Zing!

I wanted to take an opportunity to toot my own horn.

Jen & I were idly conversing the other day.
Me: I'm trying to think of the term... for a logical fallacy when you keep wishing for something to happen. And then when it does happen you say, "Oh, it's because I wished for it!"
Jen: I'm not sure... It's not self-fulfilling prophecy.
Me: It's not caveat emptor, though I bet it's all latin-sounding.
Jen: Now that's going to bug me all day.
Me: Oh, I've got it!
Jen: Yeah?
Me: Christianity!

FYI, from the wikipedia article, I believe Non Sequitur best fits the description we were looking for, though it covers a broader spectrum of fallacies.

By changing races, apparently.

Also, no hand holding for you, fatty!

Invalid query

Predictions for our time together based on the questions you ask me:

1. "What's good today?"
We're about to have an awkward conversation about the difference between a latte and a cappuccino.

2. "How are these?"
You want me to lie.

3. "Where's your bathroom?"
Ten minutes from now I will knock on the door & interrupt your second line of coke.

4. "Do you have wi-fi?"
Your home office is occupied since the kids are out of school today.

5. "What's playing [on the radio] right now?"
You want my body.

6. "Is the owner in today?"
A group of customers is about to walk in the door.

7. "Do you know any good places to eat around here?"
I'm going to discover that I do not, in fact, know the best place to get a slice in NYC.

8. "Can you make a kid's hot chocolate?"
My calls to keep hands out of the retail beans will go unheeded.

9. "Don't you have just regular ol' coffee?"
The bus from the retirement home broke down out front.

10. "What's yer biggest size frappuccino?"
My ability to suppress a gag reflex is about to be tested.

Another best of

I was rolling in a bit on the late side this morning & still had tons of stuff to do when customers started coming in. Not a big deal, mind, but difficult to juggle the usual opening tasks with an influx of customers as well.

In walks Willy Loman. The type, you know, with a little extra confidence pinned to his jacket. He was round in the middle and tall. I'd imagine he orders much of his clothing by catalog. Additionally there was, of course, the gray ponytail. He came in with a backpack over his shoulder, and I began to reminisce about Sneaky Santa. A short while later, the backpack and jacket came off to reveal a dingy white t-shirt and suspenders. I had just finished paying the milkman when he walked in. As he approached, he held up the OPEN/CLOSED sign and proclaimed, "Do you need this?" It hangs from a little suction cup, which he had also removed.
"I don't need that."
"Are you open?"
"We are... I don't need that back here."
He ordered a coffee and offered that he would be back once I'd gotten things together a bit.
"You a new place?"
"We've been here a little over a year now."
"You know in the big city at the STAR-BUCKS [I don't know how else to iterate how he pronounced it, almost as if I'd never heard the word before] they have CDs right up front & they just pop 'em in with all that music already loaded up."
"Yeah I uh... I pick the music here generally." [I'd just put a CD in, the soundtrack to There Will Be Blood] "They used to send us these pop CDs, Cafe Music or whatever, which were just terrible. We never played them, and I don't know why they ever started sending them."
"The city I'm from... In Boston the streets are just paved with CDs!"
"Uh huh..."
Anyway he was a pretty nice guy I guess, just quirky as all hell. It was like nobody had ever had a conversation about media before.

I've been asked a few times now what I like to drink. Back before I worked in a coffee shop I'd order all the sweet-ass milkshake drinks or get a flavor in drip coffee. To be fair, the coffee around campus was piss poor. Generally I just drank soda. On my way to class in the mornings I'd pick up a soda or sometimes a Sobe thing to wash down a multi-vitamin. Breakfast! As time went on though, I realized that I liked coffee much better without any sweetener. I mean I've cut a lot of the sugary shit out of my diet since then, but I'm talking about the taste.
These days I mostly drink regular black coffee. If I'm at a place I don't know I'll typically put a splash of whole milk in there too. During the mornings when I work I'll go through maybe... as little as 8oz of coffee or as much as 25oz. Some days when I'm training I get all wired up tasting espresso, too. I can't get into the spitting thing; it reminds me too much of chewing tobacco. Once I mistook a can of spittle for my black cherry soda and wound up hurling into the sink for about half an hour (followed by chugging water & jamming my finger down my throat).
If I'm feeling adventurous I have a couple of standby drinks.

This is an iced americano, for lack of better descriptors. It's a little ice and water with a splash of whole milk. Then I pull a triple ristretto espresso over some cool water (to keep from shocking it on the ice) and put it all together. It's pretty strong at first, since I don't mix it in, but that way the last bit is more manageable.

This is just a slight variation with some frothed milk spooned on top. An iced cappuccino, if you will. If you won't then I don't know what to tell you...

Come get some

A couple of frustrating situations I'd like to relate.

This morning a woman came in whom I didn't recognize. That's not unusual of course. And anyway I can't remember every fuckface that comes in the door. Sometimes I'll have people who will ask for "the usual," but fucked if I know what drink you ordered on one or two other occasions over the period of a few weeks. Okay, well, in this case it became clear she'd been there before (which I'll get to in a second). Things immediately start to go wrong here, so I played it out best I could. I'll admit I'm easily irritated. Let's just get that out of the way. Chances are you do something that annoys me. I'll survive. I do things that annoy me. To other people I mean... not to myself. There are those rare interactions, however, wherein nothing seems to go right.
1. She began by identifying her coffee as the "Peabody" rather than the appropriate "Peaberry." Not that big a deal, right? I nearly corrected her but thought better of it. It was already the third time that mistake had been made today.
2. She produced five whole bean stamp cards, each with roughly two pounds (out of ten) stamped. Surely not the first time I've combined somebody's cards, but this was a record. If you've ever had business cards printed out, you'll know that they can be pricey. Further irked, I still combined the cards & kept my composure.
3. I ask her if she needs anything else, and she declines. After paying, she brings up the complimentary coffee that comes with whole bean purchases. She could have said something when I asked but... well I guess that doesn't matter so much. Thing is, the free coffee comes with a pound or more purchased. She had about 3/4 of a pound. I don't know but... it seems like she would only have waited until the transaction was over if she knew she didn't have enough. Let's suss out how this went, shall we?
Me: I'm sorry; the free 8oz comes with a pound or more. You have about 3/4 pound here.
[I'll mention at this time that it is extremely annoying when people want to try to accumulate their free coffees. That's why we say at the "time of purchase" so it's not so goddamn difficult to complete the transaction. I mean who the fuck is going to keep track of that?]
Cust: Oh, so I'm not a good enough customer?
[see if you can come up with a reasonable answer to this question]
Me: Oh you know... silly policies.
Cust [walking away]: That's why people come to small businesses, right? To avoid all that corporate stuff.
Me: Mmmm...

Alright, so who the fuck are you then? You've obviously bought coffee here before, but I don't know you. You expect something for free because...
1. You're a regular customer.
2. We're a small business.
Do either of those make sense? I just... can't get my head around it.

Another thing, which happened yesterday, is another sticky one. I've written about bums before (this city's got 'em). As far as vagrants go, this guy wasn't so bad. I was told a bit later that he was known in nearby businesses as "Sneaky Santa." I suppose his beard was reminiscent, but he seemed a bit to decrepit to pull off anything sneaky.
SS might have been sitting at a table out front, but I believe it's more likely he was simply walking by. A customer decided he "looked like he needed a cup of coffee" and bought one for him. Congratulations, fuckwit! Your $1.40 has bought you a feeling of self-satisfaction that will keep you smug for the rest of the goddamn day! Meanwhile, I am given the opportunity to express my goodwill for the next six hours. Sweet! I can't ask him to leave because... well I guess he's sort of a customer. He sat there at a table inside, smelling of his salty-sweet self, making awkward eye contact with every hapless customer who walked in the door. On the plus side, I got to enjoy a range of reactions to his presence such as eye-averting fear and short-lived pity. From time to time he tried to make conversation, but I was unable to glean more than the following:
1. It's hot outside.
2. Barbers shave with a straight razor.
3. Our company roasts its own coffee in a small town which he has visited (or possibly grew up in).
4. He also has a Bojangles cup.
5. A query: is that sound a television? No. It is, in fact, the radio.
I briefed my replacement on the situation, to which his response was "No more refills for him!" Well played, friend. Well played indeed. I grew worried that he would reemerge today, but he has not (so far). Perhaps the heat, in conjunction with a scorching hot diuretic, killed him.

A special thanks to Wikipedia and Google image search for making the unnecessary hyperlinks possible.

Coffee con leche

I've spoken about the vague things that happen across long periods of working at a coffee shop. Sometimes, many of those things culminate in a single morning to remind me of how annoying (in petty ways) people can be. Monday this week was one of those! None of these are major offenses, mind, but I just thought I'd show how ridiculous I can be.
1. Asking me "What's good today?"
Uh... the coffee? This might work at a restaurant where there are specials or catches of the day or whatever, but we have two coffees. Do you want one of those coffees? Do you want the one that I like? No, I don't know what the hell you mean. I suppose it's meant to be nice, but let's face it that there just aren't that many choices. The order wound up being a mocha. Surprise! And yeah, it's pretty much the same as it was yesterday and last week and when we first opened. It's a mocha. Then sure, it's good today.
2. Speaking Spanglish.
Children who learn two languages sometimes blend the two when they are looking for a word that doesn't come to mind immediately in the primary languages. Interesting stuff! When an English-speaking adult does it, though, it says "I don't speak Spanish very well." I can't really iterate what I find irritating about this, but maybe you too find the phrase "Over on the counter there they have uh... leche" grating as well.
3. Ignoring the children.
Left to their own devices, 2 year olds will yell, throw shit around, and injure themselves. Also, not responding to their "Mommy" cries will not eventually yield silence. They're gonna keep doing it. These two were throwing a cell phone to the ground, picking it back up, and throwing it again. It took a dozen of these gleeful tosses before anything was said, and even then it was a "Now, now..." kind of affair.
4. MAWDS (Middle-Aged Woman Dance Syndrome).
The quickest way to induce symptoms of this syndrome is to play the Beatles. Otherwise ordinary, whole-milk fearing ladies will gyrate casually, perhaps recalling a sock hop prior to when their first child was conceived. Together we can end MAWDS. Currently the only cure is playing unlistenable music, but a variety of sleeper holds have been found to incapacitate the suffering party until the offending song has passed.
5. Requiring a ludicrous number of vessels for baked goods.
A plate for each item and a bag for the remainder some time later. It's not that I'm all that particular about waste but... come on. You know, reduce your carbon footprint or some shit, I dunno.
6. Interrupting me while I'm answering a question.
I don't really care if I'm interrupted during inane chatter. I was asked what coffee we were serving, and I began, "It's a blend of the Sumatra with the-"
"OH! Sumatra! Hey, it's the Sumatra."

Perhaps it will not surprise you at this point to discover that all of these were from the same person.

I'm not your...

It's no new phenomenon that hosers will use words that make others cringe while thinking themselves clever or... I don't know... hip? You know there was that guy in the 19th century who called everybody "guv'na" and everyone else was all, "Yeah, alright man, just because we're having tea together doesn't give you license to talk like an asshole." Or when you're time traveling to prevent an imminent apocalypse and you keep getting "Og no like boomstick!" and you're like, "Come on Og, all your friends are calling it a shotgun... and how about some verbs every now and then? I didn't spend all that time teaching you English so you could talk like a stereotype." I hate that!

I was reminded of this problem just this morning when a guy called me "Chief." As in, "Make it a medium, chief." He got the coffee, yeah, but he also got a glare of well-masked incredulity. The urge to return fire is fairly intense. "Enjoy the coffee, Ace!" I've come up with a way to tell if the nickname you're about to apply to a complete stranger is inappropriate. Consider if you would use the same word in the following scenarios:
1. Your eight year-old gets his first hit in T-Ball
2. Your 94 year-old relative is having war flashbacks (you're not being an asshole or anything; you're just helping him cope)
3. A fellow trucker gives you a thumbs up when you drive past
4. When playing kickball with friends, somebody completely whiffs on a slow pitch ("Good hustle though, Tiger!")
5. You're trying to kill the mood when your partner wants sex and you don't
6. You're naming your new puppy

Here's a rough list of offending names:
-Chief*
-Buddy*
-Friend*
-Brotha
-Pal*
-Partner*
-Cowboy
-Ace
-Tiger
-Sport*
-Champ*
-Li'l man*
-Scooter (actually this was my parents' nickname for me as a child)
-Dude-a-rino
-Boy*
-Playa*
-Killa
-Rockstar*
-Superstar
-Pimp
-Chump
-Bra (there was a plumber in Hillsborough who used this word at least once in every sentence)
*I have been called this by customers or maintenance workers, in earnest

Nicknames are not the end of it, sadly.
-"Can I get that latte with a smirch of vanilla?" I can only guess that was meant to be a cross between "pinch" and "smidgen."
-"Does that come with a squirt of chocolate?" Sure, let me just run to the back here...
-"I want it with an extra pump of caramel." Don't we all.
-"Frozen mocha with froyo." I now call this the Froyo Fromo (patent pending).
-"Latte. Super flat, super fly." Okay, the woman who says this actually pulls it off. If anyone else tried it they'd be a tool faster than I could smile awkwardly at them.

As usual, I'll request you put your own examples in the comments. Then, as per usual, no comments will appear. Good on ya, mate!

Other people's bums

One morning over a year ago, I rounded the corner from the parking lot at our location in the small town of Hillsborough. That store opens at 7am, so I imagine it was around 6:30. A police car was stopped in the middle of the street in front of the store. It was a pretty wide street, granted, but he was smack in the middle of it - a car would have had difficulty negotiating his presence in either direction. As I approached, he glided slowly forward. It was still dark enough that I couldn't see into the vehicle, but I could feel his eyes on my back as I unlocked the front door.

Hours passed, and I had forgotten about the brief incident. I was unnerved, but the pace of the store that morning had taken precedent. The afternoon approached. At this time the store was quite slow, and a lone customer approached the counter - a southern man in his 50s who worked at the Fish and Game store just next door. He asked if I had heard about the events that morning. At that point I did not even recall the officer. Little did I know the preceding events had occurred well before my arrival at the store...

The manager or owner or whatever of this F&G store got there around 5am every morning for... whatever reason, and so did the baker of the French patisserie. The F&G dude was going about his usual morning business (of gutting fish? fucked if I know), and his wife was at the front of the store. A scrawny black man (whom my storyteller identified as a drug addict) approached the woman and began harassing her. From what I understand, he was soliciting money (or possibly sex? Again, I dunno). F&G guy took offense. He yelled at the man to vacate, but things only escalated. F&G kept a shotgun in the back room (of course), which he moved to retrieve, wife in tow. Upon returning, he found the handgun and camera missing from the cab of his truck along with the aggressor. He phoned the police...

I don't know how much time passed in the interim; neither do I know if our store was open for any of this story. The addict (which will be later corroborated) was picked up trying to sell the gun at a pawn shop in another town. How he managed to cover that much ground so quickly... I couldn't say. My guess would have to be running like a guy being chased by a redneck with a shotgun. Crazy fucker was identified and taken to holding. Therein, the ranking officer at the time decided he didn't want some crack addict (thereby the corroboration) tearing up his cell. Dr. Wacky was released unto the public.

Were I in such a fix, my first inclination might be to pick another town to terrorize. But then my history of being arrested is decidedly limited. What could have been on his mind? Revenge? Justice? Further theft? He jumped right back into the fire, making a bee-line for the Fish and Game store. Outside, he met the Frenchman out for a smoke break. The heated conversation between these two must have been... amusing in the least. Hearing the commotion, our portly F&G hero drew his weapon (a bat) and leaped into battle. With his already demonstrated proficiency in flight, crazy fucker made haste. To whence? It may surprise you to find that his instincts lead him directly back to the place which had only just released him. His presence preceded by frightened squawks, the Hillsborough officers ushered our addict past just as the charging brute rounded the corner. He was tackled and subdued by a small force of Hillsborough's finest and taken to holding.

Scrawny-ass disappeared, never to be seen again.

The very same day, as I was accustomed, I finished the work week with a trip to the neighboring restaurant. I took a seat at the bar alone. The waitresses, who are usually attentive, were talking amongst themselves behind the bar & stealing glances at a woman opposite my location. She was bent over a nearly emptied glass, her hair covering her face. At the nearest opportunity I asked the waitress what was going on. "She's very drunk," she whispered. I gathered they were afraid she would start trouble or refuse to leave. I further understand (since, anyway) that she was often wont for money to pay for said beverages & could only pay in advance. The woman's figure, though hunched, was not out of shape. I imagine her younger years found her quite attractive. A small commotion drew my attention - she was attempting to dismount the stool. The horrified wait staff was unable to assist in time. As she rose from her knees, her hair fell back from her face. I caught only a glance (I looked away much like one does when not wanting a crush to catch you gazing). Her face had a scrape on it that I can only describe as low-impact road rash. Bizarre. Since I had plenty of storytelling at my fingertips, I moved the image to the back of my mind.

The following week (Monday or Tuesday) I joined my manager for drinks at the Mexican restaurant nearby. As we entered, I spotted the same hunched figure roosting at the bar. I ordered a small pitcher of margaritas for my manager and me. The waiter returned with the drinks but informed us his boss had told him to make sure to check our IDs. I had mine, but she had left hers at the store. We already had the pitcher, so she elected to rush back to the store to retrieve it. We went ahead & ordered before she left. I sat in wait without touching my drink (like the fucking gentleman I am).

Lost in thought, I did not sense the woman approach. Even so, the cloud of liquor was intense. She loomed over my table. I looked up at her and could barely make out a face behind the countless bruises. One eye was swollen shut in an award-winning shiner; the other bulged with fantastic greed at the two salty glasses. I recognized her as the woman from the restaurant - the earlier scrape now framed still more wounds glistening with fresh scabs. She looked as though she had only just stumbled in from a street brawl.

"I'm very sorry to bother you... terribly sorry."
...
"But I saw the bartender making those drinks and I was wondering, can I have one of your drinks?"
"Uh, I'm sorry...," was all I could muster
"See I just got out of jail, and my husband beats me."
...
"And I don't have any money... I was just wondering if I can have one of your drinks there."
"I'm uh... I'm sorry, I don't think I can do that," I said, feeling kind of like an asshole.
"I'm so sorry," she replied, almost in echo of my sentiment.
"No I just... I don't think I can do that for you."

Without saying anything else, she retreated to the back. I heard a screen door snap shut, and I assumed she had left the building through a back exit. Just then, as I was still turned around marveling at the space before the dark back rooms, my coworker returned. I must have had my eyes wide open in amazement. She apologized for having to run to get her ID, thinking that was why I was in such a state. I related the story to her and shifted the drinks closer to the wall.

She laughed, "That's crazy! You're kidding, right?"
"No," I refuted, "She only just went out that back door there!"
"Really? Uh..." I kept my resolve. "You're kidding!"
"I'm afraid not," though I had begun to laugh.
"See, you can't even keep a straight face!"

I didn't press it much further, but I was still shocked. We began discussion about work for several minutes. From the shadowy alcove in the back, the beaten woman returned. The women's bathroom, I realized, was separate from the men's.

Again over the table she hung in a stupor before us.
"I'm sorry to have bothered your friend before. I didn't mean no offense."
...
"I just saw that you had two drinks there and..."
She lunged forward like a zombie, her hand outstretched in the direction of my friend's drink. As if in correction, she instead braced her arm hard against the bare part of the table.
"And I just got out of jail and I... I just really wanted some of your tequila."
I glanced at my friend who had that look on her face... the one that's in the movie where the character realizes they were telling the truth all along (or something). Yes, we might as well have been in the presence of an alien.
"I didn't mean no offense."
And she left.

Later I related this story to the wait staff at the aforementioned restaurant. They claimed that it was extremely unlikely that she had a husband & was instead homeless. The bruises were more likely from a drunken fall or from a run-in with less than gentle police officers... a fight she had likely forgotten.

What I'm not

First a couple of nuggets from the shop:
-After answering the phone the usual way, a man asked if we sold pool supplies. After a pause, he asked, "Who have I reached?" I repeated the business name. "Do you sell pool supplies?" "No we do not." "Okay."

-This next one was so confusing I can't repeat it exactly. I still don't know what he was asking me for.
Older Guy: I'm meeting a friend here.
Me: Alright that's fine. Did you want to start an order now or wait until he gets here?
OG: Well, I was wondering if you had a computer.
Me: Do I have a computer? [I begin gesturing toward the one I'm standing in front of]
OG: Since he's not here yet, I was hoping to go ahead put my information into your database.
Me: Uh... You mean your order or uh... I don't think I understand what you mean.
OG: I mean do you have a computer.
Me: Just this one here, but it's -
OG: One that I can use temporarily.
Me: No, we don't have anything like that.
OG: Okay... [He hustles off, several binders clutched to his chest]
I did see another guy come in who I recognized a short while later. He said he was looking for someone, but I was busy & didn't have time to discuss it. I didn't see either of them again.

-I only just remembered something that happened back at another store. People ask for strange ways of getting their drinks sometimes; they'll get double cups and a sleeve, "It's for here but I'll take it in a to go cup" [which is great, since I fucking care where you're going with it], "Small in a medium cup" [much like saying "I want to pay less to put more milk in my drink"]... Anyway this woman came in first thing in the morning before I'd even flipped the OPEN sign. She was quibbling about the cost of the smallest coffee (at the time $1.10) & kept coming back up to the counter. She asked me for a sleeve with her tiny cup, which wouldn't fit anyway. She got one regardless and made what amounted to a little hat for the thing - pretty funny looking if you can imagine that. Then she wanted a bag... maybe she was looking for a plastic bag with handles, I wondered? I showed her all we had were little pastry bags, and she plopped her little coffee into one, hat and all. She kind of stormed off without saying anything else. I never saw her again, which is for the best, but I wonder if she thought I was terrible at customer service.

-Soy guy I'd almost forgotten about. This happened at the same store as the above woman, but he's since been terrorizing a different location. It's irritating, though not unusual, that people ask for some leftover steamed milk. Since we steam each drink to order, there's not really much just sitting around... plus it's not free (sorry). It's even less frequent that we have soy remaining. This guy began by asking about the prices for each size of coffee and wound up getting the smallest one. They're all under $2, by the way. Then he wants some soy for it, which I keep behind the counter. He then claims that soy milk will curdle if it's placed in hot coffee, so could I steam it for him first. I explain to him that the little bits that appear are not curdles, and soy can't curdle anyway (in the way that cow's milk does - it can still go bad obviously). Eventually we compromise that I give him a tiny cup of soy to put in the microwave. I lost track of him with other customers - a mistake. A customer comes up after a short while to tell me there's a horrible mess in the microwave. He had heated it for... I don't know, a minute maybe? When he came back I explained that I couldn't let him do that anymore, and no I wouldn't steam soy milk for him for free. I feel like I'm usually pretty reasonable about that sort of thing, and I try not to upcharge people, but he was becoming a real nuisance. That same day he got on his cell phone right by the counter talking to his father. As the conversation escalated (sadly I hadn't heard much of it), he began shouting "FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU, DAD!" I was a little frightened, and he was certainly bigger than I, but I asked him to take his call outside. He obliged with surprising calmness. Later, after I had warned my coworkers about him, I heard he'd begun appearing at the other store with the same weird requests. Now though he was trying to sell us baked goods, because the other place we were getting things from "doesn't know shit about baking." We politely declined.

-There's a guy at the store right now that I lovingly refer to as "the applicant." He came in not too long after we opened to get an application. A day later the phone calls begin. To this point he had not purchased anything yet. He sat down with the phone [I'd definitely told him to keep it to a couple of minutes] and pulled out a folding wallet. This thing was absolutely bursting at the seams with business cards (including one of my coworker's). After a good half hour on the phone I had to use the credit card machine, so I asked him to yield the phone. This began happening every day, & I had to lie that the phone wasn't working. Once, he left a stack of what I had assumed were applications on a table. Thinking he'd be back for them, I left it for a good hour before retrieving it. It was, in fact, an application booklet for the private investigation service up the street.
Regardless of my coldness toward him, he kept coming in practically demanding an interview. We told him we didn't have an opening for someone with his level of experience (none). Still, the calls kept coming to each of our stores. He turned in another application with different information on it. Eventually we had to tell him flat out to stop calling.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago. I recognized him immediately. He asked for an application, and I said he couldn't have another one. He asked for my business card, which I gave to him (it just has the store number on it). It was a bit busy, and he didn't ask to use the phone.
Today, literally as I'm writing this, he's still here. He asked to use the phone. After ten minutes or so I saw him start to dial another number & said I needed the phone back. He obliged. Then he starts asking me about the prices of all the baked goods. Since we're not Burger King or some shit, the stuff is not cheap. He had his eye on these fancy pastries that run about $2.40. He decided on a croissant ($1.70) and a coffee, totaling $3.10. After looking through this bulging wallet and every pocket on his person, he produces $2.60. I tell him that's what he has (mostly in change). "How much do I need?" I tell him. "I'll be back." Assuming he wouldn't be back, I pulled the items back & prepared to shelve them. Within minutes though he reappeared with an additional pair of quarters (from who knows where). I put the items back on the counter for him.
Applicant: Fill that up please.
Me: No room for cream? [of course later he spilled it all over the counter]
App: I don't like that one [the croissant], I like those round ones [pointing in the case].
Me: The ham and cheese ones? Those are more expensive I'm afraid.
App: How much more expensive?
Me: [Checking in the register] Uh... nearly 5o cents.
App: That's too much. Are all these that much [pointing around the case].
Me: All the filled ones are. The plain ones are just these.
App: I don't like that. These should all be 99 cents.
Me: Okay... well, they're not... I'm afraid.
App: Is that the only one that's for one something?
Me: [I identify all the things in the case that are under $2]
[Someone appears in line behind the applicant]
App: Do you have Philadelphia Cream Cheese? [I almost expected him to say "TM"]
Me: We do.
App: I'll take that then with butter too.
Normally we charge for that kind of shit, but I was pretty tired of dealing with him (not to mention the other customer in line). Nothing else happened except for spending an inordinate amount of time at the to-go station & leaving all his trash at the table. I found, amongst those things, a small slip of paper with my coworker's name (who is no longer in charge of hiring) and the other store's number. Just now he's walking down to the fencing place... where I doubt anyone will be looking to hire him.

I was planning to begin a list of names for the Java Jackets here, but it looks like I already have quite a bit going on in this post. So much for just "a couple nuggets" I guess.

Second verse, same as the first...

Even MORE Ways to Piss Off Your Barista

Since the first one was so popular (enough to elicit angry comments at least), I'm back again with hate-filled advice for the average coffee drinker. This was actually largely composed over a month ago, but I've felt like sun-baked shit for a little while now. Please to enjoy. As it's been said, you haven't seen it, so it's new to you!

1. Don't make me gag. Okay, so you're only breaking your diet this one time... That's none of my goddamn business. Still, if the first question in your mind is whether caramel or chocolate syrup (or both) will best compliment the heavy cream in your drink, try again. Maybe I should start printing directions to the nearest emergency room on the bottoms of the cups.

2. No bullshitting. Let's review some of the more fanciful claims from customers:

-Soy milk curdles in hot coffee.

-Higher lactose content in heavy cream makes it healthier.

-In a half-caff, regular should go on top of the decaf because it's "heavier."

-"I got that last time I was here..." (unless that was over four years ago, I can say with confidence that you're wrong).

-Oily beans taste better (this, in fact, probably means they're old).

3. We're not gonna do it. A few helpful customer suggestions:

-Install a roaster in every store.

-Use cold-brew coffee.

-Carry [insert small-time baker]'s [insert unsellable item].

-"You should have live music!" You're going to be in charge of setting that up? Fantastic!

-"You need to change your business strategy. There was a line out the door at Starbucks!" Sign me up for a subscription to the Wall Street Journal and Business Advice from Know-all Dicks immediately!

-Let you put stacks of fliers on our counter for your fucking band or anti-Bush rally or Vegan Carob Muffin sell-off.

4. There are stupid questions. Pick any item in the store, and you can come up with a stupid question about it. Examples: Croissant - "Is that a bagel or a scone?" Single Origin Coffee - "What's in this blend?" Muffins - "Do you bake your own muffins?" [maybe not such a strange question, but I've had people insist the sanitizer was, in fact, an oven.]

5. Fresh is a relative term. No, not everything behind the counter "just came in." There's a thing called shelf life, and I believe we do our best to stay well below it. Here's what I don't want to hear:

-"You don't have anything fresh today?" That's just an asshole thing to say. Neither yes nor no appropriately answers it.

-"How old is this muffin?" Is there somewhere that it's acceptable to say something like this?

6. You can't have it. I've had people ask for money from my tip jar. People have asked for 62 cents worth of coffee. I don't have a cigarrette for your broke ass, and neither do my customers. And please stop trying to apply for my job; as far as I know I'm not in immediate danger of being replaced.

7. Taste the coffee. We offer samples of the coffee. I will also give detailed descriptions. If you then take the sample and add cream/sugar or ask for half-caff, you've just insulted me. Do you ask for the $25 fillet & then cover it with Heinz 57? No, because that's ass-stupid.

8. I don't want to smell you. Coffee has a strong aroma. Maybe it doesn't always cover my BO, but I like to think it gives me an enchanting musk. If, on the other hand, your walking into the door turns us into a 19th century French brothel, it's time to cut back on the Au de Assflower. One guy, and I suppose no one's ever told him this (I sure as hell wasn't about to), smelled like sex all the time. Maybe this is judgmental of me, but I'm fairly certain it wasn't because he was getting laid. What does sex smell like, you ask? Umm... sweat and pollen? Boiled cabbage on the cattle ranch? Fine cheese and raw salmon? I expect answers in the comments.

9. It wasn't funny when the first guy said it, either. Examples? You bet!

-"Looks like you need your coffee this morning too!" [I still say this sometimes anyway, so I guess I'm a hypocrite]

-"Can I get a mocha-whata-frappa-dappa-lappa-ccino?"

-"Do you even have just regular coffee?" [try to imagine the amount of incredulity that goes into a question like this]

10. Place your goddamn order. If people are always asking you to repeat yourself, it's probably because you need to speak the fuck up. If you pay for a cappuccino & watch me make it, I don't want that look of surprise and insistence that you said "cuppajoe." After your order, if you see me just smiling and nodding even when you ask me a question, it's because (like your Kindergarten teacher told you) you need to take your hand out from in front of your mouth & fucking enunciate (okay maybe she didn't use those words exactly. Most 5 year olds can't pronounce "enunciate").

11. We don't have it. Actual things people have asked me for.
-"You got hot dogs?" This is inevitably followed shortly by "You sure?"
-"You have Kirkland Colombian Coffee?" No, we don't carry Costco's pre-bagged coffees.
-"Can you put together Starbuck's Christmas blend?" This was in June, mind you.
-"You got Coke?" This leads to a brief check of our drink refrigerator just to be sure.

12. Shut up. No, it's not a library, but...
-Nobody wants to hear the latest music upload on your Myspace page through your tinny iMac speakers, ya hoser.
-Don't shush the other customers. No seriously, don't.
-Kids should be neither seen nor heard. Maybe you should carry them around in a box with you. That way people will assume the "live animal inside!" is a puppy and think better of you generally. This doesn't extend to rattling the box if it starts making noise. Nobody likes a shaken puppy. If your children are too big for the box, I issue but the following requests that they not: 1) yell your name 20 goddamn times before you respond 2) try to come behind the counter, 3) walk around slamming the cabinets, 4) leave the majority of a muffin in a slobbery pile on some crinkled plastic wrap, 5) write on the fucking wall (yes this happened).
-Take the call outside Dr. Awesomeface. And set your phone to silent - it's more erotic that way.

13. I don't want it. Someone who doesn't approach the counter is trying to sell me something.
-Something from your bag of suspicious jewelry. You'd be surprised how many of these otherwise non-English speakers understand the word "soliciting."
-That $20 inspirational jazz CD. The guy that offered me this ended his lengthy, breathless explanation with "How many would you like?" Maybe he's an RIAA goon? And I was planning to make copies for all my friends...
-Your baked goods. A guy once explained to me he gets a commission (no shit) from every new account he gets. Unless you're planning to shift some of that my way you can go ahead & get fucked.
-Your coffee. What? Do you walk into Biscuit King & try to sell them some McMuffins? No. No you do not.
-Your résumé. Graduating from Connecticut Business Law Economics College University & 5 years of sales consulting for United Paper Concern do not qualify you for a job at our coffee shop.

That's all I can think of for now. Working in food service means I should have plenty more nuggets for next time!

Just stop it.

A few inane things from the past week or so:
-This morning, a balding man holding his hat in his hands in front of him. It was a beret or a working cap or whatever, and it made him look like he'd come in to tell me he was awful sorry he'd run over my dog.
-A fairly nice customer in every other way but... snorts his phlegm at the counter every morning. So of course after writing that sentence he comes in and gives occasion to observe. He'll do it after saying something to me, like "...and a croissant *SNORT*" So people clear their throats all the time & I don't take a second notice, but if you must expectorate, I'd appreciate if it would occur in the privacy of your own home. Even in the bathroom - there was this guy in Hillsborough who would hock one up every morning, so loud you could hear it through the store - it's just gross.
-Just now, a guy walking down the sidewalk with a bike tire. Strange, though not as strange as the old black dude cruisin' down Markham with some fine shades and a killer smile... on an electric wheelchair. There's a sidewalk, sure, but I suppose it is a motor vehicle. I believe he makes the trip pretty often, and I wonder how well that battery holds out for these sojourns.
-A young couple, the guy hunches a bit at the counter to sign a receipt or whatever & his girlfriend discretely begins humping him from behind. Hilarity.

And the big one, where I won't be using any names, just happened last week.
Customer: Americano.
This is a customer I've seen many times before. He's always gotten an americano but not always in the same size. Often times people come in looking sour - I imagine they're in need of caffeine - but he was working a mean scowl.
Me: A double? ...Large, medium?
Cust: Medium.
Me: Anything else this morning? ...$1.99.
Cust: What are you always fucking smiling about?
Me: Uh... I'm sorry?
Cust: Why are you always fucking smiling?
Me: [Thinking he might be taking the piss] To hide the deep sadness within.
Cust: What?
Me: [A bit more dramatically] To hide the deep sadness within.
Cust: Just make the coffee.
Me: Uh... well I'm sorry you feel that way.
Cust: I can't even come in here anymore because of you.
Me: And why is that?
Cust: You're just so... smarmy.
Me: Alright...
As I finished the drink I thought about the chances I had to turn this around, all the sinister things I could say. After all, it's not often one is openly insulted first thing in the morning... without provocation. I decided quickly that none of that was worth it, and he works nearby anyway. I don't know what he's saying to other people about me, but I certainly don't need to give him ammunition.
Me: [Without sarcasm, if you can believe it] Your americano. Have a good one!
Cust: Just stop it, [my name].

Because seven eight nine!

Customer: A medium Americano.
Me: Okay, anything else?
Cust: That's all.
Me: It'll be one ninety-nine.
Cust: One ninety-eight?
Me: Uh... one ninety-nine.
Cust: Alright.

Maybe this was only funny to me?

The Roar

My first job was at Food Lion when I was the ripe young age of 16. Although too early for diagnosis of many major mental illnesses, but not for early onset misanthrope!

When I first asked for an application, the incredulous cashier asked me how old I was. This was discouraging enough to delay me until my parents made an ultimatum of some sort. I discovered that crippling boredom sets in fairly quickly when all your friends have Summer jobs to complain about. See, ultimatums tend to have the opposite of the desired effect on me... like my jackass within wants to defy someone on the principle that they want me to do something. Anyway, I doubt my parents had much luck enforcing whatever punishment they had devised considering I was home alone all day.

After returning the now months-old application (not like any work experience was going to appear on there during that time), I received what I had thought would be an interview & turned out to be "see where you can put yourself on this schedule." In fact, I immediately got a clock-in number and was set before the break room television with a training video. This thing was so insipid and outdated that it wasn't even funny. A despondent employee recommended I stop the video and read the paper in the span of time it would take to watch (an hour), but all I could find was The Lion's Roar, featuring winners from the Cashier's Olympics. No, that is not shit you can make up. Incidentally, I continued receiving The Lion's Roar by mail for years after my employment there.

My job description was one I have not witnessed before or since, "Front End." Most grocery stores, including other Food Lions, separate this into three separate jobs.
1) Cashier: More important than anything is your IPM (items per minute). Let me tell you that my IPM was so distressingly low that management frequently talked about it. Let me also tell you that your manager telling the elderly lady that it was okay to go back home to get more money in the middle of a transaction will tick down your IPM rapidly and keep you from beginning new transactions. I would, however, like to be the one trying to figure out why it took 45 minutes for some kid to ring up Mueslix and adult diapers.
2) Bagger: I will say that many people, upon realizing I'm the only employee in the front of the store, will start to bag their own groceries. Still, a fair percentage will glare at you the entire transaction with a look that says "When is the goddamn bag boy going to show up?" These same people will ask for help getting their groceries to the car as other customers line up. Yes, of course I was later chided by management for not providing this service for them. Sometimes there was a bagger manchild who would offer anyone with a bag or more help to their car, but generally I was unable to spontaneously asexually reproduce so I could help some yuppie asshole squeeze her groceries in next to the bike in her trunk. Always a bike in the trunk.
3) Stocker: Whenever we had a free moment, we were meant to be "blocking." Blocking consisted of arranging items near one's register to be aesthetically pleasing. Whenever I was alone in the front (most of the time), I was not supposed to move more than one register away. Those three aisles of candy were always fucking gorgeous. Whenever some jerkoff kid would toss the shit around I'd be there to put it back. Other times, when there might be another employee around, I'd take a cart with misplaced items around. I'll talk about that more later...

So I have a crush on you... still!

After my last post about crushing on customers, I have bolstered my confidence level. With a little time and encouragement, I am ready to become the bear. Or take on the bear, or successfully evade the bear, I don't remember how it goes exactly. Just keep one thing in mind; have no fear ladies, I am not actually a bear.
BECOMING THE BEAR
I recently watched the movie Grizzly Man, and let me tell you... being a bear is tough! I'm not sure if I'm prepared for the ramifications of defecating in my crush's territory. I'm willing to give it the old college try! If I am accused of anything, it will be of taking the metaphor too far. Or assault. Anyway the point is I have to step it up if I want anything to develop. No more pussyfooting around! No more using words that contain "pussy" either! The ladies only like that if you're talking dirty to 'em, or so I've been told. The closest I've gotten was "I haven't showered in six days," but she didn't go for that. I even told her that bears don't shower. You know she managed to work that into the restraining order! That lawyer was a real bear of a wordsmith.
So if I've learned anything from this (aside from all that cool stuff about bears), it's that ladies like a man of action.
SUBMITTING TO THE BEAR
Any survivalist can tell you that an encounter with a bear is potentially fatal. Most women respond to a bear confrontation in the following ways:
1) Running in fear, obstructing the bear's path with mobile objects and small children (let me tell you this one is pretty irritating).
2) Mace (okay this one is more irritating I guess). Tip: don't fire mace into the wind.
3) Dropping to the floor and pretending to be dead. Most bears will fall for this and leave you alone. As far as I know, there have been no cases of ursine necrophilia.
4) Embracing the bear. This will so confuse the bear he may be unable to act. Or he will kill you instantly with a hug of his namesake. At the very least that would make a kickass obituary.
5) Distracting the bear with bells or bits of string. Bears can be quite playful. They may also mistake you for a woodland trolley, which is of no interest to the bear (except maybe during rush hour).
MOVING ON FROM THE BEAR ANALOGY
There comes a time in every relationship where a man has to stop pretending to be a bear. I forget who it was who said, "Stop that. It went from endearing to creepy like, really fast." Maybe it was that blond girl... I don't remember her name; I haven't seen her in awhile. Here are some signs that the guy who is crushing on you (me) is trying to express interest without anthropomorphisms:
1) I appear to be avoiding looking at your chest. Now I'm not the kind of guy who stares at breasts wantonly, but let's call to mind the "Don't push the button" scenario. When I start finding a girl attractive, a part of my mind tells me not to screw it up by staring at her chest. Now you've done it! Stupid mind. If all else fails, I may pretend to be reading the text on your shirt (which is fucking cruel). Additionally, I frequently worry that transferring change or beverages across the counter will be mistaken for a sly boob-look. Not so!
2) I check your hand for a wedding ring. There's no way I'm gonna ask you about your boyfriend, so if you have one you might as well try to work it into the conversation somehow.
3) The following takes place one or more times:
Me - You live or work around here?
Gal - Oh yeah.
Me - On your way to work?
Gal - Yeah.
Me - Cool, where do you work [again]?
Gal - Oh just up the street.
Me - Cool, cool... uh... have a good one!
Gal - Yeah.
4) In the course of trying to converse with you, I forget to give you your coffee.
5) I put a heart on your latte. Truthfully I do this pretty much every time, but it's cool if you want to take it as a gesture of flattery.
NOT CALLING THE BEAR AWKWARD, BECAUSE HE'S SENSITIVE
There it is, ladies. Call me!

I must have picked up the wrong phone

A few things have been troubling me.
First, there's Qweta. Simple misspelling of QWERTY or something far more sinister? You decide.
Saturday night. Begin scene. I'm checking my phone for missed calls again (none!) when I discover a new message. 919 area code, but a number I don't recognize. I've given my number to countless ladies at the clubs, to be sure, but this is on my private number. Somebody is serious about getting a hold of some Vitamin R.
Rec 8:12 - U better tell ya lil friend 2 keep my name out her mouth.
My little friend... Instantly Scarface comes to mind, but having not shot anyone recently I put that out of my head. Still, looking back, that would be a pretty badass way to tell somebody they were going to die. "My little friend here just can't keep your name out of his mouth." Then the kiss of death puns begin and we have one clusterfuck of a mixed metaphor. Movie goodness! Right, so I respond politely:
Sent 8:15 - I bet the person you meant to send this to would feel pretty threatened right now. I however am having a nice laff
Rec 8:37 - If this is samone then i dnt feel stupid. However da chic im referenin 2 is tish. So i figured u a get da mesage across!
[ed NOTE: names and spelling have not been changed. Texting has no innocents.]
Rec 8:49 - Bein dat u pregnant im not tryna stress u cuz dats a beautiful thng.
Sent 8:53 - Turns out I wasn't pregnant. Just gas.
Rec 9:01 - Dats cute! But its so weird how i saw sum pics of u n yo man on myspace? I wud tel u who but u might beat her ass again
Sent 9:20 - I'm on my way there now. sumbody's bout ta get cut!
Rec 9:20 - Who gurl
Sent 9:30 - Tish or that bitch b fuckin wit my boo
[At this point I had assistance with my messages from a room full of people]
Rec 9:36 - What? Who is ur boo?
Rec 9:39 - How did we change da conversation. Do u even knw who dis is?
Sent 9:43 - Whatevs i lost all my numbers dropin da phone in th toilet
Rec 9:47 - Like i said b4 it aint no beef wit u. Its dat bitch tish dat keep runin ha trap. Dis is qweta
Rec 10:34 - Nicole aint got shit 2 do wit dis so when u c her wit me 2nite dnt let up or whoop ha ass again CUZ I SAID SO.
Sent 10:36 - we straight
Rec 10:45 - What? Yo what da fuck dat mean. Im not 4 dat bs jus let ur bitch ass friend tish knw we gon b at da pool hog n efland.

Aaaand I left it at that.

Good Grief!

I've been struggling to come up with a concept for a new post. I have a few more work stories to tell, but it was running a bit dry. Recently, though, I began to ponder a concept which has always plagued me - why do people think Cathy is funny?
Then I went to the site & the new post material was solidified:
In case you're not wearing your monocle right now, let's just cut to the last frame. "Once I was 'large'. Now I am 'Venti'."
As her girth expands in each frame, so do the grammatical errors. Punctuation goes inside the quotation marks, people. Also, is her mirror (frame 4) on top of her desk (frame 2)? Oh I see, her torso is forming out of the floor as in Hellraiser. As the cellulite ripples over the newly formed bone, we hear the distinct sounds of both... "Flip flip click click." Shit, that is funny! Maybe I was wrong about Cathy!



Okay let's pause to reflect a bit. What is humor? I sound like a right ponce with that question don't I? My answer to that, simply, is the opposite of what is expected, as in irony. Let's examine, for instance, the Alanis Morissette song "Ironic." In the song, several situations are presented as ironic. To wit:
-A black fly in your chardonnay
-Rain on your wedding day
-A free ride when you've already paid
Before you ask, yes I'm doing that from memory. Shut up. Anyway, each situation there is an unfortunate circumstance to be sure (though the last one is lacking any sense whatsoever), but not ironic. Sorry Alanis. I'm not the first person to point this out, I know, but I'm proving a point here. The irony in a song called "Ironic" is that it contains no ironies. That's funny! Let's apply that then to Cathy. The humor in a strip meant to be comic is that it contains no humor. It's all making sense now!
Now we are presented with a puzzle - which line is bigger? Is it
a) the countertop
b) Cathy's mouth
c) They're both the same size, silly!
If you've ever read an optical illusion book, you'll know the answer is c. It's the opposite of what you'd expect! See, the way the lines are drawn, you're meant to assume the counter space is larger. That's a thing we artists (and by "we" I mean the royal "we," or not me) call perspective. If you pull out a ruler you'll see they are actually the same length. No, don't measure your computer screen, silly idiot! Take my word for it. In the next panel, surely Cathy will devour the counter! I think you'll join me in saying, "SHIT dude, that's funny! Cathy, you so ca-ray-zeeee!"


For you monoclely challenged, the final frame reads
Cathy: "We used to 'pig out'. Now we 'bird out'."
Cathy's mom or possibly older friend: "I crave hulled millet!"
SHIT dude, that's fu- HOLD IT! Yes, I know "hulled millet" sounds pretty silly, but let's look at this like the professional humorologists we are. Here's the situation:
1) Cathy takes a common idiomatic phrase and makes it her own.
2) Cathy's older friend (whom they bring along to appear younger and more fertile) interprets the new idiom literally.
Using our basic definition of humor, let's do some interpretating of our own!
Expectation: To have made it to such a ripe old age, Cathy's friend/mom must have an ounce of sense.
Irony: The woman is a blathering idiot!
Everybody now, "SHIT dude, that's funny!"
Artificial zoom!
Cathy: Listen to me tell you about woman things!
[Cathy's friends snap each other's bra straps]
Cathy's friends: Lip Augmentation! Eyelash tattoo! Botox!
This is an excerpt from a much longer comic, but I assure you no context is lost in the summation. It's time to apply life skillz...
Expectation: Cathy has ten portly, possibly gay friends.
Ironic reversal: These women would rather have voluntary surgery than listen to Cathy speak.
Before we jump in with hearty guffaws, this shit is layered!
Expectation: Cathy's call to maintain confident womanhood will be looked upon with admiration by the countless female readers who revere her.
Ironic reversal: Cathy is a pathetic mockery of feminism through its vapid adulation of bourgeois excess. I'm usin' big ol' words!

Okay that's all I got for today. I looked at a picture of the author and felt intense pity. Also, she apparently won the Reuben Award in 1992. The criteria for that seems to be... to have not won it before. Unless you're Gary Larson.

IMAGES USED UNDER FAIR USE, REVIEW. CATHY IS COPYRIGHTED 2008 CATHY GUISEWITE. HELLRAISER IS COPYRIGHTED 1987 NEW WORLD PICTURES.

Winders! Part 3: Gaping Maw

A phenomenon to which I am no stranger - a situation gives instance wherein one must look upwards. As I have mentioned, this is no cause to allow the jaw to hang lackadaisically. No, dear friend, keep the lips pursed as though yearning upwards for a kiss... perhaps from a lover leaning over the La-Z-Boy to bid a good night. Should this lover be greeted with an agape oral cavity, said osculating person's libido shall be summarily withered. Upon entering Sam's Club, a crushing majority are floored by the terrifying beauty of floor to ceiling excess. End-caps are terraced as in rice paddies to maximize the number of impulse buys mountained atop one another. As each scooter rounds the corner, it brings with it a fresh fly-catcher. Without bothering to pluck the struggling bugs from their teeth, they putter down the aisles with eyes heavenward. Children scatter, and the elderly are cut down like so many daisies beneath a tractor. One must make way, as the sublime ignores all precedent and demands appreciation.

When customers were not completely ignoring me or just asking where things were, they were finding surprising ways to incorrectly answer my question. Perhaps you've been in a place where you've had to utter the same phrase countless times, such as "Paper or plastic?" and "Too boku, no boom boom for soul brother!" Have you then received the same clever retort as many times? Here are the most common responses, in descending order of frequency:
"Do you have any home improvements coming up?"
1. "Huh?"
This may be replaced simply with a blank stare.
2. "Where the tools?"
Try looking over by the mirrors & you might see 'em.
3. "I sure hope not!"
Then I guess you have something to look forward to when you get back from Sam's Club.
4. "How much?"
I have no idea.
5. "Not fer winders!"

That last one requires a bit of explanation. See, there's a window display on the booth, but there are also numerous indicators that Lundberg offers more than just diminutive windows. In addition to the suffix to the name, "Windows and Siding," my booth had signs hanging from the front with all the different offerings. Each sign was printed in a large, red font popular at airport landing strips. What I'm saying here is that failure to recognize that windows were not the sole product could only mean one of two things: 1) Most people don't pay a lick of attention, 2) Sam's Club shoppers are completely illiterate, purchasing only items which they can see through the package or recognize from the logo. I'll let you guess which I'm leaning towards.

Okay, I understand that I'm looking pretty harsh here. Let's take a moment, though, to examine the following construction:
"Not fer winders!"
The closest I can get to deciphering that is... "I'm not in the market, currently, for windows." I suppose it's the preposition that's throwing me off. Much like the phrase "Where my dawgs at?" there is no clear reason to include a preposition... at all. Isn't the purpose of simplifying language to colloquialisms to, you know, shorten stuff? Well I might not have preferred having rednecks yell "NO WINDOWS!" every time I asked a question, but at least it would have made some sense. Now for the real puzzler.
"Not fer gutters!"
As I have said, the window display was the most prominent item on my booth. Clog-free gutters fell third in the list of products, neatly nestled between "ROOFING" and "TRIMMING." How, then, were gutters so frequently picked as whipping boy for my enterprise? Additionally, this negates both the inattention and illiteracy theories I posed earlier, since they must have read the sign in order to come to that conclusion. Allow me to illustrate via Paint:

So... you'll notice there's no vest in that drawing. No vest I tell you. All summer I'd get calls from my "manager" (the one I saw only twice in person) telling me when I'd be working, etc., and giving the weekly vest update. "The vests are coming in Monday." "There was a problem with the vest order, so we should have them by Friday." "Won't things be much better once those vests come in?" But they never did. One of the last conversations I had with the guy was about the vests coming shortly after I'd be returning to Chapel Hill, where I would not be selling windows. Then this:
Frumpy guy: You can just leave the vest in the booth when you leave the last time.
Me: I never got a vest.
FG: You already returned it?
Me: I never got one.
FG: Right, the new ones haven't come in yet.
Me: I never got one of the old ones either.
FG: You're sure?
Me: I'm sure.
See, if I'd had a vest, which was blue (unlike the red Partner vests), I began to figure people wouldn't mistake me for an employee anymore. Then they'd stop asking me where things were! I realize now that was a delusion, but without dreams, what else did I have? And that wasn't the end of the vest saga. My father started getting calls from FG about the vest and even wanted to arrange to pick it up from their house.
Dad: Where's that vest so I can return it to these guys?
Me: I don't have the vest.
Dad: You already returned it?
Me: No I never got one.
Dad: He's telling me he wants to pick it up. You're sure you never got one?
Me: I heard a lot about the vests, but I never had the pleasure of meeting one. You could give him that Food Lion vest. He probably wouldn't notice.
Dad: They want you to pay to replace it if you've lost it.
Me: I will happily give them the cash value of no vest. Which is nothing. No dollars for no vest. You think they'll take a check?
Alright I made that last part up, but they did call him several more times. He also forwarded me a letter about it. I wish I'd had the foresight to keep the letter, but I think I can reproduce it fairly accurately.
[Lundberg letterhead]
Dear XXXXXX,
Please return the vest you were given as a demo representative.
Sincerely,
Frumpy Guy

That's all I have for now. I can feel my life will draining as the mere image assaults my brain. Sexually.

Winders! Part 2: Partners

Roughly every half hour, an announcement would come over the PA. Sometimes it would be a pre-recorded segment, but mostly it was one of the managers reading from a script. Regardless, the volume was up so loud that any message would be mangled into a warbly pidgin wherein you could make out words like "meat" or "sale" but were otherwise at a loss. Every announcement began "Attention Members and Guests" for sales or "Attention Members and Partners" for... I don't know, safety maybe? For neophytes:
Members: People who pay to shop at Sam's Club. And I do mean shop, because you can't get into the store without a membership (even if you're not buying anything).
Guests: People who mooch off of paying members. Cannot buy anything, but I presume can put things on their friend's ticket.
Partners: Underpaid troglodytes who trudge the floor looking for ways to irritate demo representatives.


Once I was asked if I would like to write an announcement to go over the PA. An excitable gentleman got me to write out a short script, which I did happily (you'll recall I was quite bored). I had seen him many times before, and he even humored me in getting an explanation of my job. He returned periodically to check on my progress, then rushed my finished copy to the higher-ups. Not only did I never hear the announcement, the gentleman disappeared along with it. I can only assume he went on to publish my copy as his own and is now living comfortably off the royalties.

Now the first Partner I met was not even human. I mistakenly assumed that Robot Rick would greet me every time entered the store that summer... but he was only there that first day. I guess he was on tour? It was this creepy-ass thing on tank treads that would scoot around scaring the shit out of little kids asking if they knew about the sale on 4 gallon tubs of ice cream. The dude that controlled RR wasn't even remotely hidden... you could see him next to the front staging at a control panel and mic. In fact, you could hear him better than the robot. I have to admit the little bastard gave me a hint of glee that first day, that one of my coworkers might wig out and start tearing the arms off of 8 year olds, but that dream was denied me.

With that exception, I typically only saw the Partners for two reasons: rounding up for a meeting in the back, no doubt rustling cattle for the big meat department sale, or shuffling about ignoring customers. I can say categorically that a Member would only be greeted by staff when they already knew what they were looking for. In other cases they would come to me and ask for assistance. The gall! 90% of my conversations with Members went as follows:
Me: Hello, how are you? Do you have any home improvements coming up? [note the lack of pause after the first question]
Hoser: Where the tools?
Me: Sorry, I wouldn't know, I don't work for Sam's Club.
Hoser: [putters off]
Okay my response was an obvious lie... I did, after all, catalog everything to stave off boredom. I knew better than the Partners where shit was in that store, but you see misanthropy has a cruel price. In some instances I would just look at the object in question, as it was inevitably in my immediate proximity. As when there was a 6'x6' display of Tide behind my booth,
Me: [my deal]
Hoser: Where the laundry soap?
Me: [steps aside to reveal enormous display]
Hoser: All you got's Tide?
Me: [shrugs]
No one ever called me out for misinformation, though a Partner would occasionally ask if I could help customers find things. I told them I couldn't leave my booth. That was a lie.

I engaged in a losing war with the Partners which haunts me to this day. They had this underground network of tunnels and trap doors so they could pop up and annoy me on a whim. Seriously these guys would come out of nowhere, and many times I couldn't put a face on my tormentor. I happened to be stationed near the electronics. Nearest was a television set to repeat a commercial for Lysol toilet cleaner. They were running this series with "facts," and I have to say their primary sources were dubious. At one point I had the whole segment memorized since I had to hear it so many goddamn times. It began, "Fact: a bathroom that gets constant traffic needs constant freshening." Even still the word "freshening" makes me cringe... My tactic was to sneak over to the television and mute it, and theirs was to crank it back up to max. Of course I never did this while I could be seen (presumably), but I think one of the managers knew it was me who was turning it down. Similarly, the aisle had these portable televisions and DVD players. Every person who walked by, and I mean Partners and Members, would jack each one all the way up in turn. Why, I ask you? Why? These things all had shitty built-in speakers and shitty reception, so end the end you had your own personal Merzbow concert. That was easy enough to fix, but for awhile they had this backpack thing high up on one of the endcaps. See the idea was you buy this $600 portable television-in-a-bag, hang it over one of the front seats, and PRESTO your spawn are busied drooling over Spongebob instead of yelling at each other not to look out "my window." The bag had a video player of some sort in it, and they had this ancient Olson twins music video playing in a loop. This was, I assume, from the height of their Full House popularity, and they couldn't have been older than ten. The shitty speakers at full volume did nothing to improve the off-key renditions of "Wheels on the Bus" and "Old MacDonald." After enduring this affront for several days, I lost my better judgment & scaled the display to mute the bitches. Fortunately, none of the Partners spotted me or had the minerals to get up there to turn it back up.

Up next... Part three: Terrifyingly Beautiful

Winders! Part One: The Hours

Back a while ago I made some terrible images to accompany my tale of woe with Lundberg Windows and Siding. This was during my "humorously bad Photoshop phase," from which I have not fully recovered. I will, as my high school German teacher would say, salt and pepper them throughout this retelling.

First, let's set the stage. A 19 year old boy returns from his first summer at university jobless. He puts in applications at all the usual spots - Starbucks, uh... actually I think that was the only one. But he picks up applications for all sorts of crazy places. Oh yeah and Target. His friend got a job there but he applied too late or something. Right, so he naturally starts scouring the paper and finds that Cutco hires all the goddamn time, but this guy's no sucker. Okay he's not that kind of sucker. He finds one that sounds promising... "Demo representative" for $10/hr plus commission. He thinks "demo" will be the sort of thing where he tells people about a product & shows them how it works. He is wrong. Oh so wrong. He shows up for an interview dressed in his best Sunday slacks and polo within a Sam's Club, where he is not a member. He is not so much given the job as he is immediately asked to man the booth for the next four hours. He politely declines. He meets the man again (for the penultimate time) at a K-Mart... and the odyssey begins. He receives no vest, I repeat, no goddamn vest. Then he stops using the third person present tense because, frankly, it's getting irritating.

The K-Mart gig was actually not so bad. See my job was to stand at this booth for four hours. It was this little rolly thing, like a big box, with a sign and a sample window on it. At first I tried to glean what sort of information I was to be giving the customers, but I eventually determined that the answer was a tidy amount of none. In fact, it almost seemed like I was being aggressively denied information about the product... but I'll get to that later. Anyway I was beginning to wonder what exactly "demo" stood for, since the only demonstrating I could do was open and close the window display. "Tilts open for easy cleaning!" The beauty of the K-Mart gig was that there were people there, you know, buying things and walking by. I was also right by the front door with a girl selling cell phone plans (never buy from these people - it's a big ol' ripoff), so you better believe you were gonna get harassed when you walked in. Just by the sheer number of people I got a decent number of leads. And by the way, what the fuck is a lead? I just ask everybody "Do you have any home improvements coming up?" and, if so, take their name for a "Free in-home consultation!" That's a lead in the home improvement biz. Call me a traditionalist, but it seems to me a lead involves some kind of inside information, not just bluntly asking people. So I guess that's why it was called something other than "salesman," because I didn't actually do any selling. And oh, while we're there, let's talk about pricing. That's right I still don't know how much anything cost. Not even a ballpark figure. Sure, I can't go quoting prices to people without seeing their house or whatever, but cost was 9 times out of 10 the first thing people asked about. And when denied any kind of range, most just walked away. I mean I had that line about the free consultation, but you have to figure most people don't just go replacing their gutters on a whim. I'll talk more about the customers later though.

K-Mart only lasted about a week when Lundberg's contract with them expired, so I was relocated to a Sam's Club in Matthews that was being remodeled. From the outside it looked closed for remodeling, but there was a sign up that they were still open around the side. There were... not so many customers. I was positioned near the back in one of the main aisles. Let me please tell you that I can still recall how it smelled. Like a warehouse floor... with sawdust. I saw, by my best guess, about one person every half hour. Within my four hour shift, let me also tell you that the frequency (with those 8 people) that were in the market for home improvements was tragically low. Originally I claimed that I would be interested in working 8 hour shifts... I needed the money after all. But let me tell you further that a single 8 hour shift at this job would render one in a similar state to that kid who saw his whole family murdered with a croquet set (only $14.99!) - irreparably mute with a thin lock of white hair. So boring. Here is a list of some things I did to keep myself occupied:
1) Recovered the combination to the lock on the box by trial and error. It was 776. I started at 000.
2) Not reading. It was so boring that anything further relaxing would have put me in a coma.
3) Not writing. With the exception of a letter I wrote once, the experience was so mind-numbing I couldn't come up with anything. Imagine, if you will, trying to get a group of 10 year olds excited about balancing a checkbook, and you will catch a rare glimpse into my brain at that time.
4) Cataloged the things I could see. A list, I mean, of the various products and their prices within my proximity.
5) Engaged in a cold war with the Sam's Club staff (you'll have to wait until installment 2 for that!).
6) Created dialog for customers in the distance. I think somebody only heard me once, and they didn't say anything about it.
7) Sung to myself quietly.
8) Scanned the pamphlets in the box, only a handful of which were for products Lundberg carried. I was never told which handful those were.
9) Walked to the bathroom or for water, about once an hour.
10) Worked out increments for how long I had remaining on my shift. For instance, "I am 3/10 of the way finished."

Every one of these tasks was like a little reward I would give myself to stay sane. I might, say, scold myself for going to the bathroom too soon or pat myself on the back for not looking at the clock in five minutes. Actually the last time I saw my supervisor was when I had been in the bathroom, but he didn't seem to mind. Still, I lived in fear that he might show up when I wasn't there or something, so I always arrived and left exactly on time. I even accounted for the time it would take me to roll the box into and out of the aisle from the front.

Alright I'll wrap this segment up. Next I'll talk a little about the Sam's Club staff.

So I have a crush on you...

A GUIDE FOR WHAT TO DO IF I HAVE A CRUSH ON YOU

ACCEPTANCE
1. Congratulations!
2. Although I may appear uninterested, it's a ruse.
3. You may become confused or frightened at first. Don't worry, that's normal! I can be pretty intimidating. Fear not though, I'm harmless. I've never even been in a fight! Well, except that one time that another kid threw a book bag at my head and I tackled him. But you know I didn't have a crush on him & I was 12.
4. Seriously if you're still thinking about #3 you shouldn't. Look at these arms! They're like noodles. Sexy noodles?
5. Chances are the only time we've conversed is when I asked you what size you wanted for your drink. In rare cases we may have exchanged names. This is also normal.
6. You may be wondering, "What's in it for me?" Wonder no more (but don't worry, wondering is normal!). See all this coffee? I'm authorized to give you a discount of up to 10%, yo. Okay I have to make up the difference but that's like paying for a date, right? So like if I give you that discount a few dozen times that's almost as much as dinner I think. At Elmo's maybe? First date! Without leaving the shop!
7. Now you may be worried about how things work out mathematically in #6. Like if you're expecting a firm hug or possibly a peck on the cheek by date 3, we should probably discuss that first. Especially if we are working with fractions of dates. I know most girls think it's a bit weird when you take a calculator out on a date (I think), so maybe we should work out a rounding system.
8. Apparently in high school I was known as a druggie. Like that guy in the drive thru at Taco Bell asked me what school I went to and if I "smoked tree." As I paused to figure out what "tree" referred to, he asked me again and I sped off without collecting my change. So anyway I'm really just a sleepy guy. I like naps. Is that so wrong? It's okay if you're into that sort of thing (drugs I mean). Who hasn't smoked the proverbial "tree," right? Am I right? You're right, I don't know.
9. Maybe I went a little too far with #8? Let's just stick with a "say no to drugs" policy. I don't want to wind up in one of those conversations with all those confusing slang words. I have a general rule that if I can't identify something I don't put it in my mouth. Unless it smells like curry. I am a curry fiend! Please don't put drugs in my curry.

UNDERSTANDING
1. You may not be aware of the crush. This is normal.
2. I will not tell you directly about the crush, and I may refrain from looking you in the eyes. This is because I am afraid of you. Not because you're a scary person! I'm just sensitive.
3. My job doesn't really allow me to tell people I have crushes on them. We wouldn't want the other customers to get jealous! Soon everybody will be wanting a crush. And then come the 10% discounts... and my calculator only has one memory slot! So let's just keep it to ourselves. Or I guess I'll just keep it to ourselves since you're not aware of it yet.
4. If we run into each other spontaneously, I will pretend I have never met you. This is a common defense mechanism for humans I promise because I read it on the internet (it was a forum or maybe wikipedia!). I may then curl into a ball and weep softly. This is a common defense mechanism for puppies. Everybody loves puppies!
5. My friends may try to tell you about the crush to ease the the strain of my infinite sorrow. Ignore their lies! I have no friends. You are witnessing a doppelganger!

Hopefully that clears up a few things. Now if you'll excuse me I have a couple of results in my area from Nerve.com. I have it on good authority that they have what I'm looking for in Durham.

Nevermind, they didn't seem very nice. Casual dating indeed! That's why I carry my Grandmother's engagement ring with me all the time. Wouldn't want to let one slip through! Of course I have to give it back to her once she figures out it's gone, so act fast.