Monday, July 26, 2010

The only proper response in these situations is *facepalm*

God only knows I've made some pretty silly errors in my life. For example, I managed to believe for most of my life that Frank Sinatra was black. Shocking, I know, but my conclusion was logical. I only ever saw pictures of Frank Sinatra with the Rat Pack, never by himself. Every time somebody pointed out that it was Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pack, the guy in the middle was black. The way I knew it worked was that the most important person (Frank Sinatra) is always in the middle of a picture. So I assumed that Sammy Davis Jr. was Frank Sinatra. It wasn't until last year that I realized my error (on my own) and I told my co-workers. They won't let me live it down, and they kindly explained that Sammy was in the middle because the photographer wanted the picture to be balanced.

And, honestly, my mix up with Sammy and Frank is nothing compared to two of my sisters. When I asked them who Frank Sinatra was, my older sister Rells answered that he was a Mexican, and one of my younger sisters, Britt Britt, said, "Wasn't that a band that played old music like Beethoven and Bach?" At least my reasoning was logical. There was a solid facepalm in there. At least I thought an actual member of the Rat Pack was Frank Sinatra. As for Britt Britt's answer about Bach...I don't know what the hell she was thinking. (This was also the same day that my older sister declared Helen Keller wrote the Diary of Anne Frank. Double facepalm.)

Today I realize why my co-workers facepalmed when I confessed my error. Because today, I facepalmed about fifty times in the last hour. A group of young people came in. I'm guessing they were around my age (I am twenty one, they were at least eighteen.) And like many people do in a music store, they picked up guitars and started playing.

Unlike most people, they started singing. Now, it didn't sound bad. It actually sounded good. But we're a music store, and it's really dumb to start playing mainstream pop when you come in. Look around you. Everybody is a metal head, except me. But even I don't dare play my girly pop music in the store. It's out of respect for everyone else. This is Austin, after all, and we pride ourselves on our music scene.

These Idiots were just DUMB.

First: singing Collide. *facepalm* Oh. Dear. God.
Second: singing Had a Bad Day. *facepalm* Seriously?
Third: Fucking up the lyrics to the Beatles "I wanna Hold Your Hand." For the record, it's "I can't hide" not "I get high." Morons.
Fourth: Bono SO did not do Lucy in the Sky better than the Beatles. What the FUCK were you thinking when you said that, you idiot?
Fifth: Yellow. *facepalm* You know how I know you're suicidal? You sing Coldplay at the top of your lungs in the middle of a clearly metal heavy music store.

Oh, there were lots of facepalms in there. But they really, REALLY took the cake with the last one I heard. And after I heard this, I just pulled out my iPod and put in my headphones and blocked them out. I couldn't take the idiocy anymore. I really couldn't.

"Do you guys know "Freefallin?"
"No. Who's it by?"
"It's this awesome new song by John Meyer."

*ultimate facepalm*

Holy. Fucking. Jumping. Jesus.

For real?

I thought Frank Sinatra was Sammy Davis Jr, okay. And even I know that this kid was a complete moron. Really? REALLY?

I like John Meyer, don't get me wrong on that. I love his voice, and I like his music, and we sometimes (albeit, rarely) listen to him in the store because the guys (all dedicated metal heads) like some of his songs. But...he did not write "Freefallin." Nobody wrote "Freefallin" for him to sing. His version is not the first release of "Freefallin."

Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers are responsible for that "awesome" song, and it's been a personal favorite of mine since I was a little girl. John Meyer did a cover of "Freefallin", and while I do like his version, it's doesn't even TOUCH what Tom Petty did with it. Not even a little bit.

We really should have thrown them out of the store.

Friday, July 9, 2010

The dryer seemed like the best place to nap.

I hate a cold apartment. There is nothing worse than being stuck in a place that is just too damn cold. Wednesday my apartment was just too damn cold. Thanks to Boyfriend (who finally took my advice about the AC because our roommate ran our bill up from 90 dollars a month to 200 dollars by setting our apartment to 65 degrees all day every day) our apartment is not allowed to drop below 76 degrees while the sun is up. It's just way too expensive (and uncomfortable, not that Roommate cares about making me miserable) to keep the apartment at 65 degrees all day. So Roommate can set it to 65 when he gets home around midnight so that he can sleep, and when I get up for work in the morning I get to turn it right back up to 76.

This is a better arrangement. Generally, I'm comfortable in a 76 degree apartment. Except for Wednesday, despite that it was 76 degrees, I kept shivering. I just could not get warm at all, which is strange considering that it is high summer in the middle of Texas and we live on the third floor. Hot air rises, you know.

I decided about 2:00 to take a nap. When I get really cold, I get really tired. However, I had just made the bed. Nothing irritates me more than having to make the bed twice in one day. If I got under the covers, I would mess up the bed and have to make it again when I got up. If I slept on top of the covers, I would freeze. I ended up getting my small couch blanket and trying to curl up under that, but it just wasn't cutting it.

I gave up the nap idea and decided to check to see if the laundry was dry. Well, it was dry so I put it in a basket and switched the clothes from the washer to the dryer. And then my hand touched the dryer that had been drying moments before, and I got a very good idea. I turned the dryer on high heat (the load was towels, so no damage could be done by turning up the heat) and ran into the bedroom where I collected a pillow and my small couch blanket. Then I returned to the laundry room, climbed up on the dryer, and curled up for a nice, relaxing nap.

So. Awesome.

I had intended, of course, to be awake by the time boyfriend got home at 3:30. However, I was so comfortable and warm in my little nap world that I was still sound asleep when he walked in the front door. He heard the dryer going when he came in and looked in the laundry room, probably expecting to see my adding clothes to the washer. Instead, he found a peaceful Chanel curled up into a little ball on the dryer, my feet just barely touching the washer, fast asleep and happy.

The sound of his loud and sudden laughter woke me up. Unfortunately, I felt to proud of my genius idea to be embarrassed.

Boyfriend: Have you lost your mind?
Me: No! I needed a nap!
Boyfriend: Why didn't you take a nap on the bed?
Me: I didn't want to mess up the bed, and it was too cold to sleep on top of the covers! This was so perfect! And look, I fit perfectly! *demonstrates my curled up cat position* See?
Boyfriend: Do you think it's possible you were a cat in a past life?
Me: Probably. Maybe one of those cats that was worshiped in ancient Egypt. That's why I'm so demanding. I'm used to being given my own way.
Boyfriend: Well, get off of the dryer and get ready. We've got to pick up my brother.
Me: Okay!

We picked up his little brother to watch him until his mother got off of work. His brother also thought it was cold, but he's a child with no respect for other people's property. (I'm trying to work on this with him. I've got him asking before he helps himself to whatever stash of soda and candy he finds in my closet.) He immediately pulled back the covers (on MY SIDE of the bed! The horror!) and climbs under, shoes and all.

Me: Gah! Seth! Take your shoes off! And I made the bed! You're messing it up!
Seth: Sorry...*takes off shoes and fixes bed* But I want to take a nap!
Boyfriend: Well, if you want a nap you can sleep on top of the covers, on the couch, or you can do what Chanel did.
Seth: What did Chanel do?
Boyfriend: *laughing* She turned the dryer on and took a nap on top of it.
Seth: She did not!
Me: I did, too. I was still sleeping when your brother came home.
Seth: That's stupid! I'm not doing that. I want to play on the Playstation.
Me: Suit yourself, but you can't get under the covers. And no eating on the bed. My great-grandmother made that quilt for me, and I don't want it ruined.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

A New Day in the Life of a Receptionist

I've decided that every day I work as a receptionist (which is four days a week) I will make a compilation of all of the best (and worst) calls that I get in that day. Or at least the best and worst ones by the time I decide I'm bored enough to start on a blog. The calls today have been relatively sane.

Me: *name of business* Northwest. How may I direct your call?
Caller: Is this *name of business*?
Me: Yes, it is *name of business* Northwest. How may I direct your call?
Caller: Stop asking me questions and let me tell you that I need to talk to your Northwest location. I will answer their questions and I have questions to ask them. So connect me to them.
Me: Sir, this is *name of business* Northwest. How may I direct your call?
Caller: Don't ask me questions. I want to talk to somebody in your sales and electronics who knows about the keyboards, because I need to purchase a keyboard. I do not have time to answer your questions, so just let me talk to somebody who is good about the keyboard.
Me: Sir, do you mean you would like me to direct your call to our keyboard department?
Caller: I do not want you to direct me anywhere. I want to talk to an expert of the keyboards!
Me: Okay, sir, I will direct you to Keyboard Department. Hold, please.

Now, I know that towards the end I intentionally attempted to provoke him. But his accent was so funny when he got angry, and really, he just wasn't listening to me. I wasn't asking him questions that were unnecessary. All he had to say was, "Keyboards," and that could have been the end of it.

Caller: Hi, I need to know if you have a book.
Me: For what instrument?
Caller: It is called Book Four for Violin.
Me: Book Four of what series?
Caller: Book Four.
Me: I understand that you would like volume four of the book, but what is the name of the series?
Caller: It is Book Four for Viola.
Me: Is it for Violin or Viola?
Caller: It is for Violin.
Me: And what is the name of the series?
Caller: Book Four.
Me: Hold please.

In the end, I connected him to J.J. who was able to find out after fifteen minutes that the book he wanted was in the Suzuki series. This guy gave me two different instruments and refused to understand that there are several "book four" books in several different series for Violin lessons. Can people really be this dumb?

Me: *name of business* Northwest. How may I direct your call?
Caller: Oh, I'm sorry. I called the wrong number. I was trying to reach *name of business*.
Me: You have reached *name of business*. How may I direct your call?
Caller: Oh, I didn't hear you! I was talking to someone else when you answered and I thought you said something else. I need to talk to Doug.
Me: I'm sorry, Doug works at our South location.
Caller: He works at *name of business*.
Me: Yes, ma'am, he does. But he works at *name of business* South, and you've called the Northwest location.
Caller: So he's not there?
Me: No, he's at the south location. Do you need the number?
Caller: Oh, no, you can just transfer my call.
Me: I'm sorry, ma'am, but my phone is not capable of transferring your call. I can give you the phone number.
Caller: Well, wouldn't it be faster just to have you transfer me?
Me: Yes, it would be faster if my phone was capable of doing a transfer, but it isn't. I can give you the number and you can call them.
Caller: *big, irritated, exaggerated sigh* Fine, I guess I'll just have to dial the number myself.
Me: The number is...
Caller: No, I have the number. Thank you. *click*

I'm not sure if that lady was just calling to give me a hard time, or if she honestly couldn't understand the concept of "I can't transfer your call", but the part that gets me most is how she acted like dialing the number herself was some great, difficult feat that would exhaust her. Or maybe the tone conveyed that it was a mentally taxing task that her small brain couldn't comprehend. Either way, it irritated me.

This next call came in while I was writing this blog, and it's so amazing funny and stupid that it definitely makes my top ten best and worst calls EVER.

Me: This is *name of business* Northwest. How may I direct your call?
Caller: Is your refrigerator running? *laughter*
Me: (knowing immediately where this was going) Yes, it is. Can you do me a favor and catch it for me? I'd do it myself, but I have to answer the calls from the other teenagers that can't figure out how to do a decent prank call.
Caller: know that one?
Me: Yes. Is there a department you'd like to talk to, or can you just hang up and prank call Pizza Hut?
Caller: I'll just hang up. Bye! *click*

You know, my parents used to do stuff like that when they were kids. It's annoying as hell when you're a business and you get kids pranking you. Haven't they got anything better to do? I mean, really! The least you could do is come up with a better way to start! When I made prank calls, I preferred answering machines. Then I would leave really angry messages for the boyfriend I thought I was calling who was evidently cheating on me.

Monday, July 5, 2010

A Day in the Life of a Receptionist

Caller: Where are you located?
Me: The *BLANK* corner of FM *number* and Highway *number*.
Caller: I'm at that corner. I don't see you.
Me: What buildings do you see?
Caller: Burlington Coat Factory.
Me: That's not FM*number* and Highway *number*, that's Lake *name* and Highway *number*.
Caller: No, it's FM *number* and Highway *number* because the exit said Lake *name* and FM *number*.
Me: It says two names because it exits onto those two major intersections. The road you are at is the first street, Lake *name*. You need to come further north.
Caller: What good are you if you can't give me directions?
Me: Ma'am, if you were at the right corner, you would see us. I give the same directions to everyone who calls, and they find us without a problem.
Caller: Then you send them to the wrong place and they're so dumb they accidentally find you and think you gave them the right directions.

At that point, I put her on hold and gave her to my manager. I didn't want to deal with her anymore.

Me: Hello, this is *Name of Business* Northwest, how may I direct your call?
Caller: Um, who did I call again?
Me: *Name of Business* Northwest. How may I direct your call?
Caller: Oh, okay, are you calling me to tell me my guitar is ready?
Me: Sir, you called me.
Caller: No, I didn't. I just answered my phone.
Me: Sir, I assure you that I did not call you. Did you call to check on your guitar?
Caller: *to whoever was with him* Did I call her or did she call me? *someone confirms he called* Oh, you're right. I called you. Why did I call you?
Me: Did you call to check on your guitar status?
Caller: Yeah, that sounds like a good enough reason to call. Is it ready?
Me: Did we call you?
Caller: Nah, lady, we went through this. I called you, remember?
Me: Exactly. You called us. It's not ready.
Caller: How do you know it's not ready?
Me: Did we call you?
Caller: No, we already--
Me: If we didn't call you, it's not ready yet.
Caller: Oh. I guess that's why you take my number on the ticket thing.
Me: That's right. Is there anything else you need?
Caller: Nope. That's it. *click*

To be fair, I'm pretty sure that particular kid was stoned out of his mind. This is Austin. You can't throw a rock without hitting someone who's either toking or just finished toking. (Unless you throw a rock and hit me. Then all you've done is hit a very sober me who is very likely to kick your ass for throwing a rock at me.)

Caller: I'm looking for a Kenny Rodgers CD. I think it was released in the late nineties.
Me: I'm sorry, sir, we don't sell those kinds of CDs here.
Caller: You're a music store. What kind of music store doesn't sell CDs?
Me: We sell musical instruments, their accessories, and sheet music.
Caller: Well, I still need that CD.
Me: I'm sorry, sir, but we don't sell it.
Caller: Well, what am I supposed to do?
Me: I don't know, sir. I only know we don't sell it.
Caller: Well where should I look for it?
Me: I don't know. Target sells CDs. Why don't you give them a try?
Caller: Are you being sarcastic?
Me: No, sir, I am only pointing out that we don't carry that kind of CD, but Target does.
Caller: Whatever. *Click*

I understand that you can find a music store listed in a phone book and have a reasonable expectation that they sell CDs, however in our case it just isn't true. The caller should not have become so hostile (and believe me, his tone was DEFINITELY hostile) when informed that we didn't have what he was looking for, and he definitely should not have asked me for information as to where he could find the CD. It's not my job to tell people where to find things we don't sell. However, I know that Target does carry Kenny Rodgers music CDs, and I was being helpful. His accusation that I was being sarcastic was completely unnecessary. I realize I gave an obvious answer, but he shouldn't have asked if he didn't want the obvious answer.

Caller: Hi, are you open?
Me: Yes, ma'am, we opened at nine thirty.
Caller: Okay, well can you unlock your doors and let me in?
As she said this, a family opened the doors in front of my desk and walked into the store. Clearly, our doors were unlocked.
Me: Our doors are unlocked, a family just walked in.
I calmly put her on hold, stood up, and walked to the glass doors behind the drums. Those doors are always locked because the drums are sitting in front of them. There was no one there. I turned around and walked to the glass doors by our pianos that are also always locked, unless we're getting a delivery with Grand Pianos. There was nobody there.
Me: Ma'am, I just checked all of the doors leading into the store that are locked, and I did not see you standing out there. Are you sure you're not trying to get into our South Location?
Me: Ma'am, I can't unlock the doors and let you into the building you just described. That is the *Name* School of Music, and you have called *Name of business*.
Me: Ma'am, read the sign above the door you're standing at and tell me what it says.
Me: And who are you calling?
Me: Exactly. We're at the other end of the shopping center under the sign that says *name of business*, and our doors are open.
Caller: Oh...Fine. I'll be there in a minute.

You know, it's an honest mistake. She didn't need to call me a liar, she didn't need to scream, and after putting me through all of that hell the least she could have done was apologize for her blatantly disproportionate reaction. But no, she didn't say it on the phone, and when I greeted her when she came in she looked at me like I was a bug, then stuck her nose so far up in the air she would have drowned if it had been raining.

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Dear Selfish Co-Worker

Dear Selfish Co-Worker,

I see we keep having the same problem repeatedly, so I thought we could finally hash this out. As you know, I am the Receptionist for the company we both work for, and you, despite your belief that you are a higher and more powerful entity, are Janitor Girl. Though your father founded this business, you sold your part of the company to your brother, who now owns the entire operation. Your brother hired you to be Janitor Girl. Your job is this: take out the trash, clean the windows, vacuum the carpet.

Basically, anything that involves cleaning is your responsibility three days a week. Your brother did get tired of your constant complaining and nagging, though, and decided to allow you to sell pianos two days a week. Or rather, on Wednesdays you sell pianos, and on Saturdays you mostly take out the trash because you are only allowed to talk to piano customers if the first Piano Salesman (who actually plays the piano and probably lived when the first piano was invented sometime between dinosaurs dying out and the black plague killing everyone in Europe) is with a customer already.

My job is Receptionist. I am the Face of the Company. I am the first person people see when they walk in, the first person they talk to, the last person they see, and the last person they talk to. I am the voice of the company. I am the giver of general information and the kind voice that answers their calls. Also, I am Security. Note the security monitor with a live feed going at all times. Also, on Thursdays I am in Sales for Band Department. I do not have to concede customers to everybody else. I may speak to anybody I want at any time I want.

Basically, you are the lowest ranking employee. And when you complain to your brother about something you don't like (which is a lot of the time because you seem to think you're the boss) he tells you to shut up and get over it. Which is the right thing to do. Why do you complain when Manager Man (who IS the boss) tells you to clean the windows? You are the JANITOR. That is what you get paid to do. If you don't like your job, go find one elsewhere that doesn't fire you for showing up hours late without calling first, and doesn't care when you call in two out of five days a week. And that doesn't care if you take off hours early any day you want.

I'll just say this now: another such job does not exist unless you start your own business. And if you were smart enough to do that, you wouldn't have sold your portion of the company to your brother for a fraction of what it was worth. That was very stupid on your part, and it proves my point that you aren't smart enough to start or maintain your own business. So you're just stuck here with the bread crumbs your much smarter brother leaves you. My condolences on your obvious stupidity.

But back to the point of this letter: every employee here, even Manager Man himself, takes over my desk every now and then so that I can take my thirty minutes to an hour to eat my lunch. Somebody does it every single day, for me or for Monica, who works on Wednesdays and Thursdays. Even the Piano Salesman you are so desperately trying (and failing) to replace volunteers cheerfully to sit for an hour so that I might eat. It is not, as you well know, a difficult job. In fact, while I sit at my desk I answer e-mails, check my facebook, write blogs, and generally goof off or read books while on the clock and getting paid.

We are now getting into full swing Band Season, which is our busiest time of year. And Saturdays are always our busiest day of the week. (We'd probably be busy on Sundays, too, if we were open, but we are not so it is irrelevant.) When it is incredibly busy on Saturdays, and everybody except for you is with a customer, it is only fair that you take the desk long enough for me to eat. I know that you want to scoop up every possible dime you can, and would like to try to talk to people buying flutes so you can try to convince them to buy a piano, but the law says that every single person working in the United States is entitled to eat lunch.

Even me.

And since my job is so important (answer phones that are constantly ringing, watch security cameras to prevent theft, check receipts on the way out the door, greet customers, direct customers and answer general questions about what we sell, rent, and lessons and repairs) somebody must do it at all times. This is why I work from open to close five days a week, why I am allowed to have overtime every week. Because my job must get done.

Don't misunderstand me, I don't like having you take the desk for me. You are the most incompetent receptionist I have ever seen. You claim to have done my job when your parents first opened their doors in the sixties. If you did, it is no wonder they replaced you. Here is a list of the things you do wrong while temporarily sitting at my desk.

1. You answer one line and then ignore the other six that are ringing. The hold button is there for a reason. You say, "Thank you for calling *name of company*, please hold." And you hit hold and do it until you've answered all of the lines. THEN you go through each line, find out which department or employee they need, and connect them. EVERY call is important. You cannot ignore them.

2. When you page a call, you often don't hit intercom, and just skip straight to thirty. This would not be a problem if it didn't matter, but alas it does. When you neglect to hit intercom, the page does not connect to the system and so all you are doing is speaking into a phone that is not playing over any speakers. Thus, nobody can hear you and the call is ignored.

3. You do not understand the concept of "Page twice, and if nobody picks up, take a message." A Receptionist must occasionally take a message. We have a message book that makes carbon copies for that purpose. It is annoying to the other employees to hear the same call paged six times when they are all with customers and therefore are unable to take the call. You stress them by failing to operate with standard protocol, not to mention you irritate them. Despite the fact that you hear this every time Manager Man asks you to sit, you fail to do as asked.

4. When you do bother to take a message, you fill the slip out messily and often you put the wrong information in the wrong space. Also, you fail to put the time and date on them. When going back to the carbon copies because you need a number, how are you supposed to know when the message was from? Or if it gets buried, how long has the customer's call gone un-returned? And, no offense, but I've seen five year old children with better handwriting than yours. You are the only person I know of that can make a an M look like an R. How do you do that?

5. You are temporarily in charge of security. This means you have to SIT IN THE CHAIR. You have to check receipts and watch the feed. If there is no one at the door, then someone could just grab a guitar and walk out the door. So when you just walk to the back, or wander around, or step outside to smoke without getting a replacement for yourself, you are risking a lot of expensive equipment. Which is bad for the store. Duh.

6. You ignore most of the incoming customers, failing to greet them and count them (which is also part of sitting at the desk: we must have a customer count) which not only throws off the sales analysis for the month (how many people looked versus how many actually purchased) but makes people feel like you really don't check receipts so they might try to steal. We work with expensive and sometimes rare and unique items: we cannot afford to have things stolen. So PAY ATTENTION.

This letter is already longer than I intended. I am merely saying that if I could have my pick of anybody in the entire store to take my place for the thirty minutes to an hour that I leave to eat some food and enjoy some peace and quiet, I most certainly would not ask you. In fact, I never ask you. I learned long ago that you think you are above sitting at the desk. You are afraid that sitting at the desk will cost you a sale. (Which it won't on your janitor days, and you've only ever sold two pianos in the entire year you've been in sales because you can't play and you don't know anything about them and you have an abrasive personality that rubs people the wrong way.) And lack of sales means lack of commission. So you worry about your money. So I don't ever ask.

However, today EVERYBODY was busy, and I am entitled to a lunch according to the State of Texas. And contrary to what you might believe, you are NOT greater than the State of Texas. Since I come in first, I get to go to lunch first. And somebody has to sit. Manager Man told you to sit because you were available, and you weren't going to sell anything today anyway.

I could have taken half and hour, but you ORDERED me to hurry up when you relieved me of my duty. If you had asked, I might have taken a simple thirty minutes. But you flat out told me, in an extremely rude and offensive tone, "Hurry up and eat. I need to make money." Well, I'm not particularly fond of being ordered around by my inferiors, and I have absolutely no respect for anybody who is motivated by monetary gain. The tone was like the rotten cherry on the mud pie. I decided immediately to take a full hour to spite you. (In hindsight, you did mange to irritate the hell out of every other employee in that full hour, but I felt satisfied, and I'm pretty and smart and adorable. So they will forgive my minor torture to them.)

I come back after my lunch, rested and in a better mood. Your response to my sincere, "Thank you" was completely unforgivable.

"I missed a keyboard sale because you wanted to eat. I'm not going to sit for you anymore."

There are a few things wrong with your statement. First of all, your so-called missed "keyboard sale." You are NOT ALLOWED to sell keyboards. That department belongs to Domino, Byron, and Dizzy in that order. You have been told repeatedly that you are, under no circumstances, allowed to sell a keyboard and take the commission. That is the territory of the previously mentioned gentlemen. When you try to take keyboard sales, you are messing with their money, and it can make the difference in them being able to make a payment on a car or a prescription or rent. You wouldn't want them selling a piano from under you, would you? No. You would pitch a fit if they tried, and you know it. In fact, when you found out that on a day you called in and Piano Salesman called in, Byron sold a baby grand, you made such a big stink that BOTH locations were in an uproar. Notice how you didn't win that battle, though. The sale stuck with him, and your brother told you to shut your trap because you chose not to come to work.

Second, the way you chose to word the first. "I missed a keyboard sale because you wanted to eat." The tone implies that I selfishly did something I didn't need to do just to keep you from making money. I'm not sure where you're from, but in my world, people need to eat to survive. It is not a WANT so much as A NEED. As in, I need to eat to survive. And while I could have waited to eat, the day did not slow down. It would have been just as difficult to go to lunch at four as it was when I tried to first go at one. I actually didn't get to go until one-forty five. If you had just sat down when you first told to, you would have been able to steal that keyboard sale from Byron or Domino or Dizzy. And that wouldn't have been very good, but your own selfishness got in the way of further selfishness. You have nobody to blame but yourself.

Your last statement is simply laughable. You can say that you will not do it ever again, but in the end you know it is not your choice. When Manager Man tells you to do something (and he doesn't ask you, he commands.) you do it. There is no "I'm not going to" bullshit hassle about money you're dreaming of making. He is the boss, you are the Janitor. Boss trumps all except Owner. You are neither.

In the end, you are no better off than you were before. Because you did say you were planning on taking a keyboard sale, I will have to report that to Manger Man. It is against the rules, and Byron, Domino, and Dizzy happen to be my friends. I hate seeing them cheated by a greedy bitch who thinks making a paltry twenty five dollar commission is more important than another human being's right to eat. And you would have tried to cheat them had I not so selfishly decided to eat some lunch.

Boo. Freaking. Hoo.


My Shelfari Bookshelf

Shelfari: Book reviews on your book blog