and soap suds
She had scrambled on hands and knees across the cement floor
Dirtying the one pair of jeans she hadn’t put in that load
Frustrated and tired
Gathering stockings and shirts
The white dress wasn’t washed that week either

Clean clothes are a necessity in cold weather

Cacophony

His hands placed softly across her body
When can I love you gray rain more than laughter
Open skies in the ocean air
Remembering these times past, memories that she wants to hold on to
but knows that she can’t, she shouldn’t
Sandals in November, now boots in December
She brings him close
Do you love me more than candied apples (as I love the freckles on your nose)
Teasing, wanting, needing more than she asked for
Memories of home cut through the sharp winter squalls:
bluest of blues, cluttered sands and seagulls
Sitting on his lap, she rests her chin
in his chestnut curls
Paper boy, she laughs, I cut you out from a magazine
Whispers of sunflowers
Nostalgia of an absence together

faster

FASTER i scream

on the rollercoaster
in the car screeching down the 405
as i run down the street
whirlwind of time
dancing on cobblestones in fanueil hall
watching the seals dance in the water
bobbing with their self-justifiable smiles that
make the children love them so

Maybe, Maybe (Sunflower Thoughts)

You never bought me sunflowers
You never let me cry
You just rubbed my head like a poodle and said
Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.

You never knew what to say

When you said you loved me, it was a bold-faced lie
When I responded, only half of my heart consented.

You wanted to

resolve our issues

as if I was some sort of problem.

Maybe we were too young
Maybe we were too blind
Maybe I didn’t want to never leave you there, waiting.

I resolved our issues by letting you go

I had to wear the pants in our relationship because you wouldn’t
And I was never one to allow stupidity to hang its hat by the door.

Now I miss you and I don’t know why.
You never bought me sunflowers.
You never let me cry.

Forgotten Leftovers

why would anyone need me, ever,
even on a whim

they disregard me for someone else,
thrown by the wayside like

a mattress left on the freeway
a set of hot curlers

they don’t need me; they’ll find someone else
they always do

i don’t tend to leave lasting impressions
and i’ve decided to run first this time





The Bus Drivers of Southern California

This edition of "SGGTPT" (okay, not the shortest, nor the best acronym ever, but I'm trying) will concern the drivers of the Southern California bus system. In the six month period that I consistently was on the bus in southern California, I took note of three times of bus drivers. 


1. the strong, silent type
Mostly male, these drivers do everything by the book. From the time they take off, to getting riders on and off the bus, a driver of this caliber will be more likely to use the turn signal, not run red lights, and ask that riders get on and off the bus in an orderly manner. Unfortunately, if you have a question, it's more than likely you'll be unable to get an answer. This is because these drivers believe that you should already know which bus you're on, what direction it's headed in, and where you should get off for your next stop. Or in some cases, I believe the driver may have been mute. Thankfully this type of driver will not take bullshit from anyone and will keep, for the most part, the creepy riders off the bus, or at the very least, confined to a particular area of the bus where they can be watched.  


2. the crazy, I'm-only-doing-this-because-I-have-to-driver
This type of driver is the one that you want to avoid as much as possible. A driver like this will never be on time; will take off from the curb so fast that if you're not sitting down, or in a stationary position, both your shoes and your gall bladder will be shot to the back of the bus; and will insist on telling you exactly why they hate their job, their life, etc. If you have this type of driver, good luck, because you might not make it to your final destination, but will know how thanks to sweet potato fries from New Hampshire the driver is now damned to a life of thankless public transportation.


3. the driver that everyone knows his/her name
Much like Cheers, everyone literally will know this driver's name. Riders may actually cheer as this driver approaches the bus. Personable and charismatic, you will want to get this driver for your ride. Always in a good mood (which may make you suspicious - what drugs are they taking, and how can you get ahold of them?), this driver seems to have no worries and is never irritated by anything or anyone. It almost makes riding the bus an enjoyable experience. 


Next time:
The bus drivers of the eastern seaboard

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

It's a New Month!

I received a fortune cookie on September 12th of this year which stated something like, "Remember this date three months from now". Well, three months obviously hasn't rolled by just yet, but until December 12th, I am going to think of this damn cookie and hope that it's not some cruel joke being played on me by the Fates. Shortly after I received this fortune, I managed to get another that said, "Everything will soon come your way." (And at this point, I realized that apparently I eat a lot of Chinese food.) Really, everything? If we're going to take this literally, then "everything" would include a new job, a book deal, and several other items that include my loans being paid off by a mysterious benefactor, a pancreatic transplant, and oh, what the hell, a puppy - why not? Again, hopefully the term "everything" was being used in a positive sense, and not a negative one, because then the apocalypse would be heading my way as well.


I'm not very fond of November. October I enjoy, and December too, of course, but as for November, I've always been indifferent about it. So boo to you, November. Maybe that book deal is right around the corner.