11

Nov

No, I Can’t Help You, M’am, My Hands are Full of Broken Glass

I really thought that customers couldn’t reach a new low but they prove time and time again that, yes, they can lower the bar ever lower. There is no limit for debauched customers.

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For example, two days ago, someone pooped on the floor. Actually. Pooped. On. The. Floor. I’m extremely hard to gross out so I got some bleach poured it over the area in question and donned a hazmat-like suit (no, just gloves actually) and cleaned it. It wasn’t the way I wanted to start off my day but you know what, things can’t really get worse after that, can it?

OR SO I THOUGHT.

I’m going about my day, doing my assigned tasks and a coworker tells me that there’s a wine spill. Okay, no problem. Someone breaks a regularly bottle of wine probably once a week. I walk over to the wine department, expecting a small wine puddle but instead see a huge spill and broken glass eeeeverywhere. I saw a couple of customers by the spill but they skittered away once they saw me. Didn’t apologize or anything. That’s fine. Whatever. FOR SHAME, HUMANITY. FOR SHAME.

THEN, as I am very obviously cleaning up a spill (literally, I was in the middle of a sea of wine and glass) and handling broken glass, a customer asked if I could help her. I didn’t even try to veil my absolute disgust at this woman as I turned around and said, “Actually, I can’t help you right now because I’m cleaning up broken glass that I don’t want other people to step on.” She says, “That’s fine, I’ll just ask my question as you work.” She then proceeds to ask an extremely specific, detailed question that I do not have the answer to, so I put down the shattered glass and get a coworker. But really, REALLY? I understand that the customer is important but COME ON, BROKEN/SHATTERED GLASS IS IN MY HANDS, do I really look like I’m in any position to assist you? Unless you are planning on buying broken glass, then I can’t help you.

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Thank goodness for amazing coworkers! They’re all I have in this (retail) world.

– Daughter

11 years ago Short URL Comments

Fail/Humor/Retail Fail

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23

Sep

Driving in LA

This past weekend, I helped a friend move into her apartment in LA. I was mentally unprepared for the concentration and sheer determination it took to complete this task. When we loaded up my (Dad’s) truck, I played a dangerous game of furniture Tetris but managed to stuff four chairs, a desk, and two mattresses in the bed of the pick-up. Then I did some magical knots with bungee cords and secured everything down to a reasonable level of stability.

After the road trips to and from Philly, I felt pretty confident in my packing and bungee-ing ability. And, as far as I know, I didn’t kill anybody with errant, flying furniture so mission accomplished on that front.

However, there were various problems with this driving situation despite the successes.

My two other pals each filled her car with what wouldn’t fit in the truck. We planned a route with the lowest amount of ominous red chunks of traffic and since I could not really see to either side of me or out the back window, we decided on a caravan formation where I would be in the middle.

I don’t know if you’ve tried to keep three cars together on the 405, but it is nigh impossible. And futile. And frustrating. And anxiety-inducing.


Seriously though, even going at disgustingly slow speed, it was hard to annoy other drivers enough to leave our little line of cars. I’m pretty sure most drivers didn’t want to drive behind me anyway because I probably looked like a traffic accident waiting to happen but people loved to cut me off in the front. Which is their right as an American citizen. As an American, it is your right – nay – your duty to annoy and harass other drivers as you feel fit.

I think the most terrifying aspect of the entire ordeal was merging because I was relying on other people’s instincts to move out of the way and sheer luck. I basically kept a pleading look on my face the entire time I was on the road and hoped people understood that I couldn’t see anything. I also put my blinker on and looked to the sides for a full thirty seconds before I took the dive into another lane.

But, let’s be real, nobody cares or cared. They were just trying to go on their merry way and far away from what probably looked to them like a roving furniture store.

 

Alas, I did make it to the apartment in one piece. But not before panicking multiple times and having to give myself a pep talk. You can do this. You’re amazing. You’re in a truck, people respect you. Look how high you are compared to everyone else. You are elevated to the status of Queen and nobody – NOBODY – will take your throne. You will guide your people with a gentle hand but a harsh word. You are the Supreme Ruler of All the Land. 

Unrelated: all of LA hates me.

– Daughter

11 years ago Short URL Comments

Road Trip

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17

Jun

June Bugs Fly into My Face at Night

Ah, summer. Beach, bonfire, and BUGS. AND HUGE BEETLES. June bugs to be exact.

They are particularly horrifying because they are everywhere. Without fail, every year, I forget that these little sh things exist. It’s like, they PUNISH me for forgetting their existence each year. They seem harmless enough at first: small, brown, and rather harmless looking. Until they start flying haphazardly.

They are terrible, terrible air navigators. They fly like they’ve been drinking a lot or just hanging out with Lindsay Lohan. Somebody needs to take away their commercial pilot’s license because people are getting hurt.

Dear God, please no. No. NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!

Dear God, please no. No. NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!

They love to fly into lights because they are attracted to it, much like your average moth. The difference between moths and June bugs, however, is that moths have not been released from the gaping maw of hell in order to inflict evil and chaos upon the world. Sure, they go to light – a universal symbol of good – but I honestly think it’s because they want to smother it and create darkness. They want to kill lightness and the good in the world to live in blackness. This blackness they strive for mirrors their tiny insect hearts – bleakly beating black bug blood (that’s also a line from an Edgar Allan Poe poem*).

Interestingly, besides light, these June bugs are also attracted to my face. I must be unaware of my own holiness and emit my own light because these bugs’ flight paths get very straight and direct when my face is in the vicinity. It must be like a beacon, a lighthouse in the stormy seas of beetle existence. Much like regular electric lights, these June bugs feel the need to smother my light, my goodness… my face.

I didn't choose this life.

I didn’t choose this life.

I notice that they choose to make the most racket and fly toward my face most frequently at night. There is nothing more disgusting than waking up to the rustling of multiple beetle wings. Beetles whom, if given the chance, would like to fly into your face and swarm into an unseemly mass of horrors. And I thought hearing a mosquito buzzing around was bad enough. Nope, June bugs are louder and straight up go to your face intent on disfigurement.

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Luckily, a blanket serves as an impenetrable fortress and allows me to sleep relatively easy. I can fall into REM sleep without worrying about beetles congregating on my epidermis. Thank God. june bug 5– Daughter

*It’s not though.

 

 

 

11 years ago Short URL 1 Comment

Humor

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13

Jun

Dentists are Socially-Sanctioned Torturers

My day started with the horrible realization that I had a dentist appointment. I hate all doctors. Not dislike. Not would-rather-avoid. Hate. And not without reason. There have been multiple instances where doctors lied, misled, or were completely and unforgivably wrong about something that had a huge medical impact on my life. Basically, the doctors I have experienced are like Marvel Comics supervillains. Except worse because they’re real.

*Me coming into doctor’s office with a crooked nose*

Me: “Is my nose broken?”

Doctor: “No, of course not. The x-ray shows nothing. Your nose is fine. Go home.”

— the next day —

“So, this is the doctor’s office. Your cartilage in your septum is torn and you need to have emergency surgery to fix it tomorrow morning or risk breathing obstruction.”

“…okay.”

— the next year —

*Me coming into doctor’s office for excruciating calf and shin pain*

Doctor: “I think that you just have shin splints. Not stress fractures. Shin splints are more painful. It is highly, highly, highly unlikely you have stress fractures. Especially in both shins. That just doesn’t happen. Just suck up the pain, you’re not making it worse by running on it. Take some ibuprofen and just run through the pain. I mean, if you can’t handle it, obviously stop. But mostly just focus on pushing through the pain because it’s just pain.”

— the next day after an MRI —

Doctor: “So, you have double stress fractures in both shins.”

Me: “…okay.”

I guess you could say I have some trust issues with doctors. Dentists, however, have a less horrible reputation in my life. But it doesn’t mean I like them.

Dentist: “How often do you floss?”

Me: “…when I remember.”

Dentist: “Yeah, you need to do that.”

Besides shaming me about my oral hygiene, the dentist also cleaned my teeth. Teeth cleaning is a  nice, harmless idea in its conceptual form but in reality, it’s one of the worst things to happen in and around my face (besides breaking my nose). Seriously, those little pointy things are the worst. My entire body tenses up when they clean my teeth. “Scritch. Scratch. SCRAAAAAPE.” Dear God, it makes me want to rip all the teeth out of my mouth and call it a day. Ugh. *shudders*

Can’t I just brush my teeth and floss once a year? Isn’t that enough? Why do I allow this masked torturer to relentless assault my teeth with miniature knives?

On top of the fact that the dentist lady was displeased with my flossing frequency, she also said that one of my wisdom teeth – which is currently wedging its way out of my gums like a desperately single girl shoving her way to the bridal bouquet cake –  is probably going to have to come out. It is also inconveniently sitting rather close to a large nerve making it more complicated to eventually remove. Stupid teeth.

Who needs teeth, anyway?

I can live on juiced vegetables and smoothies. Chewing is so overrated.

– Daughter

11 years ago Short URL 3 Comments

Humor

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