Awwwww......What Day Is It?

Autumn is in the air.

It is mid-August currently, and the college shoppers are in stores by the drove. You can smell the money, and boy does it smell good! I love this time of year. I love talking to parents and letting them know that allowing their young to spread their wings and fly will be much more satisfying if they spend lots on money on creature comforts for them that they really don't need. Some of the people that spend the most money are those parents who are sending their eldest child off to college for the first time. They will shell out dollar after dollar to make sure little junior sonofabitch has a comfy nights sleep. Too many people spend way too much money on a kid heading to college. And too many of these kids are ungrateful. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure there are plenty who know what a struggle it is for their folks to provide for their needs, but way too many could give a fuck if Mom and Dad are down to their last nickel so that they can have a new electric blanket in case it gets chilly in the dorm.
Now, I don't like to think I'm biased. In fact, I like to think that I take everyone's money equally. But nothing will pain me more than some kid who just got accepted into Wattsamatta U and thinks that they are better than everyone around them including their parents. They look down their nose at everyone and everything as their parents spend and spend trying to please them and make sure they are just as comfortable as they were in the womb. Too many of these kids strut through the store dressed as hipsters with their clear glasses and t-shirt with two penguins in front of the Eiffel Tower.

"It's ironic, you know, because penguins can't speak French. I listen to Morrissey. I cut myself when I get unhappy because it makes other people unhappy. People don't get me."

Fuck yeah, people don't get you! You know why? Because you're an ungrateful, little turd. Congratulations, you got into college. Good luck getting out! I know I sound like a miserable, old bastard. Okay, I AM a miserable, old bastard, but Christ Almighty, it bothers me. Show a little appreciation for what's happening to you. Like I said, many are, and good for them, they should be, but for those who aren't, listen up. I hurts me to look at some of these kids and act excited for them so that their parents are not deeply embarrassed when they can't even bother to look in my direction when I say "congratulations" to them.

Me: "Congratulations! What are you going to be studying?"As he stares at the ground.

Him: "Liberal Arts."Mom is smiling ever so proudly.

Me: "Well, that should be fun." Nothing like going to High School twice.

Better pay attention during the next four years, because it might pay off and land you a cushy $9 an hour job. Some of these first year students think they have been handed the keys to the kingdom and all that's in it. They just know they're better than the rest of us commoners. You know what, you're not. And don't look down your nose at me because I work in retail, pal. I get paid quite well to put up with morons like you.

Me: "So, what are you going to study?"

Him: "Law." Great, just what the world needs.

Me: "Very good, what kind of law are..."He cuts me off rather quickly to say the following

Him: "I'm going to major in philosophy because all I need is an undergrad to get into law school. Like, no one really cares what its in so like who cares? I figure I'll just get an undergrad and then law school, okay?"

Me: "I'm sorry, I was just interested in what kid of law you were going to study." But not really.

Him: "Oh, trial law. I've already tooken some classes this summer." TOOKEN??!!

And, while I'm on it, let me just prove how old I am by ranting about what these girls are wearing. Who the fuck decided belly shirts and yoga pants were a great combination? Or better yet, spandex boy shorts so tight you can take a pulse by watching her pockets. Any parent who lets there kid leave the house looking like that should have their parenting license revoked. These girls may think they look hot but they are an accident waiting happen. I was a young man once, and I know how young men think. I know how all men think. But, please Jesus, teach your daughter how to dress. I know you can't watch her all the time, but do your due diligence and go through her closet once in a while. If she has a pair of stretch pants that says: juicy, hottie or pink across the ass..THROW IT AWAY. When she leaves the house for good she can make her own decisions. For now, step in and let her know that shit is not ok. You might as well have "cum dumpster" written across there. At least there wouldn't be any questions. seriously, who thinks this is alright? Maybe I'm just a grumpy, old curmudgeon but I don't like it. And, if you are going to wear pants that say PINK on them, shouldn't that be written on the front? Maybe you'll learn that in college too.

By the way, the camel called...he want's his toe back.

Ghosts of Retail Past

I've been in retail a long time.

I've worked in all kinds of places. I've sold all kinds of items. I've dealt with all kinds of people. I've heard all kinds of stories. I've made many people happy. I've made even more unhappy. I've been in retail a long time.
I know I complain a lot. A real lot. Hey, that's who I am. But recently, I have begun to realize that I am at the middle point of my life. Halfway to dead, I suppose. It has occurred to me that I have really enjoyed what I do. It has been a long and arduous ride, but I have really enjoyed it. One of the best things about this business is all the people I have met and worked with over the years. Some great, and some not so much. All of them have left a permanent mark on my brain. The multitudes of people I have known cannot be described in words. One was best man at my wedding, one is my best friend, one took too many No-Doze and almost OD'd in my bathroom, and one I had arrested for stealing a Twinkie. Yep, all kinds of people. And I have learned something from each of them.
One of the first jobs I had in this industry was working inside a freezer. Inside. I stocked the product that was in he windows for all the good people to buy. It was cold in there as you can imagine, but I was young and stupid and just needed a job, so I did it and didn't complain. That was the first step in this long walk to where I am today. The guy who taught me all about how to do that job was crazy as a bed bug. Probably from all the freon. He had worked inside the freezer since Christ was nailed to the cross and it had permanently affected his stability. What did I learn from him? Get out of the freezer.
So, I learned how to drive a forklift. This not only gave me mobility, but and extra 75 cents an hour. Plus, I was out of the freezer. I would drop product for other workers to put out, and receive trucks from time to time. It put me in touch with a goof who worked in the seasonal shop, setting up displays for Christmas, Halloween, Summer, you name it. We became life long friends and he would end up being the best man at my wedding. It also brought me some notoriety that I was very good at what I did. I was groomed by my store manager and, eventually, he promoted me to manager of a department. Good guy. Recognizing hard work from a young, over-achiever with a type-A personality. What did I learn from him? That I should have run when I had the chance.
It was at this job that I got my first opportunity to manage people. Up until then, I had only managed processes. Oh, how different those things are! We worked overnight and there was a standing rule that when we needed people for the job, we would interview them at night. Makes sense. If you show up for an interview at 3AM then you will probably show up for the job. I was young and had not learned much about interviewing (my skills have since improved dramatically). This was before I knew how to ask open-ended questions. So, I get this guy who said very little, gave one-word answers of "yes" or "no" and made little eye contact. His application had a huge, eight year gap between jobs, and no references. So, frustrated that I can't get him to answer questions, I decided to be glib.

Me: "You don't say much?"

Him: "Nope."

Me: "You were out of work for quite awhile there..." maybe he'll tell me something here

Him: "Yup." Okay, lets try and be funny.

Me: "You know, I know they say you guys have to have a job when you get out of jail, but do they have to send you all to me?" This should get a chuckle and maybe then he'll start talking.

Him: "Well, my parole officer thought working at night would keep me out of trouble." Oh...not the answer I was expecting.

What did I learn from that guy? Learn how to give an interview.

Maybe I have an axe to grind. The phrase having "an axe to grind" comes to us from Appalachia. The Scots-Irish settlers in that area needed to clear lots of trees so that they could successfully farm. Therefore, you needed an axe sharp enough for the job. It also provided a great weapon. Hence, if you were in a quarrel with Seamus McFerguson, it might end with him going home to sharpen his axe so he can bury it in your skull. Your fear is that he doesn't fly off the handle. To "fly off the handle" is another axe-related phrase. When Seamus raised his axe over his head (as he prepared to brain you) and it wasn't secured properly, the axe head would dislodge leaving him with a stick and providing you with means of escape. Perhaps you and Seamus could bury the hatchet. This phrase comes to us from the figurative or literal practice of putting away the tomahawk at the end of hostilities by Native Americans in the Eastern United States and is an Iroquois custom in general. Weapons were to be buried in time of peace. Knowing lots of Scots-Irish, I think Seamus would rather bury it in your skull. As long as he doesn't go off half-cocked. God A.D.D. is a tough mistress.
Anyway, after that introduction to management, I have been there ever since. I have kicked around to 8 different retailers in my 20 year journey. All of those stops being in management. I have sold millions of different items. I have hired and fired multitudes of people. I have honed my skillset and learned every step of the way, and I am sure the next 20 years will be just as interesting. What have I learned from all this? One simple thing...

My God, I'm old.

She’s right, you’re wrong, and you’re sorry

Recently, my best friend got married. As a rule, I am not a fan of weddings. Hell, I didn't even want to go to my own. This one was different. Her wedding was beautiful and very non-traditional. It was held outdoors next to a lake with all her friends and family in very casual attire. It was such a difference from what we are so accustomed to and a very welcome change.
However, it got me to thinking about all the traditional wedding customs we know. Its another night where sleep eludes me (surprise, surprise), so I did some research. Now, I know what you're thinking, this motherfucker is going to rattle off everything he found out about weddings and make smarmy comments about them and probably some play on words and maybe even what a certain group of animals is called! Well, you're right. So if that's you stop reading now and go back to whatever it is you were doing. But before you go, please click on an advertiser and help me make a few bucks. C'mon, there's a Starbucks ad over there...everybody likes Starbucks.
Back in the day, marriage meant very little about true love and much more about gaining property and producing legitimate offspring. Too many bastards back then, I guess. The common phrase "lucky bastard" is a very colloquial Australian phrase. Meant as a term of endearment, it is an oxymoron at best. After all, we all know what a bastard is by definition, and that's not very lucky. But marriage was important because if you were a bastard you had no way to claim your father's property when the time came. Guess that made you an unlucky bastard, eventually making you a poor bastard. Ancient Greek fathers used to "pledge their daughter for the purpose of producing a legitimate offspring." However, married Greek men were free to satisfy their sexual urges with concubines and prostitutes, while their wives were required to stay home and tend to the household. If wives failed to produce offspring, their husbands could give them back and marry someone else. Imagine that?

"Hey, Mr. Popadopolus? Yeah, thanks for your daughter, but I'm kinda done playing with this toy. I think its broken. So, yeah, you can have her back."

The Anglo-Saxons brought more traditions to marriage. Lets start with the best man. We like to think of the best man as being the closest, male friend the groom has. A tried and trusted colleague who will stand by you through thick and thin. The phrase "through thick and thin" is one of the English language's older expressions. It is probably dates from the times when England was still a predominantly wooded country, with few roads and where animals grazed on what was mixed grass and forest. The phrase originated as "through thicket and thin wood", which was a straightforward literal description of any determined progress through the "thick" English countryside. I only mention it because the Anglo-Saxons were the early Englishmen and they should know. Back in those days, men sometimes captured women to make them their brides. A man would take along his strongest and most trusted friend to help him fight resistance from the woman's family. This friend, therefore, was considered the best man among his friends. It was also not uncommon for the bride's family and even former suitors to make a run at the bride to try and take her back. In Anglo-Saxon England, the best man accompanied the groom up the aisle to help defend the bride. The best man would stand on the right of the grooms, the bride would stand to the left of her groom so that his sword arm was free as well as his best man's.

"Watch out Harry, bride's uncle on your left!"
"I got him Walter, now get the ring and let's get the hell outta here!"

Wonder if they had time to hit the strip club beforehand?

Okay, but what about the bridesmaids? The bridal party is a tradition that has been established for many centuries. For a long time the purpose of the bridal party was to fool evil spirits. The bride's friends dressed similarly to her in order to confuse any spirits that might be lurking about. Today bridesmaids are there to support the bride in the stressful times during the wedding.

"Oh my God, I am sooooo fake happy for her."

And to make sure everyone was happy, the bride would toss her bouquet to the women in the crowd. The bride carries a bouquet as a symbol of fertility (remember, we don't want any bastards) which comes down to us today. Early bouquets were herbs and later orange blossoms. So why toss it away? Well, it all goes back to an earlier tradition that we don't use anymore. In the olden days, women at the wedding used to tear off pieces of the bride's dress (oh, there's the strip club part) in hopes that it would bring them luck. It sometimes turned violent and the groom and best man would have to step in a defend her. Although, I've seem some of these women at weddings. If I was a best man, I might hit the bar at that time. But at this point in the wedding, they were both probably drunk so the bride had to defend herself. To do so, she would throw the bouquet away from the onslaught of angry bitches trying to rip her dress apart. They would all flock to grab the bouquet and she would make her escape. Can you picture that today?

"Bitch! I paid $900 for this dress! Here, take these fuckin' flowers and go away! I don't even like oranges."

Anyway, those were some of the oddball things I learned. There were lots more, but these were the most intriguing to me. I think we should bring back some of these old traditions. Seeing a bunch of women trying to rip off the brides dress would be nothing short of hilarious. A fight breaking out between the groom and an old boyfriend would be amazing. And seeing a bridesmaid getting rip-roaring drunk and trying to...wait that still goes on today. I do like the one about tossing the bouquet. A bouquet is a group of pheasants. More than likely named because of their bright plumage. Good thing the bride tosses the bouquet at the reception and not the ceremony. Because then she'd have to toss it to the congregation. A congregation is a group of alligators...

Told you I'd get there...

Never Odd or Even

Words are fun.

They are also very important. Words help you say what you mean and if you don't say what you mean, you will never mean what you say. I like words. I like all kinds of words, especially palindromes. A palindrome is a word or phrase that reads the same in both directions. Eye. Bob. Racecar. Let's try something harder: Do geese see God? How about: Rise to vote, sir. Yes, palindromes are fun. You know what else is fun? An oxymoron. An oxymoron a figure of speech by which a locution produces an incongruous, seemingly self-contradictory effect, as in "cruel kindness" or "to make haste slowly." You might want to say you like oxymorons too, but the plural of oxymoron is oxymora. Like I said, I like words. Some great examples of an oxymoron: jumbo shrimp, new and improved, clearly misunderstood. But I would like to relate my most favorite oxymoron of all. It is an adverb for a chain of restaurants that does not live up to it's name:

Friendly's Restaurant


Originally hailing from Springfield, Massachusetts in 1935, Friendly's was a good, family restaurant that served great ice cream. The following is taken from their website:

For over 70 years, we've built a place that brings you a friendly staff, reasonable prices, and a thousand sweet ways to end your day. That's why we truly are the one place Where Ice Cream Makes The Meal®.

LIARS! Now, I can't account for every Friendly's out there, that would just be presumptuous. But what I can tell you is that I have had some terrible experiences in a Friendly's. Sure, they have good ice cream, but I could run down to my local supermarket (as long as a certain cashier isn't having a bad day)and pick up a gallon of ice cream and eat it on the couch. You go to a restaurant so that you don't have to cook, or scoop your own ice cream, or clean up after yourself. However, when you go to a Friendly's you can't always count on having that experience. The last Friendly's I was a sorry patron in greeted me with a ten minute wait to be seated, even though there were eight empty booths. Several members of the waitstaff are talking in low voices trying to decide who will seat us. Seriously, four of them standing there doing nothing. Finally we sit down. The table is sticky. Guess none out of the four could have wiped down the table. The waitress made it over to us and took our drink order. That took a while, but hey, maybe it's busy tonight, who am I to judge. We ordered our food and waited. And waited. And waited. Now, they have this thing called, "build your own burger." As a fat guy, I can't resist. So I ordered the burger with blue cheese, bacon and buffalo sauce on top. Most burger fans can tell you that if you order a sauce for a burger it should go on top of the burger so that it can slowly ooze down over the creation and allow the meat to soak up it's buffalo goodness. Mmmmmmm...buffalo sauce. Sorry about that, just had a fat guy cut away moment. Back to friendly's. Oh yeah, the food comes to the table. On my burger: bacon, no blue cheese and buffalo sauce on the side. The only thing missing was a comment of:

"Here's your burger. Some assembly required."

So let's sum up so far. Twenty minutes to get drinks. Another twenty-five for the food. Meanwhile little Johnny sonofabitch is screaming at the top of his lungs while his parents ignore him. Another kid will not stop kicking my booth. And the waitress across from us is more interested in showing off her ass than taking orders. My waitress had two speeds slow and stop and she got stuck in stop. Other than that my food order was wrong. How do you forget the toppings when I only asked for three? I know there's really nothing they can do about the patronage. But they can live up to the expectation of good service and food that makes you smile. If I wanted to put it all together myself I would've stayed home. But, for Christsake, get it to me reasonably quickly.
Onto the ice cream part of the meal. Where ice cream makes the meal. That's the slogan. Okay, lets get a three topping sundae, chocolate ice cream, with peanut butter sauce, oreos and butterfingers. I know what you're thinking, but, no, it didn't come out wrong. It did, however, take a good fifteen minutes to get to my table. Not once did I get an apology or even an explanation for the wait time. Please don't keep me waiting, I don't like it, especially when I am paying you.

"Is there anything else I can get you?"

Yeah, how about the last hour of my life back. Oh, or was that your cue for me to leave you a tip. Here's a tip: DO A BETTER JOB! I understand that being a waitress is a tough job, but there are lots of tough jobs out there. I looked down at my bill. The bottom of my check says: "We want to hear from you." I don't think they want to hear from me. You know what they don't listen to...the ineffective management and sub-par waitstaff in all of their locations. "Where ice cream makes the meal" Well it better, because it sure ain't the fucking service. If you're going to have a slogan, please make it mean something. Every time I go to Friendly's the level of service is equal a slogan of: "Here's you ice cream...eat it and get out!" I think I have their next slogan:

"Welcome to Friendly's. Please enjoy the mediocrity."


Ok, the Jubilee roll is pretty bangin'

Is there tax on lottery tickets?

Well, it's almost that time of year again. A time when we as retailers love what we do for a living. A time for wallets to empty and stuff our coffers. A time when even the stupidest question is answered with a smile because we know you're going to drop a chunk of change. A time where every person feels a certain sense of entitlement and satisfaction that they can stick it to the man.
No, not Christmas.
Not back to school time either.

Tax free weekend.

For those of you unfamiliar with this great and glorious time, allow me to educate you. Here in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts (as well as several other, glorious states) state sales tax is lifted in order to jump start the economy. All single, tangible items costing less than $2,500 and purchased for personal use are eligible under the tax-free promotion. However, like all good things, there are a few catches. Any items purchased by corporations over the weekend for business use remain taxable items. Alcoholic beverages fall under the tax-free exemption, but all sales of motor vehicles, boats, meals, gas, and tobacco products do not. Now you may be saying to yourself "Who cares?" I do. Before the weekend hits, my store is usually a ghost town. It's a great time to catch up on a lot of work. People are just waiting for me to open the store on Saturday morning so they can start shopping. It's almost like the beginning of the marathon. I feel like I should be standing at the front door, looking at my watch and holding a starting pistol in the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen, start your carriages!"

That'd be sweet. But the people who are in the store that week typically don't buy anything. They just window shop and ask lots of questions. You see, in the week leading up to the tax holiday, I will be hit with so many senseless and imbecilic questions, all I can do is smile. In Massachusetts, the state sales tax is 6.25%. It used to be 5%. For some reason, many people can't seem to add that extra 1.25% and figure out how much tax money they will be saving. I try to tell people its easy: you save $6.25 for every hundred you spend. Simple, right? No. And when people ask me how much they are going to save this weekend I can give them that simple answer:

Him: "How much will I save on this item?"

Me: "Well, its $149.99 so you'll save $6.25, plus another $3 and some change, so about $9.50."

Now I just did some simple math to arrive at my answer but this guy looked at me like I was fuckin' rain man. Definitely $9.50, definitely $9.50

Him: "Are you sure?" No pal I just made the numbers up.

Me: "Yes, sir. You know roughly $9.50, it will actually be a little less than that I just rounded it off." If you want I can get my abacus and we can do it again.

Him: "Shouldn't it be more than that?" Would someone get my abacus please.

Me: "You'd think so, but that's what you're going to save."

Him: "Well, better in my pocket than theirs!" You betcha, and better to have your $149.99 in my pocket than yours!"

But I don't judge. Not everyone has a mind for numbers. But, like that guy, everyone likes sticking it to the government. Even though their potential is limited. Now, if you really wanted to make a splash you'd make a bunch of small purchases under $2500. You see, because the tax-free exception relates to single items, you will not be taxed on the overall sum of your purchases. Therefore, if you buy a TV for $2,400, a receiver for $800, and a new cell phone for $199, you will still pay no tax over the weekend. Sales tax on $2400 would be $150. Now that's a substantial savings. However, the average person isn't going to make a bunch of big purchases. In fact, the average dollar amount spent is roughly $300 per shopper over the course of the weekend. That's $18.75 per person. Not even twenty bucks!
Taxes are nothing new. But when this time of year rolls around everyone seems to check their brain at the door and forgets what taxable and what isn't. People get so confused. Take a few examples. Sales of food for human consumption (not pet food, sorry Fido - pay your taxes), other than meals sold by a restaurant, generally are tax-exempt. Sales of individual items of clothing costing $175 or less also generally are exempt. Sales tax is due only on the amount over $175 per item. Good thing that doesn't apply to food, that'd be one wicked big lobster! But still I will hear: "Is there tax on this?" Because it's easier to ask me than to know it for yourself. And when I have to say, "yes", it's also easy to get pissed at me like I just kicked you in the nuts.
But the real fun comes after the weekend has occurred. That's when you get a ton of people coming in thinking they can still pay no taxes because they couldn't make it in over the weekend. This is the time when people can do math in their heads like a savant. And their stories are priceless.

Her: "But I couldn't come in this weekend so couldn't you just give me no taxes now?"

Me: "Unfortunately, ma'am, the tax holiday has ended and we can no longer lift the sales tax."

Her: "Come on, it's only $3.75. I had to go to a funeral this weekend." Wow, two day funeral...bummer.

Me: "I'm sorry ma'am, but the regulation is pretty strict. The government expects me to pay those taxes so I have to collect them from your purchase. There's not much I can do."

Her: "Oh you can, you just don't want to!" Ding!Ding!Ding! Now you're getting it!

It is unfortunate when someone misses out on a deal, but rules are rules. And, if I lift them for her, I have to lift them for everyone. Pretty soon it will be total anarchy. Left is up, black is right, the shoe is on the other glove, dogs and cats living together...mass hysteria! She should actually feel lucky. Rhode Island does not have a tax free weekend. Neither does Vermont or Maine...

Don't tell her about New Hampshire.

Charlie the Weatherman

I am sick of the heat.

More specifically, I am sick of people who complain about the heat.

Even more specifically, I am sick of people that make stupid comments about the heat like that's going to help anything.

Recently, we have had a heat wave here in New England, and I have had enough. Now, I understand that it is childish to think that something can be done about the heat. I also understand that everyone talking about it doesn't change that fact that it's hot as fuck out there. I am told it was much cooler back in the '30s. Although old people don't complain as much because they're usually cold anyway. About every third person who comes into my store will inform me how lucky I am to be in here working. You know, lucky to be drenched in sweat from humping merchandise up and down a ladder, but at least I'm not outside. I guess that's true. It's not like I'm laying hot tar in the noon day sun, but I'm still hot and sweaty. People forget that you can get used to the air conditioning. And, yes, I'm not outside, but I am still at work, and it is painful to think that I'm lucky I have to work today. Don't get me wrong, I am very happy to have a job and I am glad I earn a living. I just don't want to be reminded of how lucky I am to be here today. It's not like I couldn't think of doing something else. Still, it's better than hearing:

"Hot enough for ya?"

No, motherfucker, I was hoping it got just a little warmer out there, I was hoping to split the atom in my parking lot today. Still, there are some people who revel in the fact that you can fry an egg on the dashboard of your car. Let's start with my favorite - the TV news people. In particular, Charlie the weatherman. Now Charlie is a composite, fictional character who represents all the meteorologists (men and women) on the news who only have to be right 30% of the time. I hate Charlie. I wish I only had to be right 30% of the time. Imagine being able to go to your boss and say you only got the monthly sales figures 30% right and hear "great job"? No, you'd be sitting in a disciplinary meeting and wishing you had studied meteorology instead of business. Charlie is aided and abetted by the anchor people who think the weather is just hilarious. What the fuck are you laughing about? They lead out of a tragic news story then look into the camera because we're about to cut to the weather, crack a smile, a small chuckle, and say something like,

"Well, its sure is hot out there today Charlie."

No fucking kidding! Did you learn that in journalism class? Just cut to the weather, don't make a comment, don't try to be glib, just tell us the weather! Or how about when they, jokingly, blame Charlie for the heat?

"Boy Charlie, you sure did give us a hot one today."

Like he turned up the thermostat. We don't care that you're all a big happy family sitting there in your temperature-controlled environment where your minions fetch you an Iced Soy Mocha Double Half-Caff when you snap your fingers! Were sweating balls out here! The other day, it hit 94 degrees outside. The teaser forecast came on with this line:

"Some relief from the heat. I'll tell you more at 11."

Finally, some relief. I tuned in like everyone else hoping to hear that the heat wave had ended. The news was less than stellar. Although my hopes were high, and the teaser was true that it was not going to be 94 again, I was hit with this pisser-offer:

"No more 90 degree weather, we should see a low tomorrow of 89."

A LOW! Which means there could be a high much higher than 89. Fuck you, Charlie, you double-talking bastard! How dare you get my hopes up. I would have kicked the TV in if it weren't so hot. You just got lucky pal. Which leads me to the conclusion of my rejoinder. I wrote this today because we are finally starting to see a break in the heat. Today I was able to shut off my air conditioner and open a window without fear of suffocating from the onslaught of heat pouring in. Of course someone at the electric company cried a little, but that is for another day. I poured my morning coffee feeling not so terrible and turned on the news. There were the weekend people, telling horrible news stories of tragedy and then chuckling as they headed over to the weather. Charlie smiled and looked into the camera to tell us that the heat had, indeed, come down today. But then, ever so suddenly, his smile went away. He looked strongly at the camera. A stern look overcame his face. I knew he was talking to me when he said:

"But will it last?"

I hate you Charlie.

Do you work here?

Retail is a strange animal. It brings together a multitude of people from a varied background and mixes them together like a bartender making a martini. And I'm not talking about the employees. That's another story for another time. No I mean the patrons. Rich poor, middle class, doesn't matter. All these people will come to your store with the same notion in mind: I need something. And, rich, poor, middle class, doesn't matter, they all will ask you the same question when they meet you: "Do you work here?" Not all of them, mind you, but enough so that we've all heard it forty-two times a week. Now, we want to be civil and we understand that you don't know the varied and complex working of why we would wear a cheap piece of plastic with our name scrawled across it. No, that's not an accessory or one of my thirty-seven pieces of flair. It is a nametag and it clearly identifies me as an employee of the store. The following are some of the things I have always thought about saying when confronted with that question.

Customer: "Do you work here?"

1. No, I just like saying "Hi" to everyone as they come through the door.
2. Work is such a general word.
3. Yes, but I'm headed to lunch so take your question to someone else.
4. Not anymore, I just got fired.
5. Yes, but I'm only authorized to answer three questions a day so choose the next two carefully.
6. No, I just want to make sure everyone knows my name, that's why I were this nametag.
7. Here, no, I work over there.
8. Well they pay me but...
9. What tipped you off? Was it the nametag and fake smile?
10.Sure, why not?


Of course, I would never say anything like that to anyone. All I ask is for a little respect and courtesy when you want to ask your question. I'll take "Do you work here?" Over just walking up to me and saying the item you want. Because that might get this response:

Customer: "Paper plates?"
Me: "Paper plates is actually my brother, we do look alike, though."

And please don't tell me your life story. I know you're old and lonely and no one listens to you anymore but don't tell it to me. I don't care and it is not going to make the item magically appear if you just keep talking after I told you we don't have it anymore. Face it, time continued it's journey even though you refuse to admit it. Telling me, "I've always gotten it here." along wit a disgusted tone isn't going to change things. I don't have Bon Ami, I'm sorry, it wasn't my fault the company doesn't stock it anymore. Maybe when my name is up there in neon you can come in and we can try and bring back some of the classics like Frankenberry, wooden tennis rackets and lead-based toys with smaller removable choking hazards. I'll close with this:

Her: "Do you work here?"

Me: "Yes miss, I do."

Her: "I'm looking for a product you used to sell but I can't find it."

Me: "What is it?" I know I'm going to regret this

Her: "I used to get it here all the time but I can't find it now."

Me: "What is it?" Because I can't help you if you don't tell me

Her: "You used to have it right in the middle of the aisle. It was always right there."

Me: "You have to tell me what it is." Clearly we moved it when we saw you come in

Her: "You know, it's that thing that's used to clean things. It's yellow, or it might have been blue. Anyway you used to have it."


You can't make this up....

I'll sleep when I'm dead

I can't sleep a wink tonight. I was going to try and catch forty winks but I'd settle for one. The phrase "to catch forty winks" means to take a short nap or simply get some sleep. A person that didn't sleep a wink is someone who got almost no sleep at all, and to catch 40 winks is to catch a very brief but refreshing nap. The number 40 has a wide range of citations in the Bible and may have some application to this expression. The rains (in Noah's day) fell for 40 days and nights (Genesis 7:4).Israel ate Manna for 40 years (Exodus 16:35). Moses was with God in the mount, 40 days and nights (Exodus 24:18). Moses was again with God 40 days and 40 nights (Exodus 34:28). Moses led Israel from Egypt at age 80 (2 times 40), and after 40 years in the wilderness, died at 120 (3 times 40; Deuteronomy 34:7). The spies searched the land of Canaan for 40 days (Numbers 13:25). Therefore, God made Israel wander for 40 years (Numbers 14:33-34). 40 stripes was the maximum whipping penalty (Deuteronomy 25:3). God allowed the land to rest for 40 years (Judges 3:11). Solomon reigned same length as his father; 40 years (1 Kings 11:42). Elijah had one meal that gave him strength 40 days (1 Kings 19:8). Jesus fasted 40 days and nights (Matthew 4:2). Jesus was tempted 40 days (Luke 4:2, Mark 1:13). Jesus remained on earth 40 days after resurrection (Acts 1:3). Right now you're thinking motherfucker! how's he know all this? I don't. I looked it up. Like I said, I can't sleep. Maybe just a cat nap would help. We use this phrase today to refer to a short nap, the idea coming from the fact that cats appear to sleep most of the day, but generally not for long periods of time. The phrase actually originates from thieves' cant, and referred to a practice of feigning sleep to allay suspicion. The practice was generally done on stagecoaches: the thief would pretend to fall asleep, which would cause the target to feel it was safe to do so as well. Once the target was actually asleep, the thief would remove whatever items of value he desired from the target and then get off the coach at the next stop. By the time the target awoke to find he had been robbed, the thief was generally long gone. The practice got its name from the action of cats (I like cats), which occasionally pretend sleep to lure out prey. At least that guy got some rest. I'll just try to sleep tight. Before the days of mattresses, beds were square frames elevated from the ground, with ropes tied across in a sort of weave. Anyway, in order to sleep well, the "mattress" couldn't sag, so the bed had to be "tight". I won't get in to not letting the bed bugs bite. That would be more appropriate if I was gong to hit the sack. Before the "invention" of the modern bed, mattresses where sacks stuffed with hay, therefore you had to "hit the sack" to make sure you had no bugs or other critters trying to make a home in your bed. I suppose you could hit the hay also. Maybe then I could sleep like a log. I would like to sleep like a baby, but if you consider that babies usually wake up crying in the middle of the night I would prefer to sleep like a log. At least the log won't cry. But let's just keep that between you, me and the bedpost. I suppose I could try counting sheep. A group of sheep is called a flock. I need to count a lot of sheep. A large group of sheep is called a mob. Maybe I could count a mob. That would be a riot.

I still can't sleep

Can I take your order?

I have lost all sympathy for anyone who orders fast food. Not the fact that it can be unhealthy or that sort of thing. Its the lack of structure in the format. We set ourselves up for the torture which is about to ensue us. Some are good, but on a recent trip to one place I noticed several things askew that set a fast food restaurant apart from any other place in the known universe. First, its midday and time for lunch. Like most people I am on a half hour lunch break. Since there were 37 cars in line at the drive-thru I decide to order inside. Big mistake. Although I see no less than four cash registers, there is only one girl barely seventeen working there. Mind you, there are 264 of us standing in line. You'd think they would open another register. Nope. But, much to my chagrin, I count 11 people walking back and forth behind the counter. Now, there is one person working the drive-thru, two people filling orders, and four people making food. By my count, there could be three more people to open the other registers. Nope. Just keep everyone here waiting. Well, ok, the line is moving quickly. In front of me is a man of about 117 years old. As he approaches the register, he looks up at the menu to decide what he wants to order. Motherfucker! There were 262 people in front of you and you are deciding now! To make matters worse, he looks at the menu on the left to make his decision. Nothing there seems to peak his interest. So he decides to look at the menu on the right. Have you ever seen anyone do this? Like there are two different menus! ASSHOLE! ITS THE SAME MENU ON BOTH SIDES! After thinking it over for what seems like 125 years, he places his order.

"I'll have a cheeseburger with no pickles and no onions and a coffee please."

Ah, the old person lunch. A hot sandwich and a hot cup of coffee. I'm told it was much cooler back in the 30s so I suppose he needs to warm up (anyone, anyone). So he pays and steps to the side. Finally, my turn. Just then one of the available three opens the register next to me. You know, because there is one person left in line behind me and we can't make her wait. They bring the food for the old man man as I begin to place my order.

Me: "I'd like..."

Him: "Excuse me, this isn't what I ordered."

Girl: "I'm sorry sir, what did you order?" (really, you don't remember)

Him: "I wanted a cheeseburger."

Her: "That is a cheeseburger sir." (yeah, motherfucker, now take your cheeseburger and go!)

Him: "No, I asked for no pickles and no onions. This has pickles on it." (Take the pickles off, you'll live and if you die, I can finally get my food)

Her: "I'm sorry sir, I'll have another one made for you." (finally, my turn again)

Me: "I'd like a..."

Him: "Excuse me, miss, did I order a pie? I wanted a pie." (MOTHERFUCKER!)

Her: "I can get one for you sir after I take this gentleman's order." (good girl)

Me: (rapidly) "I'd like a number four and a coke to go." (take that old man)

Her: "I'm sorry, it's going to be a five to seven minute wait on the chicken." (of course it is)

So, the line is gone. Old man sonofabitch has his old man lunch. And, after five to seven minutes, I get my food. I take my food to my car so I can eat it on the ride back to work wondering if the drive-thru line would have been any better. It surely couldn't have been any worse. Outside, there is a guy hosing down the pavement. Another guy is bringing trash to a dumpster. And a girl, obviously on her break, is smoking and chatting on the phone. Three more people that could've helped out in there. I walked away unhappy. Not with them but with myself. Like I said, we subject ourselves to this. And, as I got in my car, one thought kept gnawing at me....

...did I order a pie? I wanted a pie.

How can I direct your call?

One thing that will never cease to amaze me in retail is the number of phone calls I receive both before opening and after closing. Over 95% of these calls can be broken down into two categories: "What time do you open?" and "What time do you close?" Now this may seem trite to those of you who are not in the retail industry, but to those of us who are, this is a very real epidemic. Now, I wouldn't mind giving a simple answer to a simple question, but, once again, people feel the need to talk to you when they have you on the phone. Not satisfied with a time, and unlike cats, they must fill the awkward silence because they just don't understand that I don't want to hear what they have to say. Granted, if you have a legitimate question like "Do you have..." I'm happy to oblige. It's the inane ramblings that go along with the time question. We can break this down into two scenarios: the opening question and the closing question.

Many people do not understand that opening or closing a major retail center is nothing like they have seen on TV. There is a lot that goes into it. There is the counting of money, the prepping of cash drawers, morning reports about the previous day's sales, closing reports about the current day's sales, payroll, working freight, receiving new freight, signing, pricing, etc., etc., etc. However, there is a large number of people who think that opening a store is as simple as changing the "closed" sign to "open". VIOLA! we're open! In retail, a day will start at 7am or earlier. Many times, I have worked in a store at 5am. The phone will ring and I will answer with the proper phone etiquette. Then the opening question comes:

Her: "Oh, you're open already?"

Me: "No, ma'am, we open at 9." (mind you, it's 5:17am)

Her: "Then why are you there now?" (I'm preparing to shoot myself for answering the phone)

Me: "Well, there's a lot to do before we open. What can I help you with?"

Her: "Well, I was looking for a product you sell." (sure, what else would you be doing at 5am)

Me: "What item was it?"

Her: "You're not open now?" (no, we're still closed)

Me: "No, ma'am, we open at 9. What item was it?"

Her: "Well, I needed it right away. What time do you open?"

Me: "We open at 9. What item is it?" (like I really care at this point)

Her: "You open at 9 in the morning?" (no, at night. it's a new thing we're trying)

Me: "Yes, ma'am."

Her: "I'll call back then. Should I ask for you?"

The closing questions are the same type but in reverse. These people usually needed something but just could not find the time in the 12 hours we were open to amble on in and get what they needed. The same people who thought it was that easy to open the store are amazed that you just can't stop what you were doing when it came time to close and help them with their problem. In fact, they get downright aggressive when you tell them that you are closed. Just as a day starts at 7am, closing the store is a 9pm chore. Lock the doors and begin to close everything down. Count the money, wash the floors, clean the aisles, run the reports. The same thing as before. If the door closed around 9pm (but it very seldom closes then because someone felt they were entitled to stay in your building after you closed it, because, hey, you're still there so why can't they stay, right?) the first phone call comes in at about 9:35. Answering the phone with proper etiquette, you are greeted with the closing question:

Him: "What time do you close?"

Me: "We closed at 9."

Him "What time is it now?" (what the hell? did I say my name was Timex?)

Me: "Its about 9:30."

Him: "And you're closed?" (now you're gettin' it)

Me: "Yes, what can I help you with?"

Him: "Didn't you used to be open later? Doesn't matter, I need an item..." (oh please, tell me)

Because, why shouldn't you stop everything you're doing just to help. I foresee a future where everything is open 24 hours a day. Nothing will ever close because everything will always be open. Nights, weekends, holidays...OPEN. But that phone will still ring. It will ring and I will answer. And someone at the other end will say: "Oh, you're open now?"

Senile Felines

I like cats.

Cats are nothing shy of the perfect animal. At least in a social aspect. They let you know when they've had enough attention. They thank you when you bring them food. They leave the room to do their business. And my most favorite thing about cats, they have no opposition towards awkward silence. In fact, they revel in it. A cat will sit and stare at you like you owe it money. No whining, no whimpering, just sit and stare. I wish cats could replace people. I at least hope people could be more like cats. There is nothing worse than someone coming up to you and feeling forced to speak to you. Don't speak to me, because I don't want to speak to you. Not someone I already know of course. I mean strangers. I don't want to force conversation with someone just because I have come face to face with them. It's simply the way we are raised. Think about it. What do your parents teach you from a very early age - "Don't talk to strangers." Then, someone they know comes up to them and they command you to "Say hi." Motherfucker, you've been telling me for years not to talk to strangers and here comes this goofy-looking prick who has to be the strangest person I've ever seen. I don't wanna talk to him! At my job, I am forced to make conversation with all kinds of strange people. And they all seem to have the sae reportoire of jokes.

Her: "Can you tell me where the beach towels are?"

Me: "They're actually right behind you."

Her: "For the love of...if i was a snake it would've bit me."

Yeah good thing we don't sell snakes. Oh, that one never gets old. But you have to chuckle because its the polite thing to do. A cat would just glare at you for a moment and then walk away. That's why I like cats. They would also walk away from this old classic which someone will crack out the minute the thermometer hits 90:

"Hot enough for ya?"

No, why don't you go turn up the thermostat for me. I mean, why say something like that? Of course its hot enough, what kind of stupid question is that? Oh and, by all means, get offended when I don't answer that one. Here's a hint for next time: if you can't think of somethng original to say, keep your mouth shut. I am perfectly happy with you not saying a word to me.

Cats should run the world. In ancient Egypt they were worshiped as Gods. You know why, because those people knew cats were on to something. A cat knows its place in the world. It knows you are the bringer of food so it respects you. It also knows that it could kill you in your sleep, but it knows enough not to because it can't work the can opener. Cats control you mentally, also. You may be the bringer of food, but they decide when. Household cats exercise this control with a certain type of urgent-sounding, high-pitched meow, according to findings. This meow is actually a purr mixed with a high-pitched cry. While people usually think of cat purring as a sign of happiness, some cats make this purr-cry sound when they want to be fed. The study showed that humans find these mixed calls annoying and difficult to ignore. But if you do decide to ignore it, the cat will make you pay. Usually at the most inopportune time. You will get as far away from the cat as possible, when it will find its way onto your bed or your expensive carpet and start making that huffing sound which translates into: "I am going to puke all over this in five, four, three..." And by the time you come running to get the cat off you expensive whatever, it is covered in half-digested meow mix and hair. You yell and scream but the cat just looks at you, like you owe him money, and walks away, tail in the air. Wouldn't it be great if you could do that when someone you don't want to talk to decides they have to speak to you about everything. In mid conversation, you start choking and convulsing and then vomit all over their shoes. Then stare at them like they've done something wrong. Because they have, they decided they needed to talk to you. Silly person. When cats rule the world I'll be the first one to say I told you so. Actually, I probably won't. I'll just sit and stare at you like you owe me money. Then slowly, I'll turn, walk away, tail in the air.

I like cats.

Step into my office...

One of the hardest parts of a manager's job is firing someone. Although there are many people I feel the quickening for, when it comes right down to the act of termination, it is not always a pleasant action. It's not like it is in the movies. You don't walk up to someone and say, "You're fired." There is a lot of red tape that you must unravel before you can walk down that road. It would be much easier if it was like a movie. "You're fired!" The expression "to get fired" comes from centuries ago. When clans wanted to get rid of their unwanted people without killing them used to burn their houses down. Thank your lucky stars we don't do that anymore. Imagine that,

"Johnson, I'd like you to come into my office. You've just been fired. Not only do you no longer have any means of monetary support, you no longer have a home and all of your worldly possessions are gone."

That would send a message to the staff!

In England they use the phrase "get the sack" or "sacked." It comes from the time when tradesmen carried all their worldly goods and tools around in a sack. They had of no fixed home, so if they were employed in a certain building they were able to leave their sack in a safe place, probably equivalent to the boss's office nowadays. If at the end of the day they did good work they were allowed to pick up their own sack, however if the boss was not pleased with their work, or felt they had not done a fair days work for a fair days wage then the boss waited for them to finish for the day and literally "gave them the sack". That would have a different vibe.

"Mulchahey, come into my office. You see Johnson crying out there? Well, he just got fired. You, however, are getting sacked. Here's your things, on your way now."

It just seems so tough to tell someone you got fired from a job. It can sound truly terrible depending on your profession. Priests get defrocked. Lawyers get disbarred. I mean, shouldn't everyone else follow suit? Could a plumber be deducted? Florists deflowered? Butchers delivered? Electricians delighted? You catch my drift. But, you still have the difficult task of explaining to the human resource person why you want to get rid of them. If you ran an orange juice factory, could you fire someone because they couldn't concentrate? What about a doctor that didn't have any patience? Unfortunately, when it comes to human resources, they want specific reasons for why you want to fire someone. You can't be general because that won't hold up in court. If you manage a shoe making company you can't fire the guy who doesn't fit in. You also can't fire a tailor because you think he isn't suited for it. Or a barber because he just can't cut it. No sir, you have to have specifics. And, you can't make assumptions. You can't fire a fisherman with a family of four because you've decided he can't live off the net income. Or a musician because he isn't note worthy. It's times like that when you have to look at the root cause of the problem. You know, have a real, honest discussion with the employee and find out why they want to work for you and see if you can distinguish the problem. Who knows? Maybe you will learn something about someone that you never knew. Like the guy who worked second shift at the muffler factory and was constantly exhausted. Or the girl who is having trouble working at Dunkin Donuts because its always the same old grind. Sometimes people just want to try something new. There was a deli worker who tried his best, but any way you slice it, he just couldn't cut the mustard. I, myself, once wanted to become a historian. But there was no future in it...

Where am I?

Giving an Interview or "How to prove you're stupid"

Being in this business a long time, I have had the opportunity to interview many different people from a multitude of backgrounds. Lots of people have a different approach as to how they are going to make the interview work in their favor. Sometimes, people study their resume and practice different answers to questions that might arise in the interview process. Some opt for the open approach of letting the interviewer ask the questions and giving short direct answers. Many people like to try the method of honestly answering every question to the best of their abilities and hoping this lands them in good favor. And then there are others prefer to "wing it." Those are my favorite. These dumbasses are unfamiliar with their resume, they have not taken into account for the gaps in their work history, nor do they have a plausible explanation for any red flag that may pop up on their application. They just walked into an interview and figured, "What's the worst that can happen?" I'll tell you what the worst is...they could be interviewed by me.

Let's begin like this. I have read the application. As you may, or may not, recall (doesn't matter) the application is the watermark to see if you're stupid. First, if you haven't read your own application, then you are stupid. Because, I am going to see all those little nuances on that piece of paper and I am going to attack them just to see what will happen. Now, if you aren't stupid you might have an answer to put me back in my place. But you probably are so you don't have an answer. That's where the fun begins...

Me: "So why did you leave your last job?"

Him: "I wasn't getting enough hours."

Me: "And you've been out of work for six months now?"

Him: "Yes."

Me: "So you thought no hours was better than the some you were getting."

Him: "Well, I was only getting like 18 a week."

Me: "And now you get zero."

Him: "Well, I told my boss that I needed more but he didnt give me any."

Me: "Guess you showed him."

This scenario occurs more times than I can recall.

This one is good too:


Me: "So what did you do at your last job?"

Her: "Everything." (remember, this is the short direct approach)

Me: "Everything?" (ok, here's you chance to try again)

Her: "Yup, everything." (sticking to your guns I see. Well try this.)

Me: "So if you weren't there the place was closed?" (her face goes pale)

Her: "Uhhh..." (playtime over; time to let her off the hook)

Me: "What I'm asking is: what did you do there?" (that was nice of me)

Her: "I did everything." (right back on the hook)


And, please Jesus, don't ever tell me this:

Me: "So what did you do at your last job?"

Him: "Not much, that's why I got fired."

My head hurts....

When do we get to Weekapaug?

I recently spent some time in the great state of Rhode Island.

The biggest little state in the union has the biggest case of little man syndrome ever seen. Just look at their name: The State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations. That is the biggest name of any state in our nation. Rhode Island is the smallest state in size in the United States. There are a lot of things in Rhode Island that try to make up for it's small stature. The dome over the capital building is the third largest free-standing dome in the world. Standing 11 feet tall and 278 feet above ground the Independent Man is a gold-covered, bronze statue placed atop the State House on December 18, 1899. The world's largest bug is on the roof of New England Pest Control in Providence. It's a big blue termite, 58 feet long and 928 times actual termite size. The Foxy Lady is home to the largest...egg buffet in the central part of the state.

There are lots of famous people from Rhode Island.  James Woods is from Warwick.  The Farrelly brothers are from Cumberland. Ruth Buzzi is from Westerly. Marilyn Chambers (yes, THAT Marilyn Chambers) is from Providence.  I've never heard any of them speak with a Rhode Island accent, but I've often wondered if they say things like other Rhode Islanders.  For example:  Is James Woods' couch NiRoPe?  Has Ruth Buzzi ever made a packy run?  Has Marilyn Chambers ever had a gagga in her mouth?  Ok, that was unfair, a gagga  is a small hot dog with a natural casing, slathered in mustard, meat sauce, chopped onions, and celery salt, and served in a steamed bun.  Not what you thought.  Oh, it gets better.  A "spa" is a convenience store.  "Elastics" are rubber bands.  And the very bottom of your house is the "down cella".

As if that wasn't strange enough, there are a bunch of laws that were made up by someone who got pissed about something. Impersonating a town sealer, auctioneer, corder of wood, or a fence-viewer is against the law. Why would anyone want to impersonate one of those? And what the hell is a "fence-viewer"?  Although I'm sure this has been in place since the first two Portagees stumbled off a boat onto dry land and went looking for some sweet bread. It probably went like this:

RI Guy 1:  "Hello, I am an auctioneer, my friend here is a town sealer please give us some coffee milk at no charge."

Spa Owner:  "Do you have identification?"

RI Guy 2:  "No, but we also moonlight as a wood-corder and a fence-viewer so fetch us some hot weiners and pizza strips to go with that."

Spa Owner:  "Shut up. De boatayuz."

Just as an aside De boatayuz is more than one and less than three.

In Newport, you can't smoke a pipe after sunset. In Providence, you may not sell toothpaste and a toothbrush to the same customer on a Sunday; you also can't wear transparent clothing. Which sucks for the Newport guy who was driving to Providence Place mall to get a toothbrush so he could brush his teeth after his pipe at sunset.

Newport Guy: "Please, I just need a toothbrush."

Spa Owner: "Sorry sir, you already bought the toothpaste. Come back next week. Oh and please put on some opaque clothing, the cops are out in force tonight."

But this one is my favorite: Any marriage where either of the parties is an idiot or lunatic is null and void. Yup, you read it. Don't belive me? Google it. Now, it would seem to me that if anyone enforced this particular law, the amount of idiots born into the world would have greatly decreased and we wouldn't need so many of the other laws listed. Because you know these laws were put on the books because some idiot did it. And, somewhere along the way, some other idiot said, "You know, there should be a law." Like this one: No one may bite off another's leg. I guess the arm is still in play. How about cap guns are illegal in the state of Rhode Island. Fair enough. But what about: rope may not be strung across a highway. Who would do that anyway? I know, the guy trying to enforce this law: Riding a horse over any public highway for the purpose of racing, or testing the speed of the horse is illegal. He probably figured he could stop the horse when it tripped over the rope.

The state of Rhode Island covers an area of 1,214 square miles. Its distances North to South are 48 miles and East to West 37 miles.  It has some of the weirdest named towns ever.  Some are easy to say; others, not so much.  Woonsocket.   Pawtucket.  Quonochontaug.  Hog Island.  Misquamicut. Scituate.  Onleyville.  You get the point.  So if you get lost, just ask for directions.  It'll go like this:

RI Guy:  "OK, get on 95, then get off down city.  Ya gonna make a left.  Go all the way down til you see that empty lot where the Benny's used to be.  Hang a right.  Keep driving til you see that place what used to be a Texaco.  Make ya next left.  Go past like 40 lights and take a right.  Ya gonna see all the triple deckas all side by each.  You know where Joey's boy "Boots" used ta live.  Well, not that one but the one two ova from that one.  Make a left there and then stop.  You'll be good."

RI Girl: "Boots didn't live there, he lived in Federal."

RI Guy: "CALM YA LIVER! I'M TELLIN HIM WHERE TA GO!"



But, you know, Rhode Island never ratified the 18th Amendment prohibition.

So they got that going for them.

Which is nice.



By the way, there's no school in Foster-Gloster tomorrow

 

 



Job Applications

I've recently been interviewing new applicants. Although the majority of interviews are straightforward, there are many that are ten different kinds of wrong. The job application is the water test to see if your stupid. If you can't follow the directions on that simple piece of paper then you sure as fuck won't be able to take directions from me. When filling these out there are people that just don't know how badly they could fuck up their chances at landing a job just by being a blithering moron. If there is a spot on the application for your email address leave it blank. No one is going to contact you via email. If you feel compelled to write something there, please make sure it is your name or some variation thereof. Get a Gmail or Hotmail or Yahoo account. They're free and usually you can make your name and a series of numbers your email address. You know what you shouldn't do? Enter an email address of NOFATCHICKS@, ILIKEMETH@ or my all time favorite PLZCUMONME@. Now, any of these applications could have been terrific. And, who knows, I mght have passed n a great employee. But, if you don't have the filter to know the PLZCUMONME is an inappropriate thing to write on a legal document, then you were probably an accident waiting to happen. Also, know how to spell. If you don't know how to spell, have someone check it for you and avoid a situation like this:

Me: "Tell me about your last job."

Him: "Well, I spent the last ten years as a night watchman at a warehouse."

Me: "A warehouse?"

Him: "Yes."

Me: "Oh, because you wrote whorehouse."

Him: "I did?"

Me: "Yes, and you were there for ten years?"

Him: "Yes."

Me: "Think you would've learned to spell it in that time."

He didin't get the job. Another great one is the "reason for leaving" line. Don't write: "My boss was a moron." Maybe he was, but find a better way to explain that to me. And definitely don't write it as the reason for your other two jobs also! Another great one: "I was fired." And you probably will be here too dumbass.

Me: "So all three of your previous bosses were 'stupid' as you say."

Him: "Yes."

Me: "So, if I can ask, why were you fired from job number 4?"

Him: "My boss was a wicked jerk to me."

Me: "And that makes four."

Him: "Well, let me explain..."

Me: "No, that's ok. I'm not really interested in becoming fifth on the list."

And they wonder why they're unemployed...

Supermarket Follies

Being in retail for so many years has given me an appreciation for those who also work in this venue. I can sense when someone is having a bad day or has just had a bad encounter with a customer. I can also sense when someone is going to take out their bad day on me. Now, I know that it can be difficult to mask your emotions when you are upset. Not everyone is Mr. Spock and can push those emotions down into a dark, tightly filled jar that is ready to explode at any given time but doesn't, because..."the customer is always right." Those of you laughing read my last entry. Those of you who aren't, go back and read my last entry and get with the fucking program. You're supposed to read these in order as they build on one another, dumbass. Sorry, the cover of the jar slipped open a bit. Won't happen again. At least not soon. I have sympathy for these people, but no sympathy when they decide I will get the sharp side of their tongue. First of all, A). you have never met someone as smarmy as me. And, B). see A).

Into the grocery store I go with a return of an item that just didn't taste right. I know its not their fault, but with everything else, I shouldn't have to pay for it if it isn't right. The girl at the counter is having one of the aforementioned days. To ease her pain, I stepped up to the counter and said,

"I'd like to return these. I just didn't like them. Here's my receipt."

This was the obvious breaking point for her. She stopped, looked me scathingly up and down several times, and sighed like I had just asked her to blow me. (sidebar: If you walk up to the customer service desk at a grocery store and ask them to blow you, someone will hit you in the side of the head with a very heavy object. Don't ask me how I know.)

"How about 'Hello'?" she said, "Could we start with hello?"

Ok, sunshine, your store, "Hello," I started. "I'd like to return these. I just didn't like them. Here's my receipt."

Another sigh. "Yeah, I'll do that, but..." (Fuck me, here it comes) "...all you have to do is be nice about it."

Ok, at this point, I should probably let it go, but the point of the matter is that I was being nice about it. It's not like I said something off color, gave tremendous attitude about how terrible her store was or even stuck my finger down my throat and puked up that which I had already eaten.

"I thought I was being nice. I'm sorry I didn't say hello, that was wrong of me so let's start again. Hello, I'd like to return these. I just didn't like them. Here's my receipt."

This attempt at smoothing away an unpleasant situation through the medium of sarcasm was quickly going nowhere.

She started with, "You know..."

To which I quickly stopped with a big 'ol fuck you of, "No, YOU know that all you have to do is process this return. Give me back my money, drop the attitude and I walk away. So how's about we forget all the niceties and get on with this transaction and the rest of our lives."

Taken aback, her retort came quickly, "Anything wrong with them?"

Motherfucker! Have you not been listening to me?!

"I just didn't like them."

"But there's nothing wrong with the package?"

"No."

"Because if there was something wrong with the package I'd have to send you to another line." A quiet smile came over her face. I recognized this as an attempt to make a funny to calm a situation that she had escalated. This is something we call "smoothing it over." So, as she smoothed it over I continued to look at her in silence. The time for smoothing had passed.

"You know," she said, "you could laugh."

"I would laugh if I heard something funny."

Accepting she had met her match she went on with the transaction. Someone in the back of her brain had obviously showed up late for the party, but got there in just enough time to remind her to shut up and smile. And, at the last possible second, she said, "Sorry for all that before, I'm just having a bad day. You're pretty funny. I like you"


I can accept when someone comes to the epiphany that they should have realized moments earlier. I can also accept when someone tries to make a wrong a right. And far be it from me to ruin that moment. So, I processed everything she had to say. Looked her straight in the eye and said,

"It's not a mutual feeling."

Why I work in retail

Many people subscribe to the phrase, "The customer is always right." What's wrong with that statement? One word..."customer". The word should be "money." As in, "You're wrong as fuck, but I still want your money so I am willing to acquiesse so you can feel right and I can get your money." But since that phrase is too long, those of us in the industry changed it to, "The customer is always right." It sounds alot like whoring out your moral standards because that's exactly what it is. Our job is to separate you from as much of your wallet as you came in with. You see, we work in a business that is based on the exchange of money in return for goods and services. If I refuse the goods and services, I don't get the money. If I don't get the money, the company goes broke. If the company goes broke, I lose my job. If I lose my job, I don't get paid any money. If I don't get paid any money, I can't get goods and services. If I can't appropriate goods and services, that guy can'get money. If he can't get money, his company goes broke. And I don't want to feel responsible for an entire economic collapse because old lady sonofabitch forgot het coupon and won't buy this $4 item without one and I refused to give it to her. Let's face it; it's a slippery slope. I've worked in lots of different retail establishments in my career and I have heard many different things. Some of the best come from old people. Ahhhh...old people. The pillars of wisdom that hold society together. Or so they think, and if you don't believe me just ask them, they'll tell you why everything is your fault because they're five days younger than dirt. They veil it under this guise that they just want to make conversation, but they don't. They simply want to complain to someone who can't walk away from them or tell them to shove their complaint up their ass sideways. So where do they feel the best place to complain is? That's right...your local supermarket, department store, mini mart, wherever there is someone behind a counter that can't get away because they are chained to it with that motto of "The customer is always right." I will now relate a story that begs my point. A lady, roughly 127 years old, comes up to me and asks if I am the manager of the store:

Me: Yes, I am

Her: You are, but you're so young (I'm 41 but compared to 127 I am just a tot)

Me: Thank you , but yes I am the manager. Can I help you?

Her: I can't believe you run this big store at your age.

Me: I do. Can I help you? (my name gets paged over the intercom)

Her: There must be lots to do. (and you're keeping me from all of them)

Me: I keep busy. Can I help you? (my name gets paged again)

Her: Is that you they're calling? (yep, but you keep going this is so much more fun)

Me: Yes, if you give me just a moment I'll be right back.

Her: Typical young person, always in a hurry. I'll ask an older person maybe they can help me.

Me: I'd be happy to help you but you haven't told me what you need. (my name is paged again)

Her: It's so hot in here. It was never this hot before. (what the fuck? where did this come from?)

Me: I'm sorry about that, what did you need, though?

Her: It was never this hot back in the 30's. All the young people running around like they're in a big hurry. (this is clearly aimed at me)

Me: I'm sorry, Miss. What can I help you to find?

Her: You know what, it wasn't in this store. I'm sorry to bother you.

Twenty minutes of my life gone...

I went on my way, missed a phone call from my boss and shook my head wondering how it was cooler back in the 30's. But since I wasn't there, I'll have to take Methusala's word on it. After all, she probably remembers when the rainbow was in black and white. As I walked around my store, I met up with her once more. I smiled and nodded as she looked at me and said, "Excuse me, do you work here?"

And that, boys and girls, is why I work in retail.

More to think about

Two days into inventory and I am glad to report that I am no longer sick as a dog. I am actually happy as a clam. Happy as a clam is a portion of a phrase quite commonly used in the US in the early 19th century. It even made it into the poetry of John G. Saxe, who wrote Sonnet to a Clam and waxed poetic about the secure state of clams when they are immersed completely in water. Happy as a clam is only a portion of the phrase, and the full phrase should be "happy as a clam in high water," or at high tide. Clams can't be dug at high tide, only low tide, hence their happiness in high water. A group of clams is called a bed which is where I should be since I've awake since 3AM. I suppose I could be happy as a lark since work is over because then I could go skylarking. 'Larking about' or 'lark about' has been used to mean 'getting up to mischief; playing the fool' since at least the middle of the 19th century. At source its origins may well be somewhat earlier than that; how much earlier depends on which of the proposed origins proves to be correct. A group of larks is an exaltation. An exaltation is a state or feeling of intense, often excessive exhilaration or well-being. Like when the work day has ended and you're on your way home, tired and ready for bed. Either one; sleep or maybe clams for dinner. Others eat clams for dinner. Larger crabs, such as blue crabs, green crabs and mud crabs, eat clams. Crabs will not eat the shells of clams. To reach the edible clam body ...inside the shell, crabs crush clams between their claws, which breaks the shell open. Soft-shell clams make up the bulk of the green crab's diet. A group of crabs is called a cast. Apart from that meaning, cast means to throw (something) forcefully in a specified direction: "lemmings cast themselves off the cliff". A group of lemmings is called a slice. Perhaps because they are the slice of life. Slice of life is a phrase describing the use of mundane realism depicting everyday experiences in art and entertainment. They could have been in a play with a cast of crabs...or they just like pie. Maybe they could eat it in one gulp. But, then again, a gulp is a group of Cormorants. A cormorant is any of several large, widely distributed marine diving birds of the genus Phalacrocorax, having dark plumage, webbed feet, a slender hooked bill, and a distensible pouch. It is also a greedy, rapacious person. Someone who eats a lot of pie. Not necessarily by the slice. Certainly not one bite. A bite is a group of midges. Midges comprise many kinds of very small two-winged flies found world-wide. While some midges are vectors for disease, many others play useful roles as prey items for insectivores, such as frogs. A group of frogs is called a knot. Maybe they could tie the knot with the cast and then crawl into bed and scream exaltations as they bite slices of pie in one gulp. They would all be in good company...but the again, a company is a group of widgeons...

Thinks I've Thought

Since I am sick as a dog today I thought I'd share this: "Sick as a dog," which means "extremely sick" and dates back to at least the 17th century, is also not so much negative as it is simply descriptive. Anyone who knows dogs knows that while they can and often will eat absolutely anything, on those occasions when their diet disagrees with them the results can be quite dramatic. And while Americ...ans may consider themselves "sick" when they have a bad cold, in Britain that would be called "feeling ill." "Being sick" in England usually means "to vomit." So to really appreciate the original sense of "sick as a dog," imagine yourself seated in the parlor having tea with the Vicar on a lovely Sunday afternoon, when Fido staggers in from a meal of sun-dried woodchuck and expresses his unease all over your heirloom oriental carpet. It's actually rather amazing that goldfish aren't more popular. But then again, a goldfish can't lick it's own junk and dogs can. That's probably why they're sick.

So now that I'm feverish and ranked on dogs, let me talk about cats. A group of cats is called a "clowder" or a "glaring". A male cat is a "tom" but when he's been neutered, he's called a "gib." My cat is glaring at me right now. Maybe because he's a gib. Or that he feels I owe him money. If anyone owes money its him. $135 to get a cat neutered. Couldn't I just change his name to Gib and hope he doesn't know the difference. That would cost a lot less. Why it's called a clowder I don't know. I groups of crows is called a murder, but I'm about to be sick.

As for why we call a group of crows a “murder,” the inspiration for the term is a mystery, lost since the 15th century. As the Oxford English Dictionary suggests, “murder” may “perhaps [allude] to the crow’s traditional association with violent death, or … to its harsh and raucous cry.” Then again, since crows have recently been demonstrated to be capable of advanced reasoning and even tool-maki...ng, maybe they actually did plot a few murders back in the 15th century. Crows have been known to kill a dying member of their group. This could also be the basis for the name. However, only poets call them a murder. Scientists would refer to them as a flock. A group of foxes is called a leash. I once knew a fox with one white ear named Alex. I never learned the name of the other ear, but I digress.

Another name for a group of foxes is a skulk. To skulk means to lurk about sneakily for some sinister purpose. Maybe the foxes should be a murder. A group of foxes is at least 4 members. Opposed to a group of baboons which minimally consists of 6. A group of baboons is called a Congress. I bet you know where this is going...but you'd be wrong. I have no quibbles with Congress. The politicians or the baboons. And I am not, as my wife would have you believe, in the throws of a mad cow disease induced rant. I merely like words and their alternate meanings. For example, the sinister skulk of foxes might not be evil but rather left handed. But then they'd be gauche. Only in France though. They could get there on a boat, starboard side of course. Which is also the left side. But wouldn't all those foxes have to go to the poop deck at some point?

Because then they would be in the aft end or stern of the boat where they would feel more secure. You see foxes are rarely at sea and are prone to sea sickness. And you wouldn't want a fox to be sick as s dog would you? I suppose they could count the seabirds. A group of pelicans is called a scoop. Maybe the skulk could view the scoop from the poop and then inform congress about the murder that was glaring.

Or words to that effect...