The 90s Really Are All That...And a Bag of Chips

I've been trying to for almost a week to figure out how to write about this customer without sounding like the whiny little bitch I am. Well, even more so than usual. I've had customers insult me by picking on my looks, weight and intelligence, but I've been able to turn the other cheek (after blowing off some steam by writing a totally unbiased account of the incident). But I've never been as angry as I was at this customer, who insulted not only my intelligence, but my entire generation.

Last Saturday, a man who looked like a Hawaiian tourist circa 1960 walked up to my fellow associate's register. He began waving his arms to get my attention, which he did- mainly because I wanted to see if Jimmy Buffet really threw himself into the washed up hippie look. I glanced over and he began his tyrade by thanking us "young girls for working and paying [his] social security." I rolled my eyes and continued with my customer, but still managed to overhear parts of his conversation with the other associate (who is around my age). He told her to save 20% paycheck because social security is going to run out and we're not going to see a dime of it. 20%? Really, sir? I can't save $20 from my paycheck. You realize you were talking to people in a retail store, correct? And, yes, we all realize social security is going to run out and we'll have to keep working till we're 80. He continued gloating about his paychecks from the government and basically blaming the young folks for the state of the economy until he left, turned back to me and said "Keep working, girls, keep the money rolling into my pockets" while making the "show me the money sign."

This incident occurred a week ago so I've had some time to cool off and begin my new quest-obtain a box of Dunkaroos at any cost. Well, not any cost, I am stuck in retail hell. For those of you who don't remember Dunkaroos, the tastiest treat of the 90s this side of Shark Bites, the snack consists of kangaroo shaped graham cracker cookies with a delicious icing dipping sauce garnished with sprinkles. Simply delectable. When I finally get my hands on the Holy Grail of lunchtime snacks, I will put my hair up in the classiest up-do (side pony), throw on my best long sweater and leggings and with the help of TeenNick's 90s line up, be transported back to that magical era of childhood. That time when the most I had to worry about was someone taking over my role as the Pink Ranger when we were playing Power Rangers or the great debate over which was better- TGIF or Snick? I was indecisive even then, I loved them both. I still dream of one day owning an orange couch. And thanks to TeenNicks line up of beloved 90s classic like All That, Kenan and Kel, Doug and Clarissa Explains It All, it appears I'm not the only one.

As my lovely customer pointed out, my generation got the short end of the stick. And I don't mean Stick Stickly, host of Nick in the Afternoon. According to Blink 182, "I guess this is growing up," but it still feels like my generation has been forced into an early sense of nostalgia for a time when everything seemed safe and you believed your elders when they told you "everything is going to be OK"- even if it was over a scraped knee. Those words are rare to hear nowadays and pretty hard to believe. I know I complain about my job, but at least I have one. And I'm not the only college educated person working a menial job, living at poverty level. We know what we are- a new "lost generation" of sorts. Unsure what is going to happen to us with all the problems of the past and present dumped in our laps. So, please, don't remind us at our crappy jobs that our future is as unstable as the dynamite from the Black Rock (ha! Lost reference in regards to "lost generation." Charlie Sheen would still call that winning). For now, I'll find some peace jumping to the left, stepping to the right and time warping back to the 90s- if only for the few hours at night I get to hang at the local Good Burger or listen to the musical stylings of The Beets. But in the words of Motion City Soundtrack, "The future freaks me out."

Leave the Batman, Take the Cannoli aka "Wax on, Wayne off"

So I survived the full moon without a scratch. Unfortunately, no one would jump in the Mon with me to see if we'd become mermaids. (H2O: Just Add Water- watch it!). In celebration of surviving the full moon/ meteor shower weekend, I took a long and treacherous journey through the bat n'at filming dahntahn in search of a cannoli from the Strip (to no avail, I might add.)

While putzing through the 2nd unit filming (Hello, people whose job I want), getting the stink eye from security guards (clearly jealous because they didn't get the cool security job and are stuck with the dudes filming buildings), I noticed that Pittsburgh pride is out in full force- along with the booties of females in leggings and baby doll fit Steeler jerseys. Ladies, just because you like football, does not mean you need to dress like a football player. Leggings are not pants. You know those signs in parking garages that say "Put your junk in your trunk?" That's to keep it hidden. Please take heed and hide your junk in your trunk with a long enough top. Just doing my part to help Pittsburgh get off the worst dressed list.

So with sore feet and a cannoli craving that will not be extinguished, I begrudgingly limped into work. Well, apparently a lot of folks are suffering from a full moon hang over in these waning phases... oh, wait Batman's still in town Wayne-ing phases? The mall opens at 10:00 am. The mall doors open before that so if people want to get to the mall, they don't have to wait for the 10:00 sharp opening of the department stores and the subsequent opening of their mall doors. Which is why at 10:02 I was ready to smack a whining little bitch... of an old man. Who sat there glaring at me, tapping his foot, looking at his watch and giving exasperated sighs asking me when the mall doors will open. I'm sorry, I'm not Aladdin, I don't have a magic lamp and this is not the Cave of Wonders, you'll just have to wait for a manager with a key.

The day didn't get much better from there. The pregnant girl was a no show again, so I was stuck by myself on the register. Which I usually don't mind because I stand there and write about how much I hate working in hell. But today there was a mass epidemic of people who woke up on the wrong side of the bed. The first customer got upset because I put her return amount on a gift card... which is what she paid with and which is what the computer told me to do. I saw 2001, you don't go against HAL. When I tried to explain this to her, she scoffed grabbed all of the receipts and tried to run away. When I asked her to please come back and give me the store copy, she yelled "I just took what you gave me!" Yes, you took the receipt that I told you to sign, give back to me and said "STORE COPY" with stars all around it. Then she is going to be nice enough to come back with the stuff that she bought a few days ago, return it and pay for it with a gift card. And she saw my name tag so she is going to ask for me by name. OK, go ahead and ask for "I have a zipper." Finding random tags is fun.

The rest of the day was full of lovely people. A hoverround lady with road rage was angry at me because I was only scanning one item at a time. As opposed to grabbing all of the scanners from the registers and going "Stick 'em up!... the tags, I mean." And a grandmother who taught her granddaughter some new words- including "Shit, fuck and goddamn" all over us not having the right size dress she wanted to exchange (she found one anyway). Who says you kids don't learn things in the summertime? The kindly old woman also thought it was precious when the granddaughter grabbed the receipt from the register and pretended she grew a beard. She did not think it was so adorable when I handed her the original receipt and accused me of stealing the receipt for the exchange. I just looked at her, pointed at her granddaughter and said "It's on her face." Then it was cute again.

So that's the last straw. I can't take people anymore. I've figured out what I want to do with my life. Next full moon, I'm becoming a mermaid. Cause I'm no ordinary girl, I'm from the deep blue under world and the world's my oyster, I'm the pearl....

One year later and Jack's still a pussy. (Which has nothing to do with this entry, just had to say it)

To all my nerds in training still duct taped to the couch, eyes open Clockwork Orange style watching Lost- don't read this.

My name is Jen and I am still a Lostaholic. With the new fall TV season fast approaching and Breaking Bad's 4th season making me regret not paying attention in chemistry, I am still trying to grasp at the few mysterious straws of my beloved show that has been off the air for over a year now. Obviously, Lost and I had a polygamous relationship. Like many of my sister wives (and husbands), Lost and I had a harsh break up and the lack of closure is what fuels the obsession. Was it something I did? Where did I go wrong? (Season 3, "We have to go baaaaack!" Shut up, Jack, the island was purgatory all along, you're just pissy cause everyone guessed it and Eko's church was meant to be the church at the end)

Yesterday, August 15th, might have been just a normal day to most people, but to Lost fans it is a holy day of obligation. 8/15. As in the fateful Oceanic Flight 815, which started it all. Of course I celebrated by watching as many Lost episodes as possible. And my old phone became the smoke monster. Or to be more precise, the smoke monster is pretending to be my phone.

OK, so what really happened is on Memorial Day a few buttons on my phone just stopped working. I turned it off and when I attempted to turn it back on, well, it refused. I took it to the store and they basically said it was fried. Well, as much as I would like to, I can't go without a phone or else my mother would basically be living in my house. And neither I, nor the object of her stalking, Sidney Crosby, want that. So I ended up with a Trac phone. Preferred phone of grandmas and drug dealers. Once again, this combined with Breaking Bad make me sad I never paid attention in chemistry. I hated this phone. But then three months later on Lost day, I looked over at my poor lifeless phone on my side table and on a whim, picked it up. And it came back to life! Just like Jesus with Lazarus. The Smoke Monster and John Locke. Radiation/a comet/ space dust/ rabies/ virus and zombies. A day later and zombie phone, Lazarus, is doing just fine and I got all the pictures of Keyta off of it. It's also now one of the geekiest phones this side of the Droid (ringtone="You All Everybody," message tone= the "Grrrr. Argh" from Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon's production company and alarm= "Non Le Regrette Rien...." the kick from Inception) My mom decided this was a sure sign that my life was going to turn around. Then I went for ice cream and more than likely ate several insects that dive bombed into it. Maybe not so much.

It's aliiiive!

Help! A Hillbilly Took my Dingo!

Some would say that standing in the hot, hot sun in 90 degree weather wearing a winter coat is insanity. I, however, signed right up for it. Then, the one small part of my brain where logic lays awoke long enough to reason with the crazy and I cancelled my "reservation." So what could possibly compete with being "in" The Dark Knight Rises? Puppy shopping, of course!

Now, I knew I couldn't bring a dog home that day, but it couldn't hurt to look, right? Wrong. I wanted them all. Big dogs, small dogs, all would be welcome in my happy home. But I could only pick one. The one shelter we went to boasted they had three huskies on their website. They were all adopted by the time I got there. I made the rounds again and came across a medium sized, fluffy shepard mix named Daisy. Clearly it was a sign, Daisy was one of the first dogs of my childhood. I knew I couldn't get her that day, but I'm not above begging- or pimping myself out to pay the still-standing $5,000 vet bill. Any takers? Anyone?

Not wanting to take the first fluffy, adorable dog I came across, I continued down the row- I could always come back to her, right? Nope, strike two. I was batting a losing game, just like the good ol' Pirates. Off in the distance, I heard a banjo strumming the opening notes of the Deliverance theme and a rebel yell cry "Hey, Billy Joe, come look at thish dog." I turned around to see that hillbillies have taken a liking to my dog. I didn't want Jed Clampett and crew to take this dog, but I was powerless against my worst kayaking nightmare- what if they wanted me to squeal like a pig? (Only if they paid me. Remember, vet bill, people)

I'm just glad they put on their classiest attire for the occasion. A classic midriff baring Steeler shirt small enough to show off the impressive beer gut... on the man. But it's ok, because he clearly brushed his shiny, gleaming tooth for the festivities. His wife/ possible sister was lovely too. She was a dog expert, arguing that one of the "hushky" puppies was not actually a husky, when I'm pretty sure he was more husky than my poor baby was. Maybe I'm just bitter that the Clampetts found their canine soulmate... even though I saw her first. I might not have been part of them, but if I could, I would have still taken her, loaded up the Cavy and moved to Beverly. Hills, that is. Swimming pools, movie stars.

Dr. JiminyCricket: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Calling Off

I suppose it's apparent now that I'm desperate to get out of my workplace hell. I'll try or do anything. As much as my moral code and beliefs are centered around Disney, I've never been one to truly believe in the fantastical or superstitions. Well, besides in hockey. I was taught at a very young age that all of those superstitions are the honest to God truth, my shirts still start to smell around playoff time. Nevertheless, I took some advice from Jiminy Cricket and wished upon a star. I gathered all my belief inside of me and thought about my wish. I looked up at the sky and got about halfway through my wish when I saw a shooting star. Some people would take that as a sign. However, I was aghast and ran inside because I felt like I had just made a star commit suicide. Rest in peace, little twinkle twinkle. I just hope you weren't the star guiding little Feivel home.

I was hoping my little celestial friend didn't give his life in vain, but now I fear he did. If only he didn't interrupt me and let me finish my wish. I don't want to reveal what I wished for, just in case. OK, so maybe I am little superstitious. Let's just say it involved jobs and the first part was what I don't want/ where I don't want to be and the second half involved a certain "star" who is soon getting a "care package" from me that I would very much like to work for and whose book I am currently reading. Draw your own conclusions. Oh, and my dad would be proud. I believe this still falls in the wish making guidelines.

Not sure how this correlates with my wish, but a few odd things happened the past few days. They say when it rains, it pours. Sometimes it's a good thing, sometimes pouring rain really messes up your plans. After almost a year without a call or a rejection letter, I get two interviews in one week. It also happened to be the week that I worked the most hours at my lovely hell hole of a job. Now, with another large bill added on top of my student loan payments...and rent... and bills... and the Netflix addiction (an Australian show about teenage mermaids, you say? Yes, I will sit and watch it hours on end), I really needed another job. But on the other hand I needed to not get fired from my current minionship. I've already called off a few times this year, so going in late was my best option. Even though I hate the job, I do like most of the people I work with- even a manager or two and I get a bit of anxiety when I feel like I'm letting people down. So of course calling off work makes me a bit antsy- even if it is for a job I hate. But every now and then a "sick day" is needed for one's sanity. Which is why I probably should have just not gone in instead of driving my Cavy 90 miles per hour across town to make it to work at a reasonable time. Luckily I think a lot of the police are a bit tied up with nanananana Batman! so hopefully my traffic violations will go unchecked for a bit longer. They did put up "estimated time to downtown" signs.... My 1999 Cavy, aka "Danny," aka "Lightning McQueen" will accept that challenge.