Another True Story from S-Mart

This is an absolutely true story. I know it's true because it happened to me.

A few nights ago day while at S-Mart (the soulless retailer that employs my sorry ass) I was working in an area isolated from nearly everyone else who was working at the time. My little area had a mountain of work to do and I was a bit ornery I had been left to work it on my own, so when I noticed in the corner of my eye someone stocking on the aisle next to me I kept grinding away but felt a great sense of relief.

Some days it's nice to be on my own with just the voices in my head. Other days being alone makes me a little crazy. This might be related to the voices in my head...

But I digress.

As I went about my stocking, I walked past this person a number of times. I didn't say hello or even look at them directly (I was a bit ornery) after a while I started to feel like a dick, so I attempted some small talk but got no response. I craned my head around the aisle to see if I was being ignored or what.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered I had not been chatting up a fellow employee but the step stool I use to reach the higher shelves.

Hell of a day.

nothing to see here

there's a little title company I often pass as I drive about town called the "Provo Abstract Company."

For a long time I've wanted to get a job there just so when people ask me what I do at work I could tell them that much of what I do is unclear and open to interpretation.

Of course, that fits my current job description just fine.

I bring this on myself

For some reason, every time I need a grocery store on Sunday, my brain blocks out the fact that there is one just a few blocks up the road. There must be a black spot in my mind when it comes to Sunday shopping since I never even consider that it is there and I end up driving a block or two more to a store that keeps pissing me off. After what happened today I'd like to think that this was the last straw, but I know next time I need relish and buns or something to knock down a kids fever or whatever might be the next best thing to the beer I can't buy on Sunday I will find myself in this same boat...

Sunday in September means I've got a few Optimators chilling in the fridge and my sweet wife will at some point start cooking the brats. That's right, it's game day and I always watch da Bears (or listen as the case often is) with a light beer buzz (not from light beer though, I don't drink that shit) and a belly full of some sort of sausage type product. Preferably Polish, but I don't mind mixing it up.

This time I found myself without a few necessities for my meal at the last minute so I hopped in the car and drove to Albertsons. That was my first mistake. I quickly rounded up what I needed and got in the line to pay and get the hell out.

To set the stage, I got in the one line where the one person who was checking was working. I skipped the self checkout line even though I could have walked right up to any one of several stations. In case you know nothing about me, I detest the self checkout craze that is the new thing in grocery stores. I don't care to take a shit on the grave of a folk hero no matter how mythical he may be, plus there are some philosophical issues that I could discuss but might derail this story so I won't at this time.

I'm the third person in line, and it's going to be a while. Not because the two people ahead of me have a lot of stuff, but the cashier happens to be one of those people that seems to be surprised and or impressed by every item he or she rings up. Annoying yes, but I'd rather be helped by a batshit human being with a pulse than a cold unfeeling, uncaring machine any day.

After 5 minutes or so, an employee taps me on the shoulder and asks if she can help me at the self checkout. I decline but she insists it will be so much faster. I'd rather not sacrifice a piece of my humanity even if it means a few more seconds or even several minutes. But she insists again and since I didn't have my pepper spray or tazer with me I gave in. This was my second mistake.

As she presses the touch screen and invites me to enter my phone number (you know, cause I don't carry around that stupid key chain with my discount club information) I feel like I have to do something to make up for this inexcusable moral comprise I've made. And before I think about whether its a good idea or not my mouth is moving and the words are coming out. This was my third, final and damning mistake.

"I hate self checkout," I say under my breath.

"Uh... what?" she says.

"I hate self checkout," louder this time.

"But you're not checking yourself out, I'm doing it."

And then it got ugly. Arms flailing, I probably spit on somebody at some point, but something snapped and I couldn't be stopped. "No, you're not helping me, you're (and here I do the air quotes) 'teaching me' so next time I'll feel comfortable doing this. I don't avoid self check out because I don't know how to do it, it's because I hate it and I think it's stupid."

After that it was a matter of me getting the hell out of there, cause I was that crazy guy in the grocery store. I immediately felt bad because I could have stood my ground and stayed in the first line but I didn't because I'm a pussy and someone was just trying to be nice. And to be honest, I wish I could have been a little more articulate. Oooh if only I could have had that last sentence I shouted back.

Conflicted now as I was leaving the store, when I saw that a cart attendant had jammed the carts he was bringing back into the store in the doors so badly that they were not only stuck but there were several people standing behind him waiting to enter the store (why they didn't just walk in the out door I don't know), I didn't hesitate to act. I grabbed the problem cart and yanked it free and helped the kid right the ship (if a ship is 6 or 7 shopping carts) and the day was saved.

By me.

Too bad I couldn't salvage my dignity, but I figure I was at least starting to make up for being a massive tool.

Then again, that jackass cart boy didn't say thanks...

what do I really think of S-mart?

I get this question a lot since I bag on it here and I don't like talking about it in general, so let me clear it up for everyone.

If I was born in a hole and was retarded I'd think it was the greatest job in the world.

But I wasn't, and I'm not, so I don't.

for some reason it makes sense.

For all you day workers who read my blog and have ever thought that your job is killing you, CNN.com reports today that my job really is.

According to the report "...the International Agency for Research on Cancer, the cancer arm of the World Health Organization, will add overnight shift work as a probable carcinogen." The American Cancer Society will likely do the same.

It's not enough that my job is a pain in the ass, it could literally be giving me cancer.

CNN.com told me long ago that people who work graveyards are more likely to have health, social, relationship AND psychological problems, but this feels like a real bonus kick in the shorts.

Working after dark on a regular basis can disrupt a persons biological clock which is problematic since certain natural defenses against cancer are produced at night.

I do have a newsflash for CNN.com: I don't need any more reasons to hate my job.

Film at 11.

thank god it's monday

When you work in retail as I do, at a mega-shopping type deal as I do (Shop Smart, beeotches. Shop S-Mart) you find yourself a lot more popular among certain people when Black Friday is rolling around. Too bad none of those Jerkoffs read my blog, cause then I could save myself a lot of lame-ass conversation...

Jerkoff
So, you guys going to have any big sales on friday?

Me
No, actually I don't even think we're open on that day.

Jerkoff
Really? It's like the biggest shopping day of the year.

Me
I'll pass that along to my boss next time I see him.

Another classic one is where the jerkoff thinks I will give them inside information on the sale...

Jerkoff
So, what are some of the big sale items for black friday?

Me
We'll have a two for one on douche bags, same as every friday.

Jerkoff
That's funny. Seriously, what do you guys have?

Me
If you go straight to the doors in the very back, we'll be selling some
children we saved from a burning orphanage.

Jerkoff
What?!

Me
Sure, you'll be doing them a huge favor. Any that we don't sell will be
shipped to Thailand.

Jerkoff
Why would I want to buy a kid?

Me
Yeah, you're probably better off with the douche bags.
You'll enjoy the company I'm sure.

My absolute favorite is the assumption that I have insider information on other retail chains sales...

Jerkoff
So, you know what any of the other stores are going to have this year?

Me
Are you retarded? Cause I saw you driving before in a van with your
kids in it, but now I think you shouldn't risk putting your children in
danger. Excuse me while I make a few calls.

I know it's a little late to stop anyone from bugging the shit out of me this year since that week has passed but please spread the word: If you know someone who works in retail and you are about to ask them about Black Friday, try instead something they might give a shit about, like a conversation about the weather or your last bowel movement.

And you wonder why I'm going to start telling people who ask that I'm a professional pornographer.

My Halloween Costume

We're not supposed to dress up for work at the soulless retailer, but tonight I'm going in costume as someone who could give a shit.

note to self

When putting away big boxes of laundry detergent or kitty litter on shelves above your head ALWAYS keep your mouth shut. Tide or Fresh Step plus Mint Orbit gum is the opposite of yummy. Lets just say they make the worst kind of "flavor crystals."

Work Policies

We have a strict rule at S-Mart that you can't be romantically involved (if you know what I mean) with anyone you work with, which is why I can no longer in clear conscience work with my hands.

like I said...

When I picked up my most recent check at S-Mart the place was in ruins. That guy Ash in Housewares had blasted everything to hell protecting the store's only living hottie from what he referred to as a "deadite." I don't care if he is a badass with his chainsaw/hand and superlative one-liners, I think if they are going to promote the guy, they should do it on the basis of character and customer service skills (where he is woefully underwhelming).

But I digress...

I pick up my paycheck and attached was a card for my five year anniversary at S-mart signed by my superiors. Included was a little certificate that allows me to select from four gifts online. If you have been following my blog over the years, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

All I ever wanted was a thanks, and that's it. I appreciate the gesture but the last thing I need is a mass produced corporate card signed by people who don't know me paper clipped to my paycheck. When I say S-Mart is a soulless retailer it's supposed to be tongue in cheek.

It's just like them to wreck the joke by actually making it true.

5 Years

I passed my 5 year anniversary at S-Mart without so much as a damn word. I don't need a medal or anything like that but a "thanks" would go a hell of a long way.


I'm starting to feel invisible there.

whens gonna be my time?

We have a bird problem at S-Mart and the solution involves a dude with a glorified version of a pellet gun stalking around our stockroom waiting for a chance to put the sad little buggers out of their misery. The first night he only got one, so I suggested that he build a blind on the "the steel" (giant shelves made to hold entire pallets of stuff) and cover himself in bird pee. I don't think the advice went over well since the next night he came back with a buddy instead. Two is better than one, right?

If there is a silver lining here, it is that S-Mart has finally gotten around to putting suffering creatures down. I figure its only a matter of time now before bb gun guy comes for me.

"did john henry die for nothing?"

Last night some friends were over for nickel and dime poker. One of them told us how he refused to use the self-checkout at soulless retailers. In order to repel some of the derision and giggles he invoked the name of John Henry, great American folk hero.

Though I didn’t give him much support last night, the more I think about it, the more I have to agree. Self-checkout is an atrocity. It is a perfect metaphor for the soulless, faceless corporation that is gutting the “mom and pop” small town retailers.

It is also quite literally soulless and faceless, and when the machine revolution comes I can promise you the automated or “self” checkout units are going to be right there on the front lines... although I'm not quite sure what they will do exactly. Do they have arms? Anything they can stab with?

I think it could also be humiliating to some (not all, mind you) cashiers. Don’t you hate when someone walks into your place of employment—some Joe Schmoe off the street—and conveys that he can do your job as well as you can. When you shop at a store and use the self-checkout, you might as well shout to every cashier you see “I can do your job, asshole!”

Worst of all, the self-checkout is eliminating one more human aspect to our existence. Interaction is a vital part of being a human and the more we eliminate that from our lives the less human we become.

I for one am not going to use them ever again. Maybe I’ll have to wait a little longer. Maybe I’ll have to tolerate a real dumbass cashier every now and then. But at least I will retain my humanity.

If you use self-checkout, you are basically pissing on John Henry’s grave. You are also proclaiming your contempt toward the plight of the American worker. And since John Henry was black, it probably means you hate black people too.

what's that like?

When people find out that I work graveyards, one of the first questions they ask is "graveyards? What’s that like?" Sadly, I have no snappy sarcastic one-liner answer other than "it's Dyn-O-mite!"

I have found that explaining working nights is kind of like explaining what went wrong in The Matrix trilogy. You kind of have to see it with your own eyes to understand what’s going down...

Lets see... you know that feeling you get at the end of your work day? You're just so relieved that work is over and you want to make the most of that burst of post work energy by getting out and doing something fun with your friends? Well we get that too, only when we get off work the only places that are open are Denny's and Wal-Mart.

Similar is that feeling at the end of the work week where you want enjoy a cold one and thank bob its Friday... Try explaining to your wife (or your AA group) that even though you are cracking open a beer at 5:30 in the AM you do not have a drinking problem.

I know that people who work graveyards tend to have more physical and emotional and relationship problems in general. I read that on CNN.com a couple of years ago so it must be true. I remember telling my colleagues about the facts and figures. There were some that actually laughed at me and my crazy statistics. Several months later I had a heart attack at work. Who's laughing now?

Every work environment is going to be unique, and mine is no different. Working at a soulless retailer we "overnighters" find an intense amount of friction between ourselves and the group of people who work during days. They work with the customers; we do all the filthy, sweaty, manual labor. Everyone who works days thinks the night people are a bunch of uneducated, lazy thugs who hang out at the store all night doing nothing, and will steal things out of your locker. Everyone who works nights thinks the day people are pretentiously pretty, annoying, idiots who never do their jobs and don't have anything decent to steal in a locker anyway.

When our paths cross, the tension is palpable. We're always on the verge of breaking out into a scene from Westside Story, with the finger snapping, and rolled up sleeves, and the Leonard Bernstein music... "when you're a Jet you're a Jet to the end..."

On a tangent - I once saw a comedian who talked about his friends learning to fight by watching Bruce Lee movies, lamenting the fact that he always got his ass kicked because he learned to fight by watching Westside Story.

Back on track - Since I can't really tell you what its like to work graveyards (you have to do it to know it) I will at least provide you with a few of the differences between the day and the night crews at my own place of employment.

· Someone who works nights is 8 times as likely to have killed a guy with their bare hands, while someone who works days is 867% more likely to own seasons 1 & 2 of The OC on DVD.

· Someone who works nights is 3 times as likely to be in the process of recording their own hip hop (or techno) CD, while someone on the day team is 87% more likely to utter the phrase "I can't think of it getting any better than when Michael Bolton sings When a man Loves a Woman."

· A person who work nights is 8,000 times more likely to be referred to as Sir or Ma'am by our boss, while someone on the day crew will try to tell you that the plural of Stylus is Status.

Does that paint a clear enough picture? On the whole, most of us on the graveyards are pretty average, normal people. A lot of us are in situations that necessitate an overnight schedule... and there are probably more women then men. For whatever reason, people assume that we're all a bunch of tough guys with prison tattoos and tattered levis waiting to hear from our probation officer about that better job opportunity while we pass the time putting out our cigarettes on kittens.... But that is just one guy, and he doesn't really work there anymore. Management is just too nervous to tell him he's fired so he keeps coming in.

my own fault for shopping at Walmart - To whom it may concern

Dear Walmart

I went to your store today and purchased two items. I stood in line for 18 minutes, but it was the fastest because it was "the express line." The people in the self checkout were not moving any faster than me since every one of them were still in the store when I left. Self checkout does not always translate to speedy checkout. I myself was in the 20 items or less line behind 8 other people who were all trying to find some way to buy more than 20 items. As I have learned the secret to exceeding the limit in the 20 items or less line at Walmart is when you get to the cashier you say "Oh I didn't realize this was 20 items or less. Silly me."

I think the people in the other line had it worse due to the jackass who was trying to find a way to split up a full shopping cart amongst his family so they could each buy 20 items... Jeez, and the 10 items or less line wasn't even open.

Since you fail to actually enforce the "20 items or less" rule the mantel falls upon the consumer to utilize the "honor system"... a plan I don't actually see working.

Sincerely,

Noodles Blunderson III

YIKES

Do you know what a stylus is? For those who don't know, it's that pen-like doohickey you use to write on the screen of your palm pilot.

I was putting some away tonight while working in the electronics department of the soulless retailer that employs my sorry ass. Actually, I was putting away a three pack but the package still said STYLUS. So I wondered if the plural for Stylus was STYLI or if you say STYLUS whether you have one or twenty-seven thousand.

I asked my best friend what he thought and though he did not know he speculated on the possibilities briefly before being interrupted by another employee. We had never seen this guy before, but that isn't so strange since he works a completely different shift than us. He interrupted my friend saying " it's status.... statuses... status..." He spent the next several minutes wandering around the department muttering the word status over and over.

It was a little disturbing... enough so that for all intents and purposes it may have been the most disturbing thing I've witnessed in days.

One thing about this story that kind of bums me out is that this is the kind of thing I could ask my brother. Most likely he would know the answer... if he didn't he would discover it quickly enough, only to explain it back in a way that makes even the most mundane interesting.

My bro is great at explaining anything and everything. And since he has such broad interests (Bordeaux to Broadway) he's very easy to listen to...

France is so lucky.

this news shocks me

News off the AP wire reports that the oversight body over the internet has approved the creation of a "virtual red-light district"

Too bad we already have a virtual on-line red-light district. It’s called the INTERNET

Also on from the AP:

(AP) -- Swiss and American scientists say they have successfully manipulated subjects in an experiment to take risks they might not otherwise take by giving them a squirt of the hormone oxytocin to stimulate trusting behavior.

Their finding could have beneficial applications in treating mental disorders, but they acknowledge the possibility of abuse.

Abuse? Ya think?

This could be worse than "zombie malaria." Yes... I know I'm stupid.

But on a serious note, this could be worse than date rape drugs. Way worse. You don't have to be unconscious to have sex with someone you trust. I wouldn't be AS concerned if I thought even for a second that the most insidious application of this drug would involve horny men.

Personally I'm more worried about my boss at the soulless retailer getting a hold of it. Just think of what I might do... and for a pay cut to boot.

Religious zealots and politicians could each use such a drug to their benefit. Oh the conversions! The elections!

Worst of all, Michael Bay--the Uberhack himself--could come to my house, pour a little in my next White Russian and goad me into paying full price to sit through his next film The Island and then give it a glowing review on my blog.

Folks, I don't want to alarm you, but this really is a time for hyper-vigilance. I may never sleep again. The fact that this drug is applied in squirt-form (did I fail to mention that?) is another part of what disturbs me here. Behavior modification drugs might be as frightening as nuclear, chemical, AND biological weapons combined. I don’t want you to think I wouldn’t mind incineration, anthrax, or contracting smallpox… no thanks. But to think there is is a potential weapon that could have me punching the ballot for soon to be president Bill Frist on my way from a local Christian fundamentalist BBQ, and before snuggling up to my wife to enjoy a rerun of Temptation Island followed by a special presentation of “Armageddon – The Directors Cut.”

And all the while I would think it was a good idea… I feel violated just thinking about it.

I hope you will understand if I don't update my blog as often while I'm on Michael Bay-watch for the next few years.

Finally, I think I should be the President of the USA. I could do a way better job than that idiot in the White House now. He has only three answers in his entire arsenal. Any question that he is ever asked by anyone will be answered by one of the following, or a variant thereof:

· Being president is hard work

· I have to make difficult decisions

· That is just absurd!

I guess its no mystery why I only have one answer to the question "why do you hate G W Bush?"

· Cause he's a dick.

work stuff

The soulless retailer that employs my sorry ass sells two types of Mead Composition notebooks. There are "regular" where the wannabe Jackson Pollock cover is black, and there are "colored" which come in purple, red, yellow and green.

They sit side by side on the rack. One label (for the black notebooks) reads "mead composition book," while the other reads "colored mead composition book."

Lately I've noticed on nights when I don't work, people have been stacking the black notebooks in the space labeled "colored."

Should this bother me?

breaktime conversation

I was sitting with my friends at work one night during our 15 minute break, discussing (brace yourself!) some of the less than favorable aspects of our employment. The conversation was dominated for the most part by one woman who was talking very loud, using the word "specifically" more than she really had to.

But she wasn't saying "specifically." She was actually saying "pacifically."

One of us asked her if she was "... sure she wasn't speaking atlantically?"

She didn't get it.

best work thing ever

This was part of an actual conversation I had with my boss last night

boss: At least I sort of listen to you

me: Uh... Thanks