Saturday, December 17, 2011

The Customer Doesn't Always Have a Clue

    Nowhere do I see self-centered brats with a delusional sense of entitlement more than in retail. And I'm not talking about their children either. It's more than a little bothersome that so many people prefer, more than anything else, to have someone else do shit for them. Not themselves, not a machine, they would rather make another human being, usually a stranger, do the work above any other option. But if they don't get the labor they desire out of someone, boy, they get angry!
    I don't know why you would ever get pissy toward someone working the bottom rung in retail, or most jobs really.  It's not justified when they didn't do the job you wanted, not when they told you the rules and you didn't like them, and not when the store is out of something. The only time it's OK is when the employee legitimately screwed up the job they are paid to do. However, if they are doing their job correctly, and some aspect of that met with your disapproval, get the fuck over yourself. They are paid to do X, Y, and Z so you can really shove it if you want them to do Q. Every business has their own way the handle things, their own distinct distance to "the customer is always right" they're willing to go.
    Therefore, if you don't like how little an employee was able to bend over backward for you, go shop somewhere else, or find someone higher up to whine at because you couldn't get 11$ back for a hair straightener because you lost the receipt and all the packaging and "I don't wanna exchange it for another!!!" And don't even bother asking "why" when they tell you the policy, you thirty-something-acting-like-a-nine-year-old. Them policies are debated, and changed and put into practice time zones away from the store you're standing in. If you really do want to know why, pull out the cellphone and bitch at someone whose job it is to know and care. Not at an 19-year-old girl behind a counter who's just trying to make rent this month.

Friday, December 16, 2011

Some Things Matter More

    My wife and I have been married for just over two years now, and now is as good a time as any to share a bit of family drama we experienced. Our marriage ended up being rather impromptu, and we decided on a very small ceremony mostly for family, with a big, more inclusive barbeque at Ontario Beach State Park for the reception. The ceremony was just parents, grandparents, siblings and a couple close friends, so naturally we were gobsmacked when my wife's grandparents on her father's side decided they would not be in attendance.
    It wasn't so much that they chose to come, but why the opted out. The story we were told is that the two of them visited their religious official, in their Roman Catholic church, and they were informed that because the wedding wasn't Catholic, they couldn't even sit in the chairs as part of the crowd and celebrate our union with us. Now, my wife has dabbled in Wicca, and I was raised in Reform Judaism which I do not practice anymore. However, the ceremony, if they'd taken any time to learn about, was not specific to any religion. We included a Wiccan ritual, a Jewish one, a reading from the New Testement and a reading from Chinese origin. More than any religious slant, it was a celebration of love. Where ia the offensive aspect, what about a wedding would so sully a Catholic that they can't even watch?
    Apart from their holy instructions to boycott the marriage, what kind of lack of human decency is this that avoids a wedding? Perhaps it really is an afront to Catholic beliefs to join our blissful celebration. So what? Come, enjoy our company, acknowledge our commitment to each other, and then drag your ass to confession on Sunday and make up for it. Which, by the way, I would love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation. " 'Bless me father for I have sinned' 'What are your sins my child?' 'I went to a beautiful, romantic, unique wedding that wasn't Catholic' 'Seven Hail Marys is the penance for this offense to the Lord'."

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Walk, Maybe You'll Get Better

     Normally, I'd take this first paragraph to warm you up to the object of my outrage, but this time, I'm not beating around the bush. People who choose to be handicapped need to have their rascal battery die in traffic. You may be wondering what I mean by "choosing to be handicapped" and I'm referring to those selfish heaps of human baggage milking social security on some trumped up, exaggerated or imagined phantom pain, or who've eaten themselves to sufficient corpulence that they can't walk. I see these people daily in my retail job, and they nauseate me.
     I have so many gripes with these wastes of resources and space, I don't even know where to start. They are black holes for tax money, they have delusions of entitlement, they inconvenience the infirm who came by their malady from age or misfortune. I've heard the electric mart carts at stores referred to as "fatty caddies" in reference to the laziness of the slobs who've chosen to stop walking. It's obvious to me, working in a place that has mart carts, who has a right to use them, and who takes them out of raw sloth. When we run out of mart carts, even the oldest, decrepit old fossil will take the news in stride, and continue their shopping. The voluntary cripples, however, are quick to complain and display how unhappy they are they they have to shamble through the store leaning on a cart. Why the different reactions? Because old people, accident victims and the like don't want to need the help. They wish they had the ability to walk all over the store at their leisure. People who've made a specific choice to take every crutch they can are the only ones who really get pissed when there isn't something there to make their lives easier. It's revolting and wrong.
     It's obvious how the ungrateful, inconsiderate layabouts negatively affect the people immediately around them, but the implications are far-reaching. They more often than not find some excuse to not have a job, and seek out every conceivable  form of government support they can. To break it down, they contribute nothing to society, and drain public funds. Don't get me wrong, social security is a lifeline for many people, but the system also gets abused by whiny, narcissistic human slugs. They really believe that they deserve every scrap of assistance they can get their grubby mitts on, and we as a society don't do enough to tell them they are wrong. The next time you see a proposal for a new tax increase, send a fucking letter to someone you know who's unfairly misuse the system placing the blame on them for the government needing more money. Or better yet mail them a noose so they can hang themselves, although you'll have to go help them 'cuz they sure as shit won't do it or anything else for themselves.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Candy Can't

    It's that time of year again: lots of family togetherness, an avalanche of red and green, and incessant commercialism. In tow with that are other aspects of the Christmas time that I look forward to much less. Chiefly, the ridiculous, perilous crap-shoot that is candy canes. I've given up hope, you see, on the fragile sticks of mint and the seasonal disappointment they herald.
    I have to assume they are designed to fail. I've never gotten a box of candy canes home from the store intact. I usually end up with what appears to be glass shrapnel from a barber pole. The ones, interestingly enough, that don't break are the ones my family had (back when we used to do a tree for X-mas, a past era I mourn gravely). These are the candy canes that are purely ornamental. The ones that live for 11 months in box in the attic next to the antique silverware. Come to think of it, it wouldn't surprise me to find out that the candy canes crossed the Atlantic with the silverware as my granny fled Europe. I sure don't have any memory of when they were bought, I assume neither do my parents. I feel like a candy hoarder, with boxes of centuries-old sweets gathering dust in storage.
    The modern candy canes, though, the ones that are theoretically for eating don't bring me any joy as well. it astounds me, with how easily they shatter in transit, biting a candy cane is about as rewarding as biting a brick. If through some miracle I manage to get a piece to break off without chipping a tooth, I'm left to pray that a razor shard doesn't give me a new piercing. So the other option, besides biting, is to suck on the candy cane, and aside from the suggestive nature of this endeavor, the result is the classic candy cane shiv. If I ever go to prison I'll sneak in candy canes to improvise a weapon. Talk about a festive way to retaliate on a rival gang. Merry Christmas! And Hanukah. And Kwanzaa. And winter solstice. Whatever.