"Dumber Than Advertised" for 2007 May 19

There's nothing like arriving at work, fighting with loitering teenagers for a parking spot, fighting with customers who have to wait so we can change shifts, and receiving the following news in a breathless rush from a harried co-worker as she clocks out:

"Pre-pay on pump 2 does not stop. The card readers on pumps 6, 9, 10, and 12 won't read credit cards. We're out of medium soda lids, there's no more dark roast, I can't find any more Bud 18 long-necks, Coke still hasn't delivered yet and we're out of Vault, Coke, and Dr. Pepper. [Another co-worker] is ready to quit because [the district manager] refused to get on the phone with the Coke rep and ask where the hell our soda is and told her to hash it out with them. We're low on change and the safe is out of twenties. Oh, yeah, and I think the men's bathroom is out of paper. I've got to go - I'm supposed to be back at seven."

Edit: She was back at seven. Unfortunately, no one told her she was supposed to show up at another location. If these are examples of the communication which links this company together, I have no earthly idea how this company produces a profit. It does partially explain the high turn-over rate, however.

"Dumber Than Advertised" for 2007 May 16

("Dumber Than Advertised" was the title of a journal I kept specifically for the purpose of documenting my daily existence while working at the gas station in my mid-20s. Without it, I'm pretty sure my head would have exploded long ago. Over the years "Dumber Than Advertised" was expanded to include other jobs aside from retail.)

I used to watch The Animaniacs when they were first on the air and, like most sick individuals, I got a huge kick out of the show. I forget the context of the episode, but Yakko remarked of someone that they were "dumber than advertised". I thought that was great, and have used that phrase to describe a myriad of individuals over the years since that episode aired; considering that most of my paying experience as a productive member of adult society has involved retail, I use that phrase quite a bit. This journal will be a record of the dumb crap that's been said or has happened while on the job. Here are a few gems from last night:

1) A regular customer came in and said, "I need to use your ladies' room. Where is it this time?" I replied that the toilets were located in the same place they had been every other time she'd used them. This revelation seemed to astound her.

2) Another customer made a small purchase which totaled, after tax, to $.27. It is worth noting that I make it a point to speak up, enunciate, and to avoid using the regional dialect:

"Okay, twenty-seven."

"Uh . . . whuh?"

"Twenty-seven cents, please."

"Twenny-somethin'?"

"Well, twenty-seven is twenty-something, yes."

3) I'm not the only one who deals with folks who are a few clowns shy of a circus. One co-worker related to me the experience of working with yet a third co-worker who, in a fit of frustration, one day put up hand-made signs on the gas pumps which read, "If you don't know what pump you're on, neither do we." She still had to wrangle with customers who could not be bothered to find the large, neon yellow sticker at head-level with the big, black digits printed on them.

Hucksters on parade.

I know this "Balloon Boy" crap has been everywhere lately and, if you're anything like me, you're sick of hearing about it by now. So I'll keep this short by saying only two things.

The first is that I learned about it while I was at work on the 15th during our bi-monthly paycheck meeting. We were about to leave when a nearly hysterical Nurse Aide barged in and sprung a prayer meeting on us. In a secular, corporate-owned nursing facility. With the Administrator present, who was content to not only say nothing about the inappropriateness of this, but to join in herself. Seriously. A fundamentalist, 'washed in the blood of the lamb' prayer meeting.

My first thought was, "Let's pra- are you fucking kidding me??"

My second thought, once the subject of the prayer sunk in, was, "Bullshit."

A separate, more detailed post on why I quit my job is forthcoming.

The second thing I will say about this circus is that I find the rapid spread of the internet memes surrounding it immensely entertaining. The best one I've seen yet (click pic to see full size)*:


Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

*Even more entertaining when you remember that scene in 'Raiders of the Lost Ark' when Indie throws the Nazis overboard on the dirigible, and you replace the Nazis with Balloon Boy.

Privilege is a bitch.

Salon's advice columnist Cary Tennis got a letter from a woman whose neighbor put a stick in her yard. The author of the letter whines in part:

"It is really upsetting to think I'm supposed to take the high road, put the stick in the trash can and let this arrogant woman continue to Mean Girl anyone she wants. I feel like I've always taken the high road and let people walk all over me and it's clear this woman is used to bullying people. I feel so wrong letting that stick stay in my yard and telling the woman by my inaction that she can vandalize other people's yards."

If I were an advice columnist, my reply might run along these lines:

Dear Unwanted Stick Lady,

While it sounds like an act of passive-aggression on your neighbor's part to walk down and put the stick in your yard rather than knock on the door and tell your husband to stay off their lawn because they'll mow it when they're good and ready, I have to say...

It's a stick. Not a pipe bomb, not a dog turd, not even a publicly visible sign chiding you to mind your own business (which you probably should).

It's a stick, small enough by your own admission to fit into a trash can.

If, after asking nicely while flashing an extra sawbuck, none of your domestics will dispose of said stick in an effective and appropriate manner, I would like to invite you to bring your problems over here.