13 posts tagged “work”

Long and picture-filled post coming this afternoon.  But 'til then...

Guy walks over to customer service and asks for a job application.  Not only is he apparently both hungover and, shall we say, unwashed, but he is of the impression that his fashionably ripped jeans and tight T-shirt make for appropriate job-app attire.  (er, NO)

And then he opens his mouth.

I've handed him an application.  He replies with, "Can I have four?:

Me: "Four what?"

Him: "Four applications."

Me: "Um, sure..." (hands him another three)

Him: "Great!  This way if I mess up the other two, I'll still have one to work on."

Me: (blinking as he walks away)

You do the math. 

good grief.

what a shift.

I suspected that things were going to gang a bit agley during this shift when I stepped into the ladies' room before starting my shift.  While applying powder and lipstick, I saw this conversation between a woman and her three-ish grandson, who was washing his hands:

Grandson:  "Don't WANNA wash hands!"

Grandma: "Okay, then just wipe them with this wet paper towel."

(Grandson does so, then throws wet and germy paper towel on the floor.  His older sister reaches to pick it up.)

Grandma: "Oh, just leave that; they get paid to do that." (ie, clean up such messes)

They leave restroom.  They couldn't have known that I worked there.

What the heck?  Oh, c'mon, ubicaritas, I said.  This one thing doesn't mean that the shift is going to go badly.  Honestly, lighten up already.

Not ten minutes later, I am blissfully sipping an iced coffee.  I go to set it on a shelf at the customer service desk and somehow misjudge the distance.  I spend the next twenty minutes wiping  hazelnut latte off of the desk, the computer screens, the binders, the phone book, the keyboards, the signs, etc.  How on earth did eight ounces or so of liquid splatter that far and that effectively?  Eh, whatever.  Didn't really need the caffeine anyway, right? 

The phone rings.  "Do you sell books by black authors?" No, we have a strict whites-only policy.  "Yes ma'am, we do."

Help various customers. 

The phone rings again.  "So y'all are selling books now?"  No, we've decided to focus exclusively on armadillos..  "Yes, we do."

Help various other customers, many of whom want to know if we have items in stock, but don't want them when we do.  What the heck?

The phone rings again.  "Do you have AP study guides?"  "Yes, we do; for which AP test did you need a guide?"  "Um, like, the AP test!"  "Yes, but which one?  English?  Literature?  Physics?  US History?"  "Um, I dunno." My suggestion:  don't.  even.  bother.

Help more customers, one of whom has been assigned to read "the fiction (?!?!!!!) book Hiroshima" for his summer reading list.  I discovered during the course of the conversation that this person a) was a sophmore in high school and b) did not know that Hiroshima was one of the two locations where the atomic bomb was dropped, though he was pretty sure it was dropped "in the 50s during the Vietnam War."  I have seen the future, and it is ignorant.

Then there was the delightful little old lady who called and wanted books on gardening.  I could have spent all evening with her (and very nearly did).  Well educated, certainly from the East Coast (my guess was Rhode Island).  Has a voice EXACTLY like that of my first "voice teacher" (we saw each other for two weeks straight every year or so, and would sing for most of that time.).  Just the nicest person.  I did make a $140 sale by the time all was said and done, and I know that she'll be a loyal customer from now on, but (to my mind) more importantly we laughed together as I found and ordered her books.  She sounded both housebound and handicapped in some way (she had to call back later for something else as she needed to wait for someone to get home so that he could go upstairs and get some information for her) and clearly was delighted that someone would spend some time just chatting as well.  While she was rather time-consuming, it was worth every minute.

Part of the problem this evening was that we were so bloody short-staffed.  One cashier, one supervisor who spent most of his time either cashiering or answering calls for a supervisor from different areas of the store, one manager, and TWO people on the floor.  TWO.  Ergo, if one of us was on the phone, the other was swamped.  And that phone never did seem to stop ringing.  I was taking care of at least two lines for most of the evening.

At about 9 (we close at 11) I was told that I was in charge of the kids' section for cleanup.  I got back there just long enough to see that it looked as though a bomb had gone off over there.  I was called back to wait on customers and only got to start tidying at 10:40.  I could have cried.

All nights must end, however, and we finally left at about 12:20.  Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Shortly after nine (I think...time seemed to blur together a lot tonight) a diva friend stopped in to get some books.  While we didn't have a chance to talk, I did get a quick hug.  Someone (capital S)  must have known I needed one! 

The benadryl is starting to kick in, and I must go take out the contacts and then go to bed.  I am not in the least above sleeping twelve hours or so tonight.

One of the many reasons I love my job is that my coworkers are better-read and more familiar with certain types of music than some of my former coworkers.  Ergo, we have some common ground and reference points and lots and lots and lots of interesting discussions.

Case in point: I'm working at the cashwrap (line of cash registers).  There are two other coworkers with me, also working registers.  We have a small line, but are merrily and briskly working through it, while sending customers on their way with smiles on their faces. Only one customer of this group was cranky.  Actually, he was just plain rude, but my coworker still rang him through and told him to have a nice day.  His response was some sort of grunt, but earlier in the transaction he had had a brief discussion with the cashier about his book.  It was apparent, from his very strong accent, that he was British.  The customer following him (female) made some remarkably inane comment about how the British customer was a bit rude, but "who cares, what a sexy accent."  She was the last customer of the line.  Evidentally his utter rudeness is excusable due to his manner of speech (erm, oooookay.)

That remark was overheard by all three cashiers.  As soon as she left the store, our eyes met.  And we broke into a chorus of

"He is an Englishman!"

(head cashier solo) "He IS an Englishman!"

"For he himself hath said it,

And it's greatly to his credit,

That he is an Englishman!"

(all) "'That he is an Englishman!"

"For he might have been a Roosian,

A French, a Turk, or Proosian,

"Or perhaps Eye-tal-i-an!"

(all, much louder) "Or perhaps Eye-tal-i-an!"

"But in spite of all temptations,

To belong to other nations,

He remains an Englishman!

(head cashier, who, incidentally, has an excellent baritone voice, solo) "He remains an E-e-e-e-e-englishman!"

At which point a manager walked up, took one look, shook his head and walked away.  (giggle)

A few hours later, we had a brief meeting at the customer service desk.  We were informed that we'd been hit rather hard LP-wise over the last week, and were polled for suggestions for ways to deal with shoplifters.

Me, looking thoughtful and stroking an imaginary beard: "Something lingering.  With boiling oil, I fancy."

(howls of laughter from those who had been at the cashwrap earlier, as well as a few others.  One of the three managers got it.)

Yes, I do love my job.

***if you aren't a Gilbert and Sullivan fan, you a) should be, and b) won't get any of this.  Let me give you a visual.

HMS Pinafore is unquestionably one of my favorite G&S operettas, though it is rather hard to choose.  Pirates of Penzance, Mikado, and Iolanthe would all rank up there, too.  Of course, I've never seen a G&S I didn't like. :P

but I have to give him points for creativity.

Lots and lots and LOTS of points for creativity.

And he did make me laugh, so more points.

Okay, backstory:

I covered the lunch break of a girl in music last week.  Whilst tidying a wall of DVDs, I was approached by what could only be described (or so I thought) as my weirdo du jour (WDJ).

First he asked if we had any documentaries on the Mormon church, then asked my opinion of the shenanigans in El Dorado (I don't have opinions about anything in the news while at work), inquired as to whether I was part of that community (huh?) and then wanted to tell me all about how inspired he was by the recent events in that area.  In fact, he was so inspired that he decided to write some songs about the aforementioned events.  And he wanted to tell me ALL ABOUT THEM.

At this point, I dived frantically across the department to ask another customer if "Do you need help ma'am?  Are you sure?  Let me tell you about all our specials this week...." just to get away from the WDJ.

When my coworker returned to music, I mentioned this guy to her.  We agreed that he had overqualified in the WDJ department and thought nothing more of him.

Until today, when the music manager walked over to me and said, "Hey, ubicaritas, remember when you covered a lunch back here last week and some bald guy talked to you for a few minutes near documentaries?"

"Oh, do I ever!"  I explained the backstory.

She laughed.  "Well, thing is, he walked off with about $420 worth of documentaries."

Me: "WHAT?!!!"

Her: "Yeah.  Oh, and he's that guy who's made off with at LEAST a grand or two worth of DVDs since Chrismas."

Me:  (expletive expletive expletive)

Okay, buster.  Fool me once, shame on you.  Fool me twice, shame on me.  THERE WON'T BE A NEXT TIME.  You've never been hit music before while I was back there, and if you EVER do so again, I WILL have a manager call the cops and I WILL get your license number if you (as you probably will, since the response time stinks) get away.

I have to say, though, that his approach was certainly original!

To end the evening, we had the incident involving about 4-5 boys who were about 10-12 years old.  They were running around the store acting like idiots, and were later found with several "gentleman's magazines," which are illegal to sell to under-18s.  Marcia, one of the managers, told them to cut it out.  One of them said, "You can't tell me what to do, and you can't make me leave because I haven't done anything."  Another of these young gentlemen suggested that Marcia perform several anatomically impossible acts.  She promptly had them removed from the store.  I might add that these were kids who were nicely dressed and fairly clean-cut.   A customer later told me that she had been down the street at another bookstore a few minutes before and that the kids had been there and pulling this crap there, too.  Their parents needed to be slapped. 

I know I haven't blogged much about singing lately, and I apologize.  The fact is that there is something going on there.  That something is definitely positive--I'd even say that it's a breakthrough--but at the same time it's indescribable.  I've tried to put it into words, but I can't yet.  All I can say is that things are clicking and lightbulbs are going off and I've just never (despite massive amounts of stress due to finals and finances and so forth) been this happy.  Ever.  It's glorious and awesome (in the original sense of the word) and incredible and undefinable and completely and totally overwhelming.  Thus, I'm letting it work without really thinking about it because I still don't handle emotion well.  I know that that's all really vague but it's as close as I can come for now.

Most of my customers--say about 90%--are totally unremarkable.

Another 5% are memorable solely because of their utter illiteracy or stupidity.  Examples include this from a...rural...gentleman, attired in cutoff jeans, a wifebeater, and a grungy baseball cap that didn't sufficiently disguise his blond mullet:

"Yes ma'am, ah'd like that there book on duhve huntin'."

"Dove hunting?"

"Yeah, mah boy has ter read it fer school." 

"Err, do you know the author's name?" 

"Naw, ah ain't much inter books.  But maybe the last name had somethin' to do with a war."

"Well, could you tell me a little about it?"

"Ah know it's kinder famous, but ah can't saih for shurr wahy."

"I...see.  And your son has to read it for school.  It's a book about hunting?" (where is this school district, and what the...?)

"Yah, ah dunn toled you that.  Do y'all have it?"

(I really don't get paid enough) "Did the school happen to send you a letter with the title of the book?"

"'Fraid ah'm not real shur, ma'am.  The school sends a lotta mail, but ah figger the wife takes care of it." (I can't imagine why)

(suddenly, his face brightens)  "But mah son goes to (insert name of public school in boonies near cowtown here).  What're they readin'?"

Suddenly, a shaft of light breaks through the fog.  I remember a couple of kids from this school coming in last week.  We aren't the closest store by any stretch, but they happened to be in cowtown that day, and got the book from our store.  What was the title?  Oh, surely not.  Surely not.

"Sir, it wouldn't be To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee, would it?"

It was.

Le sigh.

Of the remaining 5%, 2% are briefly memorable because of snottiness, phone-against-the-ear-itis (symptoms include an inability to hear the cashier ask you to step out of line and go to her register, an inability to understand why the bookseller will NOT, if she has other customers, stand next to you and wait for you to finish your phone conversation before assisting you, and an inability to understand complicated directions like "please slide your card here and enter your PIN or press clear), or just outright RUDENESS (b*tching out the bookseller because you had a bad experience at a store in this chain five years before she was legally old enough to be employed by this store, for example, and offering this as an excuse for why we should give you a discount).

Another 1% are the ones who send the booksellers running the MINUTE they walk into the store.  These are usually regular customers who a) want to tell you that Harry Potter is REAL and they need to find the Marauder's Map and where is it shelved?, b) want to corner you to tell you all about their political views (which, no matter what your political bent, will ALWAYS be the exact opposite of yours), c) want to get entirely too hands-on with the female booksellers, d) throw a fit because their frappuccino is "too sweet"--but always order the same frappuccino, and/or e) will ask you to spend thirty minutes looking up obscure or impossible-to-find books with little or no information--"I think it was published in 1910 and had 'fieldmice' in the title, but I'm not sure."

Finally, there are the 2% who either make me laugh, make my day, make my week, or who just make an impact on me that I won't forget.  Or they'll do something so completely unexpected that I do a quadruple-take.

I had one of the latter the other night.

I saw a couple walking through History/Current Events, greeted them, and asked if they needed any help.

This couple was perhaps in their late fifties, and had, I suspect, been married for some time.  She had her arm through his, and they were chatting and laughing like a couple in their twenties.  It was neat to see.

If J. Random Invididual had looked at them, he probably wouldn't have been impressed.  They were both blondish, medium height, maybe a little extra weight.  No outstanding features beyond nice smiles and the fact that they were clearly still very much in love.

After I greeted them, they smiled at me and said that they didn't need any help, and how was I doing?  I replied with some sort of brief response--"fine," "great," "fantastic," etc--and continued on my way back to music to help a music seller with something.  Perfectly normal interaction, happens literally hundreds of times during a shift.  I thought no more about it.

About three minutes later, I saw the couple walk into music.  They came and stood near me while I finished with a customer.  Once the other customer left, I turned to the couple.

The guy walked over, took my hand, smiled (very kind smile) and said, "We just wanted to apologize.  I don't think we were very polite back there; we were a bit preoccupied.  Thanks for asking us how we were doing, and again, we didn't mean to be impolite."

Me: (astonished stare) "Good grief, you were fine.  I didn't think you were at all impolite.  In fact, you even asked me how I was doing." (wondering vaguely "what the heck?...")

Her: "Oh, well, we thought we'd been a bit abrupt."

Me: "I didn't.  Don't worry about it."

Him: (still smiling) "Well, I'm glad you felt that way.  Listen, you have a really nice evening, okay?"

Me" ...Yeah, you too.  Come back and see us again."

(stands in music department, blinking for several seconds)

They walked out of the store, still hand-in-hand.

Yes, two very nice customers apologized for being insufficiently nice by no one's standards but their own (obviously very high) ones.

In short, I'm expecting the Four Horsemen to make an appearance any minute.  Be warned.  You heard it here first.  It's the only possible explanation.

Now, if I could figure out why so many people felt compelled to wear cat ear headbands into the store tonight.  There was no obvious connection between any of them.  Different ages (youngest about 13, oldest about 40), male and female, different races (white, asian, hispanic), different socioeconomic backgrounds (the ears were worn with everything from grungy jeans to a local private school uniform), different religions (one guy wore a cross, one gal was wearing a pentogram pendant) etc.  Very odd.  The Mr. Clean dude with the cat ear headband will, I think, be forever etched in my memory.

(shakes head)

Overall, it was a really nice night.  I'd had entirely too much coffee (didn't sleep much or well last night) and was consequently very (and unusually) perky/upbeat/engaging.  On the sales floor, I think I'm ordinarily pleasant but quiet and rather low-key.  With that much coffee, I chattered nonstop, I laughed (and made most of the customers laugh), I got several people to sign up for the idiotic card program, etc, etc.  The rest of the crew found this hysterical.  (no more espresso after 5, ubi.)

And people wonder why I don't drink, when mere caffeine does this to me!  Can you imagine?

Ooof.  I just crashed.  Must. go. to. bed. now.

High (and low) points of the evening included:

-45 minutes after I started my shift, I actually raised my voice.  At a kid.  I think this is the first time I've gone over a normal conversational tone at this job.  Sure, I can (and have) been firm with kids whose general level of behavior indicates that they were raised by lax lupines.  I generally stick, however, with the firm voice and the steel-glittering eye.

One of my coworkers in the music department is pregnant.  Being pregnant, she really can't be on her feet for eight hours straight.  Ergo, she has a bar-stool type thing on which she sits when she isn't walking around the department.  She had her jacket draped over this when I came in.

45 minutes into the shift, a mother comes in with four kids.  Three are between 7-10 (all boys), and one is about 12-14 (girl).  The girl is fairly well-behaved.  The boys are nothing short of dreadful.  Mom vacillates on whether to get some of our (frankly) overpriced DVDs.  The kids whine, screech, plead, beg, and whinewhinewhine.  I'm trying to check out the older girl, and pregnantcoworker is trying to check out another customer.  The noise, I might add, from those three kids is absolutely deafening.  The mom decides not to get the movies.  The noise from the three boys reaches levels that cause hearing damage in adults.  (Mom is ignoring this behavior except to interject occasionally, "It's okay, honey, we'll get those movies soon.")  The middle one is particularly angry.  He expresses his anger by grabbing some DVDs and throwing them on the floor, then reaching over, grabbing pregnantcoworker's jacket, and throwing it on the floor. 

That did it.

Me (very terse, very clipped, and sufficiently loud--not yelling, but loud enough--to be heard over the racket the kids were making): "That's quite enough.  Pick up that jacket, fold it neatly, and place it back on the stool this minute."

After a second's shocked expression, the kid shut up and did as he was told.

-the customers who walked up to me towards the end of the evening and who were just so pleasant with the small talk, etc.  Most customers don't do that--not that I mind, of course, as that isn't why I'm there.  It's just neat when I get to talk to nice and well-meaning people like that on occasion.

-the customer with whom I had such a nice chat about John Williams (composer)

-the customer who told me all sorts of cool and hitherto unknown-to-me stuff about Tchaikovsky

-the expression on the manager's face as he realized I had managed to do $2990 that evening (unusually high)

-the expression on my face when that manager made a $15 purchase post-close so that I would officially break $3000 for the evening. (snarky grin)

-the fact that the store manager apparently banned some exceptionally obnoxious young boys (10-12 age group, not the same kids described above) from the store and told their mother so to her face.  this happened before i came in.  the boys had been running around and around the music department, pausing occasionally to fight or wrestle.  pregnantcoworker told them several times that they were welcome in the department, but couldn't run.  they could preview movies, they could listen to music, she'd even help them find movies/music, but they couldn't run, box or wrestle in the department.  they told her to "shut up" and continued running, at one point coming within inches of running into her while she helped another customer.  called manager, manager escorted the boys to their mom and told the mom not to bring the kids back unless they could behave like civilized human beings.  hah.

-a beautiful forty-percent-off coupon that i used to get all sorts of goodies, chief among them being this (le drool):

Handel

Renee Fleming

--the barista who makes the best latte EVER was on when I ordered my afternoon java fix

-the fact that Cold Stone Creamery a) is across the parking lot from my store and b) will mix raspberries into their chocolate ice cream.  extra run for me tomorrow (i usually take saturdays off) but it was worth it.  mmm.

-these work slacks are starting to feel a little loose in the waist.  not too big yet, but a bit loose.

-i have my mother's birthday present purchased and packaged (she is impossible to buy for, so this is an accomplishment), and her mother's day gift, and a father's day gift for dad.  Excellent.  Now to mail them on time.

-oh, yes, and the piano teacher informed us that he'd be out of town on monday and friday next week, so no classes on those days.  sleeping in!  yay!  (yes, I'll practice.  just not at the class times!)

Yesterday was even better.  It was the kind of day in which

-I aced at least one of two theory quizzes, and did "fair" on the other

-I finished the first quiz early, and so had twenty minutes to kill.  Spent that twenty minutes grabbing a coffee at the campus coffee shop.  The "fast" barista was there.  This shop seems to be staffed with two people.  Both make decent lattes, but one of them will literally take 15 minutes to make a latte, even if there is NO LINE.  I swear he goes out back and milks a cow to get the milk.  It's the only explanation.  Anyway, he wasn't there, so I got my coffee and spent the rest of the time wandering around in the fresh air, sun and wind while sipping a yummy latte. 

-Choir was excellent.  Just excellent.  Good music, good laughs, good fellowship.

-I had a second voice lesson for the week with la maestra diva (maekup lesson).  Voice lessons are always wonderful, but this one was just plain fantastic.  In short: Handel and Baroque ornaments I love.

-I walked into la maestra diva's studio and saw my absolute favorite pair of sunglasses (MIA since the musical) on her piano.  someone had found them backstage and brought them to her.  oh, happy me!

-I came home, reveled in the sunshine and in the discovery that a Starbucks has opened up less than a mile from my house.  Wouldn't this be a great summer job?  (second, of course, to the shoe store.  must put in application there.)

And now to bed--and I don't have to be up at a particular time!  yay for sleep!

This was a rather peculiar night.

Not bad.  Not necessarily good.  Just peculiar.

First of all, I seem to attract people who want to tell me their life stories.  This occurs to the point of ridiculousness.  People I have NEVER MET BEFORE will walk up to me and tell me all about their childhood.  This would be handy if I wanted to be a police officer or clinical therapist.  I have no interest in either career, and, frankly, sometimes less than no interest in the lives of people I've never met before.

Now, don't get me wrong: I don't mind people I know talking to me if they need to vent.  People who know me know that if they tell me something, it doesn't go further.  People also tend to feel safe when they talk to me, so they tell me more than they tell other people.  I don't know why.  They just do.  This can be positive or negative, though I occasionally lean a bit more towards the latter.  At least, I certainly did at one former job where I worked with pregnant moms and expecting families a lot.  (Yes folks, I've known how babies come for quite some time now, but I don't need to know exactly how this one was created, mmkay?  Let's stick with nursery themes and furniture styles.  Thank you.)  Don't get me wrong; I feel honored when people I know (even if it's slightly) trust me with information.  I just find it odd when people I've never laid eyes on previously start telling me about their private lives. 

Today I met possibly the MOST extreme example of this ever.  And the weirdest part of it was that instead of mentally wondering "what the hell?" I actually felt like I learned something from this person, and even hope she comes back to the store sometime when I'm not on the clock so we can sit down, have a cup of tea, and talk about life.

Picture an older lady, probably about 80.  Long black skirt, neat black print long-sleeved button-down blouse, tidy broach at the throat, white and perfectly coiffed hair.  She's browsing on this table.  I, the courteous sales associate, approach her.

Me: Ma'am, is there anything I can help you find today?

Her:  No, but thanks for asking.  I just love coming into bookstores!  I'm thinking I might get some travel books, because I can't really travel much, but I love reading about other places.  It's so much fun to read about all the customs and sights!  Besides, that way when I meet someone who has travelled, I can talk to them about that country and really know something about it.  I'm not very well-educated, but I am rather well-read, and I just enjoy being around books and talking about them (the elipses indicate stretches of conversation that I don't remember)...you know, my ancestors came over on the boat from Czechoslavakia, and I feel so grateful they came here.  I mean, they had to travel over a considerable stretch of land to get to a port before taking off, and then they came here to America.  Not South America or Canada or Australia, but here.  Not that there's anything wrong with those places, but it's so beautiful and so much more temperate here....I'm Catholic by choice, you might say; my mother died giving birth to me; she bled to death, and when my father remarried, we became Protestant until I was old enough to choose.  But you know, I remember hearing in Sunday School that Jesus loved me, and I really believed it then and now.  It's harder for me to get down on my knees now, but used to be that if I was sad about something--and I've had things to be sad over--I could just get down on my knees, tell him about it, figure out if I did something wrong and if so what it was, and then just go on.  I never have really gotten angry or bitter at Him, and I'm glad of that.  I did miss my mother; it would have been so nice to know her, but I know I'll see her soon, and I figure she's spent all this time up there having God's ear about me...I can't believe how people nowadays talk about being "bored."  They don't know how to communicate; they talk at each other rather than to each other.  They have to be entertained in order to be together, and have to be going all the time.  Isn't it nice, though, to sometimes just sit and be, and know that if you fall asleep then you probably needed the rest anyway?  I've never been bored in all my life; there's always too much to do.  And I have friends, but I also think I'm really good company, and don't mind being alone.  People have lost that, I think.

Me:...

Bear in mind, this is only the part I remember.  There was a lot more.  And until I finally wrapped up the "conversation" (I could feel management giving me the evil eye) I said NOTHING beyond "mmhmm," "uh-huh," "I see" or "really."  NOTHING.

I don't know quite what to think of this.  I really don't.  On the one hand, I think I heard several messages in there I needed to hear (trusting in the Divine, being around people who are good for me, etc).

On the other hand, I'm wondering if I'm being told that I talk too much.  Hmmm.  Maybe I'm supposed to talk less and listen more.

And on a third hand, do I have some sort of sign on my back that says "Therapist"?  Because really: who upon meeting someone for the first time in this setting gets told about the other person's heritage, religion, birth circumstances, and philosophy of life?

Finally, if I EVER see her in line to check out during the Christmas rush, I will finagle it so that I don't check her out!

On that note, I'm going to bed.  Good grief.

Overheard in the music/dvd department last night at change of shift:

Me: "Anything I need to know?  New releases, customer issues?  What's our sales goal?"

Music manager: "No big new releases except Enchanted, but you know about that one.  No issues, called all the orders, everything's shelved.  Focus on sales.  Oh yeah, and your plan is $2800."

Me: "Did you just say $2800?!"

Music manager: "Yep.  And we did a little less than a grand of that this morning."

Me: "$2800?!!"

Music manager:  "Yeah.  I know it's high.  Sell, sell, sell, but I doubt we'll make it."

Me: "Ya think?"

The last few nights that I've worked in music, our goal has been more like $1800.  Oh, and by the way:  WE HAVEN"T USUALLY BEEN MAKING IT.

The powers that be were looking benevolently on the music/dvd seller last night.  I also worked my tail off.  One of my "tricks," if you will, was to find out from various customers what obscure, ridiculous or embarrassing music or dvds they'd buy if it were in stock (did you know that there was a scifi tv series in which the ship was in the shape of a ph*ll*s?), then offer to have it shipped to their home.  Of course, that requires that they pay when they order, rather than when it comes in.  (evil grin here)  Final sales numbers?

$2992.

Nyeh.  Take that.

Oh, I don't get out enough.  That is obvious.

This morning, I had class from 9-10.  After that, I had to go grocery shopping, but didn't have to be at work 'til 330.  I decided to actually go to the fancy-schmancy health foody store.  What can I say?  There is something of the hippy in this uber-conservative gal, and that hippy likes her organic fat-free vanilla yogurt, her organic raspberry muesli and cereal, and various kinds of fancy teas.  Don't even get me started on the bulk coffee section; if I had a really good coffee machine, I could do SO much damage in there...

Anyhow, after browsing extensively (which is much of the fun at Central Market), I emerged with:

• 2-3 week supply of dry goods (muesli, cereal, oatmeal, dried fruit, almonds),
• some incredible roasted red peppers (great by themselves or on any kind of sandwich, but particularly with tuna or turkey),
• a wedge of brie (i KNOW it isn't diet food, but I can't live without a little really good cheese now and then)
• and some Republic of Tea green tea called "Superfruit" or some such due to the rasperries et all in it.

I then moseyed across the parking lot--depositing the groceries at my car on the way--to The Other Bookstore.  The Other Bookstore is the one of the two nationwide chain bookstores at which I do not work.  It had a very different atmosphere from my store.  My store is a lot bigger, and its sections are a bit more extensive.  I found prices to be similar (if not identical) and various clearance items to be identical in every way.  I liked the security system for electronic media much better than the tag system my store uses; you'd need wirecutters (rather than any sharp blade) to remove the sensore tags wrapped around the music and DVDs.  Seems to me like this would considerably cut down on LP problems.  I also liked their customer service desk area better: much larger, more workstations, etc.  On the other hand, they only had about 4 cash registers at the front of the store-about half our front-of store number, plus we can ring any purchases through in music and the cafe.  I would NOT want to work there if it got as busy as it gets at our store over Christmas.

Having purchased a magazine there, I headed back down the street and got some sushi for lunch.  Incidentally, the place about which I blogged a few days ago is called Sushi Q Japanese Cuisine.  I went there for lunch, and, once again, their service was fabulous and the food even more so.  Very polite and unobtrusive servers, delicious food (I can tell that wasabi is quickly becoming my drug of choice), and not at all busy.  I do hope they stay open; this was lunch hour on a Friday during Lent, they serve fish, fish and more fish, and I was in one of the three occupied booths during the 45 minutes of my stay.  I can't fathom why they're not busy.  I mean, they serve great sushi, have great service--oh, yes, and did I mention that they are in the same shopping center as not one, but TWO shoe stores?

Naturally, I had to check out the shoe stores.  I was very proud of myself for doing a vast amount of window-shopping and no buying.  I got a lot of ideas, though, for what kind of shoes I'd like to get for the summer.  I wish that more people made dress shoes for an ex-dancer's feet.  I danced (Irish) a LOT from the time I was about 5 until I turned 15-16ish.  I had a great time (still love to do it) but the result is that the ball of my foot is very wide compared to the rest of my foot.  This is due to all the time I spent on the balls of my feet.  My feet are also quite flat (lovely Irish peasant genes).  Fortunately, I'd only been doing pointe work for a little while when my teacher moved out of town, so the nails aren't too bad (I've seen girls who either had no nails or whose nails were always black and peeling due to all the pressure from pointe work), but all in all it can be hard to find cute shoes that fit my duck-feet at all comfortably. 

(why did I just go into all this?  oh, never mind.)

I did get a pair of shoes earlier this week that will work beautifully for the musical and for anything in the future that requires black heels.  The heel is very wide, so while it is tall, it is nowhere near as uncomfortable as those gorgeous-but-deadly shoes I posted about a few months ago.  I learned about what kind of heels to buy in vocal rep a few weeks ago.  some people learn about singing in a master class, i learn about singing and shoes.  both are important, right?  Apparently (and this makes perfect sense) the wider the heel, the more comfortable and balance-able (that isn't a word, but it conveys this better than anything else) it is.  That makes sense, because it gives a wider base on which to balance (or teeter, or trip, or...)

Anyhow, this place has oodles and oodles and OODLES of shoes--one looong aisle after another of shoes, shoes, shoes!  I didn't find any work shoes, which I sorely--pun intended--need, but I'll check back again.  I refuse to buy work shoes that are not 150% comfortable, cushy, supportive 

They also hire seasonally for the summer and give their associates a 30% discount.  I think I may have found my second summer job.  :D

This, then, was my day.  Tomorrow I will work on French, rehearse, work on more French, and cook a chicken/vegetable/rice/lentil soup.

I haven't had a morning that relaxing in ages.  I didn't have to rush or hurry or fly or ANYTHING.  I took my own sweet time and browsed, browsed, browsed.  It was glorious.  It was, in fact, so lovely that even when I got to work and discovered that the power had been off for much of the morning and a boil order had been issued for the water (oh, that put the cafe customers in a BEAUTIFUL mood) I couldn't help but smile and keep telling people what a nice day it was.  The cafe servers thought that I should have been strung up due to my irritatingly-cheerful mindset (at one point, I'm reasonably certain they were planning on putting rat bait in my latte), but then they had to deal with more caffeine-fix-deprived customers than I had.  Did I mention that the espresso machine broke?  The poor dears did have rather a rough afternoon.  And then I got to go home early...

As a final note: Starbucks has come out with two new flavors for coffee.  One is an "affogato-style" frappuccino, and the other is a honey syrup that can be added to your coffee drink.  I have not tried the later, but have been told that it is utterly disgusting by nearly every barista I've talked to, as well as several customers.  Needless to say, the baristas didn't say that to or in front of customers; I asked them their private opinion while in the break room or while there were no customers, and they indicated it to be gag-worthy at best.  It sounded rather dreadful to me.  Real honey in coffee might be an unusual and pleasant combination.  Honey-flavored syrup in coffee?  Nah.

As for the affogato-style frappuccino, I tried it.  Ordinarily, I don't drink frappuccinos.  I find them to usually be sickeningly sweet and sticky.  If I do drink such a thing (once a year, or so), it will be coffee flavored and that's it.  However, I was told by two baristas and one bookseller that this drink was to die for.  In need of a sugar fix, I got one.  I took about two swallows and tossed it.  It was vile.  "Affogato-style" means that a shot of espresso is poured over the vanilla frappucino and the whole thing is topped by some kind of syrup.  I have a sweet tooth, but this was too darn much.  Blech.  Yuck. Ptooey.  Etc.  If you like the vanilla frapps (I detest them) you may like this.  If you find them to be sickly-sweet, this is even worse.  (shudders, brushes teeth again)

Off to bed!  I get to sleep in some tomorrow; yay!

One of the things I actually enjoy about customer service is watching the wide variety of people who pass through my store.  A few touch my soul in a way that I remember for years; many make no lasting impression; some others are just. plain. WEIRD.  I think that this evening displayed a slice, if you will, of all of the above.

• First, I had the African (as in, had a heavy, possibly Nigerian? accent) gentleman who clearly remembered me from a past visit to my store.  I don't remember him at ALL, but hey, he was obviously positively impressed with the last visit, so I wasn't going to object.  :D  He picked out a few cds that he'll be getting with his next paycheck, and then went on to catch the bus.  As he left, he mentioned that he'd be getting his new stereo system next month, and that he was really looking forward to it because of the quality of the sound.  He even knows which cd will be the first he'll play, and then said, "When I set up the stereo system and hear this music, I must cry.  It is just so beautiful.  My friends, they look at me and they say, 'For what do you cry?'.  I do not think that most people understand this, but I have to cry.  It is so beautiful."  I smiled and assured him that I understood.  I rarely (okay, virtually never) cry, but when I have in the last five years or so I would have to say that it was due to some achingly beautiful piece of music.
• Then, I had the really strange guy who yacked my ear off about the movie Luther (which I will never, ever, EVER see), started to get a bit innapropriate and personal with a customer who I knew who he had never met ("Why did you leave your country of origin?  What school do you go to?  What is your major?  Why did you pick that major?).  She was clearly uncomfortable (actually, once he left she said, "WHAT a horrible man!   Do you have to put up with many of these?"), but he was not getting the hint to leave her alone.  I rescued her and went to wait on another customer; he went away, but (le sigh) returned after a bit.  As I rang his purchase, he told me that a) the dresses in Pride and Prejudice were too "antebellum" (yes, you read that correctly), b) that he liked how I wore my hair ("very Victorian,") and that c) he would "like to see how I'd look in Victorian period dress, and he knew just the seamstress if I was interested."  I said, "I think not."  He left at that point; one more remark and I was going to call a manager to ask him to leave.  She would have, too, as he had already bent her ear on various subjects for almost forty minutes.  Yuck.
• Next, there was the couple in their late 30s/mid 40s who purchased American Gangster and some Sting cds.  She was in a power wheelchair due to (my guess) MS or something similar.  As they looked at a display, she unconsciously leaned forward to get a better look at something.  He leaned down and gently rubbed her back (nothing innapropriate, just gentle).  You could see how much they were in love.  Brightened my evening.
• Of course, my full-moon-with-an-eclipse-coming evening wouldn't be complete without the herd of guys in their late teens-mid-20s who set off every loss-prevention bell in my head, but (aside from making a ghastly mess in Pop Rock) were not caught doing anything.  There were six or seven of them (and they all were together) back in Music at one point; kept milling around, distracting me, asking unnecessary questions, etc.  The one with the mohawk (which was, incidentally, glued on) was particularly annoyed when it turned out that we do not regularly stock the Insane Clown Posse's albums.
• There were also the spawn of Satan (oh, excuse me, I mean younger customers) whose grandmother had me hold a few DVDs (which she was getting for these imps) while she went and got a couple of books.   I was in mid-transaction with Victorian-period-dress dude when these little wretches came back to Music, pounded their fists on the counter, and said, "We want our stuff NOW!"  I looked at them icily and said, "When I am finished with this gentleman's transaction, I will be able to wait on you.  Kindly give me a few minutes" before resuming the transaction with the other customer.  While in "real life" I don't like that I seem to terrify small children, I must confess that it is remarkably handy in retail.  They both shut up and waited politely until I finished.
• My final customer of the day was a...large...woman of about 60 years in an unfortunate red-and-white Hawaiian-style shirt and some applied-with-a-spatula pancake makeup.  As I finished ringing her transaction, her cell phone began to blare a ringtone of which I had been previously (and happily) unaware.  The refrain seemed to be along the lines of "She thinks my tractor's sexy; it really turns her on."  I kept a straight face, and mentally thanked my father for teaching me how to keep a poker face at a young age. (edit: out of curiousity, I Googled the lyrics.  This song really does exist.  I don't know why.) 

The tally?  One customer who I'll remember positively for a long time, two who just brightened my evening by being themselves, one guy who I will probably have tossed from the store if he ever approaches me again (okay, that's a bit unusual; I don't usually have them quite that weird), some peculiar come-out-at-the-full-of-the-moon types, some kids to whom I may or may not have taught the bare minimum of manners, and one just laugh-out-loud-after-she-leaves-the-store funny customer.

C'est la vie in customer service!