Don't Hoveround Here No More...

Tom Cruise makes it seems so easy for the slightly more aged folk among us to maneuver in motorized wheelchairs. What Mr. Jerry Maguire didn't think of is that these elderly speed racers really put the pedal to the metal instead of doing fancy choreographed turns in wide open spaces. These geriatric speed demons must think their in a Nascar race to the grave... or the early bird special... or, my favorite, they just like to play mall walker bowling. Several times we have had senior citizens race through the store on these motorized wheelchairs of doom... and we need to set up a speed trap to catch these senior speeders. The other day (I unfortunately did not witness this) a woman came racing through the store on her motorized scooter, of course, made the corner a little too wide and knocked over a mannequin that was SITTING ON A PLATFORM. The little speed demon didn't even flinch as she raced away from the scene of the crime. We can not let hit and runs like this happen anymore. Innocent mannequins are being taken out one by one because they do not have to take a driver's test to use the hoveround. Once they are able to do fancy synchronized... er, hovering? then they can have the key to their little race car.

There was another incident over the summer when Gretchen Wilson was signing autographs in front of the store. A rather flamboyantly dressed lady came through sporting a visor, a brightly colored shirt and reflective pants just in case she decided to take the scooter out on the road at night. Oh, and a fanny pack and a small dog in a dress to complete the ensemble. A dog. In a dress. In the mall. I felt very bad for the dog not only because it was wearing a dress, but because he had to run to keep up with Speed Racer. I'm actually quite surprised that he didn't get run over.

Speaking of dogs and clothing- they can also help you decide which sweater to buy. Or at least Paris Hilton could. The nonhuman Paris Hilton. Well, the dog Paris Hilton... I suppose I should be more specific- the one who can't speak.... I guess that describes the person-ish one too, but the Paris Hilton I met looked more like this:

Complete with sweater. And, once again, this dog was in the mall. Being held by its owner, who was asking what it thought about sweaters. I really wish we can have just one camera at the register to take pictures of some of the people that come through that store. Like the man on the segway. Or the woman that walks through with her dogs in a baby carriage. Or the elderly speed demons... but we'd need a pretty good camera to be able to get a clear photo of them.

have yourself a very geeky Christmas...

(I love my ghetto Lost tree)

I finally had a break from the seventh circle of hell to ascend back up to the first circle... family time at Christmas. I have to say that I love my family, I really do, but sometimes they give the Griswolds a run for their money at Christmastime.

My dad, the fearless leader of the small trio that is our section of the vast Leonard family, does enjoy to get into the Christmas spirit. Unfortunately, he waits until Christmas Eve to really show it- before that he is one of the many disgruntled folks at the mall, except he takes it out on the other shoppers. There is a Dollar Store at the mall and that is always his first stop. He buys the longest thing of wrapping paper that he can find and pretends he's a Jedi, taking the Empire on one Stormtrooper... err, Christmas shopper at a time. After an exhausting day of wandering around the mall, then settling on calling me to find a "few extra things" for my mother, he is never in the mood to decorate the house. So most of it, including the Christmas tree is done on Christmas Eve.

Now, the backstory to the Leonard family Christmas tree is a rather long and drawn out one. Ever since I can remember, we have gotten a live tree. And ever since I can remember, I am terribly allergic. My parents think that I will build up a resistance to it every year, but I'm pretty sure for that resilience against the evil pine to stay in my system they would have to leave oh tannenbaum up in the living room all year round. This would be fine with my mom, who is one of those people who will watch any Christmas movie any time of the year. This year she decided that the Hallmark Movie Channel was the destination for her (last year it was Lifetime... I'm not sure which is worse). I suggested that she go to the store and read the actual cards, but I wasn't sure if they would give away spoilers in their one simple tagline. She seemed to take some offense to this and I once again wonder how a cinema major was spawned from this woman. Then my father makes a reference to a "Fringe event" at the dinner table and I am the only one that laughs and it makes so much more sense. It also made sense when my dad defended me for watching Criminal Minds on Christmas Eve when my mom said it wasn't in the Christmas spirit. Then after my mom yelled at me for watching a show about killers, my dad accidentally decapitated Jolly Ol' St. Nick himself. Mom was very angry.

For my mom, Christmas is one of the holiest times of the year so we go to church. I do enjoy the ceremony of the whole thing and it certainly looks pretty, but being solemn just ain't my thang. And sometimes things just happen that warrant a chuckle or two. Like last year at the Easter vigil mass when all is silent and the church is almost completely dark, with a few faces illuminated by the light of candles. Then out of the darkness, a small man appears and proceeds to the pulpit and begins the reading... in the style of Long Duk Dong from Sixteen Candles. My parents forgot to forewarn me that the visiting priest was Asian. So I might have let out a few guffaws and tried to cover it up with coughing, but it wasn't too embarrassing. This Christmas my mom wasn't taking any chances and demoted me to the children's mass on Christmas Eve. This didn't work though because it seemed to have brought out my inner child when the priest held up the Baby Jesus and I exclaimed "Simba!" My mom elbowed me, but this time I already had my reply of "But everything the light touches is his!" And now I think I got cemented as the "special" girl in church.

I have many more family Christmas stories, but I will leave you with an image of peace and goodwill towards men and proof that I will never get the ornaments my mother is holding hostage for grandchildren...

Merry Christmas! Shitter was full.

The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog... and got made into a leather jacket?

This conversation occurs between the minutes of 11:35 pm and 11:50 pm on the evening of the retail nightmare before Christmas...

Customer: I need some help.

Fearless retail associate: What can I do?

Customer: Can you call Monroeville? I really need this jacket- the safety of the country depends on it...

Beep (boom) Beep (boom) Beep (boom)... the seconds count down on the clock

(Break for commercials cause boring stuff happens here)

Beep (boom) Beep (boom) Beep (boom)

Fearless retail associate: Hi, I have a customer here looking for a faux (pronounced like "foe") leather jacket...

Customer: No! No! It's FOX it's made of foxes...

The fearless retail associate prays for the countdown clock to appear and signal another commercial break, but, alas, this is not the world of 24 (yes, I started watching another tv show). As with all awkward and annoying situations, I pray for a commercial break or a flashback or a bus to come out of nowhere and run this lady down. But, no, I am stuck staring at the customer blankly because it was almost midnight and I gave up fighting or even trying to come up with a comeback. And lord knows I don't want to teach her the error of her ways... mostly because there are just so many. One. Faux= fake, imitation. Which I actually would prefer the "pleather" and not go around sporting a dead cow. Two- leather out of a fox? Don't they have fur? And are kind of small to make a $60 coat out of? Who is this woman? Did Cruella DeVille who took a wrong turn and ended up starring The Fox and the Hound instead? The poor woman did not get her jacket. Even though she could have, but she lost patience and wandered away. Maybe she saw something shiny.

Customers are bringing the spirt of Halloween to Christmas... but much scarier.

Today, a customer brought me a little bit of the Halloween spirit into this dismal holiday....

It was a dark and (snow) stormy day. I petulantly stand around the register dealing with the swarm of last minute shoppers who enjoy to insult me at every chance they get. I suppose my clearly overinflated ego could use a bashing every now and then, but I would prefer if it were not from someone who just likes to deliver the low blows and not actually participate in a battle of wits. Just calling me an idiot or a bitch isn't cutting it anymore. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me... I'll use them to hurt you. Anyway, the phone rings and while I am usually rather hesitant to answer, it was the lesser of two evils today...

"Hello, MCN misses department"

"Hi. I'm calling from inside your store and I can't find the catalog department. I had a few questions..."

I recoiled in fear... and astonishment. The call was coming from inside the store! I wish it was a deranged serial killer with mommy and daddy issues (as long as it wasn't Jack Shepard or Kate Austen). What scared me even more was that someone took the time to look up the phone number for the store and listen to all the recording to push our extension instead of just walking up and asking someone or, God forbid, look at the signs. The customer then continued on to complain about how she is not receiving coupons at her house. I can say though, I was very sympathetic towards her as I transferred her to another extension and hung up on her.

A whole slew of monsters enjoy parading through the store these days. My favorites are still the zombies. Both in monster movies (and now TV!) and real life. And by real life zombies I mean my dearly beloved customers who gather together to stagger around mindlessly grabbing whatever sweater that looks most like braaaains and get a gift receipt because that ugly ass thing is getting returned the day after Christmas. I gave up asking if they need gift receipts and just hit the button anyway. They'll thank me for it later. If only I had my weapon of choice, a razor scooter so I could bludgeon them and scoot away.

Ghosts are rather similar to the zombies, but they have really given up and surrendered to the despair of the holiday. They wander around lifelessly with a look of anguish, hoping to find the one item that will bring them peace... Of course they never find it.

The vampires are the ones who are angry because the store has been sucked dry of decent looking clothes... and it is clearly my fault. I am the one who bought every single sweater they could possibly want in every store in the district.

Frankenstein/ Frankenstein's monster is pretty sweet. I've only had a few of those where they lumber about throwing together a mishmash of things that create a glorious hodgepodge of gifts that somehow come...alive.

I have only a few more days left to defeat these monsters. I'll be like the horror movie heroine.... except I will be sure to not trip and fall in the middle of the big chase scene. I'll have my razor scooter to get away.

MCN, After Dark

Oh, I love the holiday hours. I am usually a night owl, but burning up in retail hell is not what I would like to be doing till midnight. Especially since I have the whole Cavy turning back into a pumpkin problem and the Christmas shopping zombies might take offense to the Halloween display during this oh-so-holy season. Unfortunately, the Christmas zombies are drawn to the magic of the mall after hours. These are the zombies who have been "turned" for a very long time and are basically an unrecognizable shell of a human being. One even sprouted fur and feathers... or at least her boots, coat, and vest did. I'm sure PETA approved that outfit. It was more of a loss for the Muppets though since it appeared as if Animal gave his life so the girl could look, er, stylish in those boots.

I wish Animal would have survived his encounter with Cruella DeVille. He would have been a better conversationalist and quite possibly could have comprehended my explanation of the coupons and why the mall doors have to close when the mall does. Tonight I was so bombarded with the world's stupidest questions, I started to look around for the hidden camera tv crew to beg them to take me out of this hellhole (seriously, I will be coffee bitch for anyone). The mall door questions usually went something like this...

Idiot: Why is the door closed?

Me: Because the mall is closed.

Idiot: So we have to go outside to go shopping in the other stores?

Me: No. The other stores are closed.

Idiot: Well how do I get out?

Me: Through the outside doors.

Idiot: How do I get back into the mall?

Me: You knock three times. Three shall be the number of times you knock. No more, no less. The number of times you knock shall be three and the number of the knocking shall be three. Then you jump up and hold it for five seconds and Falcor will swoop down, carry you to the roof and then you have to take the stairs from there.

Or we have the panic stricken masses....

Moron: Am I going to be trapped in here?

Me: No. We don't want you to be trapped in here, the outside doors will still be open.

Moron: How do I get out into the mall?

Me: You can't. The door's closed.

Moron: So we're trapped.

Me: No. You can get outside.

Moron: How do I get to my car though?

Me: ...are you parked inside the mall?

(That one is almost verbatim)

Then we had the people who are very confused by coupons. Sometimes you can combine coupons and sometimes you can't. That's just how the world works. People do not seem to completely understand this and stare at me blankly when I try to explain it or whenever I feel like being nice and divide up coupons so they actually save more money.Then they start to ask me about the rules of the coupon... which, big shock, are actually printed on the coupon. Then, like the five year old they are in their mind, inevitably they start asking "Why?" "Well, how come?" Because Mr. Freaking Nickel raised from the dead and gave us the 10 commandments of coupons that were written by God himself and we must abide by these rules.

Seriously. Can't these people just go to a bar? But, then again, they don't seem to have the brain cells to spare.

Happy Xmas, Boxes are Upstairs (If you want them)

In honor of the anniversary of John Lennon's death, I feel to mention how his Christmas song, Happy Xmas (War is Over), has brought joy to the hearts of the legions of Satan's angels shopping in good old' MCN. Their hearts grew three sizes that day... so they are now visible to the naked eye.

This year, the Dark Lord Sauron gave up on that whole one ring to rule them all thing and sent his army of Christmas shoppers in pursuit of the elusive Christmas gift boxes. And they are not happy if these boxes are not conveniently placed at the register. A lady orc (yes, they've let those loose now), walked up to my counter and was somewhat pleasant enough during the small talk of the transaction. Sometimes grunting is just better than normal conversation. Then at the end she requested gift boxes. I politely directed her to the catalog desk, where the friendly human gatekeeper will assist her. This is when she started baring her teeth and went into battle mode. However, in the middle of her five minute plus rant about how difficult it is to ride a freaking escalator, a drunken hobbit lady walked up behind her and began singing the Christmas song that was playing, which just happened to be "Happy Xmas (War is Over)." A magical thing happened. John Lennon was right- the great battle for the Middle Earth shopping mall was over. The orc and hobbit joined together in song like it was karaoke night at the Prancing Pony and Gandalf himself was there to judge. As the song predicted, the war indeed was over... or was it? After their merry medley, they turned to me and said how nice it was to hear Christmas music. I responded with my own battle cry of "It's not nice if you've heard it since October." They realized they must ban together to defeat their new common enemy- me. A great verbal battle was about to begin, I prepped myself with Aragorn's speech at the Black Gates in my head, but then realized that it did not apply to this situation at all... especially since I am a woman from the East and Eowyn kinda stole my thunder as a woman warrior. But then the drunken hobbit in her haze remembered a new, much stronger and powerful foe- Forever 21. I looked down at my shirt and realized I got the cami at Forever 21, but decided it was best to remain silent. Apparently, their selection of music is not appropriate for the holiday celebrating the birth of uh... what's his name again? Santa?

Have yourself a merry little hipster...

I am not a hipster. Big surprise. I'm also not one of those people who hate them. Honestly, I'm not exactly sure what separates them from the "scene" and "emo" kids. What can I say? I guess I'm just not cool enough to run with the hep cats. Anyway, the point of that rant was that yesterday I was surrounded by smelly people. Both at work and after. During my day at the local hellhole, I was battered left and right by the original hipsters... the kind who have broken a hip. For some reason, the old people who usually look at me with a look of disdain decided that I must have reminded them of their granddaughter and they were drawn to me like a shuffleboard in the middle of Miami. I don't know if it's the denture cream, hard tac candy or the smell of impending death, but all of the old people smelt horrible. Maybe it was because they were truly rotten to the core. None of them were the sweet little old grandma... so it was definitely not the hard tac candy stench. Only one of them is specifically worth mentioning. Because she was on speed. Or at least that's what it seemed like. She ran up to my register all concerned because she had to exchange a sweater and she found the only one that wasn't damaged. OK. We've had these sweaters since June, they are bound to get snagged. Then she started shuffling things around on the counter and exclaimed "Oh my God! Where's my purse?!" Then, I'm pretty sure she ripped out a chunk of hair and went running towards the fitting room, where she reputedly ran down the hallway and knocked on every single door looking for her purse. The fitting room attendant finally found it underneath a pile of clothes that the cracked out customer left in there. Did she thank the fitting room attendant? No. She thanked God because (s)He apparently looked down at this poor customer who didn't know how to hang up clothes, smiled, and protected her purse from the evil doings of other MCN customers by hiding it in the mess that she left in the fitting room. Right. Anyway, the customer ran back to the register, even more spastic now and practically hyperventilating. Now, I've left my purse places before and I've been quite concerned. Not overdramatic and creating a scene for amused spectators in the line and one very scared associate. Everything that could happen to make the transaction last longer did. Her card wouldn't slide, she didn't understand when I asked for her card so I could try to slide it at the register, she hit cancel instead of complete, etc. Then to top off the whole thing, she was on her way to the doctors' office. Couldn't she have stopped after? And been very, very medicated. I thought it couldn't get any better, but then I picked up the sweater and it reeked of cats and was completely covered in cat hair. Thank God I'm more of a crazy, nerdy dog lady.

Then I encountered my smelly people of the evening- AKA the youngster hipsters. My friends invited me to tag along to a gallery crawl, which sometimes amuse me. Never this much though. As soon as we walked in, my friend turned to me and said "Do you see?" I was rather confused, scanned the crowd and said "No." Then I realized why I didn't see. I wasn't looking down. It was a magical moment when the crowd parted in slow motion and I heard the magical sound of the opening to David Bowie's "As the World Falls Down" from the motion picture "Labyrinth." Standing the middle of the crowd was the littlest hipster. I wanted to kidnap him and present him to boss lady (Chelsea Handler) who just happened to be performing in town tonight. Apparently thats illegal or something. But I figured a hipster nugget would be better than a bottle of Belvedere. However, did manage to snap a picture of the little guy for the world to see. The mental portrait I have will always remain in my memory.

The littlest hipster. He could be in a children's book... or a children's movie. Like the motion picture "Labyrinth" starring David Bowie...

Here come douchebags, here come douchbags right down fucktard lane...

So if the sounds of Rosemary's baby evilly singing Christmas tunes isn't enough to turn customers to the dark side, the icy dandruff has started falling from the sky. Bah humbug to you too, snow! Now, I know there are those (who should be committed) who love the tiny ice demons that dance down from the sky, but I am still having 'Nam style flashbacks from the Snowpacolypse of last year. Apparently Pittsburgh drivers are also having these flashbacks... while driving. Just because it's snowing doesn't mean you should neglect to check the other lane before you merge. I miss the old days of snow when I sat in the passenger seat and during the night I could pretend like we were actually flying through space.

Anywho (don 't you hate people that say that?), I made it to work unscathed and even made it through the first 3 hours with one of my stricter managers. So, of course, after he left I slacked off in plain sight and stood at the register for much longer than was necessary. Good thing I did or else I would have missed the fucktards that decided to play with perfume and make up in Sephora... and these dumbasses were 40 year old men who didn't grow out of their frat boy phase. They're pretty much my favorite people to just sit back and watch. Seriously. I want a zoo of people and they would be the main exhibit. Then every Friday and Saturday night I would set up a bar where spectators could view a mating ritual between them and the overly tan bleach blonde women. God, I love stereotyping people. Anyway, the un-funny version of Old School decided that would be super awesome to throw a bottle of perfume to see what would happen. Guess, what. It was glass. It broke. Congratulations! You learned physics. Time to do a keg stand. Now, the dude claimed he dropped it or it "fell out of his hand." Well, I call bullshit. It was apparent from the perfume splatter pattern (that's right, I watch Dexter) that it was thrown. But, ok, if this was his story, fine, accidents happen so normal people would apologize. However,the Assholeius Douchebags decide to stand in the aisle and loudly argue about who actually broke the bottle and then loudly carry on about bullshitius maximus. I prayed that these men are not raising offspring... just still listening to Offspring. But, nope, there is a chance that one of these fine gents did or will procreate. One of them came back into the store and collected his woman who apparently was shopping in Sephora. And, yes, she was an overly tan blonde bimbo.... I hope their kid is a nerd.

Blah Blah Black Friday.

I would be amiss if I didn't write a post about the infamous Black Friday, but to be honest nothing too eventful happened. Besides kharma finally catching up to me in the form of an evil candle, which sliced my finger the whole way open...my middle finger. OK, maybe this is a good thing. Honestly. I didn't have very mean customers. I had a few idiots who decided to call every five minutes to see if we had a certain shirt or pair of pants... but even that was rather amusing, I got to practice my different accents. It was indeed a small world at the good ol' MCN.

I survived Thanksgiving with my loving family with only a few beat downs of what a waste of life I am, a lot less than I usually receive, in fact. It was a night of good food and good times... especially finding out I'll be going to a certain outdoor hockey game on January 1st. The traffic was the only thing that annoyed the hell out of me the past few days. On may way home, I wasn't sure if it was people driving home for the holidays or fleeing a zombie apocalypse. My heart skipped a beat since I had left me weapon of choice, a Razor scooter, at home. (A mode of transportation/ kinda sorta quick getaway AND a pretty good bludgeoning weapon) Unfortunately it was Thanksgiving traffic with not a zombie in sight... not even a zombie turkey. I don't handle traffic well, in any form. But this time I made a friend. Well, not really, but I totally would have if we were stopped long enough. A car merged in front of me, which does annoy me sometimes because I just want to get the hell out of there and it's just one more person in my way. This time was different though. This time the car was actually a hearse with the license plate "6 FT DWN." Whoever you are, you are now my hero. Unfortunately, I lost sight of him when we approached the tunnel and everyone decided to start merging and braking to make sure that it was a real tunnel and Wile E Coyote did not paint it on the side of the mountain to trick the Road Runner and unsuspecting Pittsburgh drivers.

Oh well, tomorrow's another day... sometimes I actually hope for the assholes, at least they make it interesting.

All I want for Christmas is for this girl to put on some pants.

So the real children of the corn have only made personal appearances in the store a few times this holiday season... mostly they're just over the speaker system- like the disembodied whispers on Lost... except much creepier. I suppose the threat of a fat man in a red suit handing out coal instead of toys is enough for any child to be good for at least one month. Except I was just terrified that a strange man was breaking into my house and leaving toys. There had to be some sort of catch. I always wanted to roofie the cookies and milk so I could ask him what his deal was, but my mom would never let me. My theory was that each Christmas he would steal a piece of the children's souls, which is what caused them to grow up. Then I realized that not every religion believes in Santa Claus and life just sucks. I once again wondered why I could not have been born Jewish and been saved from the Christmas intruder (And I would be in the film industry already). I find the Krampus much more reassuring- at least he doesn't put on a cheery facade while being filled with an evil chocolatey nougat on the inside.

(Now THAT is some Christmas spirit)

Anyway, most of the normally evil midget minions of the Dark Side are peculiarly well behaved... except for the children who were trying to molest a mannequin last night right before close, but I blame the parents for that one- have the damn kids home before 9:00. The upcoming Christmas holiday is for the children- they are still innocent enough to enjoy it and don't realize that they're parents had to knock someone out to get them the toys underneath the tree. That's why I was so aghast when a young mother looked at her baby (who was probably celebrating his first Christmas) and said "God, Taylor, they're playing Christmas music, let's shoot ourselves." Granted, he probably didn't understand what she said and the cheery melodies were being sung by Satan's children... in the beginning of November. But shouldn't she be excited for this milestone in her baby's life? And most mothers that I know (including my own) would never dream of saying the word "shoot" around their children, except in substitution of "shit," let alone direct it at them. That's one of the few times that I could have actually hit a customer who didn't say something directed at me...

Speaking of hitting, one of the first customers I've had was hitting the all you can eat buffet a little too hard. (Awesome segue, right?) As soon as we opened, a rather irate rotund girl in a tunic shirt and no pants or leggings (NO PANTS. NOTHING TO COVER UP THE COTTAGE CHEESE LEGS) waddled up to the counter. OK, maybe not that big, but she was no ballet dancer... unless she was an understudy for the dancing hippos in Fantasia. That may sound harsh, but she was a bitch and a dumbass. Normally I love fat people, I even like to consider myself one of them. Skinny people scare me. I don't like skeletons, we have skin and fat for a reason- cover up your damn bones. Like I was saying, the girl was a bitch and she gave me attitude when she asked for the location of leggings, which she clearly needed. Then, in about five minutes she walked back up to the counter, threw them down in a huff and basically said she went to work in the morning and got told to go buy pants or leggings because her dress was too short. No shit, Sherlock, it was actually a shirt. A shirt that skinny people shouldn't even try to get away with as a dress. My rule is if it jiggles, cover it up and the girl was a whole new kind of Jello Jiggler herself. She bought the leggings and left her giant ass (how fitting) Starbucks cup tipped over in the fitting room when she changed into them and then basically ran back out to the mall... it was probably the most exercise she had in awhile.

I'm dreaming of some white gift boxes... oh wait, they're upstairs? &%@$!!!!

So the aforementioned Satan's holly jolly Christmas tunes seem to stir something in otherwise normal good hearted people who enter the store. They become monsters. Or it's quite possible that they were monsters to begin with and it has nothing to do with the Christmas jukebox not even Arthur Fonzarelli's powerful fist would be able to fix. For some reason the season of peace and goodwill seems to bring out the opposite in shoppers as I have learned over the five most unfortunate years of my life. I've encountered a few prime examples of these folks the past couple of days...

The first lady I had today walked up to my register, smiled, and placed her items ever so gently on the counter and immediately proclaimed "I'd like boxes for these." She seemed pleasant enough so I smiled back and nicely replied, "They're available upstairs in catalog." Her expression immed

iately changed and she threw (yes, threw) shirts at me, muttered something about not wanting these and stormed away. The other customers being waited on where aghast at her behavior, but agreed that boxes should readily be available. Because once again, I have the power to change store policy. It's not like it's the managers who don't want a mountain of boxes behind the already cluttered register area, they're all for it. I'm the one who put my extremely powerful foot down. I don't know what's gotten into me, but now I almost hope for the angry customers just so I can laugh at how ridiculous they act. Never have I completely flipped out on someone I've known for about

5 seconds, but for some reason these customers think it's completely acceptable. There's nothing else to do but laugh. And that's exactly what I did to the lady who threw shirts at me over free boxes that are located up the escalator and a few steps away, but I held in my laughter until she was out of earshot...almost

Another sales associate (seriously) asked me if I

offered to run upstairs and get boxes for her. I laughed even harder at this suggestion. The woman had two legs that worked. I could tell from the brisk pace she kept while angrily storming out of the store. Sometimes I do feel bad for the (sweet) elderly people who just seem exhausted even just thinking of going upstairs and having to wait in another line. But that's about it. Everyone else can suck it up and realize it's a pretty busy time for retail stores. If they truly weren't expecting it, then I offer them a big welcome to America- land of greed and home of the brave (meaning they're brave enough to punch you out for the year's biggest Christmas toy). Everyone else- start shopping in July.

I don't know if I've lost so much respect for myself that I don't care how demeaning people are towards me or if I can laugh it off and truly not give two shits what these imbeciles think of me because I for some reason put myself on a ped

estal as the untouchable sales clerk. All I know is I hope that I have a somewhat broader view of the world that I never throw a hissy fit over something as trivial as boxes. Not to sound preachy, but there are so many people out there who have a lot less than I do and as much as my life sucks- it could be a lot worse. Isn't now the time we should be thinking of them instead of beating people (mostly the sales associates)to a pulp in order to get the cheapest price or another sweater that the giftee doesn't need and will probably be take to Goodwill next year anyway? I guess that's why it's the season of pieces and Goodwill.

Oh what fun it is to ride and sing a slaying song tonight...

No. I did not spell "sleighing" incorrectly, that is what the music at my unfortunate place of employment sounds like...a merry band of children with axes and machetes off to slay their next victim. That's right, they began playing Christmas music in the beginning of November... hooray. Even customers are complaining about it. Well, one customer. And she pretty much blamed me like I have control over their choice of tunes and for some reason I would choose the rejects from American Idol duetting with Satan's minions. It's a sad day when I get excited to hear the soothing sounds of Justin Timberlake, Lance Bass, JC, Chris Kirkpatrick, and Joey Fatones wishing me "Merry Christmas (merry Christmas) and happy holidays." A wonderful feeling from the floor to the ceiling, indeed.

I have several new interpretations of "Baby It's Cold Outside." In one version I'm pretty sure the man roofied her. I've always been creeped out by the line, "Say! What's in this drink?" and the MCN version makes it all the creepier since the female seems genuinely concerned for her safety and the man sounds like he just stopped by because he had to inform her that he moved into the neighborhood. Then all of this gets turned around in the next version of this song that plays on loop over and over and over and over (I'm sure it gets played at least 10 times). In this version, I'm pretty sure the female is ready to tie the man up outside or in a freezer and have him freeze to death. The lyrics are the same, but the girl sounds like she's actually a Satanic doll brought to life around Christmas time to terrorize the man of the house. I guess this can all be chalked up to a girl power version of the song. Oh, what those crazy Spice Girls have done to society.

Then they decide to play "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas " over and over and over again. As if working in retail wasn't depressing enough, they decide to play the most depressing Christmas song ever. The only good thing about this song was that it was played in the episode of The X-Files, "How the Ghosts Stole Christmas." No wonder the holiday season is also suicide season, a lot of it probably has to do with this song. And, oh yes, the version that they play at MCN does include the opening line "Have yourself a merry little Christmas, it may be your last." What a nice thought. Thank you for telling me I might die within the next year and reminding me in a happy little Christmas tune... which is about being away from the ones you

love. But now it just reminds me of being stuck in retail.

Luckily, they are only starting to mix in the Christmas tunes. So I still have a few songs that can be my saving grace during the hard work day. Until then, I'll just have to sit and wait that they work in my favorite version of Jingle Bells... you know, the one about Batman.

I got the best of both worlds... the idiots AND the morons

So I have been doing projects at work for the past few days. Taking off my name tag, being incognito. Flying under the radar. Hoping the village idiots don't all take the caravan to the mall all at once. And for the past few days it worked. Until today. Not only did the village idiot come visit, but she brought her friend, the half wit.

Now, you know your life is sad when the highlights of your day consist of finding a Hannah Montana keychain and getting to use a magic eraser at work. Whatever. All the hep cats like my girl Miley and magic erasers are well... Magical. It's thoroughly life changing. All the cleaning solutions are in the sponge- all you need is a small amount of water. Which makes the first scenario I encountered today all the more idiotic. I was scrubbing down fixtures with the mystical sponge when a woman walked up beside me and claimed I left the bucket of bleach I was using in the middle of the aisle and she got it all over her pants. One- the container was in the center of a slightly raised platform that was nearly impossible to walk on...unless she was the incredible shrinking woman. Which brings me to point two- it was a gladware container. So this woman must not only possess a shrink ray, but is also a direct descendant of Jesus and hasn't quite gotten the whole water into wine thing down and turns it into bleach instead.


Then after this woman left I felt another tap on my shoulder. This time I turned around and found a little lady in a baseball cap and (I kid you not) a fanny pack. After all my 90s timetraveller theories went through my head and I choked back the urge to quote Bill and/or Ted I asked if I could be of any assistance to her. She paused and then asked me "What would happen if I made an announcement and made every single person here not purchase anything unless it was made in America?" Yup, this is what I need to celebrate the end of those goddamn election commercials. "Well," I said, "it would be counterproducrive because people would stop buying stuff then you would be putting a lot of Americans out of a job. Not a good one, but it would be better than the sweatshops that the illegal immigrants would enjoy working at if these clothes were made in America. Oh and the clothes would be a lot more expensive. So rant about Americans getting their dream factory job, but it's not goigng to happen. Ps. I didn't vote because politicians are mean and if they can't say something nice they shouldn't say anything at all..." so maybe it wasn't all that and more like "uh huh" and a "hmmm " noise, but I did listen to her rant with my people's eyebrow proudly raised until she finally shut up and I said if I ever ran for office I'd take this into consideration.

Now, I understand and respect people's opinions....no I don't, but please don't say your opinion to someone who truly does not give a shit and cannot change anything you are bitching about. It will force me to make fun of you. Look at that, maybe I could be a politician. My running mate will be Hannah Montana (which will be me in a blonde wig, of course)

PS. Not to get political and have to reiterate what I have been saying for DAYS, but... If you say anything on here about me not voting, I will mock you. It is my right to vote and it is also my right to refuse it. If I really don't like any of the candidates, I don't think I should have to choose the lesser of two evils. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a limo out front and the hottest styles, every shoe, every color so I gots to go rock out the show.

Love and 1990s John Stamos' Mullet,

Jen

They can dream it, but they'll never be it.

So I went against everything I believe in today. I've avoided it for so long and then one little thing enticed me into it and I couldn't avoid it anymore. I finally gave into popular songs sung as showtunes and moral lessons thrown as one two punches until your head is pounding and you start to wonder if you are really being "yourself" or if society molded you. Then all the insecurities of high school come rushing back... but in a catchy tune that you can sing along to. That's right, folks, I watched Glee.

Now, the main reason why I have avoided this show for a year and half is because I feared it would bring back horrifying experiences from Point Park. It was a nightmare. You could hear it from a distance, but hope beyond hope that it was all in your head. Then the sound would get closer and closer as you neared the laundry room or cafe or any large hallway... or small hallway... or some dorm rooms. Then you would find the source of the sound.... a musical theater kid singing and sometimes dancing. It was just as if life were a musical... give me Freddy, Jason, and good ol' Mikey M. any old day if I never have to face that terror again. So needless to say whenever I heard the premise of Glee I was not too excited to relive the 4 most useless years of my life. I stayed away from the Joss Whedon/ Neil Patrick Harris episode... almost. I'm not going to lie, I watched a few clips of it then and was not too impressed and did not feel the need to continue watching the show, especially since it did not have a smoke monster or any sorts of mythology besides the usual problems of high schoolers and who needs to go through that again?

So if I believed that the show would bring about posttraumatic stress disorder, why did I decide to watch it? Well, I did participate in musical-like activities in high school AND I was completely obsessed with Rocky Horror Picture Show... which they performed on Glee this past week. Now, my obsession with Rocky bloomed in between my sophomore and junior year... where my friend and I knew every word to all of the songs, owned t shirts and taught a 10 year old girl the meaning of "transvestite"... well, kinda. She heard the word a lot at our play rehearsals and asked her mom what exactly a transvestite was... oops. But she had to learn sometime. The complete obsession wore away after awhile, but the Time Warp will always hold a place in my heart...

Theeen Glee decided to take that piece of my heart and jump to the left and then stomp on my heart to the right. Maybe it wasn't that bad... it wasn't as bad as I had imagined, but it didn't live up to the hype either. The main character of the sweater vest wearing, mini jew fro teacher creeped me out a bit... no school district would allow that man to get away with everything he did in this episode. I was particularly concerned for "Charlie" (not sure of her name in this show, but that was her character in Heroes) during the "Toucha Toucha Touch Me" scene. Sweater vest (sans sweater vest.... and shirt during this scene) had the creeptastic "I just roofied you because I never touched a woman before in my life" look in his eye.I never thought I would say this in the post-Kokomo era, but I am totally team John Stamos.

The actual performances of the songs were decent, I wasn't expecting them to completely attempt to imitate the original actors, but I approve for the most part... except for the Frank N Furter thing. It's not unusual for a female to play Frank, so I don't understand why they acted like it was equivalent to Neil Armstrong putzing around the moon. Us gals can be pretty sweet transvestites too... from sensational Transylvania? Lame. Stupid censors. (Bad fretting? Heavy sweating? Why did they even try to fit "Toucha Toucha Touch Me" in the episode?) That truly was my biggest qualm about the show- besides it being a musical version of those "The more you know" commercials. I hate it when people try to blatantly teach me lessons in morality. I hate it even more when they sing about it. Rocky Horror is already about being yourself and not caring what other people think. "Don't dream it, be it" is repeated about 50 times. Yet that was not enough for Glee. They decided to include several scenes about characters talking about how insecure they feel about their bodies. I find the spontaneous singing and dancing more believable than these discussions. No one would actually say that, they'd keep it to themselves and develop an eating disorder.

So while they tried, I do wish I could time warp back and just stick with Tim Curry and his sexy legs to rose tint my world and keep me safe from my trouble and pain.

Oh, and totally Team John Stamos...

Cult of the Creepy Yellow Smiley Face.

I hate Wal Mart. I hate the blue vests. I hate their warehouse style buildings. I hate that creepy disembodied smiley face that floats around the store in the commercials. Yet every so often I find myself venturing there. Mostly for cleaning products or something that is significantly cheaper than other stores that don't pick up their employees at the border. Tonight was one of those days. The ten dollar difference for curtains that will supposedly keep my room warmer forced me to suck up my hatred for the place, deem myself a hypocrite and go traipsing into the store with my head held high... until the creepy greeter says hi to me, of course. Unfortunately tonight, I didn't even get that far. I was almost run over in the parking lot by a giant truck with light up spinners squealing its tires down a lane, only to stop in the handicapped spot in front of the store. It was probably the closest thing I'll ever see to this:

I'm the person who always eagerly awaits to see if the person who emerges from the vehicle in a handicap spot is, in fact, handicapped. I can't help it, I'm always hoping for a pirate with a peg leg... or a midget, preferably one of the Roloffs. Plus, I wanted to face the man (or woman) who almost took me out of this miserable life. The person who hopped out of this vehicle and started rapidly waddling towards to the door had no visible handicap other than he was extremely large. The woman who I presume to be his wife or girlfriend started running full speed behind him (that's how quickly my big little penguin was moving) yelling that there's a bathroom in the McDonalds he can use and he better make it because "it was his dumb ass who wanted Mexican." It was at this moment, I knew it was going to be an elegant evening.

As soon as I walk in the door, I encounter my first group of Wal Mart eccentrics. It was a group of guys, yes, big, muscular, jock-looking guys, in awe because they think they just saw Ryan Reynolds shopping for a coffee pot. At first I assumed that maybe this Ryan Reynolds was just one of their classmates who coincidentally had the same name as Mr. Suck-it-werewolf boy, I-look-better-without-a-shirt... buuut then they started talking about how he is playing Green Lantern. Who knows? Maybe it was Ryan Reynolds. I heard he's in town filming a movie... 2 years ago.

Needless to say, I did not bolt to the coffee pot section and continued on my merry way to the curtain aisle in hopes of exiting the second level of hell as quickly as possible. The curse of Wal Mart is that it is a lot like hell- a labyrinth of useless shit you wander through for eternity and occasionally run into someone you know or some dipshit who tries to talk to you. This time it was some dipshit who tried to make incredibly awkward conversation with me. I picked out the curtain rods before finding the curtains and had them in my hands when some little old redneck man (maybe not that old, but the missing teeth tacked on a few years) asked me if I was going hand curtains "with them things." To this I replied, "No, I need something to hang the woodland creatures I've collected over the years," grabbed my curtains and ran away.

Then I was almost hit by a runaway Hoveround driven by a group of teenage girls. This was the last straw. When my friends and I tried to go through the store in a motorized wheelchair, we got thrown out of the store. I hate to think that the store in Latrobe is a higher class Wal Mart than the one in my new town, but clearly this store does not give two shits about high school kids who have nothing better to do and no older friends/ siblings to buy them alcohol. Maybe I should offer next time I see them.

I finished up my Wal Mart excursion with a refreshing sweet tea...aka my crack addiction. The McDonalds in this Wal Mart is clearly more evil than the stand alone Mc-y-D's. They make you pour your own sweet tea there and I have an overwhelming fear that the barrel will run out before my glass is filled. Like I said, it's basically a crack addiction.

All in all, it was an exciting trip. I picked up my curtains, curtain rods, clothing dye, a black cloth, new Nikes, a shirt that says "I come in peace" and a smiley face mask... who says Wal Mart's an evil cult corporation? A nice man in a smiley face mask gave me free Kool Aid!

BRB, Going on a Mission from God.

So I came to a sickening realization today. The Blues Brother lied to me. Car chases through malls rarely happen. I've worked in retail for six long years and have not witnessed a single high speed chase. Which is even more disappointing considering how quickly those annoying center mall kiosks are reproducing. They need to be like Monroeville mall and keep those little fuckers caged in. My hair is already curly, no I don't want it straightened, let go of my hand and your pillow smells bad! None of your silly products are viable Christmas presents. Go away and let me get my Orange Juilius, damnit!

Sigh. It's like one more of my childhood dreams have been dashed and I once again am forced to face how gloomy and abysmal my life has become. Maybe it's not that bad, but I do miss being a kid...even though I did go to Catholic school, but I feel like I relate to the blues brothers more that way. Plus, I was the cool Catholic school kid who was obsessed with The X-Files, The Blues Brothers, and whatever other inappropriate things my dad let me watch at a rather young, impressionable age. A winning combination for any nun or teacher to deal with. So maybe I was a little different. Maybe I did vehemently question the Bible, but believe in aliens without any doubt. Maybe I forgot the authors of the Gospel and wrote John, Paul, George and Ringo on my test (Yoko was the book of Revelation. Clearly) Maybe I did proclaim I was on a mission from God whenever I got caught somewhere I wasn't supposed to be. And maybe I did get in trouble for all of these shenanigans, but I was still much happier than I am stuck in retail...this time the cynicism is real. It's not as cute as when the sarcasm was coming from a little kid. Now I'm just a world weary twenty something with a bachelor of arts degree stuck folding clothes for a living.

All of this was running through my head today and the past couple days when I had to wait on pretty much every customer who was either stoned, disconnected from reality, or just completely insane. You know the type instantly- it's like NBC instilled a 7 second delay from their eyes to their brain and vice versa. One even perfected a David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust impersonating Lady Gaga costume...although I don't believe it was intentional. For some reason I am the person that these drugged up alien hippies decide is their leader and they ask my for advice, then proceed to follow me around the store. Unfortunately, I've been in too much of a slump the past few weeks to fight back, so I fear these people may have won for now. Once the Christmas soundtrack, recorded by the Children of the Corn, begins, the Grinch inside of me will once again rear its ugly self and I'll be my feisty old self. Hopefully. I want to believe. Until then, I suppose I'll just have to tell these people that I'll be right back, I'm going on a mission from God.

It's (one of the most) dreaded times of the year...

Ah, it's that time of year again. The leaves are changing, the air is getting cool, pumpkins are being carved and Christmas stuff is being put out... which means we have to get rid of all the summer/ fall stuff left over. That's right, it's $1.97 madness! (It's not a good thing)

So sometimes working in retail has its perks. I get a pretty decent discount off pretty much everything in the store and I've become a cheap ass bitch. I know how to work the deals and refuse to pay over $5 for a shirt (maybe $7 if it's a sweater) and $10 for a pair of pants. Plus, I work at "MC Nickels" so you just know I'm constantly raking in the dough there for doing the job that will be soon performed by robots (God willing) and getting paid a step above illegal immigrant wages. Hopefully no one in upper management will read this because I might have just given them an idea.

Anyway, I know how to work the deals and have a sixth sense for when things get marked down to $1.97. So when morons... er, customers walk up to my register with about 50 things from the $1.97 rack they probably had to tackle someone for (seriously, sometimes I'm surprised that we don't find bodies in the racks in the land of the clearance) and proceed to have their face affixed to the pin pad screen saying "That didn't ring up right" every time I have to manually change their price it takes all my willpower not to slam their face directly into the counter and say "No, shit Sherlock. Do you really think you're the first person to stumble upon the rack with a giant "$1.97" sign on it?"

Then there are the people who buy a shit ton of the $1.97 stuff and claim it's for charity. Yes, a charity called ebay where all the profits go towards themselves. And in three months, I'll be returning a bunch of the $1.97 stuff that was bought as Christmas presents. Nothing says "Happy Holidays" like your friend/ relative doesn't love you enough to buy you something decent. I know sometimes people don't have the money, but be smart- don't get a gift receipt. Then there are the people who return stuff that "just didn't fit" or "there's a thread loose" when it cost them $1.97. I love these people. I love the look on their face after they tell me that "Every little bit counts" and I respond with "I know. It counts a lot, especially when you get the $1.97 clothes and send them to a nursing home or a shelter where people really don't have a lot this Christmas. Isn't that what the season's all about? Oh, wait, you're returning this..." So, maybe I'm a bad person. No, wait, that makes me a good person... just with a big, sarcastic mouth. Wow, that's weird.

On a much happier note- Congratulations to Angela for escaping her shitty job! There can be hope... just not if you work in the black hole of MC Nickels and have already broken countless nails trying to claw your way out.

I can have Halloween on Christmas if I want.

Ah,it's that time of year again. Where the black and orange combine with red and green to form some sort of baby vomit color. I've already been wished Merry Christmas... twice. Now, I already am stuck in retail hell, please don't remind me of holiday hell. Give me the ghouls and ghosties and goblins...you know, from the real depths of hell. I love Halloween more than Shark Week. And that is saying something. I don't need customers telling me Merry Christmas in the middle of October and reminding me of the most dreaded holiday for the poor souls stuck in retail. Now, they were little old ladies so I will give them the benefit of the doubt and say that they were just confused because the store has already decked the halls with boughs of cheap plastic. I stand behind my appropriate "Bah humbug" responses that I gave to both customers. That one turkey day with the football is already the forgotten holiday, let's save Halloween before the black hole of Christmas sucks it up.... although, unfortunately, most of my relatives still show up at my house the last Thursday of November and we eat turkey... weird, I thought Christmas was the only time we did that (at least I get paid in presents to spend time with my family).

Now, I love the Christmas cookies and the hot chocolate and the giant banquet of food, but I'm an eccentric fat kid so nothing is/was better than dressing in something completely outlandish and getting free candy for it! And the crisp fall air with the crunch of leaves when you walk is so much better than the frigid winter air with the slush of snow. Even nature likes it- colored leaves are so much better than a blank, dismal canvas. So let's just give those North Pole munchkins some more time to make my presents, let the reindeer play a few more games of poker and give Santa and Mrs. Claus some "alone time." Or better yet. Let's extend Halloween and have a three month long celebration.

To quote the gospel writers of my high school years:

We can live like Jack and Sally if we want
Where you can always find me
And we'll have Halloween on Christmas
And in the night we'll wish this never ends
We'll wish this never end

Memo: For useless education, you bitches.

A few days ago the payment for my student loan was due for the month of October. Those people can kiss my ass because I am not sending it in. Seriously. Do they know how many hard-worked hours of hiding in the fitting room playing Boggle on ipod that took? Of course, I need to actually get to work to earn that money and not be stuck in Penn Dot traffic for 2 hours on the damn parkway with a lot of irate people. Now, I understand why they're angry, I am no fan of the wizards of roadwork either, but you do not need to yell at other drivers. Unless, of course, they are not taking their appropriate turn at merging or trying to get all up in my (car's) grill... or trying to put the moves on my car and get all in his trunk... sorry, he doesn't go for that. In that case, I approve people screaming out the window that "We learned to take turns in preschool, but clearly you're a fucking moron so maybe it's time to go back and learn to share and play with the wax fruit!" Just don't take "Sugar tits," cause that's mine... and Mel's. So next time I am stuck in traffic, I will be carrying a supply of Kit Kat bars or Reeses and hand them out to other drivers. Cause to quote the dreamy Zac Efron and crew, "We're all in this together"

Thankfully, it's been rather warm out here in the lovely land of Southwestern Pennsylvania. Unfortunately, that means that girls are taking the opportunity to wear even less clothes with the boots that look like they found a Yeti and decided to transplant its feet onto their own. And then because they think they look good they do the "duck face" where they attempt to poof out their lips to look like Angelina, but end up more looking like a duck. PLEASE just get botox. I will promote plastic surgery to stop girls from thinking that making their mouth look like a horizontal vagina looks good. Even though the best thing about the duck face/ fuzzy boot epidemic is that the fuzzy boots force the gals to walk like ducks... either that or the world should stop focusing on vampires and worry that ducks are actually the virus that is taking over. Fuck the duck face, I like to imitate the Elephant Man in my pictures.

I was too hot for LA to handle, then I made it rain...

A week away from the land of retail has brought me a new outlook on life. I am not longer a cynical little drone who robotically folds clothes, but an optimistic young lass with a new passion for life. Or not. I had my date with fate last week and I'm getting some mixed signals. Now I know how Katy Perry feels.... minus the whole giving kids the wrong idea about breast feeding thing.

On the fateful day of the anniversary of the crash of Oceanic Flight 815 (September 22 for you non-nerds), I flew out to the land of sun and Snoop Dogg to begin my dance with Fate, who looked a lot like slimmed down version of Drew Carey. That's right, the moment of truth has arrived- will Fate accept my challenge and ask a certain Heather Jewell to "Come on down" and be the next contestant on the Price is Right so I can become a plump, paler version of a California Girl? No. But we did get this picture:

So I think that made up for the fact that I didn't get to pack up all of the stuff I've hoarded (to think it all started with me just saving one magazine...) and move across the country in the dead of winter. Or "autumn" as they like to call it in Pennsylvania. Or do I? One of my insane schemes may have sparked the attention of a certain crass blonde talk show host.... or one of her assistants...

Pictures are worth a thousand sarcastic words, so let's look, shall we?

That's right. I send Ms. Chelsea Handler a bottle of vodka with my resume and cover letter taped around it. So it might not be the classiest way to get a job, but if someone sent me a bottle of liquor in the mail, I'd probably hire them... and that's why I am stuck in retail. And for your enjoyment, a portion of the fantastic cover letter I included:

"Dear Chelsea Handler,

You might be wondering why a random girl from Pittsburgh is sending you a bottle of vodka with her resume taped to it. Or not. I know I wouldn’t question it if someone sent me a bottle of liquor. Bottom line is I’m desperate to get out of the retail hell hole that I currently work in and I figured, why not send you my resume and a little gift? OK, I’m totally sucking up, but as I said before I’m more desperate than the ugly hooker left alone on the corner...."

The rest was a variation of what I've already written on here. And somehow this sparked their attention and I have not yet received a restraining order. I got a phone call on Tuesday basically telling me this is not how you apply for a job there (obviously, people would go broke if they had to keep getting liquor to send to their future bosses), but I should apply online because my wits and wisdom are needed there and they don't know how they got along without me. OK, maybe I made some of that up, but I'm becoming a rather good liar now. It is apparently illegal/ immoral to ship alcohol (lame. Bring back the hippie movement- free love!... or almost $20 in shipping fees) so I dressed up, prepared to dish out an elaborate lie about how I work for the Consol Energy Center and this is a "Thank you snowglobe" for performing in our fair city.... unfortunately, the one girl had just gotten engaged or is having a baby or something that girls normally care about and they did not give me a chance to perform. Oh well, I guess that's one less reason why I'm going to hell.... Wait, nix that. During my layover in Dulles, I did get annoyed with people asking me if I'm "coming or going" so I settled on "I'm going... to bury my dad in California." That at least got them to shut up. Your mother always said don't talk to strangers (because you'll annoy the shit out of them) you should have heeded her warning.



The rest of the trip was a superb mixture of 113 degree weather and thunderstorms. If that's not a sign, I don't know what is... maybe I'm just to hot(t) for LA (see Price is Right picture)

Bite Me. (Haha. I made a vampire funny)

So sometimes interesting and exciting things can happen when you work in a giant ass mall right near an airport (for an easy escape route). Unfortunately, the perfect mall robbery/ escape to another country via plane waiting on the runway did not happen and today as mundane as the rest... unless you are a Twilight fan. And I mean a die-hard Twilight fan, even swooning over supporting characters. Peter Facinelli, the man who plays the vampire doctor in the Twlight series visited his adoring underage (and middle age) fans right outside my unfortunate place of employment. I couldn't see all of what was going on, but I could hear screaming and then a couple times girls walked off the stage crying. So I'm guessing he was beating them? Either that or the girls were actually screaming/ crying from excitement from seeing this vampire doc. I decided that they deserved to be punished for this display of idiocy and continuously questioned fellow employees about the "Twilight Saga" in front of the obsessed fans. For example...

why is there a doctor vampire? Vampires are undead, therefore don't really need doctors. Oh. He's a human doctor? Isn't that like having an alcoholic be a bartender? I would not trust a vampire as a doctor. Especially if I can only visit him at night? What?! He can come out during the day? And sparkles? That's not gay. I prefer to go with the original Dracula myth and pretty much everything else dealing with vampires and say they burn up in sunlight. The only thing that can save that sparkly rubbish is if David Bowie left a glitter trail behind on his visit to Switzerland. The story's set in Oregon? Then what is "Team Switzerland?" The people who want this Bella chick to grow a pair and stop being such and emo little bitch who's into necrophilia and bestiality? Speaking of bestiality, does the werewolf need a doctor or a vet? Or both? He might have heartworms, he should get that checked out.

I could continue the rant (like how she stole my Wolverine baby idea basically), but I shall digress and hopefully not be hunted down by some crazed Twilight fan.

After all the excitement died down (I was disappointed no punches were thrown), I started aimlessly wandering, minding my own business when a wine colored Anna Nicole Smith hobbit walked up to me and asked for my help. She needed my help deciding "Is this, like totally cute or what?" And continued to hold me hostage as her shopping buddy while her elderly mother waited at the desk. I've seen several episodes of "My Super Sweet Sixteen" on MTV, but this was more like "My Spoiled Rotten, Don't Know How to Take Care of Myself Thirty Four." Still, I used the whining sixteen year olds as an example of how to deal with the whiny, possibly on cocaine (or TrimSpa) hobbit. Seriously. This little round woman was dressed in an all burgundy outfit, about 5 feet tall, but her platinum blonde hair added on about 3 inches so I was eye level with the top of her head as she pulled me in every direction around the store trying to find the most "adorable" pieces of clothing in the smallest size one of her thighs could fit in. I finally escaped when she carried her own weight in clothes to into the fitting room to try on. Then I found out the best news of the evening- this woman's a regular. I can't say this enough- Fuck. My. Life.



Retarded Starbucks drinks they made a fortune off of.

Anyone can be a couch potato, but not everyone can sprout roots on their couch and get airlifted out of their house.

So for the past 2 days I have been safe from the moronic public (or more well-known as the "general public"). Well, for the most part. I did have an almost literal run in with a Mount Washington fire truck. Why use the siren when you're approaching a blind corner? A wreck would ensure job security! OK, that was crossing the line. I can't say anything bad about firemen. Especially the ones on Mount Washington, we do have crackheads that like to set things on fire.

Sunday my goal was simple. I want to become one of those giant fat ladies that are grafted to their couch and need a crane to lift them (and their couch) out of the house. Since I fit into the 1x belt at work, I am very close to achieving at least this goal (cause I am going nowhere fast with the rest of mine). I spent a grand total of 10 hours on my couch watching the magic black box in the living room that melts my brain and tells me what to do and what to buy.... this is commonly referred to as the "television." Actually, this isn't too impressive, I've done a lot better (23 hours watching "The Twilight Zone" on New Years, hollah!). However, this time I did discover "Sir Patrick," the hoarder, who I need to find and make him my own. And by my own I mean my gay best almost midget friend who I take shopping at Baby Gaga (it's like Baby Gap, but specializing in children's clothing based on the styles of Lady Gaga). Since that is never going to happen I had to extinguish that dream early on and decided to switch to the Video Music Awards on MTV. This made me feel incredibly old. I did make a few observations though:

-OK, Rihanna= battered woman, Eminem=woman beater. Their wonder twin powers unite in a song about an abusive relationship. These two need a puppy or something cuddly. C'mon, it's a recession and you're singing about that? I thought you were supposed to be wishing on a shooting star... oh, wait, that's an airplane. Let's pretend. Hey! That should be a song.

-Justin Bieber is a 30 year old woman in disguise. Anyone see Orphan? I don't think it got very good ratings, so probably not, but Mr. Maggie Gyllenhaal is in it so I did. Anyway, the kid in it is actually a 30-something midget pretending to be 8 to seduce the dad and kill the mom. That's not fucked up. Midgets should use their power for good, not evil. Justin Bieber seems to be using his midget power for evil and must be stopped. Either that or they are pumping him so full of hormones that either he will 1. Never be able to reproduce (and there was much rejoicing!) 2. Become a woman 3. Become Lady Gaga.
-Lady Gaga could be Justin Bieber from the future come here to warn him to stop taking those hormones. This also explains her choice of outfits.

-Lady Gaga did not get enough attention as a child.

-Robots are taking over the music industry... or someone is using autotune to stave off their crack addiction and they can't wait to get their next fix. I mean, really, can these people actually sing or does that not matter anymore as long as you dress like a hooker?


That's pretty much all I saw since I had to get my fat ass moving and I felt far too old and unhip anyway.

Adventures in Women's Lingerie

So they moved me to the lingerie department where the air conditioning actually works and a small army of Hello Kitties stare me down with their demon possessed eyes. Oh well, you win some, you lose some. Why girls want a kitten who is clearly a minion of Lucier on their underwear boggles my mind. Oh, wait, I Just figured it out.

I am slightly excited about being stuck up here. Although, probably not as excited as the "Chococat" on a 13 year old's crotch. Sorry, some of the stuff up here just makes me question the sanity of the human race. A lot of it explains "16 and Pregnant." Finally! All the questions and mythology answered! Except what the heck is that light on the island and is that guy really wearing eyeliner? Oh. Wait. Wrong show. (Diary of a Lostaholic: Breaking the Addiction coming soon!)

So I should explain why I am content to stand among the old lady bras and panties that dance in a pedophile's wet dream. It's simple. Everytime I work in this otherwise dreaded department, something completely batshit insane happens (See- woman calling me a slut and almost giving me the swine flu). Usually it's an aggravating, slightly annoying, or disgusting (see- old women flashing me. Poor old biddies must think I have Mardi Gras beads behind the register). Tonight is different. Tonight, if something happens I can write about it on here and use it as comedic material for a better job. All of this means it's going to be another mundane night. This is ok too because the first draft of this entry was written on a piece of scrap paper I found near the register.

So one hour left and nothing interesting has happened so far. Except finding a pair of underwear with monkeys on it that says "Paul Frank is you friend"... cause that's not creepy brainwashing or anything.

At 7:18 (42 minutes left) I learned who buys the Hello Kitty underwear... women in their 30s.

At 7:23 I finally looked behind me and discovered a mannequin clad in leopard print grandma pjs. I guess if you can't be a cougar, you might as well be a leopard?

At 7:26 a Goo Goo Dolls song came on! Yay! And a guy with his girlfriend (speculating) walk by. She checks out the pajama pants with funny animals on them, he checks out the mannequin. Dear girl, stop blue balling him, honey, he's checking out plastic... the entirely fake kind.

At 7:36 I discovered the "denim look" leggings. Now if "jeggings" weren't bad enough, these are basically leggings printed to look like jeans complete with printed on pockets. Once again! Leggings. Are. NOT. PANTS!

At 7:40- Finished my grocery list.

At 7:50- Wife returns something while husband sings "I Melt with You." If only it were unusual to have people confuse the register for the American Idol judges, but I usually get a live performance at least once a day.

And FINALLY at 8:12- I leave.

I decided to take only the first three letters of "associate" seriously this Labor Day.

Yesterday was Labor Day- the day the rest of America had off except those in the retail and food business (save for the police, firemen, doctors/ nurses, etc. But we actually NEED those people... going to buy clothes everyday? No, that is not a necessity). Of course we were busy because it was a beautiful day and why go to a silly thing like a picnic when you can be inside with the spectacular fluorescent lighting and the grandiose nature of the mannequin displays nobly standing before the entrance. As I robotically put away the dresses, doing my best to keep the glitter dandruff out of my eyes and off my clothes, a woman told me to "Wake up." My initial response was "It's better to sleep walk through this job (you bitch.)" But then I thought about it more. Ok, I'll listen to her and wake up... but that was too much to bear. So I decided to stay awake, but be a different person....

Sometimes those crazy fitting rooms just get so excited clothes just seem to seep from the walls and the floor and just go everywhere! Sometimes they get so excited, they even pee a little. Or maybe that's just from the asshole customers who inside the fitting room. Most of the managers agree that keeping a "customer service associate" in the fitting room will stop the customers not only from urinating (or worse) in the room, but will also make them reconsider building their own version of Everest out of prom dresses. Luckily on Labor day, I got to be the associate to stand guard. Now, most of the people (putting it politely) in the fitting room that day were little high school girls giggling about going to their homecoming dance. Oh, what a joy that was for me to hear. Some even brought their own tunes in so they can pretend like they're in a movie montage (sigh. If only I could cut them). Most brought their mothers who would stand outside the door and try to make small talk with me about how awesome and gorgeous their daughters are. Well, that just wouldn't do. I had to prove them wrong and be more interesting than the mother/daughter duo combined... even if it meant telling a few white lies:


-To one mother I was a Canadian exchange student, eh? My favorite food is maple syrup and I trekked down from the Great White North to see what an American part time job is like. So far it's not as fun as training the sled dogs for the summer Olympics. I like curling, but not as much as hockey, of course. Eh?

-To another mother I used to weigh close to 200 pounds until I started working in retail. It's such a great workout. They actually even keep the place sweltering hot because they're encouraging employees to lose weight. I've never felt healthier!... I think she applied for a job.

- To another mother, I absolutely, like totally love this job. It is like soooo awesome and like I get to go like shopping like all the time and like it's just really cool. That one was hard to get through. She didn't seem phased at all... then, she did have a teenage daughter.

-And finally to another mother, I am 33 years old and took the job because I'm too ugly to be a trophy wife and that was really my only goal. So I'm trying to find a rich old man who can't see well. (Ok. Maybe part of that is true).



And it all amused me. Can't say it helped the customer service scores when they'll get them back with comments about the "nice Canadian girl in the fitting room" and won't be able to figure out who the hell it is. What can I say? I'm an asshole.

Can we pretend that the Penn Dot workers are traffic cones? I could really hit them right now, hit them right now...

So I just had to change all of my posts about the retail establishment I currently work at to "MC Nickels" to protect the only source of income I have at the moment and I figured "Why not complain about Penn Dot for a bit?"

If anyone has driven the lovely Pennsylvania roads, you would know that it's basically like driving over a greasy teenager's face with all the bumps and pores. So what does the state use for the "zit zapping" creme so to speak? Penn Dot. These little fuckers are not very "Pro Active." In fact, I'm pretty sure they're against forms of activity whatsoever... unless' it's staring down at a hole in the road and wondering how exactly it got there. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe they're actually great philosophers on the great road of life and are pondering if the hole is in existence or if it's actually nonexistent since, well, it's a hole. I guess you have to do something with a philosophy degree, why not work for Penn Dot? (No, I'm not applying, I went for cinema and I get can get a film job, damnit!)

However, during rush hour on a rather busy back road is not the place to be "working" And if you do have to "work" at this time, please do not put the rookies directing traffic. Just because he has a mullet does mean he understands everything about manual labor or waving a flag. More than likely he will just sit there, stare at some cables and contemplate his heart, his achy breaky heart and how he just doesn't think it understands. Then apparently whenever he breaks out what could be: 1. a line dance move 2. swatting a fly away from his face or 3. The signal that traffic is supposed to start moving (because why would you use that silly red flag in your hand?) the confused PA driver is automatically supposed to assume that it is number 3 and continue on their way without getting yelled at. Oh, and continue on their way to ANOTHER detour... without a detour sign. Really? I mean, really? As my friend said (who I will not name unless she gives me permission) "I'm glad they're giving jobs to the mentally handicapped, but can they not be directing traffic?"... and playing on the road.

There are so many more stories regarding Penn Dot workers, but some are just too traumatizing to relive. But they say a picture is worth a thousand words so coming soon...

"Portraits of Penn Dot!"

A hostage situation never strikes twice... right?

Today some crazy anti-baby man held people hostage in the Discovery Channel building due to the surplus of baby shows on their networks. Now, I am no fan of screaming children myself, but I do not blame the Discovery Channel for promoting procreation... I mostly blame (in order) 1. stupidity and 2. Well, we need to keep the human race going... right? Case in point, "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" is STILL going strong with new women pooping babies into toilets. Yup, stupidity wins. Unfortunately for the second part, cloning has not been perfected and babies can't be completely made in factories. Well, they can be, but it would be old fashioned baby making not robots piecing together premade appendages to make a human being.

Aaaanyway, Mike Rowe was not injured so I don't see how this situation really pertains to me... oh, wait, I'm trying to break into the mass media field and at least one of those people probably quit their job or at least took a leave. So I'm being a horrible person trying to bank off of someone else's misfortune (to put it mildly) and am applying to the Discovery Channel. Isn't that what you have to be to be in the film/ television industry? And I'm not Jewish so that's one strike against me already. However, thanks to my Catholic school/ X-files upbringing I have turned into the sweet little innocent, yet conniving and cunning lady that I am today. But I do like animals (particularly sharks), dirty jobs (bow chicka wow wow), busting myths and winning cash in a cab so I'd fit in there. Plus the Discovery Channel building was located in Silver Springs, Maryland where my uncle used to live. Clearly it's a sign...


Speaking of signs, on Sunday's episode of Mad Men it is revealed that Don Draper became the womanizing ad guru he is (was?) by basically stalking Roger Sterling and pouring martinis down his throat till Roger gave into his debonair advances. I wonder how the writers of Mad Men will feel when I pull the same tactic on them. Don't plant ideas into my head if you are not prepared for the repercussions.


Dear Writers of Mad Men,

I got the secret message behind Sunday's show! Hold onto your Emmys, I'm on my way!

Love and a bucketful of martinis,
Jen