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 the unique if not wonky schedule of a retail store manager, I have to admit that the days of the week have almost completely lost their “feel” to me. There was a time where Wednesday had a sense to it, with that growing anticipation of the coming weekend off; or Tuesday, which was not as ‘blah’ as Monday, but was definitely no Thursday. Alas, nowadays I tend to think of my days as “working” or “not working.”

It’s sad, I know, but I’d like to think it has helped keep me sane all these years…well, sane as in “not likely to go axe-crazy homicidal today” sane. Considering the stories I’ve written and rantings I’m prone to doing, sanity is a relative term. But I digress.

Today was a Friday, and for once it had a very distinct feel about it. Specifically, it felt like last weekend, where over the span of two days I was about ready to shed the “not likely to go axe-crazy homicidal today” sanity, and all thanks in part to the crowds of strange people and aggravating customers.

The morning proved especially grievous. I should have recognized the ominous portents when our store was suddenly smashed by 40 boxes of stock. From there, I had the displeasure of contending with all sorts of bizarre & annoying customers. There were the people who seemed to think I was some sort of manservant from the 19th century, thusly meant to be bossed around constantly. There were the people who asked questions and blatantly ignored the answers I gave them, forcing me to answer the same question at least four times. And then there was the little old lady who peed on my carpet.

No, you didn’t misread that. And no, I’m not making this up, though I really, really wish I was.

To give you all the set up: an obviously older woman, probably in her 80’s at best, came in with a shopping cart. She looked around at a few things, trying on some hats in the mirror. After double-checking a price with me, she abruptly asked in a very casual voice, “Do you happen to know where the nearest bathroom is?”

I pointed down the hall and told her the foodcourt washrooms were just down there and around the corner.

To which she (again, very casually) replied, “Oh, that’s too far. I’m already peeing.”

At this point I’m sure the expression on my face was quite priceless. You’ve probably made this sort of face yourself every now and again. Your professional smile freezes, almost like a Blue Screen of Death, and you blink a few times as your brain attempts to replay that last sentence you pray you simply misheard.

As I tried to lurch myself out of my BSoD, the little old lady began wheeling her cart out of my store and down the mall corridor. Whereupon I looked down at the floor and realized with bemused terror that she was in fact starting to leave small puddles in her wake.

Now up to this point, our fresh new carpet had been unsullied by anything that could leave a permanent stain. The dirtiest it ever got was due to dust or some random bits of rock salt left behind by winter boots. But not anymore! It’s a hell of a way to christen the new carpet, that’s for damn sure. Then again, our old store carpet was christened in a near identical fashion by a four year-old. In light of this, I cannot help but wonder with morbid curiosity: if I go to work somewhere else, and there’s carpeting on that floor, who or what is going to pee on it this time?






(And yes, I cleaned up the mess as best I could immediately after.)

Labels: In which the little old lady pees on the carpet and I’m left to wonder if she was marking her territory

posted by Phillip at 5:55 AM

 


...with love, of course. Lots of fully automatic, high caliber love.

This past Saturday, there was a disturbance in the Force. And it mostly involved an army of squeeing pubescent girls. Turns out that at the Boathouse store across from us, an up-and-coming Canadian band was doing an autograph signing and acoustic performance: the Stereos. And many of you say, "Yay!"

The rest of you, like me, probably said, "Ya...who?"

I have to admit I'm rather thrilled with my ambivalence to the band, since there is no way in any of the nine levels of hell I would have been able to get up & close to them. I arrived at the mall at 9am; there were already over a dozen girls lined up waiting for the Stereos. Please bear in mind that the band wasn't due to arrive until 1pm. Over the next 4 hours, the line started to grow...and grow...and grow.

By the time noon rolled around, the line was easily three to four people wide, and stretched from Boathouse down the mall corridor, and around the corner. The line stayed like this for a solid 2-3 hours, even as the crowd moved forward to get their autographs. Now to be honest, I think mall security had it worse than me as they attempted to wrangle crowd control. Even then, the noise they generated was incredibly deafening. We had our radio on in the back of the store...and we couldn't hear it over the din. In a word: ...what did you say?

Okay, so that was four words. But the point still stands.

Mel, on the other hand, enjoyed her last day at the jewelry kiosk of unnamable madness. The only reason she took the Saturday shift was out of pity for her manager; had she not volunteered to take the shift, her (now former) manager would have been forced to work it and miss seeing Jersey Boys, which was a gift from her husband.

Naturally, we celebrated the last day of her job with pizza and some sparkling white wine. Now while I needed to work the following Sunday, Mel had the entire day off to enjoy herself. And how did she spend her first day no longer working at the kiosk? By getting called into the kiosk.

Yeah, figure that one out. You're probably making the same expression I did when Mel showed up at the mall shortly after everything opened, and gave me that response to my natural question: "What the hell are you doing here when you could be sleeping in?" Turns out there were 3 people from the kiosk who had keys: the manager (still out of town for the weekend), the new assistant manager (who apparently wasn't called, for some bizarre reason other than the probable fact that the universe likes to torment people) and Mel, who was originally supposed to turn in her keys on Monday.

Thankfully, a friend gave her a quick ride back home, whereupon she was able to curl up in bed with a book and napped for the afternoon. That, and also recovering from slight dehydration from drinking a whole bottle of sparkling white wine the night before.

To summarize: Saturday had far too much squeeing, and Sunday had too much "I'm not even supposed to be here today!" I hold high hopes that next weekend will not be a repeat...unless David Bowie's doing a signing, in which case I'll be out-squeeing the teenage girls. And that may not be too hard, since I fear too few teens know who Bowie is (aside from his crotch stealing the spotlight in Labyrinth).

Labels: the kiosk will never let you go (and watches you when you sleep), the rabid fangirls will kill us all with their squeeing

posted by Phillip at 7:04 PM