Ever notice how it's the little things in life that amuse us so much? More to the point, ever notice how it's the silly little idiocies in life that amuse us more than anything else? Well, this is not as much ''the little blog that could'' as it is ''the blog that enjoys going up the down escalator in your local mall.'' Will it have anything of real importance? No, probably not. But enjoy the ride never the less!

 


Due to ridiculously popular demand, here we are again with yet another little bit of nowhere! People often ask me these days: do you think your exploding pants is karmic retribution for your whole ‘no pants’ ideology? And then to stop me from launching into a 2-hour rant about my ‘no pants’ ideology and how the exploding pants were an obvious and tragically successful attempt by the Evidence Mice to discredit me, they quickly change the subject and ask, “So what sorts of things have you been doing?”

And then I stop mid-rant, think for a moment, and sadly realize I have been doing very little of anything productive. Certainly there’s work, and work makes money to pay the bills, but while I’ve been productive at work, it’s not necessarily something worth bragging about. “Oooh, look at all the luggage I’ve sold today! I was really on fire! I am like the Luggage Emperor today, or something!”

…uh, yeah. If that doesn’t scream ‘one step away from writing bad poetry on MySpace’, damned if I know what does.

But that’s not to say a myriad of smallish, strangish things haven’t crossed my path in the last week or two. Certainly I could have delivered them all in a number of 3-paragraphed blog entries over the last while, but where’s the fun in that?

(Not to mention Mel’s been hoarding the Interwebs these days.)

So brace your bodies and gird your lions (because the notion of lions dressed up in Spartan helmets, cloaks and codpieces makes me laugh), and here we ramble!

I noticed a few days ago that the cosmetic giant M.A.C. has a new covergirl for their make-up line: Dame Edna. I cannot properly express to you how brilliant I find this. Then again, this is the same Dame Edna who has been invited to dinner with the Queen “in full character” at the Queen’s request/orders, and that is sheer win-filled unto itself. I rather doubt I’ll be able to lay claim to anything like that in the later years of my life. The Delmo dress pales so much by comparison.

Yesterday a very nice old lady came into our store wearing a feathery white, square-shaped hat. I wanted so very much to tell her not to move, but an albatross was roosting on her head, but the desire to keep my job prevailed. But after she left the store, I did express to my fellow co-worker that, had I been cruel and unusual (instead of being just unusual), I would have taken two sticky black dots and a rolled, triangular piece of orange construction paper, and taped them onto the back of her hat when she wasn’t looking to make it look like a bird really was on her head.

I know, I know: cruel and unusual.

Yesterday also saw a three year-old boy decide that he did not like the song being played on the radio as he walked into our store, and took it upon himself to change the station altogether. I only learned about this when his not-so-impressed mother brought him over to apologize. Considering the lesson she was trying to impress upon him, I desperately tried not to laugh at what he’d done. It is one of those funny “kids will be kids” moments, you must admit.

In other news, our cat Chance has developed a very uncanny knack for mimicking the trills and purrs of a Mogwai. I’m starting to suspect that, before he belonged to us, he was named Gizmo for a very specific reason…

Chance has also gained the useless mutant ability of innately knowing when a movie or show I am watching is about 10 minutes from ending. Once his 10-minute warning sensor is tripped, he immediately curls up on my lap in an affectionate manner…despite knowing that once the show ends, I will need to get up. And yet every time I’m forced to pry him off my lap, he flashes me a look of equal parts indignant and disbelief that his cuddling session must be so quickly terminated. Oh, if only his mutant ability could be used for good!



Today’s Lesson: Repo! The Genetic Opera is made of equal parts surreal, win and puppet corpses.



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Labels: curse those fiendish Evidence Mice and their exploding pants of not-quite-death, Dame Edna is my vote for the next top model, we don’t have any fucking wafers all we have is this albatross hat

posted by Phillip at 4:43 AM

 


No, really: our mall was on fire today. And despite being there, I somehow missed it. Overall, it was a quiet day. The snow was not encouraging people to drive out and shop, and I doubt their now-empty wallets were encouraging them either. I spent most of my shift doing some idle tasks and receiving boxes.

And then in the middle of the afternoon, I noticed a strange smell. A peculiar campfire and burning leaves sort of smell. Well, since no one was panicking or screaming down the corridors, I shrugged and assumed someone in the foodcourt burned something on a stove.

A few minutes later a rather ominous message was heard across the mall’s PA system. It cheerfully said (more or less) that, “Some of you might have recently noticed a strange smell or the air getting smoky. This is because there has been a small fire in the mall, but it is being taken care of and extinguished. If you had trouble breathing, we recommend you move to a different part of the mall or go outside. We apologize for any inconvenience and have a good day.”

And I said: “Flaming mall of death what?”

This message was repeated another two times, right around the time(s) that the burning smell drastically increased. I ended up consulting with a few other mall employees who were in the store later on, and they confirmed that on the other side of the foodcourt the air had indeed gotten particularly cloudy. My best guess is that the fire itself started in the area(s) where our mall is undergoing renovation and expansion. Why, you ask? Well, if the fire had started in an actual store, sprinklers would have gone off, people actually would have been screaming and running through the corridors and I’m pretty damned sure that the PA announcement might have sounded more like, “Flaming mall of death, GTFO!”

It certainly would have made the day that much more surreal, and I wouldn’t have had much of a problem closing early. My message to my district manager’s pager would have been priceless too: “Yeah, hi, I’ve had to close the store and go home early on account of part of the mall being on fire. I’ll call you again if/when the fire fighters say we can go back inside. Toodles!”

(And to make things even stranger, this makes it the second time in six months that our mall has been on fire. Early into the fall of ’08, part of the Zellers’ outdoor garden centre went up like a tinderbox. I was off the day that happened. And no, I didn’t do it, and yes, I have an alibi. So there.)


In other news, we gave Chance one of the toy mice he got in his Christmas stocking. Within 2 hours, he had somehow managed to eviscerate the darned thing, dragging its chunky cement-like innards out across our sofa cushion. Now all that’s left if the mouse’s furry pelt--with tail left intact, no less! I always thought cats would skin those little things first, not start taxidermy work on it.

And he is still strolling around with the mouse skin dangling from his mouth too. Very, very strange kitty…



Today’s Lesson: malls are flammable.

Labels: Flaming mall of death, the cat who became a certified taxidermist

posted by Phillip at 7:38 AM

 


When we last saw this dust-ridden bit of nowhere, it was 2008, a year that had it’s share of ups and downs-one usually riding on the coattails of the other. You’ve probably been wondering where I’ve been for the month of December. Was I too busy battling it out in the retail trenches? (Mostly, yes.) Was it a case of just not feeling the love to write anything larger than a shorthand “to do” list? (A lot of that too, actually.) Did I snap and finally cream someone in the face with an amazing customer appreciation pancake maker? (Oh, if only!)

But that’s not to say December was a complete blur of loathing consumers and incessant Christmas music in the mall corridors. There were some highlights-nay, surprises that kept the season joyous.

Surprise #1: about a week and a half after my birthday, I met Mel out in front of the Dream Centre so we could go out for dinner with my mom and Gary. (No surprises there, since he’s been doing the accounting work for the place.) As we were traversing the main floor upstairs, I paused next to the stairwell leading to the lower levels. Curiously enough I heard a child giggling. Even curiouser, it sounded like Gabe. I turned to Mel, remarked about this, then immediately shrugged it off with the assumption it was just someone else’s little rugrat downstairs.

So Mel took me downstairs.

Turns out it was Gabe after all. And a hell of a lot of other people too. I’ll give Mel credit: she definitely floored me with my surprise 30th birthday party. All I could do was stand there in shock as friends and family had assembled together to welcome me to the beginnings of my impending midlife crisis. (And speaking of, I have pre-emptively decided that I shall buy a toupee for my crisis and shall wear it proudly atop my head-regardless of how much hair I still possess at the time.)

It was wonderful to see most of the Fancrew again! Hell, days before I’d been commenting about how much I wanted to make it out to one of the next gatherings and enjoy the company of old friends. Mel later told me it was very hard to shrug it off without blowing the whole secret.

The company was fabulous, the food was fabulous, and especially the beautifully-done Kermit the Frog cake was fabulous. I made the comment that it was so beautiful I felt like I was cutting up Kermit himself, but swallowed my aesthetic pride and brought down the knife upon Kermit’s face…whereupon the cake screamed, and I promptly freaked.

Note to self: the next time I cut a Kermit cake, Mark is not allowed to sit next to said cake and mimic it screaming just as I bring down the blade. (Though in retrospect, I really should have done a Swedish Chef imitation beforehand. That would have made the screaming cake even funnier.) I’m sure there are amusing photos of me launching myself back from the cake as it/Mark screams and nearly flinging my knife over my head in panic.

So to everyone who made it down and gave me a wonderful shindig, I thank you deeply from the bottom of my “all downhill from here” heart: to my mom, Gary, Noel and his fiancée, Carly & Jorrit; to Frances and Caitlin (and to Mike, who volunteered to take Frances’ shift so she could attend and I would remain unawares); to John; to Roupen, Maral & Stuart, Mark & Diana, Jen & Dave, Matt; and to Kevin & Donna & Gabe, and to Kevin’s mom & Jim for helping coordinate this vast frosting-drenched, left-wing conspiracy and supply it with said food & frosting.

And to my wonderful wife Mel, who suffered many a stressful night trying to get everything tied together and prepped, and all the time worrying that I’d find out. Which I never did in the end. I’d just been under the assumption she had been playing way too much ‘Harvest Moon’. Thank you very much from the bottom of my ego-toting heart.

So…we doing things again when I turn 40? Anyone? Anyone at all?

…and suddenly Mel’s cocking a shotgun and shaking her head in the resoundingly negative. Darn.



(Oh, and Diana: panda frypan pictures are immanent, pending my ability to discover just how exactly one uploads memory stick photos onto a computer.)


This brings us inevitably closer to Surprise #2, which isn’t quite so frosting-filled, but so far everyone who’s heard the story has laughed. This one may rank right up there with tales of the kettle and blender, folks. Brace yourselves.

The Sunday before Christmas found Frances, Mel and myself working at the store. Unexpectedly enough the entire day was rather quiet, most of the crowds cunningly waiting until the last minute, when most stores had run out of all the cool things, to do all their Commercialmas shopping. (Go ahead: ask me how many times I’d be glancing in EB Games for 5 minutes on a break and overhearing people ask for the obviously-unavailable Wii’s or WiiFits. Except for Kevin: you can’t ask, because the number of times you’ve heard it trumps mine, and we can’t have you upstaging me in my own blog now, can we?)

So…middle of the shift/day, and thus far we’d had nothing resembling a rush of people. At best, there were mild spurts of customers, which gave us the chance to restock various random things. I opted to restock the bunks filled with ladies wallets. Now the overstock for wallets are located in four drawers located at the base of a large display fused with the cash area. Since technology has not allowed wallets to restock themselves, I was required to squat down in front of the open drawer and select a few wallets to put out.

Sadly, you’ve probably figured out where this is about to go.

There I am, smiling to myself as I bend at the knees and lower myself down to ground level. And suddenly there was a tearing sound. There was a ripping sound. And then there was a draft that blew right up my ass.

Now apparently Frances just happened to be looking down at me from the other side of the display at the time, and her description of my expression was pretty much: “a priceless look that I may never see again from him in my lifetime.” My eyes first widened in surprise-I’d heard a new and unexpected noise. Then my eyes and mouth opened even wider as the horrific realization what that sound mean sank into my brain.

Of course, being the good friend that she is, Frances immediately put 2 and 2 together and started to laugh. Mel heard the tearing noise and jokingly asked, “What, did you rip your pants?”

My perplexed smile and still-lost-in-shock expression swiftly made her realize that while she had been joking, neither I nor reality were not. Being the loving wife that she is, Mel had to immediately excuse herself and go into our stockroom…where she proceeded to laugh uncontrollably for the next five minutes.

This of course did nothing to solve the slightly problematic situation that featured me with a hole up my backside. Now some of you are probably thinking, “Oh, stop being so drama-llama about it. It was probably just a small rip.”

Aha haaaaaaaaaaaa…you forget how my misadventures go, don’t you?

The material itself was just fine. The stitching was what blew-from the underside of my crotch, all the way up to my beltline. Yep, my pants just suddenly exploded. They malfunctioned and deployed the emergency escape hatch, as it were. I could stick my forearms side by side to each other and slide them both through the hole up to my elbows, that’s how large the hole was.

Which is all fine and dandy if not for the fact that now I had 4 hours left on my shift, and if I were to take a step or bend over I’d moon the entire store. (So to speak; I wasn’t commando, thank goodness, but I wasn’t about to share my parts-in-the-jungle themed boxers with the rest of the world.)

This left Mel to hastily scuttle over to Zellers and buy me an emergency pair of pants. Naturally, as she was leaving she asked me, “Is it okay if Frances comes with me?”

Think about that for a moment.

I gave her the same expression you're probably wearing right now. So while Mel fetched me my emergency pants, Frances roamed the store to help the sudden rush of customers who decided that now was a good time to show up en masse (damn you and your laws, Murphy!) and I stayed my drafty white ass in behind the cash area with the holes that no one would drop a wallet and ask me to pick it up for them.


You know, for as comical as Surprise #2 is, I’d still rather take Surprise #1 anyday, even with a screaming Kermit cake. At least my pants don’t explode when that happens. And yes, I am definitely aware of the irony of this incident and my own notorious “no pants” philosophy. But let’s be honest: if I’m going to go without pants, I want it to be on my terms and not my pants spontaneously ventilating themselves.



Today’s Lesson: apparently, I sound like Spenser Reed from “Criminal Minds.” At least that’s according to a very nice old couple…who apparently are quite enthusiastic about shows featuring serial killers. I’m not sure if I should call this epic win or just plain creepy.




…and now I’m being informed of some rather vexing familial information. And by “vexing” I mean: I’m about to invoke the word “fucktwat” once more. At the same person as before. In a situation almost identical to, but far far worse, than before.

I really would rather have left this opening post for 2009 on a positive if not humorous note. Now it looks like I’ll just have to settle for an ass-kicking. Apologies, and good night.

Labels: I know why the surprise birthday bash cake cries, naughty yet sadly appropriate words, the curious case of the exploding pants

posted by Phillip at 4:35 AM