Zing! Boom!

When: Midday, Today
Who: Yours Truly & An Empty Nester With Entitlement Issues
Why: Atrophied Pussy...Absentee Father...Who Knows?
Where: A busy store in Toronto's Second Busiest Shopping Mall
What: An Incident
How: By Gnawing On My Last, Good, Gay Nerve.

Ah, the retail biz at Christmas time.

You know, I really meant it when I said I didn't want to do this retail racket anymore. When I handed in my General Manager keys (and status, and benefits, and paycheck), I did it with conviction and determination and a vision for something better.

Shhh, Shhh
It's nice and quiet
Shhh, Shhh
But soon again
Shhh, Shhh
Starts another big riot

I picked up a casual part-time job at one of our sister brands as a box-slinger. Granted, it had its dirty, sweaty moments, but for the most part, its been swell. Look, a cardboard box and its contents can't tell you that "you have a monkey brain."

I didn't intend on staying on this long, and I certainly didn't think I would say, "YES," when asked if I wanted to take on the role of Operations Manager for "Holiday 2010," but the team needed help, I needed the hours and the boost in pay, even if just for a few months.

Sidebar--I'm banishing "Happy Holidays," and any form of Christmas greeting that doesn't say the word, "Christmas." It's fucking Christmas. It says it on the calendar. It has been Christmas since I understood the word, and it will ALWAYS be Christmas. I wholeheartedly respect your Hanukkah, and Kwanzaa, and Festivus, and Bullshitivus, but here, in North America, it's Christmas, motherfuckers.

It's, oh, so quiet
It's, oh, so still
You're all alone

And so peaceful until...

So I'm called out onto "The Floor" to help with the cash congestion (damn my extensive background). I walk over to one of the lines and invite people to my register. No one budges, save for this blond, bobbed bitch who is already nagging me about a box.

"I'll get you one of our boxes, it's no problem."

I ring the purchase and while I'm wrapping up her items, she's blubbing to her friend how she has "bought the last one, with no box."

I keep wrapping.

"I shop here all the time. When it's the last one, and it's a display item, they give you a discount."

Wrapping.

"HE didn't even offer me a 10% discount...."

PAUSE

The items have been paid for. I'm attempting to repackage one of her stupid picture frames. I know what's coming....

"That's what they do, you know...you get a discount when it's the floor model or a display item. and no discount for me. He doesn't even have the proper box for it."

Wrap.

"What, so, you're not even speaking to me now?"

I look up. "Pardon?"

"You're not even speaking to me now? I should get a discount and a box."



"I'm going to get. you. a. box. I'd offer a discount but you didn't ask, and there's NOTHING wrong with the frame. So, if it's alright, I'll speak to you when you stop speaking "at" or "about" me."

Silence.

"I'm going to take the box of a different frame so that you have the right size box. I'll worry about ruining someone else's stocking stuffer when that time comes."

Silence.

I go. I find. I return.

I flash it to her and she says something positive, for once. "That's better. Thank you."

"...and a Merry Christmas to you, too."

Take these temporary management keys and

SHOVE

them up your lonely ass.


Merry Christmas, y'all.