Does Hating Black Friday Make Me Racist?

Oh, Black Friday, how I hate thee, let me count the ways... No, really, let me count them. I'm exhausted, worked almost 20 hours in two days and have to watch a few very important Disney movies to make me feel better.

1. The parking lot. If you aren't tired and cranky having to come into work at 4:00 in the morning, then you're angry and disgruntled coming in for a later shift and having to fight for a parking spot. I suppose my parents' car almost getting hit four times isn't the worst thing that could have happened (Pepper spray? Stun gun, anyone? Stampede? Anyone? Mufassa... Mufassa? No?) I drove around for about 20 minutes when I gave up and made a sign that said "Just trying to get to work, please take pity on me" and held it out the window. Luckily it worked and I got a prime parking spot smack dab in the middle of bumfuck Egypt.

2. Stupid sales, stupid exclusions. Some items are on sale all day, some end at 1:00 pm. Some things are on sale till the next day. The coupons don't start till 2:00 pm. This is far too much for me to keep track of and far too much for me care one iota about. This brings me to...

3. Stupid people thinking I'm stupid and trying to make up their own stupid sale/ discount. I was asked to give out the "Canadian discount." I have never heard of this. Are we supposed to feel bad for you because you're from our very cold attic? Well, m'am, on the worst shopping day of the year, I do not. Please take your so-called "bacon," maple syrup, Celine Dion and ride that barrel right back up the falls. On second thought, leave the maple syrup. The only people getting the "Canadian discount" here are on a little team called the Pittsburgh Penguins. And they'd have to pry me off his leg first.

4. Well, more like 3 1/2. Sleep deprived, loopy people turning the lightbulb in their head off for the day. We had a coupon that was $10 off of $50. It's very simple. You spend $50 and you get $10 off. A first grader would comprehend this. However, many times yesterday I got handed the coupon for a purchase less than $50. When I told the customer they had to buy a few more things, they just stared at me with those vacant eyes and stated, "But it says no exclusions." Well, I think if you spend less than $50 on a coupon meant for $50 or more, it's an exclusion.

5. This is just the start of one hellish season. Bah freaking humbug indeed.

Obviously these are just a few of the many reasons why I hate Black Friday. However, the others are mostly unfunny rants about how awful it is that consumerism has taken over Christmas, a holiday about peace and goodwill towards men now kicks off with people actually getting kicked and punched, shot, trampled, etc. all in the name of the latest cheap plastic gadget or the only $200 tv in the whole store. You know, that kinda thing. Normally I'd be happy to rant about such a thing, but there goes the baker with his tray, like always. The same old bread and rolls to sell...

Eat the turkey before it eats you!

Well, another year, another failed turkey genocide. These vicious dinosaur descendants are still out there and it seems that every year on the last Thursday in November, we fail to eradicate them. However, may Thanksgiving always stand as a symbol of triumph of man over dinosaur until Raptor Jesus' second coming. I'm not quite sure why "family time" must be a part of this victorious celebration, but I must gather together with my slightly insane family and my mom's crazy cat lady friend (oh, if only I were joking about that one) and state what I am thankful for. This year, I said I was thankful for "indoor voices," but unfortunately my family still didn't learn how to use them. I just sat, staring at my glass of apple cider, hoping it would ferment so I could better cope with this forced togetherness. Or as I like to call it, Christmas without the presents.

However, the evening calmed down and I got to sit for hours on end and watch Arrested Development because I'm a nerd like that. Little did I know that the next day, I'd be begging for more family time. Eh, who the hell am I kidding? I've worked like 5 black Fridays, I knew what I was in for. But, still, I'm going to hold you in suspense until tomorrow because I freaking worked a 10 hour day after my darling mother woke me up to go to the mall before I had to drive an hour and a half back to the Burgh (hour and 45 minutes if you count the Dunkin Donuts drive through). So I'll keep you waiting on the edge of your seat for tomorrow's "Does hating Black Friday Make Me Racist?" Dunnn dunnn duuuuuunnnnnnn

Singular Poverty-Stricken Gal

You might be wondering why I stay in retail. Well, it's one of the few menial jobs where I can openly insult people to their faces, give snarky remarks, or just plain hide from customers and managers while not having it affect my pay rate. If I was a much nicer person and had the ability to muster up caring two shits about a job robots will perform in the future, I would be a waitress and possibly make more money. But after seeing my friend study for a waitressing TEST, I realize this just not possible. I now thank my lucky stars that I did not have to take a test on folding or the proper color palette for setting the tables... oh, wait, I know that one. Thanks, art direction class! At least I'm using it for something. I can pay off the credits from that course in...hmmm... a decade?

However, I have finally found a gal made from my same sarcastic mold. A mirror image of myself, if you will. A sistah from another mistah. OK, so she might be a fictional character, but she acts pretty much how I would if I were forced to wait tables. That's right, Kat Dennings from Two Broke Girls. Yup, I'm somewhat of a sucker for sitcoms too. I'm one of the few people who are cheering Tim Allen's return to prime time because I can watch it and just pretend like I'm back in the 90s or watching an alternate universe version of Home Improvement. These shows make me realize one integral part of my life that has been missing since day one- a laugh track. For example, when a customer asks me, "Do you work here?" I've now started replying with, "I try not to." I can't imagine why, but sometimes people almost seem offended by this response. However, with a laugh track, they would have to give a simple chuckle and pause awkwardly to let the laughter die down, while it cuts back to me giving the customer my patented patented raised eyebrow stare, then it would cut back to the customer for his/her next line. I'm not going to lie, I often have Scrubs- like fantasies with this exact scenario. Yup, I watch that show too. If TV rots your brain, I'll need to go see the Wizard for a new one cause my original is probably long gone.

Strangely enough, my real life- waitress friend

is a tall blonde. And I am the short, curvy, curly-

haired brunette... So much for developing a sitcom

about my life.

I would drive my Chevy to the levy, but I don't think he'd make it that far.

I wish I could say I'm one of those people who get knocked down, but get up again and never let anyone keep them down. I'm not. (I will, however, take a whiskey drink, vodka drink, lager drink and a cider drink, please.) My Danny boy is the same way... except he got knocked down, got back up again, got knocked back down and really just stayed down... for a good long time.

I guess I should explain. Danny Boy is my car. And the above paragraph was an allusion to the Chumbawamba song, "Tubthumping." No, I did not just name my car "Danny Boy" so I could reference another horrible 90s song, the car belonged to my grandfather, who was Irish and I thought it was an appropriate name. Another reason why I haven't written in a long time is because I had some epic car trouble.

It all started with the emergency brake had a complete BRAKEdown.... as in, it really just snapped and fell out of the bottom of my car. I finally saved up enough money to get that fixed and have it looked over so I could go through the winter with no problem besides my absolute hatred of snow and cold. Immediately after I had the car in the shop, my coolant light came on while driving into the city. Thinking it was only a minor problem and being a girl who knows nothing about cars, I kept driving. Then, driving to work the next day, my loyal Cavy completely ignored all the PSAs I forced him to watch about how smoking is bad for your health. He finally went kaput in the parking lot of the evil place. And, yes, I had to call a tow truck to tow it from one side of the parking lot to the opposing Sears' lot, but they claimed it was the head gasket without even looking at my car. So the tow truck driver was nice and recommended another place to take it to. Turns out my thermostat went all emo teenager and sealed itself off from the rest of the car. I'm currently selling pumpkin rolls to pay off this repair. (They're tasty! Buy one!)

For the next repair, I'm currently looking for a brothel where I can sell... well, you know. (Just kidding!...maybe). Thank God I am now in possession of a voodoo doll so I can exact revenge on Sears. I finally got a call from a real honest-to-goodness tv gig... for one day. But it's a start. And whaddayaknow, that day my car decides to get in the Christmas spirit early and light up the pretty red "Check engine" light and pretty much break down...and stayed down this time. He was towed to Latrobe because there is a mechanic there I trust who gives me a really good deals. Turns out it really was the head gasket this time. I blame Sears. This was an incredibly costly repair, which probably wasn't even worth it, but might I reiterate it was my grandfather's car and I really don't want to get rid of it. So after a lot of driving back and forth with my parents car and begging for rides, I could have had him back last week, but I am a yellow bellied coward and forced my father to drive my poor, poor Cavy for a week before taking it back. That way he could deal with any problems.

The final incident occurred tonight when I stopped to get gas and put in a whole $1.02 before the tank started overflowing. Now, I gave my parents back their car with almost a full tank of gas... my loving father left me mine with a quarter tank. So I took the nozzle out and tried it again only to spill a few more cents on the ground. I might be rather inept around cars, but really, all you have to do is put the stick into the hole and while I might be challenged with that concept in other areas of my life, it's the one automobile thing I am completely capable of... although I did just learn where to put the windshield wiper fluid! So I did what most other girls would do- call up her father and yell because clearly something else was wrong with my car. And he did fix the problem for me. He told me to move to another pump. It worked.

I have a new lease on life, but I'm not sure if I want to resign the one on my house.

I'm baaa-aaack! My loyal readers (all what? 2 of you?) might have been wondering where I've been the past few weeks. Well, I danced the devious dance with death and survived unscathed. Well, mostly. I'm hoping this isn't a Final Destination- the grimm reaper is after me-type thing.

The chimney in my house crumbled in on itself and we had we turned on the heat, the exhaust would have backed up into the house, filling it with carbon monoxide. And we would have followed Billy Joel line of thinking that only the good die young. Or something like that. I only really know the version Glee ruined. Yes, Glee ruined a Billy Joel song. Quite a feat. Anyway, I could have died leaving only a legacy of disgruntled blog postings and a DVD/ book collection that belongs in a hoarder's house. I would have fallen very short of my goal of writing for a late night talk show or SNL or working on a TV show or at least having people read what I write. And putting my massive DVD/book collection in a library which would rival Belle's in Beauty and the Beast. This library would be all mine too... in my Scottish castle.

I allowed myself a short time to mope and contemplate my own mortality. It got to be real deep at times- like would I rather die quickly being blown up in the CDC or try to survive, but be eaten by a hoard of zombies? Well, I probably would have picked the CDC, but it seems as though I missed that chance. So I picked up my non-zombified pieces and carried on. Today I looked around at the customers shambling around the hell hole, confused by the make up counter at the center of the store and realized it could be worse- at least I have a brain instead of craving them. So in the words of lip synching drag queens everywhere- I will survive... and get a career I actually like... and a castle in Scotland. Ok, I might have embellished it a little.