... Grr. Okay, I had a new post all ready and this thing decides to NOT let me post it, and gives me an error code or something. Rawr!
Someone asked about my Hotmail. Short story: A few years ago I was at a friend's house and was extremely tired. When I get like that, I tend to say stupid stuff because my brain is starting to shut down. While I'm almost near passing out on the couch, she starts dancing around to music only she could hear, so I said "Yeah, you're on that sexy weed, aren't you?" I meant to say "good weed," but sexy came out instead.
The end :^).
- Kat J
Friday, August 3, 2007
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Too early—er, late!
It's 5:46 A.M. Why am I still awake?
And I have to go to work today... rawr. I love my job as a bookseller, but there are some moments when I wish the world would go boom and I could throw my hands up and say "I'M DONE!" No such luck. It's retail, after all. You just have to go with the flow and pray to whatever God you believe in that there isn't any sharp objects around you when you get that one customer who obviously ate a big bowl of duh! that morning.
Perfect example:
Yesterday. Two hours before close. We had a herd of crabby customers which, in turn, made us crabby. I can paste on a fake smile on and act cheerful all day, if need be, and I had been doing that all day. Then this one woman comes in, looks around, HAS BOOKS IN HER HANDS. She walks up to the counter where I was standing and asks me "Do you sell books here?" O.o
I thought she was kidding. I mean, really, you have books in your hand... Wha...? It took having a conversation with her for a few more minutes to realize she was being absolutely serious. I considered her mental state, but she seemed perfectly fine. Maybe slightly ditzy, yes, but we all have our moments. After she left, I glimpsed the stapler to my left and automatically thought about pounding it into my temple. It was just one of those days.
There's another one where this lady brought in her four kids, let them run crazy and pile books up on the bench at the center of the store, or surrounding it on the floor. When she got up to leave I just happened to be shelving something near that area and overheard her say "No, just leave it. That's their job to put them away." >.>
We counted. Thirty-four books she left us. That part didn't really bother me, but her telling the kids—who were trying to help and put the books back—to just leave them there... oh, buddy. I was honestly tempted to somehow weasle my way into her affections, get an invitation to her home, round up a godchild of mine, and completely DESTROY her residence. All just so I could say "No, that's her job to clean it up."
We have a running joke between the workers that the courts would allow us the insanity plea if they only had to work one day there and see how it felt. Ah, the wonderful life of retail.
SLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP. My brain doesn't want to play nice anymore. 6:15 A.M. Ungh.
- Kat J
And I have to go to work today... rawr. I love my job as a bookseller, but there are some moments when I wish the world would go boom and I could throw my hands up and say "I'M DONE!" No such luck. It's retail, after all. You just have to go with the flow and pray to whatever God you believe in that there isn't any sharp objects around you when you get that one customer who obviously ate a big bowl of duh! that morning.
Perfect example:
Yesterday. Two hours before close. We had a herd of crabby customers which, in turn, made us crabby. I can paste on a fake smile on and act cheerful all day, if need be, and I had been doing that all day. Then this one woman comes in, looks around, HAS BOOKS IN HER HANDS. She walks up to the counter where I was standing and asks me "Do you sell books here?" O.o
I thought she was kidding. I mean, really, you have books in your hand... Wha...? It took having a conversation with her for a few more minutes to realize she was being absolutely serious. I considered her mental state, but she seemed perfectly fine. Maybe slightly ditzy, yes, but we all have our moments. After she left, I glimpsed the stapler to my left and automatically thought about pounding it into my temple. It was just one of those days.
There's another one where this lady brought in her four kids, let them run crazy and pile books up on the bench at the center of the store, or surrounding it on the floor. When she got up to leave I just happened to be shelving something near that area and overheard her say "No, just leave it. That's their job to put them away." >.>
We counted. Thirty-four books she left us. That part didn't really bother me, but her telling the kids—who were trying to help and put the books back—to just leave them there... oh, buddy. I was honestly tempted to somehow weasle my way into her affections, get an invitation to her home, round up a godchild of mine, and completely DESTROY her residence. All just so I could say "No, that's her job to clean it up."
We have a running joke between the workers that the courts would allow us the insanity plea if they only had to work one day there and see how it felt. Ah, the wonderful life of retail.
SLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP. My brain doesn't want to play nice anymore. 6:15 A.M. Ungh.
- Kat J
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