3..2..1... KAABLOOOIIIEEEE!!! just kiddin

I have so much on my mind today, I'm going to implode in big yellow-gooey noggin pieces all over my workplace. so I write those noggin strainers here to save myself the hassle of having to clean up after myself.

To the lady who I'm meeting with to look at a house this weekend, I apologise in advance. When you say that you're new to renting out places and you don't even know if you care if there's animals in your house, I'm going to have to exploit and take advantage of you at every chance I get. I really want that house.

To my left eye that has been twitching off and on for the last four days, Fuck off already! getting really annoying! and if this is an 'only symptom that appears before you get a brain hemorrhage' type thing, I'm going to be really pissed off!

To everyone who wished me well for my birthday, as well as those who laughed at me and then said I'm getting old (like my son) thank you. but it's really not necessary. Next time just send booze. anonymously. works better.

To my son, who loves to give presents as much as receive them, or even just to know that the present he gives can be used by everybody (and by everybody I mean him) I think we're going to have to go over some basic house rules again. even though you bought it for me and picked the colour and everything, there is no way in Hell that I'm sharing my coffee pot with you. besides, it'll stunt your growth.

To my friend, who's having a blast after breaking off a crazy-stoopid relationship, slow down. There's enough yummy boys to get around to, without having to break so many of those boys' hearts. but still, you go lady!

To my absentee Landlord, in the immortal words of someone else I know, 'Go bugger yourself. I'm done.!'

To the customer who loitered in my general working area for 15 minutes furiously smelling something, you gross me out. Stop-no, sto-stop stop... step away, and leave the immediate area. icky (I sit right in front of the porn section of a magazine store by the way, no fault of mine, just where the comp.'s placed)

To my cat, who woke me up this morning by trying to eat my toes, I have many knives, and if one of my toes goes missing, I guarantee that your tail will go the same way.

To my brain-to-mouth filter, which I obviously left at home today, I miss you.


and finally I leave you with this question. When you sell papers like the star Phoenix, and the globe& mail, and a customer asks you if either are available, does the following sentence sound dirty to you?
'No, I don't have any globes right now, but I have a star!'

damn depressing, if I do say so myself

here I sit. At my desk. In the dark. and it's already 9:30 in the morning. Why am I in the dark? because the sun refuses to shine upon us until close to 10am. Then it takes an early leave around 4:15. So that means that I go to work before the Sun comes up, and Leave after it's set. All work and no sunshine to play around in, or even drive in, makes me a bitter person. If only I could have some snow. Snow is helpful in illuminating a dark night, or morning and afternoon with. plus it gives me a damn good reason to get outside. Without snow, it's just dark and cold out. With snow, it's a night-time winter wonderland in which to whisk my kiddo out to play, make forts, have snow-ball fights, go sledding, make snow angels, eat (be careful about this one), and pile on slides only to knock it down. Childish fun!!! where's my Childish fun?!? I demand that it snow. RIGHT NOW!!!
thanks for tuning in to my hissy fit. better stuff next time. I promise(hope)

UH OH! I feel a serious break coming on...

why are we so non-caring about our kids these days? I know inheriting a gene structure is one thing, but we shouldn't 'strive' to make our kids just like ourselves. Cue short-and-stout(very) lady and her mini-her of about 13. Notice the lack of a bra, the three-day-worth grime protective coating, and the sweats. The only thing that separates the two is age and make-up. One, completely oblivious to grease-paint and fish scales, the other, way too into experimenting.
Notice the complete lack of confidence as mini-her walks up to the desk to ask about - wait for it- video gaming magazines. So I politely point the girl in the right direction, and go back about what I was doing. which is completely ignoring the world around me and counting things. I get a psst, psstt, about thirty seconds later, and the mini-her is back to ask me if there's any specific games magazines, and not just gaming systems mags. So I reply that Nintendo wii has a couple of specials on their new wii fit game, cruel I know, but she didn't take the hint / bait/ jab/ whatever. Not the girls fault at this point of time, really. She asks about a certain game on x-box, no-clue if she was speaking english or not, and I retort that if it's not on the shelf, it's not in the store. sorry
So mini-her goes back to mom, and sighs a little sigh, groans a little groan, and is immeadiatly comforted by mama. Mama says, "now don't worry about it honey, we can stop at that new Indigo that's opened up to look for your book, I hear they have a Starbucks in it too! how does hot chocolate sound? You know, I used to have a computer desk job too, and I didn't like it very much, most days I was grumpy, so I don't blame her for being rude, she can't help it, if she doesn't like her job. Hey, do you want to stop at Mcdonalds on the way home?"

This I swear, word for word, is what came out of her mouth. Many things some to mind when someone either a)insults me, or b) tries to make concession in my favour with a back-handed comment.
The first thing that pops up is to throw it back in their faces, add a little more condescention, and some sarcasticity to the mix. The second, in this instance, was to question their parenting skills. I wanted to berate that little pilsbury creation into nothingness, tell her that she's turning her daughter into an obedient fat cow ready for the slaughter-house that is high-school, she should tack on taco-time just cuz it's on the way, and WHAT is with their hygeine? icky!!!
The third would have been to point them both in the direction of the cooking mags, might as well learn the girl up on how many ways you can deep-fry chocolate.
The fourth would have been to throw-up.

But I didn't do any of those things. why? Not because I'm a wimp, not because I only thought of those things just now, but because I don't honestly care anymore. That's right. Because those kids are our future, and us parents are royally f**king it up. I've seen enough to know that I can't stop any of this execpt for my own son. Just making sure that he doesn't turn into a stupid, fat, blubbering slob is all I can ever hope for. I hope I don't live long enough to have to put myself in other children's care, because I'd probably not make it anyway. so that's it. that's all I have to say. no point to this post really. You and I have screwed the world over enough. just don't help your kids to do the same.

Merry Stinkin X-mas!

I have a story for you. It's about Coffee. Sweet delicious Nectar of the Gawds.. and Food! Glorious Food!!!

Actually, it's about the buffet at my night job, where the wild things have died, been sauteed, and then stewed in a steam tray for an hour or more.(hey, I didn't lie about the food)
At least that's the story more or less by the time the staff get to eat it. If there's any left to eat. We lowly slaves to the upper-middle-class-alcoholics usually get last pickins after everyone else has been served, sometimes we get riled up and convene to order from somewhere else so as to take the upper hand, but mostly we're too lazy and eat whatever's left. which is usually slimy from steam, or rubbery, or dried out and chewy.
I'm sure that when it's served to the paying public, it's not that bad. We usually get rave reviews on it. like, 'Oh this is yummy!', or 'You should try this! have you tried this? tell me you've tried this', or 'Oh, the potatoes are so MOIST.'(hehe. moist..)
Also, our Caterer usually plays the meals out to match either the entertainment or the season.

For example, last year we had an Italian play, so there was moist pork medallions and spaghetti carbonara, along with a variety of veggies, side dishes, and a whole table dedicated to desserts. Every X-mas, the Caterer does the Ukrainian special, which has turkey, ham, potatoes, stuffing, cabbage rolls(homemade, not that store bought shite) and perogies(which sometimes start out homemade, but usually end up that Cheezo(?sp?) brand after a coupla weeks.) along with mushroom sauce, gravy, salads, and that whole table dedicated to desserts.
This meal(the X-mas meal) is the only buffet I can handle every night that I'm working. Why? Because this meal in itself, is the main reason the Ukrainians were invented. To feed the public. Literally. and I know some Ukrainians. So I can't let them down, you see. to shun the very food that they have been put on this earth to make, is like telling a jew you don't want any Lutefisk. or refusing fried okra when in the southern states. so I, by sheer decency for all things put on this earth, will eat this meal, and smile whilst doing so, for the sake of my Ukrainian friends. May everyone on this earth taste the heaven that is Cabbage roll. and have a Merry x-mas.
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screw it. I don't really care if yours is merry or not, just eat the friggin cabbage, or I'll stuff it down your maw!... do it for the people. do it... do it...

Come one, come all, to the hell that is my X-mas!!!

Ever been so tired that you're not really sure whether you're actually awake or not? Well, that's the position I look forward to being in the next few weeks. X-mas is coming. Whether we like it or not. And due to the overwhelming appreciation for booze and theatre in Bellybutton SK (where I live), and due to the fact that I serve in a "Theatre", I get to witness all sorts of appreciation to both very soon. We have a new show in the theatre, Called Playing Doctor, that if you don't think about when you see it (like, at all...) isn't really that bad.

In a nutshell (literally) the play is about an up and coming writer who's spent the last few years living with his best friend, in the quasi-lap of luxury, on his parent-paid college fund(he was supposed to become a doctor, duh). Twist: His rich parents-CEO dad, trophy mom- come to visit him out of the blue to see how his doctor practise is doing. So he hires his best friend-a shitty actor- to get some acting buddies to play patients, and then, yep, Plays Doctor.

And Hilarity ensues.

The recipe? Think of it as bad british slap-stick, throw in some really painful groaners(Groaners means horrible joke for all twisted sickos out there.. like me) a coupla chicks barely dressed, and some self-righteous semi-nudity.Then wrap a shitty plot around it, and presto. This is what I get to watch for the next month and a half.

Luckily, I also get to serve selfish bastards and their women booze while I'm at it, so yay for tips!!, and boo for un-called-for ass grabs from old yuckies, people who think they don't have to tip for drinking coffee(We still serve it to you, where the f*ck did you think it came from? I don't see no Juan and donkey roaming about) and disgruntled women who realize that the buffet isn't all it's cracked up to be.( I mean, come on. No matter how you dress it up, it's still a stuff-your-f*ckin-face-before-it's-all-gone kinda thing. One step up from piggies at the trough. As for the women-only reference, come on guys. You know you don't taste it. That stuff's just for soakin up the booze so you can drink more.)

So yay for working. And yay for two jobs. And yay for no sleep.
Now where did I park my Juan?

I'm a little old man, short and stout, here is my walking cane, here is my prostate!

What is it with old people and their will to die?

anyone?

I have this one gentleman who always pays the wrong amount, and then when I point out the error, he comes back with, 'Oh, I would never mean to cheat you out! I'm due at the pearly gates soon, ya know'. Or the Little Ukrainian woman with the boobs to her knees that likes to travel to a different province for about 10 months in the year, not consecutively though, she likes to go back and forth every coupla weeks. I think it's something to do with family. getting off topic here. ANYWAYS, she always ends sentences with "God willing" or "God rest him/her/them/etc", and she likes to talk about dead people. like they were still here. Perfect Example: The Show that was last going on in the Theatre that I work at had a little ol' lady character in it that gets obsessed with death, funerals, tombstones, final resting places, etc, whenever she starts feeling poorly. The playwright got spot on with that one, what with the older mentality and defeatist attitude. well not defeatist, maybe acceptance? It's becoming all too common, anyways. I'm not saying that all older peoples are like this, just the ones that gravitate around me are.

Take this.

A woman that just was in my store asked if we had a public washroom. Now, I don't really like just anyone using the washroom, as I think most people don't actually know How to use a public restroom, hence the 'employees only' sign on it. just as I'm saying no, her husband goes right in. seems he's been here before, and considers this place home. or at the very least our plumbing facilities. then she feels the utter need to let me in on the state of his prostate, and other such maladies. and the time he's got left in this world. Now I know that losing someone is hard, dying sucks, and getting old just blows in general. But confiding in your friendly customer service rep is not really the way to go. Talk to family, friends, hire a professional, but please, don't spill on the chick who only gets paid just above minimum wage to sell cigs and candy.

Plus, I just put a sign on the Bathroom Door that really should make people think about their conscientiousness!! There's already an 'Employees Only' sign on there that should make things clear, but since it doesn't me and my beautiful Permanent Marker made an attachment that reads-*ahem*

THIS MEANS WHAT IT SAYS!!!-thanks, mgmt.

Now, I'm not the Bathroom Nazi. Of course I'll let customers in if they really need it.They just need to ask. Is that so hard? really? whatever happened to people being shy and modest when using the facilities? why do I need to know that they've got raging prostate problems, or that their hemorrhoids are acting up? um.. didn't mention that particular customer did I? oh well. another time.

These things can eat you. I swear.

I have a serious question. it's been bothering me all day, and I can't figure it out on my own.



How in the world are mullets still popular?



I've seen two today. and I wonder... do hairstylists still do mullets anymore? do they know how to cut the hair to make the mullet? it seems like a very complex procedure. It's all perm-y in the front, and long layered in the back, and the two cuts meld into one another. I seriously don't think you can get that shit done in any respectable salon anymore. Hell, I don't even think you can get it done in a magic-cuts, or cut-rite. do they have home haircutting kits? like back when regal and avon were big on the bowl cut and they gave you a 'specialized circular shaped hair-measuring tool' or a BOWL and a plastic sheet that's shaped like an upside-down umbrella and some scissors? they even had many sized BOWLS depending on the size and shape of your head, or when the x-mas catalogue special came out, one of those collapsable traffic cone-thingys. and INSTRUCTIONS!!! cuz any half-sane or mostly un-retarded person is gonna need to know how to put a bowl on their head and cut around it without cutting off an ear or giving you an *Gasp!* un-even cut. I personally wouldn't go out in public if I got a bowl cut, whether it be even or not. likewise with the mullets. Not sure what these people were thinking. ohh! Mebbe, 'gee, if I get a mullet, people won't notice my overly HUGE fuggin forehead... hmm

Tips for the dutiful Consumer pt.1

Ok. So I've been noticing this more and more lately. Cell phones.and the immeadiate and deadly rude use of it in a public place. Particularly in my store. More to the point, when they're at the cash register, with me. Ok. So first I go through the 'is it me?' phases. Do I stink? Have they been here before, and I just didn't have enough stimulating conversation for them? Am I just plain creepy? These and other questions will inevitably pop into my brain when confronted with me losing a chance for small talk to a piece of coloured plastic electronickery. And, do you know, I just love being Told to put said merchandise into a bag, or being Told to get certain said merchandise. Because when any action is put to me when the customer is only half paying attention, or is put to me as a side thought deterred from his more important conversation about supper, and who he/she/it saw last night, that action becomes a demand, a telling to, and not a request. and that irks me to no end. So my course of action? Talk as loudly to the customer as I can, while he is on the phone, so that if he can not tell the importance of conversing with a flesh-and-blood person instead of a voice carried through satellite waves, then at least the person on the other line will have enough sense to ask to call later. or stop talking. The other thing I do is wait. just wait. I wait until they're done their conversation, or until they have enough sense to put the guy on hold, or the phone down, and apologise. Sometimes I help the people behind them, or clean things, but mostly I just stare and wait. So really. I ask any of you who read this. If you happen upon a store and are just coming to the checkout when the phone rings,PUT THE BLOODY THING DOWN!thank-you.

Creatures of Habits

I love crazy magazine lovin wierdos. I Really do.
Like the guys who match their coats and hats to the cover of their stealth-hunter magazines, or the little old british ladies who think they're part of the royal family just because they buy, well, Royalty magazines. But I sincerly want to put out a big HELLY-O and a thank-you to my favorite bunch: The Overbearing, man-panties-in-a-bunch, Tight-uncomfortable shoe wearing Businessman.
These Gentlemen, or, as some of them prefer to be called, Phat Cats, are true chameleons in the realm of the 'zine. They Can flit back and forth from Rap Mags, Porn rags, and Quilted fags like nobody's biz. ( sorry, I just had to find another ryhme-y word for that last one. Not to mention, it's true.) Now, the normal time of day to spot the P.C's (for those of you who are slow, that means Phat cats) is either 11ish in the am, or just after one in the pm. Basically anytime around the lunch period, but not quite, so they don't have to answer any uneasy questions to any associate/collegue who might also have a penchant for perusing the papers over lunch. You can tell a P.C apart from a normal business-person by the long black high-end looking dusters they prefer to wear no matter how tall or not they are, their tommy-curl hair that looks thoroughly shellacked, and the smell of Geriatric spice or Cowboy-CAN'T YOU TELL I AM A MAN- perfume Emanating from every pore on their person. These such people always elude me when they come in, sometimes, I think, just from the pendulum effect their coats have on me, and then I'm completely oblivious to the fact that there's a sub-human being under all that pizzaz. These P.C.'s always walk with a purpose, though they usually take 5-10 minutes( or whenever all the other customers have left) to purposefully stride to their glossy destination. Which is almost always one of the three sections I have mentioned earlier. However the Typical P.C. is careful not to let on that they are purchasing anything suspicious, so before making their final stop at the counter, they swish over to the News aisle and pick up whatever Market paper is available, ie. Barrons, Newyork times, wall street journal, western investor, etc. Then these crafty buggers hide their true purchase in the folds of a paper and return to the cash register looking lofty and pristine. I've learned to look in all papers that a business-person is carrying now just to make sure there isn't a hidden glossy somewhere, as most times they, as do all other customers, think that we retail personnel are experienced mind-readers and shouldn't need to be told that they are hiding dirty, dirty smut somewhere between the Housing and Stocks section. and hey, to give credit to them, it's not always smut. Sometimes a Real Man just has to loop a coupla Circle Shell Stitches to unwind, ya know?

-manly AND Complicated!

Anyway, they almost always pay with some form of Mastercard super-multi-platinum-double-gold-fingered card, just to let you know that they still are an imposing figure when it comes to using other peoples cash, and it' really surprises me that they don't use, you know, cash, cuz that would just make it impossible to trace, and so, not letting the entire banking world know that they bought a 'no-no'. I dunno. just thinkin aloud. through my fingers.

N-E-yways, after which, they throw a smoke bomb down on the floor, and with a swish of their coats, disappear into the smoke laced interior to the external life without leaving a trace! exept for, well, the door chime thingy going off as they make their escape. ;)

Of Sweat and Snot, Of Balls and Tots

Kay, so I'm running on about 5 hours sleep, and about 9 pots worth of coffee, so if the following thingy doesn't make a whole lot-a sense, then.. whatever. I don't really care. I just feel the need to express to all of the 40+ gentlemen out there, and even some of the women, that it is NOT OKAY to have mass amounts of spare change in your pockets when wearing sweatpants. you probably shouldn't be wearing sweatpants out in public anyways, but especially not with 10 bucks in change. Small, small change. This leads to the question of why you were wearing sweatpants in public, as most people who do are, well, exercising and sweating, or just a tad to big for any other material, and therefore, probably sweating also. This leads me into the knowledge that all of that big hunk of change vicariously swinging around your nether regions has probably also been co-mingling with the inevitable sweat of your said regions ( See: why people wear sweats in public), and saying that, I have just one question for those who apply to the previous. WHY DO YOU INSIST ON PAYING FOR SOMETHING ENTIRELY IN SWEATY BALL/GUNT CHANGE!???!?!?!??? eww. This is why every store should buy stock in Purell. or any kind of sanitizing agent. I seriously do not want to be touching coins covered in unknown/unverified liquids and/or moisture and heat of some kind. makes me kinda barfy. Maybe that would stop the sweaty change-exchange. If you hand me your taint-ed coins(get it? taint-ed? heh? heh? ahh.. nevermind) and I barf on your purchase(no refunds, sorry) that'll teach you a lesson. or maybe I'll just lose business. damn. no way to win.

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.

The NEW! Newfie Spa

I seriously don't know what people see in lobsters. this past friday I had the um... *ahem* privelege to work during a city wide lobster boil. These people paid 70-some bucks to eat a lobster and some high class mac and cheeze. yup. mac and cheeze. Special people. They didn't even know how to eat with their HANDS, let alone a lobster cracker and a special fork. Lemme tell you, butter was ev-ery-where. First off, I don't know if our linens will survive the messy butter carnage. Second, I have pimples starting from the sheer amount of melted butter in the air. And these people were in awe of the smell of the beast! Like, LOVIN it.
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.

Chocolates with Extreme Dizzying qualities?

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. ..

weird.

Willy wonka and the Cancer factory

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.'

priceless.

By the Power of Leapfrog!!!

So here we are again, me showing off with the tardiness of my writing capabilities. bad! bad me! I have shamed myself. really. and with so much news to tell! I got a part in that Crazy white trash musical, since past,(the last showing was July 26th, to be exact) and it was a complete blast. really. lotsa fun. lotsa work too, since I was also working at the same venue that I was rehearsing, and eventually performing at. All at the same time. So if we work out the total life time I lost to this from the rest time I received, I technically only had Wednesday evenings off, with Sunday to Tuesday nights reserved for learning the play, and Thursday to Saturday nights for working. And Monday to Friday days for also working. But still, lotsa fun. Lots of drama too, and I don't mean with the actors. My own life tends to spiral out of control when I least expect it, which due to my goldfish memory-holding capabilities, is quite often. And in the midst of the swirling vortex which is my agenda, I usually tend to lose sight of the big picture, whilst trying to keep each little piece in order, resulting in broken appendages both literal and figurative. all of my own making of course, me being the control freak that I am. But enough of that. I know what I've done, and by means of keeping something slightly private, and away from prying webular eyes, I'll move on. This is no pity party after all.

No! this is about my son!

Do you know how interesting it is to teach a boy to recognize his ABC's?

My son is learning his letters, albeit reluctantly. After all, who needs letters and books when there are movies and video games to be had! and the funniest bit? I don't have TV, we rarely watch movies, and I don't own a gaming system of any kind. This is all learnt exclusively through outside sources, via babysitters, friends, etc. So... three hours, and a coupla timeouts later, and we now know ABCDFOSTXZ, and not in that order. But it's a start. I tell ya, if not for leapfrog, I would be forced to do it by hand, and then, even though I'm sure the letters would be learned in order, we would not have gotten as far. Also, I would thank nameless, who has a heck of a lot more patience than I, for about half an hour in, I was cleaning to relieve the tension, while sonny boy and nameless were still going at it. my parenting skills stop at a certain limit, apparently, mostly with teaching school-type things, as I can't even remember how I learned my alphabet, though I do recall a certain book with pictures of things that started with each letter, the most eye-catching picture being the ashtray labeled under Aa. And people wonder why I smoke. ha ha. ha..yeah.

Keeping with the subject of Learning new things and My son, there's the small matter of sports. Which is really quite big, if you look at all angles. He's starting in a swimming class come September, and myself and another have been trying to teach him other various sports, such as baseball, soccer, etc. Mostly starting with the fact that he can't just quit or cry when he doesn't get it right the first time. And let me tell you, not the easiest thing to instill in a child. there has to be a magic sentence or something that you say to the child, and BOOM! no more whiny give-ups. And they are not 'you only cry if you're a girl', 'big boys don't quit, you wanna be a big boy don't you?', ' if you quit then you don't get ice-cream', and other such bribes. And no, I am not above bribing, sometimes it's the best way to quiet the situation. I'm not saying it solves anything, just that sometimes it's better to compromise with food and/or toys and/or free-time, than to lose Mommy's sanity. But on the upside, he's learning.... slowly, like snail-speed multiplied. Example. I took him out to the park with a soccer ball, and took him to the field, and we started by running the length of the field while kicking the ball in front of you. that lasted about 20 yards. then we kicked it back to each other, which resulted in him picking up the ball and throwing it at me because he was frustrated. so I hit it with my head. THEN he was interested. So what was Going to be a teaching session, turned into a half-hour of Me throwing the ball at his head, and him running around trying to get it to bounce back to me. see? Not entirely wasted, but not the first thing I would've preferred to teach him. Enjoyable though. Kind of satisfying when you get to whack your son on the head, and he wants more. yup. Caring and responsible parent. That's me.

that's all my rantings for now. at least until we learn LMNOP. that should be fun. ha ha. ha....

tired

First of all, I'd like to apologise to everyone, and mostly to my self for being so tardy with this thing, I would like to write more, but I have a very hectic schedule... which brings me to second of all. I never want to work again. never. ok... mebbe just not so much. plus around christmas time, there's all these x-massy thingys to go to, hence any day that I'm not working on, I have been assigned to for bringing a dish that I don't have time to cook, to a party I'm not gonna be awake enough to enjoy. Here's just a little tidbit of my schedule.
Sat.15-Work 10-3, Work 4:30-11:30
Sun.16-Work 10-3,x-mas shopping, 6:30 x-mas party (potluck),
Mon.17- Work 8-4:30 wrapping,7 pm dance recital for a grown man( the first really fun part of the week)
Tues.18-Work 8-4:30, hair cut @ 5:30(getting a foot or so cut off, YAY! finally), dinner at 7:30 (potluck)
Wed.19-Work 9-4:30, Work 5-11:30
Thurs.20-Work 9-4, Work 4:30-11:30
Fri.21-Work 9-4, Work 4:30 11:30
Sat.22-Work 10-3, Work 4-11:30
Sun.23-Work 10-3, Work 3:30 to 10:30
Mon.24-Work 8-4:30
tues.25 X-mas
blah. I get tired just looking at this thing... and a little sad that there's only another week to go...
too much work... I better get F**king fantastic tips this next week.

Work Woes

OHh, woe of all woes! The Store is being cut down on hours, prices, and space!
The Magazine store in which I work is coming upon financial hardships. Therefore, brain matter was used, and though many ideas came up, Here are the few that are going to be put in motion.
-Starting November 3/2007, New Store hours are now as follows:
-Monday-Saturday:10-8
-Sundays and Holidays-CLOSED
Now this is a Big change, seeing as how we're losing 2 hours per weekday, and 8 hours on sundays and holidays. also, comes the rescheduling, as I'm now myself down to 37 hours a week(not factoring in the second job) and all the part-times will be at the minimum 3 hours a night, and, hopefully, this will give the part-timers more inclination to fight over the shifts that are not being taken regularly, and not just quit.
Also,
-Starting in the New Year, we will be cutting down on 300 sq ft of space.
Now this one isn't so bad, seeing as how we don't really need the corner space we're giving up, as all it's there for is newspapers and puzzle books, both of which could be easily moved to another area of the store. Also, it's the coldest corner in the place, as there's no heating vents over there, so our heating system is constantly on, cuz there's still sensors there, I believe. The only bill that won't be bitten back is the electricity, cuz there's only two lights in that section, and then a giant skylight. There's so much space in the store that's not being utilized, giving us a kind of under-decorated feel, and so I think a few landlord-paid renovations will be coming out of the woodwork in the near future as well.

Now you may be wondering what exactly these hardships are that have us doing a couple of drastic changes...
The first being the canadian dollar. yup. Since the loonie went up, and the us daller went down, our one and only question coming in has been 'when are You going to be lowering the magazine prices?'
I've come to loath this question, I really have, only for the reason that there's so many answers out there, and all of them are the truth.
-Magazine covers are pre-paid at the current price for up to six months in advance
-Each and every publisher has to set a commitee meeting for cover price changes, some which might take a while
-Some Magazines like to wait for a certain amount of time, to see if the dollar will settle, or go back down,(why should I change the price when the price is going to go back to normal within three months?)
and other such excuses that were made readily available to me when the dollar first went up.
Now the customers have all heard these a little too often, and so aren't happy with the answers anymore, because they haven't changed. So they've stopped coming. boycotted the mags, if you will. Sure, there are still those who can't do without their monthly fix, but that's usually a collected magazine, sure to be worth something in the future.
So our lines have petered out and our returns have gotten bigger...

The second would be the raising of the minimum wage. Now I've learned a great little deal about this quite recently, mostly being that no matter what they raise the minimum wage to, anyone who's making minimum will still be below the poverty line. Now they consider anyone making 18-20000 a year below the poverty line. Now 7.95 to 9.25 in two years is not going to change a damn thing. And just recently, very recently, as recently as yesterday in fact, there was a poll sent out to all business owners about how this raising of minimum wages would or would not benifit them. And there was an interesting question in and among the list. It said:
"Basic Personal Exemption(BPE): Currently Saskatchewan's BPE is $8,778 compared to Alberta's $15,435 (this is the amount of income not subject to tax). Increasing the BPE allows workers to earn more before having to pay income taxes."
Then below was a question asking if the BPE should be raised in Saskatchewan.
First? duh...
Second? Hold on, hold on... we're only at 8,778? so even if a minimum wage worker is making 18000 a yr, after the first 8778 he/she's taxed? No wonder so many people are below the poverty line! Hell I've got two jobs, making over 25000 a year, and I'm still below the poverty line! WTH?
so... the independant business owners are forced to take a little more money from their own wallets to give to their employees, who then can give it back to the government and no one really benefits from this? well then. I don't want a wage increase. I'll be paying for it.
and really, being a business owner, when you're down this far with no one wanting to buy your product, and then you have to fork out a few hundred extra dollars to your employees, probably out of your own pocket,(whether they deserve it or not), you'd probably do all you can to keep Some money in your pocket...
And thus, the reasons all add up.
Blegh.
And so ends another adventure(Rant) from the Tiny Pianist.
Tune in Next time, when it Snows!

IN-VEN-TOR-Y!

AHH! ERNIE!
So today at the Store of Marvolous Magazine Magnificence, we have our
inventory crew coming in from WIS, which I am assuming is Western Inventory something...
school? they all look like they should be in school, some on the short bus. K that's mean. But seriously! Their Leader sounds Like Ernie! as in Bert and? and there's this other mean little woman who I guess since I'm at the front all the time and they wouldn't want a guy to come and count everything(we might start a convo. *gasp*) they paired up the diminuitive shrew with me. So every 2 minutes or so, 'what's this price?' 'you guys forgot to sticker this' and the oh so popular 'oh nevermind, you don't know anything I'll go ask your boss.' I LOVE IT! My goodness, if that little bleep wasn't 4x4 I would've punted her across the store by now. I still think that WE who work in the store, should've been paid to come in on a sunday, and count everything ourselves. I mean three hours of counting things? not hard. and he would've been paying us probably a little less. so bossman would've been saving money. sheesh. oh well. It has provided me with enough entertainment to last not just the two hours they were in here, but for the next three hours as well. at least until I get my 2:30 brain shut down.
K that's it for today- mebbe...
Stay tuned for more ad-ventures from the TinyPianist!

It Was Me!

HAHA! Yes It was me Saskatoon! It was me that denied Matt Good his oh-so precious New York Times Daily! and if he's not happy settling with the lousy weekend edition of the paper, and decides not to go on tonight, as I was told expressly, then you know who to blame! HAHA!
and don't you worry, my number's included in my 'apology' note to said singer, so I will be the one who gets the talkin to by whoever persons are in control of his personal and mental health! And if said newspaper puts him over the edge, and he decides to go on a lack-of-newspaper-crazed killing rampage, know, Saskatoon, that it was I that put him in that place! HAHAHAHAHAHA!

seriously, if you can't read a certain paper everyday, or if you can't do the crossword? in said paper, you should not be singing for a 80 bucks a ticket, you should be singing for like-minded gown-wearing, drooling, fellow crazies in the psych-ward! blagh!
I guess I could understand the importance of the New york times horoscopes though... I myself Never go out without consulting my ever-important msn horoscope. Heaven forbid I should be wearing the wrong colour for the day, or if I'm overly talkative, when I should be silent, lest I put my foot in my mouth...
well that's it for today..
Stay tuned for more adventures of the TinyPianist.