A Nice, Polite F.U.
(to the maestros at Head Office)
I'm sure that it seems thoroughly petty for my first update in roughly 2 weeks to be work-related rant. And I'm sure I would agree with you if not the horrid truth of 70.
70 is not a good number. It's not one of those mythical-like numbers such as 3 or 7. It doesn't sound as damning as a 13 (if you're North American) or a 4 (if your Japanese) or even 666 (if you actually subscribe to the book of Revelation being a spoileriffic ending to pretty much everything). And it's certainly not the answer to life, the universe and everything the way 42 is.
Fact is, I like 42. I'd be happy with 42. But no...I'm stuck with 70.
And why is 70 such a curse-worthy number, you might ask? And more importantly, why is this idiot ranting about numbers when he obviously could be doing more poignant posts about life and its inherent strangeness? Well, the answer to the latter question is: 70. And the answer to the former question will be drawn-out and petty and probably sprinkled with a few choice vulgarities. (Though probably not 'twatwaffle', even though it is fun to say, and I've heard quite a few users of it as of late, mileage always tends to vary in tolerance to the first four letters. of it)
Anyhoo, like Wadsworth the butler in the
Clue movie attempting to make a point--"GET ON WITH IT!"--why does 70 vex me so?
70 is the average number of boxes of stock our store has been receiving for the last 5 days straight. Not 'seven.' Not even 'seventeen.' But 'seven with a frickin' zero attached to it.' In the past this might have been a manageable thing, but we have no tables out front of our store this time around to hide/display all our extra bits. The space we have in our store is the space we have for storage, period. And that space has officially run out. Nearly every day for the past week, I have spend over 4-5 hours of my shift desperately trying to open up boxes, price the stock within, and then spend an extra hour afterwards figuring out where the hell to put it all. (And bear in mind, this is all betwene helping large amounts of customers.) It's like a giant 3-D Tetris game, except I don't get any gloating rights for my high scores...and that silly-assed
Line block still doesn't show up to save my ass no matter how I stack everything.
Stupid
Line.
Where was I? Oh, yes! Petty ranting!
Back to 70 in all its evil Bond villainesque glory. I've spent most of this past week utterly exhausted by the end of my shifts, and particularly annoyed. I know that we have higher traffic over this next while, but there's compensating for the crowed and then there's drowning us in backpacks and lunchbags. I've rearranged our stockroom once every day or two to try and stave off the swarming stock, but it's packed beyond capacity and our floor is about to become an endangered species.
And there's still two more solid weeks of this to go before things might start being reduced. Now you can see why I'd prefer 42 being our store's new number. 42 boxes are a lot more manageable than 70. And I bet I'd actually finish getting through them before 3pm too.
Seriously. How fucking unobservant can these Head Office people be? No other store in our area is getting hammered with stock the way we are. And I know for a fact that there was no chance of us even getting any tables out out in front of the store this year. So how is it that they decided to hit us as if we still had tables. Did no one think to check? Did they all assume someone else had checked? Or is it perhaps the fact that their heads are still stuck so far up their asses they can't see Earth logic anymore? If I weren't so damned tired, I'be be foaming at the mouth and saying, "To hell with the readers' varying mileage, these people are friggin' twatwaffles! Why must my store be punished for their incompetence?!"
Maybe if I'm lucky, tomorrow can be a 42 kind of day. I'll just have to make sure I have my towel handy for it.
But so as not to leave this little bit of nowhere with the retched stench of borderline-Capslock rage, courtesy of
Ain't It Cool News, here's a picture of Jim Henson, Frank Oz & Richard Hunt doing what they do best: make me geek.
Labels: can't sleep the number 70 will eat me, Hulk smash ridiculous backpack overstock (and then goes to watch an episode of Fraggle Rock)
posted by Phillip at 6:22 PM
