Whiny - Bitchy - Perky - OY!

I feel old as dirt! Actually I think I was here before dirt, I vaguely recall waking up as a young girl and discovering there was dirt all around me. I was going to call Moses and ask him what the hell was up but Methuselah told me to mind my own business.

OK – done whining. I’ve never been good at whining. Always wanted to be one of those girls – you know – porcelain skin, crystal eyes – when they cry they look like goddesses. Me – when I cry my nose runs and my already ruddy, peasant complexion turns downright rosacea. And I get the hiccups til I puke.

Crap – I’m still whining.

Job #1 – my own private (hell) business is filled with annoying little tasks. A huge project is winding down so, now that they don’t like the results, the nit-picky persecution of the innocent begins.

Job #2 – giant-ass retail store is killing my back. Along with not being able to cry like a lady I have never mastered the ability to look busy without really doing anything. I’m folding and lifting and carrying. I’m running from Missy to Petite (tiny women are vicious!) and then all the way over to Kids. And back again. I have promised myself that today I will make like a Diva. Only one question – what does a Diva (not) do?

Am I still whining? Or have I crossed over into bitching?

I’m gonna try perky.

Mia is doing great! And that makes me so happy. She is sneeze and wheeze free and is eating like a champ. Now that she’s not contagious I have begun the slow process of introducing her to Siren. I rotate toys and blankies back and forth so they smell each other. Mia will sleep on Siren’s blankie; Siren just smells Mia’s stuff to death and then gives me dirty looks. I also encourage Mia to visit Siren through the screen door. She’s very suspicious of this and usually stands behind me. Reminds me of how my son would hide behind me when it was time to get on the school bus.

I’m putting together a slideshow of the duo. As soon as Kodak (Not-So) Easy Shareware aligns with Photo (drop-in-the) Bucket it should be ready to post on (blah – blob) Blogger. Apparently cosmic influences must be just right – that plus I must have more than 2 brain cells available at the same moment to complete my task.

See how I can never sustain perky? I always revert to self-deprecating. It’s my charm.

I just noticed something - Dianne/Mia/Siren can be shortened to Di/Mi/Si - isn't that cute!? Positively adorable even! I hate cute.

Everyday Kindness: Happy News and Unclaimed Baggage

Well – it’s Everyday Kindness Sunday on Monday. Work and storms and power outages took time away from me, not to mention losing an hour of sleep. But hell – “time is only linear for referees and engineers” says Craig Ferguson. If you want a great read get his book – “Between the Bridge and the River”.

So:

Mia is doing so much better. The meds are working; her sneezing turned to a little wheezing and now I can actually hear her purr, and her eyes are getting clearer every day. She met Siren twice, through a screen door, and it was mostly staring and being a big bully on his part and lots of hissing and growling on her part – whichever cat is hissing is the one who is feeling vulnerable so that’s going to need some work. And she is eating!! Woo-Hoo! Fatter and stronger = the better to deal with Siren.

Remember “walking woman” and “creepy guy walking his dogs”? She’s the lovely lady who is struggling to get healthier by walking around the neighborhood each evening and he’s the gentleman who really isn’t so creepy once you stop and talk to him/his dogs. He used to make “walking woman” nervous and she avoided him, then she decided to say Hi and befriend the dogs.

Well! – Last night I stopped at the diner on my way home from giant-ass retail store job and … as I waited for my tuna melt to go … what do I see? …

“Walking woman” and “creepy guy” at a booth, having coffee and pie, and laughing up a storm! I know! Budding romance perhaps? Certainly a lovely friendship. She looked positively radiant and he looked 10 years younger. I hid behind the cake display (fitting) – I really didn’t want to interrupt what looked like a delicious moment.

Bobbie turned me on to this interesting and worthwhile site. Please take a moment to check it out.
Every Human Has Rights

Originally this next saga was going to be Monday’s post. It was to be titled “I Think I Did it for Myself”. I would love to know what everyone/anyone thinks.

I started back to work at my sometimes second job – I’m a sales associate for a pretty good quality albeit snooty brand in a very large retail store. I originally took the job thinking I could work enough hours to make a bit of extra money and qualify for health insurance – my self-employed insurance premiums have reached $800 a month for not so good coverage. In November, on Black Friday (poetic ain’t it), I ended up in the ER being told stuff like “cat scratch fever”, “blood clot that goes to your heart and kills you” and my favorite – “didn’t this look dangerous to you!”

Siren had bitten me, as he has a million times before, a few days earlier. I cleaned the bite site and went about my merry way. How this turned into my leg becoming purple and swelling to elephant like proportions no one can explain to me. I think I may be allergic to the filthy, unnatural fibers of the store’s carpeting. I was treated for a severe systemic infection and took some medical leave from the store. The infection kept coming back, the leg kept swelling back up and I was catapulted into a miserable cycle of doctors and tests. To keep my wits sharp the insurance ass-hats (homage to REH and his union guy) put me through daily phone calls and tons of chain letters all designed to make me want to die as soon as I pay the next premium. It seems I don’t get it – I’m supposed to pay for health insurance but I am not supposed to use health insurance.

I have Scoliosis
– I almost wrote suffer from scoliosis but that’s a momentary feeling. All through my childhood and early teens I took the curve of my back, the one hip higher than the other and the frequent pain as just one more sign that I was different – freakishly different. Children can be incredibly cruel and I heard all the hunchback jokes their lovely little minds could invent.

When I was 17 I discovered that my problem could have easily been corrected had my parents been parents and not the insane wolves I had come to accept. At 17 the surgery would be daunting and most likely not successful. I found a physical therapist who taught me exercises that helped strengthen and lengthen and I coped. Coping has always been my thing. I cope real good until I don’t. Then I am a spectacular pile of old issues, unclaimed baggage – fueled by rage and grief and trauma. Yes – I have a therapist.

Fast forward to last Monday at the big-ass retail store. I’m cleaning up the clearance shoe aisle when I hear – “Oh and that one is back, what was wrong with her?” – I recognize the voice as the troll who works the register at the adjoining department. I can’t see her, she can’t see me and I have no idea who she’s talking to. I tell myself not to be paranoid. “… and she’s working limited shifts, nice!” – “wish I could get special treatment” – “have you seen that hump on her back, and the way she walks” – “by the end of the day she looks like hell” – “if you’re that disabled don’t get a job like this” – “just expects special treatment” – and on and on and on.

I stopped hearing at some point. My face became hot (and it wasn’t a hot flash), my head was spinning and all I could hear was static noise. Thankfully a customer spoke to me and I re-entered current space and time. Hearing my voice made the troll shut up.

I spent the rest of that day going back and forth – capable, calm adult to heartbroken, confused child. The most disconcerting emotion was the rage just waiting to boil over. Vivid images of picking up the troll (she’s about 4’9”) and launching her ugly gray haired head through the plate glass door danced in my mind.

In the break room I apparently looked so miserable that a co-worker asked what had happened. I told her and was immediately sorry I had. “We’re going to HR right now” – “OK, then we’ll tell ** (my manager)” – “she’s a horrible person and someone needs to get rid of her”.

And there it was – I was the top item on someone else’s agenda. Again. Still. It was never about me, it was always how I could fix it for someone else. The eldest child who spent her entire childhood trying to be worthy and to care for her brothers and sister came back. She collided full on with the angry teen who almost killed the abusive father and I could barely breathe.

Isn’t therapy designed to get rid of this crap? Yes – I know - there is work to be done.

This insanity spilled into the next shift. Co-worker one, in her all about her concern, told two people and they told two people … When I arrived at my department the troll looked like she wanted to disappear into the carpet. “Hostile workplace” – “harassment” – “fair treatment of the disabled” intermingled with “we’ll finally get that bitch” – “my daughter wants her job” – “I’ve always hated her”.

HR gets wind of the hoopla. Funny – when you actually go to HR and openly, clearly ask for something they never react. Apparently the pathetic rumor mill is the way to get things done. They ask me what happened. They tell me they’re there for me. I sit in the office and overhear “corporate will love this” – “…hire someone at half the rate” – “one less senior”.

Look at how important I am in the larger scheme of things! Oh My – the power I posses.

I tap on the door and ask them why I’m still here. Nothing happened, I don’t know what the hell is going on and I have no issues – no agenda – put the forms away, set the hot line phone down. The confused, disappointed looks on their faces gave me my first good laugh in days.

The troll was in my direct line of vision all the long walk back to my department. As I got closer the fear on her face was so clear it was sad. All the wind out of her sails, all the concern about losing the job she’s had for 20 years was etched there and almost made the cruel bitch human. My intention was to just pass her by. The store’s collective attention span is that of a gnat and this would all soon be replaced by which department manager is screwing which girl in receiving.

“I guess you feel good now that I’m getting fired”.

Calm, kind adult and rage crazed teen join hands. “No, you’re not getting fired. I didn’t say a god damned thing to them, they care less about me than you do”. “But …, What …, Oh …” sputters the troll. “Wow you’re finally speechless” says combination me. “Maybe you’ll think twice next time, you’re a very hurtful person, you’re a fucking bitch”. “I didn’t mean anything, I just get to talking and …” - “I suppose you’ll use this against me forever now” – the troll looked so small and old.

“No”, says calm kind adult “it’s done, you have your own shit to live with”.

Rage filled teen did need the last word and this I’ll have to work on. “Fuck with me again and I’ll break you in two and stuff you in the compactor” says rage filled teen, in all her spectacular inability to heal.

A friend who really knows me thinks I did the right thing. My co-workers think I’m nuts.

I think they’re all right.

Be Kind Out There.

Heads or Tails Tuesday: 7 Customer Do's and Don'ts

This week’s Heads or Tails was - 7 things from any category

If you’d like to participate or read other entries please visit Skittle’s Place

I went back to work this weekend at my second job as a sales associate for a large retailer. I had been on medical leave since December with a variety of back and leg issues that I won’t bore you all with.

As I folded the same stack of shirts for the fourth time in two hours my mind wandered. If it didn’t I would surely seriously injure a customer or kill the co-worker who is supposed to be folding, it’s technically not in my job description but the store was as dead as a doorknob (as is the co-worker’s brain) and I couldn’t look at the mess, especially with all the regional managers floating around. Business is not good and they’d rather blame us than think about the economy.

Anyhoo – it occurred to me that it was Tuesday; time takes on a new dimension when you work two jobs, and I hadn’t written anything for HoT.

So, from the perspective of a customer oriented, responsible, friendly, grown-ass sales associate, I give you 7 Do’s and Don’ts for the customer.

1 - DO ask me as many questions as you need to about the stock. I will check, I will look it up, I will call the manufacturer. DON’T ask me why the fitting room is so far away or why the mirrors are cloudy or why the parking lot has potholes. I am not the floor planner, I am not the architect, and I certainly don’t have any control over the asphalt – I have to park in a clump of dead trees three football fields away from the store.

2 – DO expect me to smile at your children and make baby talk with them, it is part of being friendly and I love kids. DON’T expect me to watch them, carry them, or clean them. And definitely DON’T catch an attitude with me after I say (for the tenth time) – “honey please don’t play with that sharp stick, you’re going to get hurt – oh and please climb down off the shelves before you fall”. When you hear me say (and I KNOW you CAN hear me) “Sweetie, go back to your Mommy” what I’m saying is, “Come get your child, you irresponsible …”

3 – DO question the price, especially when there are clearance signs everywhere saying the same thing five different ways. I know you’re confused, so am I and I work here. DON’T act as though I am out to cheat you. I don’t work on commission and even if I did why assume I’m a bad person. Didn’t I just say I would check with the scanner. Didn’t I say I would get a manager to approve honoring the lower price since the sign was in the wrong place.

4 – DO expect a pleasant shopping experience. You have come here to spend your money which is how we make a living and you should be treated nicely. DON’T think I’m your friend, your mother, your wife. I am a person doing a job – you’re in public, behave like it. DON’T scream into your cell phone while talking to me, DON’T hand me your food wrappers and tell me to throw them away, DON’T shove your shopping cart at me saying “you can put that back”. If I was your friend I’d reconsider my taste in people, if I was your mother I’d smack you and if I was your wife I’d take the freakin’ cell phone away from you and call a divorce lawyer.

5 – DO feel free to take all the time you want. Wander the shelves, sit on the sofa (which I’m not allowed to even lean against) and go through the catalog, browse all you want. I smiled at you when we first made eye contact and you looked away, then I asked if you needed any help and you looked away so I told you to let me know if and when you needed anything. So DON’T get in a huff when you finally decide you want to acknowledge that I exist by shouting out – “Can I get some help over here!”

6 – I know you DO really need an extra large, and I DO know that it has to be peachy mauve with the caplet sleeve but DON’T take the entire shelf of blouses apart after I tell you that we have extra large in twelve other colors (three of which look like peach or mauve) OR we have peachy mauve in large. Why would I lie!? DON’T you think I want you to have what you want. And DON’T you know I will need to fix that entire shelf – again.

7 – DO try on as many garments as you’d like. Our store has a much more liberal policy than most. You can take as many articles in with you as you’d like, and we don’t hire scary looking surly people to stand there and stare at you – so feel free - look and model and suck in your tummy to your heart’s delight. DON’T throw it all on the floor when you’re done. I’m sorry nothing fit but that rack that says “Please leave garments here” is actually closer to you than the floor is. And if you DO leave your mess in the fitting room, then DON’T be pissy when it’s your turn to have to use a room full of someone else’s stuff.

I will gladly clean it for you as soon as I help the little boy who is bleeding from a head wound while his mother searches for the one and only peachy mauve blouse with caplet sleeves – in extra large. She KNOWS there has to be one.

Long before I worked in retail I was a customer, and before that I was a person. It will never cease to amaze me how the lines of civil behavior get so muddied when one person is in a service position and the other one is an asshole.

And I know there are terrible sales clerks – I work with them but, as in all other facets of life, we shouldn’t paint everyone with the same brush.

Now I need a drink – I think I’ll have a 7 and 7.