love is in the air...

Ah, valentine's day. We get one every year and every year it's the same. Quick. Panic. Does anybody love you? Are you doing enough for the person you love? What do you mean, you don't have anything for your girlfriend/wife/boyfriend/husband?! WHAT KIND OF AN ANIMAL ARE YOU?!?!

Or at least that's the impression of this oh-so-festive day of days that I got today.

We had a very steady day, in terms of customers and sales. More than the usual Monday, that's for sure. Of course, the majority of these sales were under $6. Cards, people, greeting cards to be exact. And lots of 'em. Pretty ones, ugly ones, sentimental and humourous ones - cards, cards, cards.

Now, I don't understand the whole greeting card thing. I say, if you want to send a message to someone, send your own message. Draw your own picture. Fold your own goddamn paper. But why spend your good, hard-earned money on some gilded and glittered picture of a heart, or a couple embracing, or a kiss, or better yet a poem. Do you really think that a crappy little piece of folded cardstock makes up for the time you told her that maybe, and it might be the lighting, but maybe she DID look fat in that dress? Or the countless times you told him that you were "too tired tonight?" No. When you give someone an overpriced greeting card, you're simply telling them that you're too lazy to make them feel appreciated the other 364 days of the year. We're destroying forests - ecosystems, if you will - to make these ugly pieces of shit that get thrown away (how many people recycle their greeting cards?) and forgotten.

I mean, no one really expects you to keep them, do they?! For many, many clutter-filled years I held on to every greeting card I've been given since I was a child. When it came time to move this past fall, I had to go through all the boxes and drawers that I had conveniently forgotten about or hidden away and sort through this pile of memories. Ultimately, I threw everything out.



And since when does valentine's day have to be about relationships? When I was a little girl, my parents would always have some heart-themed teddy bear and lotsa lotsa candy for me. But now, I don't need teddy bears, and I eat too much candy as it is, but I'm still left with the understanding that the big V is about showing those you love - friends, family, and yes, lovers too - that you love them, that you appreciate who they are and what they add to your life.

And yeah, you should eat too much chocolate. And hey, no one said you can't take the love of your life for a night on the town.

But please... save the rainforests. Boycott greeting cards.

an exception to the rule...

This has nothing to do with the store or anything, but it was too priceless to pass up.

Apparently, on the new season of Survivor, there's a dude named Bobby Jon Drinkard.

His favorite colour is blue and he enjoys drinking soy milk when not drinking Miller high life.

Wow.

la la la... i can't hear you...

Loyal readers, I ask you - how much information is too much information?

Case in point...
About 10 minutes before my shift ended yesterday, a young woman came to pay for a notebook. OOPS! She forgot that she was also looking for some poetry by ee cummings. "Where would I find that?" "Um, in our poetry section" (but that's another story for another day).

She went to look for a book, came back and said:
"OHMYGOD! I have to pee so bad. Don't you hate that? When you're looking for something but you have to pee so bad?! I think I'm going to burst. Omigod. Omigod. I really have to pee."

I exchanged glances with one of my coworkers and rang through her sale. As she was gathering her bag to leave, she mentioned again, as if maybe we had missed it the first time, "OHMYGOD! I have to pee. Holy crap. I have to find a washroom, like, right now. GOD don't you hate that?!"

And with that she was out the door.

Now, hearing customers' sob stories seems to be a frequent occurance in retail. It's not enough that they have to tell you the whole story behind them needing a bag.

("Do you need a bag?" "Ummmmmm........ yeah, cause it's starting to rain and I have to make 3 more stops before I go home to my sick child, and the book is kinda heavy, not to mention attractive, so I wouldn't want it getting ruined in the rain, while I make my 3 stops, cause I'm looking for a pair of shoes. By the way, do you know where I could get a nice pair of shoes around here? Mine are really old, and I think it's time I get some new ones. And I'm hungry. What's a nice brunch spot in the area?")

Seriously, though, why do we (and I'm sure I'm guilty of this from time to time too) feel the need to explain ourselves to strangers? Why can't we just say "Yes I'd like a bag" PERIOD. END OF CONVERSATION. And I certainly don't want to know if you have to "piss like a racehorse."

Please.

Keep it to yourself.

oh no, here we go...

Mrs. X has a new favorite. I'll give you three guesses who that is.





(sidenote: if one more person asks to interact their purchase, I'm going to lunge across the counter and hit them with my best shot)

six of one...

So, dear, loyal, patient readers, we have gone from too-busy-to-find-something-to-write-about to too-dead-to-find-something-to-write-about. Christmas? Over! Boxing week sale? Over! Mind-numbing boredom? Just beginning!

I've decided that maybe the best course of action here is to keep it quick. Small snippets of craziness, rather than long drawn out stories (unless the day merits one).

Today I'll break down the "happenings" into three categories:
1) Why I shouldn't be alowed around famous people
2) You and your teacher can kiss my ass
3) Get out of my store you dumb fuck

1)
So I'm at the store, minding my business, reading the latest Glamour magazine, when who should walk in but none other than Ms. Sarah Harmer herself. I watched her in a semi-stalking-but-more-like-observing-gently way as she made her way around the store, browsing elegantly. She came up to the cash and this was, more or less, the exchange we had:

Sarah: "Sarah Slean put out a book a while ago. I was told you had it."
Me: "I wish! I think we had it on consignment, cause it's not in the system. I know we did have it at some point, but we don't anymore."
S: "Oh well. Thanks anyway"
Me: "I'm a huuuuge fan, by the way. Oh lord, I sound like such a dork. I'm sorry. I just thought I should say something. Gawd, I'm such a dork."
S: "Hey, be a dork. Thank you."

I'm sorry, but I thought that was the coolest thing she could have said. I still felt like I had a big scarlet L on my chest, but, man, was I dignified.

2)
It's January. That means that schools have entered their second semester. Students, especially those who attend my favorite of all post-secondary institutions, *insert name of local art college here*, have been scurrying like little bratty bunnies into our store looking for crappy graphic design manuals. They all come in and ask for the same books and when we say we don't have them, that we haven't had them in months even, they look all pained and wounded. This is where the usual retort of "but my teacher told me I could get it here" comes in. Now, at first I was apologetic:
"Oh, sorry, yeah, we used to have it, but we're sold out right now."
But now, as student after painstakingly unoriginal student comes in, my patience has worn thin. My response has become a smarmy, somewhat bitchy:
"Well, maybe your teacher should have told US about this before they sent you all."
Or, in weaker and slightly hungry moments:
"Can you tell your teacher to stop sending you all here? We don't have any of these!"

This job is turning me into such an impatient brat.

3)
This story needs a preface: we have a very straight forward, albeit strict return policy. If you keep your receipt, you have 2 weeks to exchange or get a credit for your purchase. At Christmas time and in the weeks following, we have been much more lenient. We're still taking exchanges on things purchased at the beginning of December.

Anyway, yesterday this guy comes in, returns a book and gets a credit. I knew something was strange when he said "So how long do I have this for?" and I said "do you mean when does it expire?" and he said "no, when is it good until?" Oy. I told him it was good until he used it. It doesn't expire. Just don't lose it. Blank stare, blink blink, nod, awkward eye scan.

Today the same guy comes up and asks if we would buy his credit off him. I told him we couldn't do that and he just looked at me and said "but there's nothing I want to buy!" I told him that he didn't have to decide right away, that he could come back whenever he felt like it, whenever there was something he liked, and use it then. This seemed to panic him even more. At this point, another woman had come up to the cash and was attempting to buy a book. Dude asked if she would buy the credit off him. She didn't look too sure about it, but said she would try, but she didn't have the cash. Then, more panicked, he looked around the desk, looked at her, looked at me and picked up the credit again (I should mention that it was for a whole $17.66). I told him he could use it on magazines, stationary, anything in the store, anytime he wanted.

To make a long story short (too late, I know), he went over to the magazines and brought back three randomly girly magazines that he said were for his girlfriend: Lucky (a magazine about shopping), some home decorating magazine and Modern Bride. It came to just over $18 and he had to pay the difference. He was about to interac the $0.69, since he only had $0.47, but I just took that and told him I'd call it even. The whole exchange made me feel dirty.



So that's that. We're up to date. I'm trying, I really am. I don't even know who reads this (besides the two people who have commented on my lack of updating) so I hope that those two (oh, you know who you are...) keep reading and keep enjoying.

the calm after the storm...

Okay, my pretties, I'm back in blogging action. It's been quite the holiday season. I have now learned why my precious co-workers, in all their snobby glory, hate boxing week. Allow me to set the scene for you...

So Christmas rush was crazier than the guy on the street who yells "Can I ask you a question" to everyone who passes him, every day of the week, every week of the year (but that's another story). I learned that in that one week before Christmas, sales can be upwards of 20X that of 'normal' times of year. As you can imagine, lines were long and customers bitchy. Everyone wanted Jon Stewart's America (sold out) or the Da Vinci Code (sold out - unless you want the overpriced illustrated edition - yeah, I thought not). Anyway, long lines, bitchy customers, blah blah blah. Time flew. All of a sudden, I found myself walking into the store on boxing day - a store aglow with flourescent coloured tags that advertised 20% off all books, 50% off all calendars. The boss and his family were there in full force, adding tags to more and more and more books, often covering the title/author in the process. I asked my kind and patient co-worker why they put so many tags on the books. She said that they were in a panic about low sales, and wanted to make sure people knew there was a sale going on. Well, as I predicted, that did nothing.

"Are all your books on sale?"

"Is this book on sale?"

"Are only the tagged books on sale?"

"Are you having any kind of sale this week?"

Amid these lost and bewildered customers came a new barrage of customer queries, quandries, questions and cunundrums:

No, we don't do returns without a receipt - even if it was a gift - even if you already have it - even if the price tag is still on the back. You could have walked out the door with that book five minutes ago. (Although, a flaw in the logic of that policy is that we don't give $ returns, we're exchange or credit only, so even if they did steal the book, the value of the book is already lost, therefore if they exchange that book for another one, then the value of the loss stays the same. So what the f*** is all the fuss about.)

My favorite encounter of the past few weeks has got to be my encounter with one of my former coffee shop co-workers. This dude was kinda twitchy when I knew him a couple years ago. He was out of law school and procrastinating doing his clerking, thus procrastinating becoming a lawyer and had been at the 'bux for 5 years. Anyway, I heard that he left that place shortly after I did and actually did the lawyer thing. Good for him.

So anyway, lawyer boy comes into the store, recognizes me, we shoot the shit for a couple minutes, then he asks if I can look up a book for him. Absolutely. No Problem. What's the book?

He gives me some title, and asks about the hardcover. I tell him the price of the hardcover, tell him we can order it for him if he wants it. Then he adds:

"Nah, I don't want it. I had it, but someone stole it from me. Now I'm taking them to court and suing them for it, so I needed to know how much it was worth."

Oh dear. That's a $30-40 book. Someone went from anti-lawyer to mega-lawyer in two and a half years. Slow down, buddy. Take it easy. Maybe law school wasn't such a great idea after all.

the spirit of the season...

Distracted by the pleasures of abusing staff discounts, rolling into work at 11am, and other retail perks, I had forgotten how much I hate working retail at Christmas time. This will be my third stint as a holiday worker (HMV and Williams Sonoma being the first two) and it doesn't get any less frustrating with age. In fact, the older I get, the wiser I get, the stupider everyone else gets (or so it seems).

And it is precisely because of this frustration that I have been absent from the blogosphere. You see, dear, loyal readers, at this time of year there are so many stupid people passing through the doors at the shop that by the time I get my hands on a computer the stories are jumbled and repressed. And it's so busy at the store that I don't have time to jot down little things here and there to help me remember later on.

So please, in this most festive of seasons, find it in your hearts to forgive me. I'll do my best to bring some amusing tales to your attention, but after a certain point, and after a certain amount of idiotic repetition, things become less about comedy and more about me wanting to stab myself in the jugular with a ballpoint pen sharpened candy cane.