Hey, Cheeky Monkeys

Hi. Sorry I haven't blogged in a while. I've been working on other stuff. If you're a former coworker, send me a message* so I can share said other stuff.


*™Deliberately Vague Hints

A Few Facts

Fact: When Big Bookstore needed someone to fill gaps in the schedule, I was always available. I would estimate that I responded positively to 90% of the calls I received asking me to fill shifts on short notice. The only time I turned them down was when I absolutely had other commitments.

Fact: In eight and a half years of working at Big Bookstore I called out sick for four full shifts. Four. In eight and a half years. I've known booksellers who couldn't make that claim for one month, let alone eight years.

Fact: I never received less than the second highest possible rating on performance evaluations. I was told that the last performance evaluation I received was among the two highest in the entire store that year - for all employees, supervisory and otherwise.

Fact: I provided excellent customer service to Big Bookstore's customers. Our store's single largest customer, a man who spends about 5K per month in the store, has requested me by name for the last three years. Over that time, I've ordered over 1100 out-of-print books for him, and countless hundreds of in-print books. Virtually everything he has purchased for the last three years has been ordered by me, and his purchases account for a significant percentage of the store's annual corporate sales.

Fact: Last year, I won the monthly customer service award.

Fact: Last month I had the highest total percentage of membership sign-ups.

Fact: I can count on one hand the number of cashier errors I've made in the last year.

Fact: The last GM thought highly enough of me to beg me to become the Training Supervisor. I accepted even though it meant working two full-time jobs, because the store needed me. As we agreed beforehand, I stepped down after six months when the holiday period ended.

Fact: When Big Bookstore desperately needed Cafe staff last year, I volunteered to cross-train, then spent the next six weeks doing closing shifts in the Cafe six nights a week until the staff situation improved.

Tell me again why I'm a bad bookseller?

Welcome Big Bookstore Overlords!

d00ds. What took you so long? I've only been writing this thing since 2004. I'm totally chuffed to see that you finally found me. I don't know how you found me, but, HEY! Now, I don't really have to care! w00t!

Perhaps the fact that this is the first time I've ever seen hits from the Big Bookstore corporate servers is a sign that I did an excellent job of obfuscating your precise identity. And I'll continue to do so because I think, in the end, that the disgruntled bookseller experience is a universal one to which all big box bookstore employees can relate.

So pull up a chair. Read. Enjoy. If you've ever spent any time on the frontlines at Big Bookstore, I feel reasonably certain you'll find experiences to which you can relate as well.

You Love Me! You Really Love Me!

I received 498 copies of the following message.

In a community to which I belong, we describe things like this message as "found object self-awareness." In other words, the sender lacks conscious self-awareness of her own flaws, but manages to express her unconscious awareness by ascribing those attributes to others. I've highlighted the relevant terms for your convenience:

From: shelvingnazi@gmail.com
To: ereshkigal45@yahoo.com
Subject: All Booksellers Must Shelve MY way!
Date: Thu, 11 May 2006 21:47:35 -0700 (PDT)

Well, Lisa my darling, I LOVED your post about me!

I admit, you're right that shelving books is not trivial at a Big
Bookstore; however, your obsession with your little cart seems a bit over
the top, even for a control freak. I feel pity for you -- harboring such
animosity towards the world almost always signals a serious emotional
problem. Did you ever notice how the shelving gets done every day, even
when your colleagues don't follow your supposedly "superior" method?
Did you think that you were a manager for some oddball reason, with
authority to tell people what to do? Could your emotional brinksmanship
hinge on the fact that you realize that YOU'RE a "COW"-worker like the
others, only in girth and not in herd mentality?

Who knows? And now that you're home sweet gone, who cares?

Cheers! It's been great!

shelvingnazi

P.S. Perhaps if you relaxed with the obessessive tallying of relative
hours at said Big Bookstore you might not need a "substitute for the
lonelies."

As I say, I received 498 copies of this message. Four hundred and ninety eight. Yay! Someone has a new hobby!

Fan Mail!

Bookseller posted this question in a comment to my previous entry:

Bookseller said...
um, just to clear up the air here.... eresh... did u really quit big bookstore? and, if not, are u still keeping this blog?

2:03 PM

Yes, Bookseller. It's true. I really quit Big Bookstore. No, I wasn't fired. I'm not saying that I wouldn't have been fired if I hadn't quit. Who can say? A manager at another store said that our new GM had "big problems with the staff" and "a lot of cleaning out to do." So, perhaps I was just the first sweep of the broom. Or perhaps I jumped the gun. Again, who can say what would have happened if I hadn't reached my personal breaking point.

As for the blog, I haven't really decided what to do with it yet. I certainly have a few more things to say, and will do so as time permits. And then? Perhaps I will be Disgruntled Civil Servant, although that certainly presents fewer comedic possibilities. And of course, I plan to continue being a Big Bookstore customer. It will be a luxury to spend time in the store actually shopping in a leisurely fashion rather than rushing around on a half-hour dinner break. So perhaps I will become Disgruntled Customer.

My next message comes from some anonymous individual, who apparently felt strongly enough about this to send me 100 copies of the same message:

From: lisa*isaslovenlyfatbody@gmail.com

To: ereshkigal45@yahoo.com
Subject: So sorry you were fired Lisa *, but, well, you ARE a slovenly fatbody...
Date: Tue, 09 May 2006 23:12:42 -0700 (PDT)

You poor thing, now you're a disgruntled EX-bookseller.

Ah, the satisfaction that everyone at Big Bookstore is now rejoicing at your eagerly-awaited departure! Your anal obsession with something as trivial as SHELVING is pathetic and childish. It's so sad that someone telling you that she has no intention on following idiotic mandates from a non-manager propels you to such a lowly state of cyber-rage.

By the way, Weight Watchers is an excellent program that you might want to look into before you have a heart attack, you unsightly spinster.

Cheerfully yours,
Lisa*IsASlovenlyFatbody

P.S. Maybe now you can get a life on those previously lonely Friday and Saturday nights! Well, then again, you ARE Lisa * and not especially charming...

A mature, thoughtful message to be sure.

I have no doubt that some of the folks at Big Bookstore rejoice at my departure. In fact, I'm reasonably certain that not a few people sang choruses of "Ding dong, the witch is dead." Being disliked by slackers hasn't ever bothered me. The job was not a popularity contest. I did my best to give Big Bookstore the best possible work product and I expected those around me to have the same work ethic. Those who didn't like me were generally those who felt hard work was either not a requirement of the job or was beneath them. I'm also not really surprised that the sender thinks shelving is "trivial." Those with bookselling clue will know that shelving, and shelving correctly are pretty significant elements of the job.

I've been really bolstered by all of those friends, coworkers and former coworkers from Big Bookstore who have called me or sent me messages of support. I had dinner with three of them last night and we laughed until our stomachs hurt. The friends I made during my tenure at Big Bookstore will remain my friends for years to come.

The P.S. brings up an interesting point. I never made it a secret that working at Big Bookstore was a substitute for the lonelies. Life can be lonely sometimes. There's no shame in admitting that. Perhaps the sender is lucky enough or, more likely, young enough not to have discovered this. And there's no shame in admitting that perhaps some of my weekends will be lonelier without the cameraderie of my Big Bookstore family. But I'm not the same person who started working there eight and a half years ago. As a direct result of some of my Big Bookstore relationships, I'm more resilient now. As for my future weekends? I've got three invitations for Memorial Day weekend: an invitation to visit friends (and former Big Bookstore coworkers) in Florida, an invitation to visit friends in NYC, and a tentative reunion with some old girlfriends I haven't seen in a while. It seems that perhaps there was no need, after all, to fill my weekends with work.

One final point. The sender calls me "pathetic and childish," talks about my "lowly state of cyber-rage," and says that maybe now I can "get a life." Let's note for the record that the sender sent the message 100 times, and that the first message was sent at 10:44 p.m. last night and the last message was sent at 11:13 p.m. That's 27 minutes of hitting the send button. I don't think I need to state the conclusion here.

Epilogue

I moved this comment to my previous post here, because it deserves to be more than a comment. It deserves to be a post of it's own. Because it contained my name as well as the poster's, I've deleted the original comment, but other than editing out names, I have made no other changes.

K*** said...

Dear Lisa *,

Twenty-Nothing Cunty McSmartass here. Thought you'd post something about me on your bitchy little blog.

The fact that I work there forty hours a week means that I spend almost as much time as Border's as I do at home, which kind of makes it a second home. No matter how long you have worked there, your part-time status means that you are merely a former tenant, an unfortunate visitor in our (the larger staff's) home. In our home, the way that we shelve is decidedly different from your--yes, inefficient--method of shelving, despite your indignant declaration that "this is the way we've always done it." Which clearly is not true, not only from my personal knowledge, but the fact that you posted a diagram of how you want the book cart to look, indicating that you were upset at how things were being done even before I got there (for the record, I've been there for four months, not two).

I love working at Border's. The staff, even on their bad days, are smart, competent, hard-working, and largely delightful people. Despite your protestations and commentary to the contrary, the store functions just fine in the eighty-six hours of the week that you are not there.

Now this is a fine, fine rebuttal. But let's examine it in detail, shall we? (Sorry. I'm a lawyer. This kind of close textual analysis is what we do.)

First paragraph:

OK. Nothing to disagree with here. Cunty McSmartass seems to accept her new cognomen. That's cool.

I'm not sure what the second sentence means, but it seems to imply that I thought I would be getting away with something by posting about Friday night. Not really sure what that's all about, quite frankly.

Finally, it calls my blog "bitchy" and "little." Again, no disagreements. This blog isn't changing the world. And I keep referrer logs, so I know precisely how small my audience is. And bitchy? If it wasn't bitchy, what would be the point, I ask you?

Second Paragraph:

Much more meat here.

Cunty McSmartass (let's just call her Cunty for short, K?) asserts in her first sentence that being a full-timer at Big Bookstore "kind of makes it a second home." Again, full agreement here. I totally get how working someplace, particularly a place like Big Bookstore, makes it a second home. But watch very closely how Cunty goes completely off the rails in the next sentence.

In the second sentence, Cunty asserts that as a part-timer, I am merely a visitor in the "home" that Big Bookstore functions as for the "larger staff." I don't even know where to begin with this. Yes, I only work 18 hours a week at present to Cunty's 35. But in the course of the last eight and a half years, I spent more than four years working full-time. And even during the times when I had a day job, and was technically part-time, there were periods when I averaged more than 30 hours a week at Big Bookstore. I'm just not sure how I'm less qualified to call Big Bookstore my second home based on those numbers.

Let's crunch said numbers. For the sake of argument, let's say that over the course of the last 8 and half years I've averaged 25 hours a week. I think that's probably on the low side, but I don't want to overplay the hand. That would mean that over the last 442 weeks, I have put in over 11,000 hours at Big Bookstore. Cunty has been working at Big Bookstore for four months at 35 hours a week. That means she's put in 560 hours at Big Bookstore. 11,000. 560. 11,000. 560. Elevenfuckingthousand. 560. Now, who gets to call Big Bookstore a second home?

The second-place status that Cunty has accorded to her part-time coworkers, many of whom, like me, have worked at Big Bookstore for years, will come as a complete surprise to them, I think. Those of us who have become friends, seen each other through life's travails, loved, lost, and worked side by side for all those years? It's "our" bookstore too. In fact, I would even argue that it's even more our bookstore than Cunty's. Unlike the YPOT full-timers, Big Bookstore isn't a way station for us. It's not a stopping place on the way to some other, wished-for life or career. It's something we do, in addition to the lives we already have, because we love it. We've watched full-timers come and go and come and go and we plod on reliably year after year with no plans to ever leave.

You know, I was going to continue to pick apart Kari's comment sentence by sentence - discuss how she's wrong about how the reshelving should be, and has historically been, done. But quite frankly, after my last paragraph, that would be a retreat from the more meaningful to the picayune.

I'll close by saying this: Until today, Big Bookstore was not "kind of" a second home to me. It was my second home. In the past I've described "the sense of being enfolded by a place of belonging each time I walked in the door." It was the place I went to work alongside people that I love while doing work that made me happy.

Even the best of things, however, must come to an end, and I belong no more.

Daily Hate

What the fuck is wrong with the YPOTs? Is it unreasonable of me to expect that people who were still in fucking grammar school when I started working at Big Fucking Bookstore might defer to my fucking judgment on how to do things around the store? Is it crazy of me to think that because I was once the store Trainer, that I might actually have more fucking expertise in the most efficient fucking way to do things than someone who started as a cashier six months ago and just started working Info in the last two fucking months?

Tonight, a 20-nothing bookseller argued with me about the sorting cart. She said it was inefficient. This is based on her vast experience with reshelving books for all of the last two months. One of her arguments was that she "worked 40 hours a week." I guess the implication there was that as a full-timer her judgment was more important or more valid than mine since I am a mere part-timer. Because, you know, closing three to six nights a week since 19-fucking-97 apparently makes me less qualified to determine the most efficient way to recover the fucking store than someone who has worked full-time for the last six months.

Now the HippieChick also happens to disagree with how I sort things for reshelving. But, and this is important, she's worked for Big Bookstore as long as I have, so I respect her opinion. I don't agree with it, and when we're at Info together there's a sort of silent tug-of-war over the sorting cart. She'll sort books her way, then leave the Info Desk, and I'll resort them my way, and back and forth we'll go. And it's OK. Because like me, she works her ass off, and between the two of us we'll get more shelving done than any four YPOT booksellers. So HippieChick and I are OK with the disagreement and we don't even discuss it.

But little Cunty McSmartass and her "40 hours a week" superiority? Sorry. She can kiss my big fat ass.

To calm myself down, and de-angrify, I shall ponder the following Big Bookstore koan: If an EAS gate goes off in the store, but there's no LP guy there to hear it because he's working on merchandising instead, does it make a sound?

Hello? Is This Thing On?

Hey! Lookee here! It's my blog! I forgot all about this thing.

No. Not really. I remembered every day, and the guilt gnawed at me. OK. Maybe not gnawed so much as nibbled. For a while there I thought maybe the Medieval One had turned out to be right. Maybe I really had run out of stuff to say about working at Big Bookstore. I thought anything I might say would be the same old crap, recycled. But now it seems I have the opposite problem - way too much to say and not a clue where to start. And many of the things I want to say aren't even fully formed thoughts. Also, not so funny. If you're looking for the funny, sorry. Life at Big Bookstore kinda bites ass lately.

*******************

Due to some, um, irrational exuberance in the hiring arena, the store has blown its "manpower budget." As a result, everyone's hours have been cut. This has led to no small amount of bitching, moaning, complaining, a few spittle-flecked rants and one or two death threats. The full-time booksellers can't afford to have their hours cut. Losing even two hours a week for a full-time bookseller might mean the difference between eating Ramen every night and splurging on the Kraft Mac n' Cheese. Seriously. But management tells us that sales are down, therefore staff hours must go down. If we want to get the hours back up, we are exhorted to sell, sell, sell.

But here's a nutty thought: if you want sales to go up, you need to have more sellers, not less. I know it sounds crazy. I know it's really wacky and Out There, but trust me on this - fewer booksellers is not the answer.

Friday night was perfectly illustrative. It's the Friday before Easter. People are shopping for Easter presents. Selling to people the week before a holiday is like one of those canned hunts they have down in Texas. Just flush the customers towards me, and I'll bag them. They want to buy. They yearn to buy. They need to buy. And if booksellers are available to place merchandise in their hands, buy it they will. But in order for that to happen there must actually be booksellers. See how that works?

We closed tonight with three booksellers. Three customers came to me at the registers in the space of 20 minutes and said they had looked for help on the bookfloor and couldn't find anyone. Of course they couldn't. The Information Desk was completely unstaffed for the better part of an hour. Two of us were at the registers, and the remaining bookseller was helping in the Cafe, which was also shorthanded. So. Not one single bookseller on the bookfloor. Yeah. That's going to really increase sales.

This, ladies and gentleman, is what we call a negative feedback loop. No booksellers leads to lower sales, which leads to a lower manpower budget which leads to lower sales. See where I'm going with this? Here's a suggestion. Why don't we fire the nutbag bitch on the night crew who has been caught sleeping on the fucking job three times? Then you could give some of those hours back to the people who actually want and need them. Just a thought.

***************************************

I would just like to give a big and hearty FUCK YOU to the Assistant Manager who just quit after being with us for all of two months. It's not that I blame you for taking a job that paid 30K more than the crap pay that Big Bookstore doles out to its managers. Totally understandable. But blowing off your entire last week of shifts because you had already given notice? Totally fucking lame. In your eagerness to fuck over your boss you fucked over all the people with whom you were scheduled to work.

Here's the worst part. We fell totally and completely had. We liked you, man. We respected you. We knew you probably wouldn't be around for a long time, but we were happy to have you. You seemed to get us and we thought you liked us back. Turns out you didn't even respect us enough to not fuck us over by showing up for your last week of shifts. That's the kind of shit normally pulled by some YPOT barista.

Congratulations. You suck.


***********************************

A perfect Big Bookstore Saturday night moment:

Foam Party, the closing manager, over the walkie talkie: "Did anybody leave a pair of underwear in the men's bathroom?"

We Matter. We Really Matter.

Larry McMurtry thanked me, while accepting his Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay for Brokeback Mountain! Wow! Last month the Time magazine mention, and now this!

OK. He didn't really thank me personally. He thanked "booksellers."

Closest I'll ever get.

Worst. Blogger. Evar.

Really. I am. How bad am I? I suck so badly as a blogger, that this blog was quoted in a Time magazine article on retail bloggers and I had no clue until a coworker told me tonight. The article is dated February 5th. Three weeks, people! Three weeks in which I haven't even looked at the blog, let alone thought about writing something or checking the referrer logs.

I'm a little...wait for it...disgruntled that: a) TIME didn't link to the blog*, and b) they quoted some B material. Yes. I am looking a gift horse right in the fucking mouth, OK?

OH! And they called me a "he"! What. The. Fuck. Hello? Estrogen-stoked bitchiness? This blog is soaking in it!

OK. Now that the discussion of my suckiness is out of the way, let's move on to Other Things That Suck.

Other Thing That Sucks #1: Chicken Soup for the Soul Magazine. Do I need to say more about this? I think not.

Other Thing That Sucks #2: "Customers" who think that the handicapped tables are extra large study spaces.

Other Thing That Sucks #3: A cow-worker who missed three out of four weekend shifts last month without being fired. Note: My foot is so up her ass from here on out.

Other Thing That Sucks #4: This CD. Overly precious lounge music from some hipster French bar which is driving me in-fucking-sane as it plays endlessly on the overhead.

Final Thing That Sucks: Creepy new cow-worker who talks to women's breasts. Hey, asshole! I'm UP HERE.


*I'm not sure Time really gets this Interweb thingy.

Bloggy Blog Blog Blog

The guilt has become too much. It's not that I think anybody really misses the blog. It's not that I think anyone is really slavering for new disgruntled bookseller dribblings. It's the wasted clicks. You could be clicking on something much more productive rather than visiting this blog only to find that, yet again, I have not updated. So merely to allay that guilt, here are some meager scraps:

For those who were curious, Trailer Park Baby Daddy and the mother of his spawn were gone within two weeks of my post. It seems that Trailer Park Baby Daddy was less than discreet about his failure to control his manly urges both during his break time and while on the clock. It's bad enough when the customers do this. It's so much worse when a cow-worker does. How can I, in good conscience, make fun of customers who beat off in the store when my own cow-workers can't keep their hands off their junk? Here's the sad thing: Trailer Park Baby Daddy isn't the only cow-worker wanker. He's just the only one who's been caught, um, redhanded so to speak. I know. Ew.

****************************

The War on Christmas visited our store over the last month. One woman became positively apoplectic that we didn't have any "Christmas-themed" wrapping paper. Mind you, she wasn't complaining that we didn't carry Christmas themed (whatever that is) wrapping paper for sale, because we did. She was complaining that our selection of FREE wrapping paper, the paper we use for our FREE gift-wrapping service, was inadequate. Next year, I think we should oblige O'Reilly's minions with Christmas-centric paper. And I'm not talking any pussy-ass second-hand Christmas themes like Santa or Christmas trees here. I want something that really says JESUS CHRIST WAS BORN AND DIED FOR YOUR SINS, MOTHERFUCKER. Perhaps a crown of thorns motif on a gore-colored background.

*****************************

I apologize to my fellow cow-workers, especially the Holler, for being the disease vector for this year's epidemic of Spurns-Kerlock (sic) Syndrome. I think I obtained it from the font at Christmas Eve midnight mass. Holy water, my ass. Those things are Beelzebub's own bubbling cauldrons of seething viral life. If you're reading this Mom, I blame you for making me go.

*****************************

Finally, I would like to thank the Honorable Samuel Alito for taking the time to give me a shout out while he blogs live from his confirmation hearings. I can't say that I support your nomination, Sam, because you've obviously been a climber who'd say anything to advance his own career (and I find your views repugnant), but thanks for the mention. That skanky bitch Harriet wouldn't give me the time of day.

Drones R Us

Over on Metafilter, retail employees are told to: "Shut up, sit down, and put on a happy face you fuckers."

Things Change

A little more than a year ago, I wrote about My Big Fat Bookselling Family (MBFBF). And while we are a family at Big Bookstore, our family membership is fluid. People come. People go. Lately, it seems like it's mostly go and not a lot of, er, come.

Since last year at this time, there has been so much change. Closeted Straight Man, who had been the General Manager of the store since its opening, decided to move to Florida with his partner (who managed one of our sister stores). The Queen of the Flying Monkeys, his Assistant Manager, followed Closeted Straight Man to Florida a few months later. (Our Fabulousness Factor has plummeted as a result of these departures, and more gay men need to be recruited for Big Bookstore stat.)

Three of the charter members of The Mean Girls have gone. Mimi decided to give China another whirl, and she is living the ex-pat life in Beijing. Chick Magnet is doing environmental cleanup work for Katrina in New Orleans. Cake Girl, our Events Slave, finally threw in the towel, got an Office Space type job, and is hanging with the norms now.

In MBFBF, the music guys are like the grown kids who refuse to leave home and continue to live in the basement, smoking dope, playing their music too loudly, and generally making their parents despair. But even music mainstays like Billygoat and Kermit have decided to move on.

Not everyone has gone completely. Dark Goddess finally caved in to the lure of a living wage and got a job with a consulting firm, but she still works on Saturdays. I hooked Calendar Boy up with a sweet job working for a friend of mine in IT, but he still comes in on Sundays.

All this change has been more than a little sad, and maybe that's why I haven't really been motivated to blog lately. But for all of the departures, there are many good friends who remain: the Wife-in-Law and her husband, the Medieval One. The Holler, Foam Party and Gun Nut. The Bathroom Fairy and the Queen of the Cashiers. The aforementioned Dark Goddess and Calendar Boy. And there are new people, some of whom, I hope, will stay long enough to become part of My Big Fat Bookselling Family.

The Foot Is a Metaphor. The Reality Is Worse

Sorry it's been so long. I have no excuse. I just suck.

So let's get right to the ranting, shall we?

I'm in my usual cheery mood upon arrival at Big Bookstore this afternoon. As always, I clock in and begin assessing the scene. I start at Info to see what the reshelve situation is like. Not so bad today. There's some stuff. Not a ton, but there's no need for it to sit around on the cart, right? Satisfied that there are enough booksellers standing around with their thumbs up their asses to take care of the few reshelves, I head to the Cafe, pick up a couple of stacks of crap and bring them back to the reshelving cart. Again, there are booksellers standing around generally looking vacant and waiting for customers to approach. I always find this annoying, as my regular readers will already know, so before I head off to Kids, I bark at Trailer Park Baby Daddy, "there's shelving there for you to do."

(I call him Trailer Park Baby Daddy because he is like a poor woman's version of Kevin Federline, except he's even less goodlooking, and more skanky. He's got a knocked up girlfriend who works in the Cafe.)

Kids isn't a complete disaster, but I spend about 10 minutes picking up the big chunks and doing some general straightening. Once again, I return to Info. Not one book has been shelved from the reshelve cart, and the same booksellers are standing around. Trailer Park Baby Daddy has his thumb really worked up in there now. I turn to him and Weird Beard Dude and snap, "If I come back one more time, and those books aren't shelved, I'm going to...Stick. My. Foot. Up. Some. Asses."*

This is where things go awry.

Trailer Park Baby Daddy laughs and says, "I'd like to see you try. I don't think you can reach." I've already half-turned to stalk away as he's saying this, and my momentum carries me towards the Cafe. Which is good for Trailer Park Baby Daddy, as the words don't really sink in until I'm well on my way. Now I know that you're thinking that this is the point where I Lose My Mind, but amazingly, I do not.

Later in the afternoon, Calendar Boy tells me that Trailer Park Baby Daddy has actually relayed his snappy little comeback to others in the store. Because he's a big man, and I guess he's proud of himself. After hearing this, I can almost see people backing away from him for fear of being caught in the blast radius. Still, I maintain my cool.

You see, I know something that Trailer Park Baby Daddy doesn't know. He's already on the edge of the unemployment precipice and it will take just a few taps of my finger to push him over.

So. Trailer Park Baby Daddy? You out there? Can you feel that? That's me, tap, tap, tapping on your back.

Buh bye.

*Please see Disclaimer in Sidebar

First Anniversary Extravaganza!

I posted the first entry on this blog on August 6, 2004.

And you thought I'd get tired of it or run out of things to say.

HAH!

It's true that my posting has become somewhat erratic, but I'd rather say something interesting every week or two than -- you know -- write crap every day. People who like the blog sometimes compliment me and tell me I'm a good writer. But really -- if I was a good writer, I'd be able to say something interesting every day.

I don't have anything profound to say in celebration of the anniversary, so I'll just post the little scraps I've been saving up for the last few weeks, m'kay?

*************************************

Crap Basket Redux. Last night the "customers" destroyed: a My Little Pony paint-on-velour kit, a Disney Princess Music Player, a Pixar Adventures movie viewer, a fugly pink backpack covered in bears and stuffed with back to school crap, a "Story Time Fun Pack," two (2!) doll hair kits, "Groovy Tubes Sea Splash," a SpongeBob Squarepants coloring book, and one Spanish language magnadoodle kit. Total value of merchandise destroyed in one day? $172.70 Congratulations, customers with spawn! I think we've set a new record!

Here's something you might consider: When we shrinkwrap something? It's because WE DON'T WANT YOU TO FUCKING OPEN IT.

Also, blisterpacks? SEALED FOR A REASON.

God I hate the customers.

*************************************

The calendars are here. I expect the Christmas merch to start piling up in the stockroom any day now. You have been warned.

*************************************

I think I have scared the newbies. In the space of one twenty minute period tonight, three of them came up to me to tell me that they had been in the Kids Section and it "looked good." Honestly, I have no idea where they get the idea that I am to be feared. It's not like I have any real authority. Relax, kids! I can't really stick my foot up your collective asses, you know. It's a: metaphor.

*************************************

Chick Magnet: Who's that lesbian from Lesbos who wrote the poetry?
Disgruntled Bookseller (incredulously): Um, Sappho?
Chick Magnet: Yeah! That's the one! I can never remember her name!

I've already notified the Lesbian Secret Ruling Council that Chick Magnet is a Bad Lesbian, and her recruiter should be receiving a demand from the Council any day now for return of the toaster oven. While I am not a lesbian (Hi, Mom!), I do have friends in high places.

*************************************

I know we should not have laughed at the man who, while looking the other way, walked straight into and bounced off of the plate glass window. It was mean. Replaying the security video in slow motion? Totally gratuitous. We should be ashamed of ourselves. Really.