The early bird gets the pissed off associate

I haven't gotten the call to action from Batman yet, so I'm still stuck at the hell hole. I'm pretty sure I don't even need an apartment anymore, I might as well just shack up at work. They love to do the infamous "clopen." It's not as fun as it sounds. I was stuck closing last night till 10:00 (about 10:30 when I finally leave, 11:00 when I get home and 2:00 till I get to sleep) and then I got to come in at 9:00 this morning (about 7:00 my alarm goes off, it's 7:30 after I hit the "snooze" button a million times, 7:45 till I actually get out of bed after contemplating what a strange word "snooze" is, etc.) After all of that nonsense, the hell hole is the last place I want to be. So if you are ever looking to barter in a retail store, as soon as it opens would be your best bet. Just be sure to go to the associate who barely has his/her eyes open.

If you happen to be a morning person, try not to rub it in. Some of us with menial jobs like to live in a dream world instead of our hellish realities and it's not very nice to force us to be at work when we could be dreaming about having dinner with David Tennant in Jurassic Park. First, a customer decided to wander from the juniors' department to misses and proceed to argue the prices of almost every item. Of course they wouldn't accept me calling the other department to verify the prices. Nope, I had to walk over there too. Far too much work at such an ungodly hour to be stuck in retail hell.

Then, of course, another one of the first customers I had practically waltzed up to the register singing the store's praises. I do not take kindly to such nonsense. I could hear the "customer service scores" plummeting with each grunt. Luckily, it was an older person who agreed that us youngin's shouldn't have to work at such an awful hour... unless it's on a film set, of course (or at least a job I like.) Speaking of...

Mirror, mirror on the wall, I'm the fairest of them all? Bitch, please!

As I've mentioned before, I'm pretty much a Disney princess. But the cool kind, like Belle... minus the Stockholm syndrome. I live on the third floor of my house with my dog who at least tries to speak, even if it's not English. And I have two sparrows, who I named Jack and Sally, that come to my window almost every morning. If only they could team up with the mice infestation to make me pretty dresses and a suit jacket to put on the chair next to me for my missing Prince Charming. I mean, he totally exists, he's just in the bathroom. Aaanyway, clearly there are many people who are just plain jealous of this:

Am I right?! So I was quite confused when a customer, who I will now refer to as the "Evil Queen" came up to me and after I asked if she found everything she was looking for completely flipped her lid and exclaimed, "I want a new body!" I was somewhat afraid she was a serial killer so I didn't say anything and tried not to make any sudden movements while ringing up her purchase. This didn't stop her from continuing her rant though, stating that I "think (I'm) young and pretty now, but just wait till (I) get old and fat. It'll happen! Some people escape it, but it'll happen eventually!" Several things went through my head at this point. The first one, obviously, was "You think I'm pretty?!" But the thought she was going to take me up to the food court and force feed me wasn't far behind. However, since I'm pretty damn poor, I'd actually be ok with this. The third and most rational thought was "I hope I don't care what I look like when I'm old." Vanity is for the young, I hope that when I'm fifty, I have more in my life to care about than just my looks. Like my Prince Charming, for example.... oh, damnit, that's right... he's just a jacket.... thaaat he left on the chair when he went to the restroom. He totally exists.

I'm a Brick (pause) House!

Since I've been judged on my weight/looks so much at the hell hole, I decided to to a more appropriate setting for such prejudice. What brought my usual lazy, skin-graft off the couch, air lift out of the house self to dust off the Lucky Charms and head out into proper society? Well, my little demons... errr, customers, of course. Oh, and the fact that I'll get on The Dark Knight Rises set one way or another.

Yup, I sucked up my cinema kid pride and went to the extras casting. The only advice I got (besides my mother's, who was decidedly not sober when I spoke to her) was to be "normal." I'm not quite sure what normal is, but they were casting prisoners (presumably from Arkham) so hopefully this is close enough:

Don't worry. I went as a "business person" (yawn) But that works out because I got to strut around in a dress all day- the bad part was it was also Pride Fest, so I'm not sure if they knew I was actually born female or just a pretty decent impersonator. I just needed a small confidence boost since I had a conversation that went something like this the day before:

Customer: "Where is the petite department?"

Me: *Points* and grunts (My linguistic skills at the hell hole are equivalent to those of Frankenstein's Monster)

Customer: "Well, I'm looking for something for my friend who's about your height, do you wear petites?"

Me: "Well, my height is right, but my proportions are off."

Customer: (in a hushed tone) "Oh, is it because you're wider?"

Next time I'm going to be like "Yeah, I'm a brick (pause) house..." who is desperately trying to claw her way out of the hell hole. Hey, any position on The Dark Knight Rises would be perfect for that. When I returned to work Tuesday after the casting call, it was as if the universe decided to show me a sign and I found this little guy on my register...

...did I mention I'm desperate?

Only YOU can prevent microwave fires

So I've been a bit blue with no place to go to and I'm always stuck at the place where fashion sits. Alas, I have not been putting on the ritz. Seriously, I have been a bit glum lately, but several events of today just turned my frown right upside down with choirs of angels singing:

The microwave, the microwave, the microwave's on fire

We don't need no water let the motherfucker burn

Burn, MC Nickels, burn.

At least I was close to seeing one of my dreams come to fruition today- seeing that place burn and go straight back to hell where it belongs. Unfortunately, it was only a small microwave fire contained in the Chick Fil A wrapper and the enclosed sandwich. I'm sure it could have spread into a glorious sight, but my manager, who I will now refer to as Smokey the Bear (killjoy), just had to walk through the break room while the little flame that could was still growing. Amazingly, 'twas not I who was the thiiiis close arsonist, but I really wish I would have thought of that earlier- "What? You mean I can't put this drawer of silverware in the microwave? And I shouldn't have had those bins of lighter fluid right next to it? Oooops."

Then, as if a burning microwave wasn't enough of a sign from God that MC Nickels should prepare for the end, the children's department was flooded without warning or at least a suggestion to gather a couple pets and build an ark. Don't worry, big man in the sky, I'm paying attention to your signs and am eagerly awaiting the plague of locusts.

Close Encounters of the Crazy Kind

Seeing as how Macho Man Randy Savage was the only one to ascend on Saturday, I'm slightly nervous for the rest of humanity. Everyone seems to be just living their life like the rapture didn't happen. People are just going on with their normal lives! So I decided to just stash the stuff that I looted Saturday since the crime would be looked upon slightly more harshly that we still have law and order (duh dum). Oh well, poor Harold Camping. Maybe October 21st will work out for him.

So with the knowledge that we still have a few more months to enjoy this lovely planet, I decided to take my one and only out for a nice long stroll today. Unfortunately, even though my one and only is a slightly intimidating husky, we still manage to attract the crazies. I think that aspect of MC Nickels just seems to follow me home... literally. A few weeks ago while I was walking my dog, a car pulled next to me. I'm used to getting asked directions so I pulled my "Please don't talk to me" headphones down and looked into the car. The (of course) over forty and not rich man asked "Do you remember me?" I feared that I actually met this man at a bar or something before and hesitantly replied "No." "From MC Nickels? Are you off today?" I did not recognize him as a worker and I know almost everyone in the store. I was actually off the whole week, but I told him I was going in later that day and had to head home to get ready, hoping it would get rid of him. No such luck. He followed me the whole way down the street until I got to a park because no way in hell was I going to go home. He turned down one of the side streets used for parking and I bolted my fat ass out of there as fast as my 2 tree trunks of legs could carry me .

But even that couldn't prepare me for the encounter I had today. I am currently on the search for a Fox Mulder to go with me while I walk my dog now. Or perhaps a Ripley. Or even an Elliot from ET could do the trick. I was walking my dog past the daycare a few blocks from my house. A man across the street from us yelled "Pretty dog!" I removed my "Please don't talk to me headphones" and said "Thanks." Then he asked why there was barbed wire on the fence around the daycare. I replied that I hadn't noticed it before and had no idea why they would keep the children in a prison camp type atmosphere. Now I realize it's not to keep the kids in, but the crazies out. Then he introduced himself as "Peter. I'm an alien. From another world." Well, this was the last straw. I was not going to stand there and talk to a visitor from another world in fear that Katy Perry's song "Extraterrestrial" would get stuck in my head. So I tried to hold my composure and said that I needed to keep walking in case it started raining. Well, this did not deter Mr. ALF from following me and telling me "It's not going to rain. My powers allow me to predict and control the weather." I had my "Please don't talk to me" headphones back on and did not have and Reeses Pieces on hand, but he still followed us. My dog was getting rather freaked out (as was I) and turned around and just starting barking at him. Then he started yelling at her that he could not speak her language. I told him that she was scared and he needed to go away or I would call someone. Then ET asked if he could take a picture. I knew it probably wasn't a good idea, but I said yes if he only took a picture of the dog and then crossed to the other side of the street and headed back in the other direction. So that is what finally got rid of him.

The skies have cleared up and it still has yet to rain. So maybe Mr. Roswell actually was an alien who can control the weather. I did see something like that on TV once. And I did see the police outside of my house with LED flashlights searching for something (clearly they were flashlights composited over guns so children wouldn't be traumatized). I do want to believe that the truth is still out there.

It's the end of the world as we know it... and I feel fantastic!

Let's see, this year started with several earthquakes, birds falling from the sky, a snake escaping the zoo and tweeting about it, I'm sure an airplane or two has crashed and I doubt Lenny Bruce fears any of this since he's dead. Well, move over, Nostradamus, REM had it right all along. It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine. I'd even go as far to say that I feel great. It's taking all my might not to giggle with glee and tell customers, "Have a nice day... it may be your last."

I can't help it. I've been in a bad mood and the weather has basically been apocalyptic. Plus, marathoning The Walking Dead, X-Files, 24, and Jericho is bound to mess with a person's head. So it might have been a bit fantastical when a bright light shone in my window and I assumed I was being abducted. An honest mistake. (It actually was the coppers with their LED flashlights probably breaking up the brothel and/or crack house across the street) But now it's the little things that have me hoping for the rapture. For example, just because I ask if you need any help doesn't mean you're helpless- you just look confused. You are still capable of looking in the clothing rack instead of telling me what size you need, then engaging me in an awkward stare down until I look for you.

Plus, I already work in the hell hole, a giant "Welcome back!" party for Jesus can't be much worse, right? So I will greet the apocalypse with open arms and test out my survival skills that I learned from only the best TV shows and films. Even the CDC thinks it will be a zombie outbreak AND the History Channel just showed a special on how to survive a "pandemic." Pandemic. Right. Wink, wink, nudge nudge. So I will just have to grab my razor scooter, trusty zombie hunting dog, and find my own ragtag band of survivors.

I am still trying to figure out what role I would play in this group. I am surely not leading lady material. And who needs that pesky love triangle that always seems to tag along with the pretty ladies in dire survival situation? No, no, I think I've cemented myself in as the fat, funny sidekick. Unfortunately, thanks to rule one (cardio), I might not live too long. You guys would never leave me behind because I can make light of whatever horrible situation we're in no matter how inappropriate my comments are, right? Right?

There is No Exit Sign

It's always the people you don't want to talk to that linger around the register the longest. And after almost a week of rain, having the weekend off vacationing in heaven (Cleveland) at an amazing Airborne Toxic Event show, where I learned some awesome new dance moves from some cougars, I was not in the mood to deal with customers. You know life is bad when you're longing for Cleveland.

Now, I am sure this woman was a very nice person. She was certainly friendly enough and she like to talk... in the vocal stylings of Fran Drescher with a Pittsburgh accent that brought childhood nightmares of The Nanny. And of course this woman was buying a mountain of clothing and had to comment on every single item and had a stack of coupons she had to read out loud. You know it's bad when you're straining to hear Katy Perry's "California Girls."

Then, in the middle of the transaction as if a very nasal "n'at" acted as a pied piper for the morons, a line of people appeared at the clearly labeled exit sign. A few wandered away before I could interrupt the nasal voiced lady, but the one who remained decided to argue with me that there is no exit sign. Finally, it all made sense. The one Starbucks worker did look a bit like Keanu Reeves... Neo?! Please, please let this actually just be The Matrix. No such luck. I'm still about 97% sure this is reality. Or is it? You know it's bad when you're starting question reality based on the stupidity of others.

Well, I let the customer stay beside "Not the exit sign" and called her over after Fran Drescher's evil cousin left. Well, Trinity walked up with a very nice 2 piece suit and asked if it was appropriate for an interview. You know it's bad when you're jealous of a dummy. (It's ok, I'll have the last laugh when I buy my suit for my next interview... a Robin suit... because I will totally be hired on The Dark Knight Rises.. and if not at least I could pretend to be Robin)