Diary of a Retail Slave: Part One (...of many)

Slave: a person who is the property of and wholly subject to another; a bond servant.

 The above definition is sometimes how I fell about my life. I work a shitty part time job. I am aged 22 years and I appear to be heading in the right direction in life. Or at least it is in a direction that should potentially have some upside to it. The stage of life that I am in right now is a journey that most people travel in and if you don't, then fuck you.

So this shitty part time job I spoke of; I work in retail. Specifically: I work in a shoe store, or as my boss constantly tells me, "It's a shoe store that sells apparel." Most days, I feel like I'm bound to servitude in this dismal place where I have been collecting my paycheck once a week for the last 4 1/2 year. But working in this store has allowed me to learn many lessons. I've learned how to fold a shirt, screw in a light bulb, count money, tie my shoe lases, and even taken a piss without asking my masters if I could do so. Did I mention I felt like a slave?

Now that I have given such a boring introduction to something you probably have little interest in, I will let you in on the purpose. 4 1/2 years of working in retail has really taught me a lot; mainly about people. It's a job of social interaction.  I have learned, in more ways than I care to admit, that people just flat out suck. The shit and antics they create and what we, the associate, has to put up with. This is a story not about the messy shopper that leave their shit behind, but a story of all employes in the retail world. A story of awareness of the abuse customers bring down on the people who serve them. A story that will shift the power to not the customer, but to the retail slaves. This is a story that will shout out the good word; "No, the customer is not always fucking right!"

  
Let's layout the frameworks of this nonsense that goes on. First off, who the fuck came up with the witty tagline, "The customer is always, right?" I don't understand it. A customer walks in with a pair of shoes and tell me that they had just bought a pair of shoes about a month or two ago and they are falling apart. I examine the shoe. We don't have it. I have never seen the shoe before. Thankfully, I have 4 years of experience there to which I have a decent memory bank of past shoes. "Sir, I will agree that these shoes are falling apart, however, you did not buy these shoes a month or 2 ago." His face turns beet red, his eyes widen, and a little vein in the middle of his forehead begins to grow as if a crazy sand creature was about to break out onto the service.
       "Excuse me?" He asks
       I start to feel a hot flash as if I had said something insulting. Unbeknownst to me, I did. My body begins to moisten all over "Um... I said, you didn't by these shoes a month or 2 ago..." my voice crackles a bit and I suddenly I feel like I'm not 6' 2" anymore but more like I am a 3 foot 9 freak show.
       "That's not the point! The point is these shoes are falling apart on me!"
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold the phone. "That's not the point?" If it's not the point, then why bring it up?  If I had the ability to speak what's on my mind to this gentleman, I would say, "listen hot shot, you have clearly worn these shoes for over 4 years. Like tires on a car, this shit wears out. I can't help the fact that beat the living shit out of your shoes. Buy a new pair and move on with your life. If you'd like, I will help you set up a memorial service for these shoes and we can cast them off into the ocean or something and call it a day." But I can't do that. In the end, it's my fault he over used the shoes. It's my fault that his shoes are not permeable to life's little obstacles and I have to get him a new pair. You're right and I'm wrong, because somewhere in all that clusterfuck bullshit, it makes sense. If you understand the rationale in all this, you might not want to continue reading. And no, I can't refund your time you have invested in this. However, if you're sitting there thinking, "wow, I'm stunned people get away with that shit..." then well, we haven't even scratched the surface yet. Please continue reading.

There's been many situations where I have come face to face with a customer and all hell breaks loose. As a retail slave, if a customer wants to bitch me out, they have about as much of a right to do just that, than I do to tell them to fuck off. Why? Because the customer is always right, or something bullshit that falls into the category. I have been called a "fucking asshole." I have been called pathetic. And all I can do, it just take it. I can't kick them out. I can't tell them to fuck off. Actually, I'm not sure if I can really say anything at all. Because, the company is afraid to lose a customer. They want every penny from them. And if I have to bend over and get anal fucked so they can buy a pair of shoe or 99 cent jewelry. My asshole is gonna get fucked, and I am gonna be wanting some ice after.

I want to briefly say is very simple. This is going to be my one and only rant about messy people. I was taught, when training, that everyone associate was to treat each customer as if they were a guest in their own home. Now, as a guest, would it be safe to say that you wouldn't treat someone else home as if it were yours? So in other words, I wouldn't go to someones house and just leave my shit around and destroy everything I saw in sight. No, that would be just rude. And I will leave it at that.

Contrary to many people's popular belief of a retail slave, we do have a social life. That leaves me to my final point in Part 1; closing time. On a constant bases, people decide to flood the store at their own conveniences, avoiding any of the signs that state our "Hours of Operation." Now I get it, you don't care. But I do. You walk into a store and you realize that the gate is halfway shut. For the love God, don't ask me if we are closing soon and don't look at me so surprised when I say we are. It just makes you look like a fucking idiot.When you are in a store and someone tells you that we close in 10 minutes. Don't tell them okay and then just ignore the whole idea. Get the fuck out! Or, don't whip out your watch/phone and tell me you have a different time. We are not open to people individual schedule and I wasn't telling you to warn you, I was asking you to get out nicely. When the party is over, it's time to leave. Not stay an extra 15 minutes. The closing time is not a suggestion. It means, we're closed and I want to go home. But unfortunately, I can't tell you to leave. I have to allow you to stay as long as it takes you to shop. Even if we are closed. Pretty fucked up, huh? But, like I said, the company wants every penny.


Retail isn't the hardest job in the world. In fact, its pretty fucking simple. But the hard part is the mental part. Some people can get yelled at by Drill Sargent all day long, and just laugh at the end of the day. Some people can take the abuse of someone who was bullied in elementary school and are taking their anger out on me. But at what cost? Why does a retail slave must endure so much? I end Part 1 on that. Part 2 to come soon...




To Be Continued....
         

Happy Days

Man, has it been a wild few weeks. The End of the World, The Biggest Loser final, American Idol final, House Season final, big sales at work and getting stuck at a bar till 3:30 in the morning... Let me tell you, I thought I had a very uneventful life, but after all these things filled up my life, I feel like I have a sense of purpose now. I feel like I belong...

Let's start off with the lackluster "End of the World" prediction. Someone fucked up. Big. Because, I'm still here. Not that I'm complaining, I'm still here, but because someone would go through the time and effort to convince all these people that the end of the world is near and I have a mathematical equation that proves it... And then succeed with convincing these people. Fortunately for the world, God was a "no show," which I found to be a good thing because I forgot to fulfill my community service requirements this week... The whole thing is obviously bullshit. Listen, I'm Catholic. I believe in God and all that jazz. But I draw the line somewhere when religion becomes an obsession and insanity (By the way, on a side note: I'm pro-choice. Worst. Catholic. Ever.). How the fuck can you actually believe in that shit. I mean, a man predicts the end of the world and nothing happens. Then goes ahead and claims he fucked up on the math. The day finally comes around and then...nothing. There might have been some scheduling conflicts with the end of the world. God was too busy spitting tornadoes out in the Midwest, the world can wait. I mean really? And then have the audacity to say that you fucked up again. Go fuck yourself! Someone should shoot this man in the face so he can meet his maker so he can damn him to Hell. No one knows when the end of the world will be but time itself. The world will end when it wants too and there's nothing you can do to prevent it.

The Biggest Loser and American Idol final... I don't care, to be honest. Not really in the caring business to watching fat people lose weight. In fact, I don't really care much for fat people.

So Wednesday night, my buddy Chris asked if I wanted to go to that favorite bar of mine, Tommy Doyle's. I was reluctant but then agreed to go on another adventure to the bar with him (mainly because he offered to drive). We arrived at said bar and had a blast. It was open mic and my favorite bartender was present. The Bruins were playing (which was Game 6 for those who follow) and the music was playing. And an avid attempt at getting drunk was my goal (Spoiler Alert: I failed to get drunk). 12:30 came crawling around the corner and where I come from, that's last call. I know, awful, but it almost works out for unadventurous people such as myself who get paranoid when staying out that late and that it is past my bed time. So, we try to pay for our tab but my card wouldn't get accepted. Chris was nice and tried his card. I felt good knowing his didn't go through too. Apparently, the system wasn't working right. So they allowed us to do a IOU. We left and headed to the Chrismobile. Upon arriving the car, Chris made a startling and frighting observation. He did not possess his keys... We looked at the trunk of his car where he had retrieved his guitar from hours earlier... I ran back to the bar and hopped that someone had found the keys. Nope. Ran back to the car. Chris called AAA. They arrived. Opened up door. Trunk popped. Keys: MIA. Stare of disapproval. Thankfully, our angel and best bartender there (who looks exactly like the picture) offered to drive us home. So we all agreed that this would be the best course of action to get us home.
            1 AM: Standing out back of Tommy Doyle's. We are told "it shouldn't take that long to close up.
            1:30 AM: Walk around the back of the bar. We realize we need to pee badly. We find a spot but there's a camera overlooking a graveyard. Bail on idea.
            2 AM: Throwing rock into a near by graveyard to kill time. I begin to wonder if the dead people would be annoyed while in their eternal sleep. I begin to think what if the dead rise and the Zombie Apocalypse begins.
            2:15 AM: I pretend like I'm a baseball player and begin to take ground balls in the employee parking lot with invisible balls being hit towards me. I play like I'm a Supah Stah.
            2:30 AM: Chris is worried about his car. We wonder if we should call someone else.
            2:45 AM: Alicia, appears from the fortress of Tommy Doyle's. We are told "it will be 3 minutes." We finally pee in the planned sport
            3 AM: We realize it's been a bit longer than 3 minutes.
            3:02 AM: Outside light shuts off.
            3:05 AM: Hear birds tweeting (not twitter. I checked.)
            3:10 AM: See a seagull flying.
            3:15 AM: See another seagull flying or it just could have been the same on. Not sure.
            3:20 AM: A door opens up. It's a bartender leaving. He says goodbye to us and says Alicia will be our in 3 more hours. We didn't laugh.
            3:30 AM: Alicia finally reveals herself from the depths of the bar. We get into he small coup and of course, the big kid (me) gets stuck in the back seat with all her clothes and the fucking guitar. No big deal.
            3:45 AM: Arrival at home.

Biggest lesson of my life: Never ever lose your keys or you end up being a bigger joke than this douche bag...

A Little Thing Called Love

I'm not exactly sure what this blog will become of. I think this is more of a conversation about love and my thoughts. Originally, I was thinking along the lines of "Girls Suck." But I wasn't really feeling in the melodramatic mood. This is more of an analysis of relationships. Thus begin rant...

Now, guys are asshole, I mean, I'm a guy and I am an asshole. There is no denying that. But I'm not like that cocky, dumb piece of shit. I'd like to credit myself for not falling into that category. In fact, I have these moments were I fall into that, "hopeless romantic" category. Which I think is bullshit that I fall into there sometimes. Girls are bitches. Don't be offended, it's okay. I feel like this builds character.

So, as I wrote in my previous blog, there were these gorgeous gifts of God at this bar. Now, I'm placed into this position, where the cuter of the 2 girls was standing right front of me. I basically have 3 places to look. 1.) To my right is a TV screen of the Red Sox game. 2.) To my left is the cute girls blonde friend and behind her is the same game on that TV. 3.) In front of me is the girl. A whole 10 inches in front of me. Instinct: look straight ahead and let the smell of her sweet smelling perfume fill up each breath. Now, I'm staring and I'm trying not to be too awkward... Start a conversation... Well that's simple... Oh, wait. Fuck! My biggest fucking fear. I get so fucking paranoid at this stage. What the fuck do you say? "Hey, you guys from around here? Oh, by the way, I'm Matt, I've just been staring at your rack and tight ass for the last 5 minutes." It's so hit or miss. Now, I'm not like awkward. I can talk to girls. No big deal. But in high pressure situations like this. I get flustered. My problem: I can't continue a conversation. I feel like if I get bored with my own questions, they're already moving on to the next douche bag."So what's you're favorite color? Flower? I love daisy's too!! O-M-G!"

But see, this is my problem. Why the hell does all the pressure have to fall on the guy? Why do guys have to go chick hunting? Why can't the chicks go dick hunting? I mean why do I have to be at the bar and be 1 of 90 guys checking out the hot girl that walks in and take a number and see if I can score? Why the fuck is this like a fucking sport? And why the fuck does the female preying mantis bite off her fucking mates head? That's bullshit! I think it's time for a fucking revolution. Men, lets fucking revolt and let the women find us. Yeah, I think it would fail too... Ugh. Worth a shot.

I love the girls that go to bars and flaunt their shit, right, and they sit at the bar alone, wearing a tight, short skirt and random guys just come over and start talking to them and they sit there ignoring them like, whatever. Hey, bitch, if your snatch wasn't like out there in the open for the world to see, you wouldn't have this issue. But then again, you're looking for the attention, just...actually, I have no fucking clue what your mindset was when you walked into this. "So, I'm going to the bar, I'm gonna take a seat at the corner end of the bar. Show my vagina to the drunk patrons and maybe one will lift me off my feet and take me to a cheap motel and have intense but passionate sex. Nah, I'm just gonna show my vagina to everyone. Hehehehe <3"

Relationships are pretty bullshit too. I mean, after listening to some of the relationships my friends have been in, I just wonder what goes through their head. How dumb can girls really be? I know some have attachment issues, but I couldn't be in a relationships just because. Yeah, I find it romantic too when my significant other ties my hand around my back and throws me into a fucking closet. I know people get off on that shit, but last I check, that one is called abuse. "He likes to jump on my chest and see if can still breathe when he jumps on me..." No, honey, I think he just wants to see what happens when he crushes your ribcage. This fucktard has some serious psychological issues.

What idea gets implanted into a girls head thinking that their criminal boyfriend is their true love? I mean, I know not all relationships are perfect. I know people fight. Shit happens. But when does it click that maybe your abusive boyfriend just isn't cutting it. Or what part of waiting for your true love to get sprung from jail after all, he's in there for say maybe attempted murder, or assault and battery, or hell why not, let's throw in an armed robbery. All of the above is certainly acceptable too, ya know. Why would you waste your time on someone like that? Sure, fire back by saying "...he's changed. He's learned a lot about himself..." That maybe true, but that's only because he doesn't want to be Big Bubba's boyfriend. You know the drill. Don't be fucking idiot. Besides, there is a perfectly good young man waiting to be your "Knight in Shiny Armor."

Fucking romantic people piss me off. "Oh honey, lets have a candle light dinner and just gaze into each others eyes and look deep inside our hearts and souls." Ugh. What the fuck does that shit even mean? I don't want to look inside your soul. Maybe down your shirt, but I mean let's be realist. I can't see a fucking soul. I see a person who has seen too many Lifetime movies. Listen, I get its symbolic in all that shit. But I'm pretty symbolic with my donuts and banana. "Would you give up everything, like leaving your family and friends, for love?" No, why the fuck would I do that, better yet, why does one have to turn their back on their life for love? That's the real fucking question. You shouldn't have to and if you are, I think that falls into the brainwash category. Seek professional help. Your significant other might be looking at wanting to take your inheritance from you. Don't be surprised if he tries to kill you. I've seen a Perfect Murder. Shits fucked up.

I hate the type of people who have to let the world know that they're dating. Like when your hanging out with them, they're like practically having sex in front of you. Like it's cool to share a kiss or two, but wow, I don't need to be a part of your make out session. It's okay to excuse yourself for that. I have friends where when I'm the third wheel, I feel like I am the chauffeur (this is why I don't return your calls). Then, when I am the third wheel with another set of friend, I feel like I'm dating them too! Brother husband? I'm cool with it. I don't mind sharing the same wife. I'll take Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday... You can have her for the rest of the week. Sunday she can have off... Uh, well anyways

Those Guys

While I have some time before I have to go to work and while I don't have the sounds of hammers and shit dropping on the floor above my room [I have these guys putting in a third zone upstairs in the attic. We're finishing it off to make spare bedrooms and apparently heat/AC is needed up there. (I say, make them survive and suffer the elements)], maybe I can hammer this out.

I'm a judgmental person. Everyone is, and don't make that face like you accept everyone no matter what the circumstance is. That might be true, however, there is always some sort of judgment you make on someone. You see a retard walking, drooling, or whatever they do and make weird sounds, your instinct; laugh. I'm guilty of it, and so are you. But this blog isn't about retards. It's about those guys you hate to associate yourself with, but your best friend(s) hang out with them and you scratch your head going, you're so much better than these guys, why?

Now these people consist of... how can I describe them...? You know those people on Jerry Springer? Those guys! These people, I'm sure mean well, but I hate to give them any type of credit of being nice. It's like these people have a constant bad attitude about life and there likely not going far in life. They just don't give a shit about what people think. It's like "oh, you don't like what I'ma 'bout, well go fuck yourself!" They're the type of people you get into an argument about nothing... Scratch that. They're the type of people that butt in on a conversation with you and another person (Like that analogy of you having a conversation between A and B and they a C) and help them argue there point using 19 different variations of the word "fuck". And you look at them saying, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was talking to you." And then they get all defensive and they're all up in your grill and now you have a problem with them. And this always happens when they are with a fucking group and then you're fighting an army of dimwits. It's like you are walking in the mall and you walk by a group of people and they're shitting on you for no reason 'cause you had a dumb laugh. Oh, I guess that means you have a small penis. That's cool, mines small too, but I still don't give a shit...

Fuck!! The heating guys just came back... Thus, this drilling begins.... and the hammering...

Anyways, a number of years ago, I had friends. Now, a few of my friends hung out with "those guys" and I just couldn't stand it. I dunno if it was just me being raised by good parents who taught me the value of respect or maybe I just matured. Or maybe, I just didn't grow up having a grudge on the world and decided to give up on life because my boyfriend/girlfriend broke up with me 92 times in a 128 hour period. Shits rough, man.

But, see, this is the heart of the blog; my pickle (not my penis). My pickle is, why would someone, who is in a good situation in life, hang with these people. If my life falls into shambles, I have my family and friends to support me. Not the crazy two faced people. In fact, if someone were to double cross me or fuck me over in any form, I usually write them off asap and I never deal with them. Ever. I figure, why deal with that shit, ya know. I'm not gonna give someone a second chance to screw me over again. Unless you have nice boobs and a nice ass, then maybe.

And for that matter, if you even are that low on the totem poll, what happened to working to better yourself. You have people that fucking hate you and I regret to inform you, but we live in a world that depends on public perception. You need to be liked in order to go place. You need to suck the big guys dick in order to get that promotion. It's the way the cookie crumbles...

So my personal message to "those guys": Go fuck yourself!

Hang 'em High

So about 9 1/2 years ago America was attacked by radical Islamic terrorist, Osama Bin Laden. This is fact. Nothing refute here. The world stood still on this day and America, the greatest country, united as one entity. Just like every American, I remember that day clearly.

I grew up by Otis Air Force Base. This was the base that sent fighter pilots to assist in New York for what ever to come. I was in 7th grade English class and I remember those jets flying over the school very well. In fact that sound still echos in my head whenever I see footage of that day. I just have that distinct reaction every time. I still get chills down my spine.

Fast forward to May 1st 2011, news breaks that Osama Bin Laden was killed in a firefight, during a secret operation about a week prior. How does one react to this? With great enthusiasm of course. One less vicious monster on this world. He deserved, nothing more. How would you appoint justice to someone who killed 3,000 innocent lives.

Now, you can argue all you want, that American drops missiles all the time on innocent people for their causes. Collateral damage, I believe is what they call it. Usually, when US troops drop missiles like that, they're trying to get a target. Shit happens, it's not like they aim at those people. And you're not there so you don't know if those innocent people are really innocent. Shit like that is sometimes said to make American troops like they're the bad guys. A man hijacked planes to deliberately kill Americans. Why? Because our way of life is just not right and we should all follow him.  Unless you have some other great idea, bombing the hell out of them works for me. No you can not go and talk to these people, hold hands, and sing campfire songs of peace. That won't work.

Unfortunately, we live in a world were violence is the only form of justice, and celebrating the death of someone like Bin Laden, is the only way. Kill or be killed. Should this had been executed they way did it? Yeah, it should have. Should he been captured alive and gone to trial? In a perfect world, that would mistake, but again, I ask, what kind of punishment would you want, or how would you convict someone and put him on trial? You can't. This isn't the same as Saddam Hussein. He was a threat, but not our problem in that sense. We delivered the package and his people did what they deemed effective. Any evil dictator that was toppled, got what they deserved. What would you have done to Hitler, had he been captured? What would you have done with Saddam, or a man who just killed your family, or Pearl Harbor for that matter? What would you do with Bin Laden? He could no have been tried. Period. Too much prejudice and he's guilty of his crimes and has admitted it. Aside from that, he didn't want to be taken alive. He's a terrorist, a soldier, a believe to his cause.

Now, just because I'm glad he's finally dead, don't think for 2 seconds I don't have any beef with this. I think Obama has handed this situation fairly well. We got the target, but this is far from over. Anyone who knows anything, knows that this is far from over. We have rattled the bees nest. This isn't a victory. It's just a point in the win column. It's still an uphill battle. Don't forget, the leader of a larger terrorist network has been kill. These shit bags aren't just gonna drop their gun and run the fuck home. These people are pissed. We took the life of an inspirational figure from them. They want fucking revenge too! Seeing a pattern? To all you tree hungers and hippies, this is the reason why world peace can't exist. It will never happen in this or the next lifetime.

I recount from a movie called, Munich. I highly recommend it. It's directed by Steven Spielberg and stars Eric Bana and Daniel Craig. Basically, in a nutshell, it's about Mossad agent tracking down and killing figure heads of Black September, that planned the Munich Olympic killing of the Jewish Athletes. The point I'm trying to make is, halfway through the movie they find out, they are killing people who have replaced the guys they've already killed. This is what is likely going to happen. Some top official in Al Qaeda will replace Bin Laden. It's like a natural order. Nothing supernatural. Eventually, they will die out, because all things have an end. And besides, we're America.

Another thing that pisses me off is this. How many adults did you see out in the streets praising Osama Bin Laden's death? There might have been some, but I'll tell you, every screen shot I saw were a bunch of college kids pretending like this was a fucking party. I can imagine it already. Some drunk douche bag, stuck in his dorm, heard the news and got this dumb drunk idea to go out and party. Then some other dumb drunk douche bag thought, "that's a fucking splendid idea, let me get my drunk ass and follow your drunk ass." It's the fucking ignorance of some people. Yeah, it's a good thing, but to run out in the streets like that, it's fucking ridiculous. You've acted as if we won something, you've acted as if it was a sporting even, you've acted as if you've

Anyways, I'm done for the night. Maybe the troops around the world be blessed with safety and God bless America.

For a more sappy take on this event, read this blog. It's a hippie perspective. Till next time, hang those fucking towel heads high and blow the shit out of them!