Rehell

Being dead is not bad for your career. Look at Michael Jackson, Elvis, and John Lennon. Fact is, I do lots of good work when I am not fully functional.

Let me explain: ....erm, I can't, but those of you who get it understand, right?

Remember how everyone always told you to think before you said or did anything? You listened, I bet. Sure you did. Well, you are not alone. Most people don't think at all if it can be avoided. To put it another way, my workday is rife with "Mad's snappy answers to stupid questions" and "Here's your sign" opportunities.

Many out there rely on others to do the heavy mental lifting whenever possible. "Excuse me, do you have cds?"

Keep in mind, I was standing in a huge room which is half filled with cds. The other half is full of dvds, so maybe she was confused. *sigh*.

If you combine those folks with the I will scream and rant and rave and otherwise act like a two year old until you give me my refund/apology/coupon which I forgot to bring with me, then you truly have a recipe for retail hell. Let me get my "Bah humbugs" out early, okay? There are days when I think I don't get paid enough to be nice to these socially retarded misfits, but then I stop and think of myself when I am out shopping.

I am NICE to retail associates everywhere, even the surly ones. I smile and respond to their "May I help you?" and always move quickly at the register and engage them in minimal conversation because I know they have a lot to do and many other folks to help.

So where's the disconnect? Where are the nice folks at my store? Frankly, most of them are asleep in the comfy armchairs, snoring and drooling contentedly into their lattes.

Hey! Maybe that's the key! Perhaps all the surly bird shoppers who visit me really need is a nap and a latte. I mean, they've already got the drooling thing down, if you count the spittle I am pasted with while they tell me exactly what they want and question my lineage while asking for a refund on the dvd they bought a year ago.




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Louisville CSI*

"Hey. I can't get this cd to play on your system."

"Yeah, sorry about that. Not every disc we have is available to sample."

"But your sign says I can sample hundreds of thousands of titles."

"Uh huh."

"Then how come I can't listen to all of them?"

"Yeah, sorry about that. Not every disc we have is available to sample."

"But your sign says I can sample hundreds of thousands of titles."

"Yeah, sorry about that. Not every disc we have is available to sample."

"But your sign says I can sample -" WHAM!

There's a well guarded secret in retail. Hidden in a cupboard, in a velvet lined black lockbox, is a customer training tool. Because I like you, and I wouldn't want to see any of you get hurt, I will show you what it looks like so you can't be blindsided by an impatient sales associate.

It never mentions this terrific sales tool in the employee handbook, and management never talks about it. I only discovered it by accident. When I arrived at work one day last week, I was startled by a huge stain on the floor in front of the register.

None of my employees would tell me what happened, nor would management. However, when I stepped behind the counter, I discovered the lockbox behind a half-open cupboard door. Well, that neatly explained the stain, and I found out the customer was in a coma, but full recovery was expected.

Thing is, I have always wondered how many difficult customer service issues were handled so quickly and to everyone's satisfaction, and why our client satisfaction scores were so high.

It's amazing what can be accomplished with a good attitude and a little friendly persuasion.



*Customer Service Index




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Cellf Interest

Roommate crashed the computer. Apparently he was driving too fast and couldn't negotiate the curve. I warned him it was a hard drive.



There. I have not only explained the week without Humor, but I have managed to pun yet again. I should probably be ashamed, but you know me well enough to know if I had any shame, I wouldn't be blogging.

I have been hearing the term "clear the decks" a lot at work. I am still unsure what it means. If they're talking about a poop deck, I don't want to be around, because I know which way that stuff rolls, and I am definitely not at the top of the pyramid. Or the food chain.

That doesn't even sound appetizing. Food chain? Exactly how would you cook that?

I sat next to a lady at lunch today, and couldn't help overhearing her cell phone conversation. Oh, who the hell am I kidding? Is it even possible to be out in public and not hear someone's conversation? She said something about how she knew this thing intellectually, but emotionally she was having a hard time dealing with it. No kidding. Emotions make everything hard to deal with; if we didn't get emotional about things, nothing would bother us.

Not even loud phone chat at restaurant tables. As if the verbiage wasn't obnoxious enough, the Marquess de Sadie also insisted on trying to eat while talking. Every statement was punctuated by a loud "smack smack smack". I considered telling her she was talking smack, but I knew she'd be miffed I was listening, even though people were coming in from outside to complain about the noise.

Isn't being overheard the whole point of cell phones? Sure, we tell each other it's for "emergencies", but how many emergencies involve hair appointments and significant others straying off the leash? We want everyone to know how important we are, how vital everything that involves us is, how crucial it is that we always be in contact with our friends, family, and the Verizon geek with the glasses and the endless concerns about our hearing.

Hell yes I can hear you now. Shut up already.




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Standup Retailer

A unitard is one really dumb guy.

Ever start to tell a joke to a coworker and realize halfway through it's highly inappropriate? Yep. It was too late to stop though, so I went ahead. I think I need a safety switch on my tongue. I used to not worry about such things, but everyone is so damned uptight these days. I'm not really crude, but some of my material is PG-13.

Maybe I should wear a warning label. How come people can't laugh at life anymore?
I used to worry folks wouldn't take me seriously, but I have never taken them seriously, so why would they? The worst that could happen is..

Nope. Not even gonna go there.

Now I have to filter everything before I speak. Remember the old saw about it being better to remain silent and be thought a fool? Whatever. I don't even err on the side of caution. Why is it so hard to be a comedian and maintain gainful employment? Being broke has a negative impact on my humor, but I can't help myself.

I think just about everything is funny. I think having fun at work is wonderful. Customers respond in a good way to the yuk yuks. Management doesn't always, and I are one. So I wear two masks at work, and sometimes I forget to change them. My biggest laugh usually comes when I see my paycheck, but what the hell. If I wanted to be rich, I'd. Well, I do want to be rich, but there's no reason to be morbid about it. Somehow I must find a way to make "Hey, HumorSmith, did you finish that assignment?"
"No, but this guy walked into a bar..." work in my favor.

Just because I am funny doesn't mean I'm a bad worker. It mystifies me how I manage to shoot myself in the foot without a gun. I shoot my mouth off too, sans weapon. I'm gonna make a movie. An action film wherein I am the buff, take no guff, courageous and humorous protagonist. I'll call it "Mirthful Weapon", and it will make lots of money and inspire the frustrated retail comics who just want to be rewarded for bringing the funny. Donald Trump will see it and realize the value of lightening up, and donate his money to me so that I can make more movies about the beautiful oxymoron "workplace humor".

That flapping sound you hear is nothing to be frightened of. It has to do with monkeys and my posterior. See? I can apply the filter when necessary.




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Speed Trappers

Frank Sinatra can sing the peel off an apple.

There. Having said that, I suppose there are those among you who will disagree, but that's okay. My blog, my opinions. He can, ya know.

My soon to be returned car is running again. The alternator blew. I searched online, found one for $71 and my roommate/landlord installed it. In 7 minutes. Take that, auto shops. Seven minutes! And the labor cost me nothing. Life is good.

So once again I am mobile. I will purchase a more economical and less cop-attracting car this time. I mean, owning a Mustang GT is all well and good, but one must be prepared with a battery of excuses to give to Smokey Bear, a limitless fund to pay the speeding tickets, and the will to tolerate being prohibited from ever driving the car at the speed for which it was designed. Muscle car? Feh!


How would I look in a Mini-Cooper? Better than in a Gary Cooper, I guess. Sport cars are not all they are supposed to be anyway. Mario Andretti is not my idol,and I am very much over being punished each time I drive 100 or so miles above the speed limit. Spoilsport cops. Where's the harm? I mean, the worst that could happen is I would remove myself and a few others from the planet, but still.

A little background: The 'Stang is the first fast car I have owned. Consequently when I step on the accelerator, I am unprepared for the burst of speed which ensues. If I'd had this car in my twenties, I wouldn't be here now. I wouldn't have been frightened by the g-force, and that along with youth's sense of invulnerability would have rendered me pavement smear in a matter of days. At this point in time, death is not so much a worry. Being the sole person responsible for the salaries of the WA staties is.

I'm not sure when financial concerns became more important than mortality, but there it is. I know I can't take it with me, but that doesn't mean I don't want to have some left when I go. I can't say with certainty that there aren't vending machines on the other side, can you? Or is there a huge cafeteria, and a buffet style setup? Does that mean we aren't required to tip? I just want to be covered either way.


Maybe if I carried a license that indicated I was an organ donor to the police they'd be less inclined to ticket, and more inclined to warn.

Then again, what are the odds the police would desperately need a Wurlitzer or a Hammond B-3?







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Bussed A Move

I apparently have to kill myself now.

I was riding the bus home from work, and it was SRO. Unreal, as it was 8:17 on a Thursday night. I was so busy grousing under my breath, I nearly missed the comely young lady boarding after me. Early 20's, long dark brown hair, prominent points of erm, interest. Yeah. It was kinda fun standing behind her. We never exchanged words or made eye contact, until the bus made its first stop, and a seat was emptied, at which point the young beauty turned to me and said, "Go ahead."

Excuse me? She wasn't really suggesting I needed to sit and she didn't? My attempt at chivalry fell on young, deaf ears. She insisted I have a seat. It was then I noticed said seat was at the front. You know, reserved for elderly and disabled persons. Well, I am certainly not physically challenged, so....

I'm sure you are way ahead of me. Was this woman actually deferring to me because of my.....age? Did I perhaps appear incontinent? I definitely would remember peeing on her foot. Oddly enough, after she forced me to sit, I kinda wished I had. Peed on her foot. For starters. A young, pretty woman insisted I use the senior seat on the bus. After this insult, I did the only thing I could: I shuffled slowly over to the seat and collapsed onto it, emitting a loud fart as I settled.

What's next, discount meals at Denny's? This can't be good.






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Jester Minute

Wow...I literally have nothing to write about this evening.

Fortunately for you, that's never stopped me from posting.


I often wonder if things that make me laugh make you laugh. Or is it only my warped sense of reality? I get the feeling from some of your comments there are more than a few of you who share my sense of humor.

Sorry about that.

I walked into the breakroom today and found one of the new female staff crying. I immediately prepared to do what I always do, but as she'd already seen me enter, I couldn't run out of the room.

Turns out the issue was another employee was being mean to her.

Excuse me? Mean to her? And she was crying? Well, naturally I stifled my laughter and played the empathy card. Perhaps you've seen that card:

I know, I know. I have pretty much given up on my dreams of working in the human resources department. Ah well, nonetheless I listened to her story and promised I would do something about it immediately and left the room.

Does rolling on the floor convulsed with laughter count as doing something about it? Thought so.

Hey don't get me wrong; I am very sympathetic to those who in their daily life encounter obstacles that stop them in their tracks, that bring them down and make it impossible for them to reach their full potential, incidents that...

Nah. Can't do it. It's damn near impossible to type while I'm laughing.


Don't get me wrong; I am very sympa.....

Forget it. Point is, bad stuff happens to all of us. We can't control it, all we can do is control how we react. And I react by blogging. Hey you guys, thanks for being there. Did you ever know that you're my hero? And everything I would like to be? Whoo!Damn! Can't do that either.

I think watching that double feature of Beaches and Terms Of Endearment has made it impossible for me to get in touch with my feelings or yours. I know I have feelings, because I experienced an emotion a couple years ago. It was a wild couple minutes, lemme tell you.



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