Friday, 26 September 2008
My Final and probably only piece of advice in this spiel is that no matter how insignificant, stupid people have a purpose too. That annoying dude on the radio may have to be someone to listen to, though unless it's on how to torment girl guides and brownies and such, I don't know. And for gawd's sake, DON'T Trust the Midas touch.
Monday, 22 September 2008
Coming back to why I'm on minimal sleep/maximum caffiene exposure, I have one very sick little boy.This weekend was long, tiresome and snot filled due to my kid contracting some kind of throat icky. I tell ya, even though it may be cute when your little one sounds like a mixture of Big Gay Al and Miss Piggy when talking, throat infections are not fun. Sure the 'banana' medicine is awesome! I mean who hasn't actually looked forward to that tasty concoction when diagnosed with some ear/nose/throat malady? I certainly haven't. But even with the mass advancements in making all our drugs taste like candy, no one has entirely figured out how to make acetominaphin (spelling? bah. who cares, you get the gist.) not taste like ass. First they had grape and orange (Tylenol people. still have nightmares about it myself) , then cherry and bubblegum(even in the no name brand!), even mint(didn't last long as the menthol came off on your hands and subsequently went into your eyes. stingy.), and now a 'fruit medley' and 'citrus squeeze' or something like that. And My son Still Runs screaming from the room with his hands over his mouth while blubbering and choking on his own snot any time I mention the 'chewy pills'. They made Chlortriplon taste all right, why can't they perfect this? gawd, even my Allergy pills have a candy coating, and they came out with those Halls dissolvable sheets, like the listerine thingys. silly pill makers! get it right! for all the parents of sick kids! do it for us! pleeeaaaassssseeeeee!!!!
that's it. for now.
Monday, 15 September 2008
YouTube - Swedish Chef and lobsters
I personally want to gag any time I smell the odour of dead sea creature and ocean water, but there a total of about 150 of these things being boiled, so it was inescapable. the air was permeated with the stench. A literal Newfie spa. Most of the people eating these things were drooling hardcore. It was kinda like the Pavlovian bell of crustaceans. icky. Most of us working there were smiling simply to tamper down our gag reflexes, which were working over time. By the end of the night (lemme tell ya, late) every pore of mine had absorbed more lobster juice than a month's worth in a Halifax harbour. I swear, I turn a certain way and I can still smell it, and that's After 3 equally long and scalding showers with only the best perfumed soaps and such. I'd take the stench of dead cow any day after this. And I will never, Ever, go near or eat butter again. well.. at least not til thanksgiving.
Friday, 12 September 2008
AHH! Quick! Someone come up with 50,000 models of a car that goes on methane made just for saskatchewanites! we have the cows and pigs! and the old farts too! mebbe even some young farts to help out! where did that engine that ran on french fry oil go? Is Mcdonalds in the Oil and Gas industry yet? yech. I can't afford my gas at 1.34/litre at the creeway gas store, and now you tell me that it's gone up another 11 cents? Seriously freakin out here.
bugger you . you suck. Major goats. and anyone telling you otherwise is lying. You know, sometimes I just wanna scream Canada, you traitorous bitch, how could you? and then I remember something about having to be patriotic,so I get down on bended knee and pray to the gas gods for patience and forgiveness. Then I remember I'm an athiest and I get back up and start ranting again. hey wait a sec. isn't oil only at 101-something? isn't that not much of a leap from what it was like a week ago? where's the long weekend? that's usually the only reason they raise the prices this friggin much. oh wait. another natural disaster is gonna do the trick apparently. you know, I heard this funny little rumour a while back about when one of the alberta premiers wanted to keep the oil in canada, mebbe even alberta and refine it and what not so that gas prices would stay reasonable? do I even know what I'm talking about? mebbe not. all I know is that I'm gonna need a third job to pay for the gas to get to and from my first and second job. bugger.
Thursday, 11 September 2008
Don't get me wrong, I LOVVE chocolate. Dark chocolate, light chocolate, truffles, clusters, muffin and cake form, whatever. Chocolate is Guuuuddd. I do not love the people who organise the chocolate in my store. I don't care what looks better per shelf, I don't care that the regular size bars go on a higher shelf than the king size bars, in fact I don't even think that we should be having king size bars in my store, if not for the fact that the fat people love them so much. I happen to have the few representatives from each chocolate company that the rest of the world deemed 'too retarded to actually work in a real city' so they sent them to bellybutton Saskatchewan so they could run free and play. seriously. Mr Cadbury isn't past puberty yet, and stares at those bloody white chocolate bars like they're the creamiest thing he's gonna see, Mr Hershey is usually a no-show, although he usually does have the courtesy to book an appointment to come in so he has a certain time that he can NOT bother to show up for, and Ms Nestle? Picture Foreman's mom from That 70's show, skinny her up a bit, then ladle on some extra annoying. She's got that tasteful way of saying the most tactless thing in her honeyed voice, then following it up with a little twitter and an 'okaaaaayyyyy....'. I want to slaughter her with the sharp edge of a Skor Bar.
Ms Nestle came in to my store today, rearranged everything whilst I did my damnedest to ignore her, proceeded to take 'before' and 'after' shots with her new for-work-only digital camera, and in the midst of her in-home candy renovation, tried to talk to me about my life like she actually spent more than 10 minutes every 3-4 months in my store wiping the dust off of old product before replacing it. I have to admit that I might have given her some of the ammo to work with, but the rest she managed to pull out of her own a**. or at least out of someone else's life.
So she comes in with her BINDER OF ALL IMPORTANCE, her LABELS OF DESTINY, and her BOX CUTTER OF JUSTICE, and tries to butter me up with a free smarties box. Now I've said I lurve chocolate, but smarties doesn't really contain a whole lotta chocolate. just so you know. In fact if you look at the Label, the first ingredient is Milk Chocolate, which then has a brackets bar naming about 9 ingredients, 5 of which Ms Nestle herself couldn't even pronounce, and about four or five ingredients down in the sub-ingredients listing is unsweetened chocolate, but diluted by chemicals and 'Modified milk ingredients' so it can't really be considered chocolate) (I could be just making this shit up, but Ms Nestle should saw the backlash coming.) ANYWAYS, she gives me smarties, I say I don't like 'em, she looks like a puppy I just booted, so I try to comprimise and pull a little kindness out of a rarely used orifice and say that I could probably give them to my son, he'd like them. (which is true, I do bribe him when teaching him the alphabet, see 'By the power of Leapfrog') She lit up at this, and I thought all was well. Too well, it turned out. I was rearranging books in the small section we have that carries various romance titles and such (for the little old ladies, I just love them and their constant perfum of toilet cleaner and kitty litter) and she starts asking me about 'my little girl'. I corrected her once or twice, but she seemed set that my kid was Not born with the barnacles of manhood, so I went with it. what the hell. Then she started asking me about my husband and his Dad's business. So apparently now I'm married to my bosses non-exsistent son, which is kinda... different... anywho, this went on with her making shit up, and myself grunting the odd acknowledgment until she aquired how my pa-in-law was coping with the loss of his wife. a little caught off gaurd I was since my boss is a step father to a coupla daughters, and vice versa his healthy wife. I can only keep up with a made up a story so far, then I kinda lose point of what my goal was in the original making of the story, which was to keep this woman happy with the least possible amount of participation on my part, and mess with her head a little. I was wondering if she wasn't doing this to me. she didn't do a very good job tho, cuz I wasn't really happy with her. I think she sensed my pause of discomfort as a 'it's too personal, don't really wanna talk about it' kinda thing, at which point she did her finest Foreman's mom and Nasally twittered into the ackward feeling silence and 'okaaaaayyyy....'. Then she left. I don't know if she was actually done, or if she just wanted to leave the scene of the crime, although I'm not exactly sure who's crime it was, or what it was for that matter. I'm still all of a tizzy trying to figure it out myself. ..
Wednesday, 10 September 2008
I officially hate wednesdays.
So far today I have managed to yell at a customer on the phone, not once, but three times and counting(apparently can't take the hang up hint AT ALL), dropped all of my daily newspapers that come into my store(about 15 different titles, 5-20 apiece), then barked at a customer wanting to help.And these papers didn't just go in an up-down motion. oh no. I did the full version of the 'I got it! I Got it!' dance, and there was news every where.. and that nice, naive customer held the door open for a full 4 minutes while I did the 'mumbly-don't help me- I said I got it' stretches. all this going on, while behind me, and so unbeknownst to me, a good crowd of 4 or 5 people had gathered, either apparently too scared to pass the messy News-explosion into the helpfully opened door, or trying to keep their laughs down to a reasonably silent snorting session. yeah I heard it. helpful.
and it's not even 10:30.
ok now it is.
And enter- Oompa Loompa! Well. Not quite. He's a bit surlier than your average oompa. But he's short! And cancer-peely Orange! Someone should send that man to the tanning nazis. NO MORE GLOOP FOR YOU! ick. As always, he, like every other regular schmuck in my store, expects my mind-reading capabilities to kick in before lunch, or at least my third cuppa. So I'm behind the counter, vaguely aware that he likes to top off his carcinogenic routine with cigars, but I'll be a surgeon generals left t** if I can remember which kind. And so I start from the left of the display and move on, while he's making jokes about the intelligence level of retail employees in this day and age. I imagine the slow painful death he's made for himself, and picture him wheezing and purple, and somehow the comments bounce off . Not bad for 10:30. in the a.m. After I finally get the amount of and the kind(get this, a carton of bandi cigars, five to a pack , five packs a carton, twice a week. I hope he shares.) Oompa gets on his cell phone. Guess my converstional skills were no match to his lackey who can get him starbucks at his whim. So I'm standing there while he makes his order, still waiting for a form of payment. And the little bugger starts wandering around the store, visually picking out artery-clog inducing pastry! Hello! I want you to get the f out of my store! If you're not out in 30 seconds, your lackey better be bringing ME a venti-smooth-hot-something else-blahblah-water-more fake italian-latte, AND a muffin! I don't care which kind. not picky. haha... So , he finally comes back, and then tries to leave without paying. yeah. Saw That coming from a mile away, even in my caffiene-free coma. So we argue for a little minute, then I , in my graceful, refined and patient glory, say 'I have a video camera that's been watching you SIR! Why don't you have a look to jog your memory, cuz I am QUITE SURE that you didn't leave any fu**in money.' whoops. First rule,big one, no swearing at customers, the customer is always right. well I happen to know that most of the customers I serve don't know right from their own toes, so I guess that makes me a shitty manager. Whatever. So, wisely, he shuts his mouth, we go to the camera and rewind , he looks at himself going through the coffee summons, while I look on(thank god my back was to the camera, I'm pretty shure that I said many more unsavory things while watching his communicative ordeal.) (hah! big words! not even sure if they fit or make sense, but surprisingly they're the only words coming to mind)
And all he says is 'huh. so I guess I didn't pay ya.' and gets out his wallet. . kay best part. so he pays, says 'see ya next week, you know you don't have to let these things get to ya, don't let the world get ya down.' or something to that extent. then-'umm, I looked kind of orange in the camera... you might want to fix your contrast.'