Move over, Kate Middleton

My parents used to call me "Princess" all the time when I was a child. Then I grew up and realized that other people did not agree with this title, nor did they realize I was actually royalty and would not treat me like one. So when I got to work today and the salon needed guinea pigs to try out prom up-dos, I was actually OK with being a test subject. I never went to prom so I didn't get to go through the whole "Princess for a day" thing. I just never saw the point of having to pay to get back into the school dressed like a cupcake-human hybrid that escaped from Candyland. So I decided that today was going to be my one day of royalty. Of course, things never go my way and I attracted every crazy in the store.

The first peasant travelled far to see her princess. Unfortunately, I couldn't understand her accent from a foreign land. However, I did understand a little bit that this Asian lass said to me while I was waiting on her. I believe this bit was "Oooh. Sexy lady."

The second subject I encountered could possibly be a good jester in my court. A young lad walked up to me, shoved his wrists in my face and said "Smell these." First of all, peasant, please address me by my full name and title, Princess Jen HiremeChristopherNolan from the land of Gotham City. Second of all, please tell people what is on your wrists before they smell them. (No, this one is real advice. That was a bit of a super creep move right there, sir). Turns out it was cologne, but I still didn't smell it in fear that I might catch the Black Plague.

The third and serf with a bad dental plan walked up to the register and had the audacity to look me in the eyes. It was slightly more audacious that he asked "Is everything in this store for sale?" I took pity on him and replied with "Yes, except for the mannequins." Then, as if he stole a line out of The Blues Brothers, but made it less funny and more creepy, he replied with "Well, babe, I'd like to buy you." Maybe I should learn to shut my mouth sometimes, but it was my princess day, damnit, so I said "I think that's called human trafficking and I'm pretty sure it's illegal." Oh, and this man also had no teeth. I'm not sure what it is about me, but I sure know how to attract those types. If only they were toothless men worthy of my princess-dom. Say, maybe, a hockey player?

And finally, one young lady finally saw me for the royal I am. She and her mother were buying a flower girl dress. The young talkative girl said that she is going to have her hair up and curly, like mine, so she could look like a princess too. But then she paused for a bit and said "I don't know if we both could be princesses though." I was quite nervous that she was going to suggest a joust or a duel to the death, but rather she said, "You might have to be a queen." Queen, huh? I like that better. Move over, Freddie Mercury.

Oh, Canada, My Pretend Home and Native Land

In preparation for my upcoming role as Robin in the back of a police car speeding away from The Dark Knight Rises set, I have decided to pretend to be a different person every day I am stuck in retail hell. No, I did not give up on my dream of the behind the scenes drudge work for the glamour of the silver screen. I haven't gone all Norma Desmond yet. Actually, I prefer the term "dramatic lying" instead of acting. You might also think I've gone even more insane. Well, as the oh-so-dreamy Fox Mulder once said "Sometimes the only sane answer to an insane world is insanity."

So, in honor of the playoffs, since I can't grow a beard, I am going to develop a Canadian accent, eh? I figure this will also be useful for my upcoming web series featuring 2 Canadians stuck in post apocalyptic Pittsburgh (the only drug I was on when I came up with this gem was an overload of caffeine. I wish I knew how my mind works) Also, thanks to the nightmare I have of Sarah Palin (or Donald Trump) winning the 2012 election, I may have to flee to the igloo neighborhood of the north. But let's not get political, eh?

Thanks to Netflix watch instantly, I have spent many hours studying the Canadian people. I'm not sure I'd be able to survive their high school though. It appears as if many of the students are addicted to pretty much any drug imaginable, teenage pregnancies, and the rapper Drake in a wheelchair. All my high school had was one girl who popped out a kid every year and a girl that tossed nachos onto a guy's lap and that's what got us dubbed as the "worst class in Latrobe's history." An honor everyone in my class was proud of. I also don't know if I can pull of the "nice and polite" Canadian stereotype. Because...well, I'm neither of those things. I can't help it. If MC Nickels is retail hell, I'd rather be one of the demons than just some helpless soul.

Perhaps I can just start out with learning the Canadian accent and work on my character's backstory later. Maybe I witnessed my parents' murder as a child and I swore to seek revenge by fighting every criminal master mind in the city. No one would expect your local retail associate would actually be a heroic crime fighter. Since I am Canadian, I would shape my costume as a moose, in order to strike fear in the hearts of evil-doers everywhere. I am... MooseWoman.

Addendum:

Dear Christopher Nolan,

If you get bored after you finish this whole Batman thing and want to go back to the superhero genre, feel free to use my "MooseWoman" idea... Just let me work on it... in any capacity. I have a Keurig, I could make you coffee!

Love and Bat Signals,

Jen

Na na na na na na na na N'Atman!

It's official. Our pierogie races and sandwiches topped with fries and coleslaw lured Christopher Nolan and his posse here for the next Caped Crusader flick. I am bound and determined to at least see the set of this film... and maybe grab onto Mr. Nolan's leg and refuse to let go. So there is a chance that I might get arrested. Please click on the ads to donate to my bail fund. Speaking of Bale, if I can't work on the set, be an extra, or get adopted by Morgan Freeman (because who doesn't love a madcap Punky Brewster-esque situation?); then I want nothing else for Mr. Christian Bale to get angry, yell, and throw a light at me (all so someone can record it and make a techno remix). Once again, please click away to support my bail (Bale?) funds...

Ways I am capable of making Christian Bale angry...

- Screaming "Hey! Hey! Heeeey! King of New York! Yeah, you! Open the gates and seize the day!'

- Sneak into the back of the Batmobile and ask "Are we there yet?" a million times, sing "99 bottles of beer on the wall" and/ or the "song that never ends," or try to engage him in a thrilling game of "I, Spy"

- Dress as Robin and demand to know where my trailer is

- Claim that Jean Claude Van Damme is the true hero that the 'Burgh deserves and Christian Bale would never match the action, drama, or true passion of "Sudden Death." All this while dressed as Iceburgh, of course, because who doesn't love seeing the NHL's most lovable mascot being punched in the face?

- Dress in a raincoat and dance to "Hip to Be Square"...with an axe. And then hand him my business card that will surely look better than his business card... but then he might kill me.

-If these do not work, I am prepared to go after Michael Caine and his best role yet as Ebenezer Scrooge in A Muppet Christmas Carol. I have a Kermit doll and I'm not afraid to use it.

In conclusion, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE LET ME BE ON THIS FILM! EVEN THOUGH THIS BLOG READS TO THE CONTRARY, I ACTUALLY AM QUITE SANE AND COMPETENT.

(If I type in all caps, that construes yelling, correct? So maybe Mr. Nolan will hear me? Hopefully?)

Robots Vs. Zombies

George Romero must have worked in retail. Everyday I see more and more where he got his inspiration for mall-people to become mindless zombies in Dawn of the Dead. Customers really do stumble aroundwith glazed over eyes that aren't focused on anything until they see something shiny or some colorful shirt, aka their "Braaaains." Now, us associates on the other hand are more accustomed to repeating the same mindless task over and over and over again, much like robots. Thus the epic battle begins...

Sometimes the zombies bring their creepy-crawlies along. I've heard horror stories before, but I believed them as much as I believed mixing Pop Rocks and soda is fatal... fatally delicious, maybe. Anyway, these stories of terror are about creatures with eight long legs that tag along with their undead companions, hiding in the bag the zombie is about to return to some poor, unsuspecting robot. I don't know if these people are hoarders, arachnologists or just looking to scare the bejeezus out of someone . But it finally happened to me. I had a close encounter of the arachnid kind.

A customer wanted to return something and to protect myself from the insects and bodily fluid that are routinely found in return bags, I just flip it over ad shake the contents onto the counter. Unfortunately, this doesn't work so well when your other hand is on the counter and the itsy bitsy spider comes tumbling out of the bag and onto your hadn. Now, I am by no means one of those girls who is petrified of every thing that creeps and crawls... well, besides babies. I just hate surprises and being startled. Seriously, throw me a surprise party and you're liable to be punched in the face. So I jumped uncharacteristically high for the the little white girl I am and shook the poor creature off my hand. Meanwhile, the customer stared at me like it was MY fault there was a spider in the bag along with a glare of "How dare you?" So I guess the zombies win this time. Unless the spider was radioactive and bit me...as long as I don't start singing U2 songs, I should be OK.

Live every day like it's St. Patrick's Day.

You're supposed to pinch people who aren't wearing green on St. Patrick's Day. Change the 'i' to a 'u' and I'd be the happiest lass this side of the Emerald Isle. I thought people were supposed to be drinking or something on this beloved holiday.

All through high school and sometimes even now, I aspire to be like Patsy and/or Edina from Ab Fab. So it's a bit British and a bit retro now, but would anyone really be surprised if I just showed up everywhere with a cigarette and a bottle of Stoli? Well, yes. They might wonder how I could afford the Stoli. Now I am starting to rethink my dream after realizing that two of the regular customers are the slightly more obese American versions of my two favorite drunks. I'm not sure how I never realized that before, the one slightly taller, slightly rounder, slightly blonder one is the less drunk, less funny, and less endearing version of Patsy, darling. Which leaves the smaller one with curly, frizztastic hair as Eddie. The scary thing is one of these women has children that they bring into the store. Don't worry, the children are always made up properly...meaning they're wearing make up. At about 5 or 6 years old. Since they are the Americanized version of my favorite British broads, they are just as into fashion as their British counterparts, but they're more into getting good bargains. Most of what they bought today though were for their future streetwalker children, except for the accessories. These two ladies walked up to the counter with a bunch of children's clothing and then a few hair accessories with brightly colored flowers glued to headbands and bobby pins. I bagged the kids clothes and put the accessories in a smaller bag and asked the kids if they wanted to carry their own bag (usually they do). That's when the "Patsy" stopped me and said "Oh, no. These are our's" and proceeded to take one of the headbands with a giant hot pink flower out of the bag and put it in her hair. Well, maybe they're going to San Francisco. I think my favorite part of the transaction though is when something from the children's department didn't have a tag. I tried calling back, but it was taking forever. So I offered to run back and try to find a duplicate of the top and asked where exactly it was. "Patsy" got frustrated and said she would go back and get it. I thanked her and thought that was the end of it. Apparently, it was very difficult and so frustrating for her to go back there because she came back in a huff. Oh, and said to "Eddie" as she was walking away that next time I could walk my fat ass back there. Maybe they were drinking this St. Patty's.... or they're just living everyday like it is St. Patrick's Day.

When Irish eyes are smiling...they aren't stuck in retail hell.

On this hallowed weekend of St. Patty's when my fellow Irishmen can roam the streets free of sobriety, I was stuck in the hellhole all freaking Saturday. I suppose you could say I still upheld some of the traditions still since I was positively green with envy at those drunken bastards. Unfortunately, I was stuck waiting on angry little leprechauns who wanted to keep every speck of gold.

A customer walked up to my register on Saturday with one of the survey coupons that cannot be combined with any other coupon anymore. We also had coupons that were $15 off you spent $75. She could have split her purchase up into two different transactions, but wanted to know which would be the better deal. I informed her that it was a twenty cent difference, but if she wanted to use the survey coupon then it would at least be on one receipt. She agreed to this, but when I finished she looked at her receipt and asked if I used both coupons. To which I responded that I already told her I couldn't. Then she said that she would have saved more money had she split them up into two transactions. Yes, she would have saved a whole 20 cents. So she made me return everything and ring it up again. I hope she enjoys all that cash money she got back. You can't even buy a bowl of Lucky Charms with that kind of change.

Then around 8:00, the drunks must have gotten a second wind and decided to come to the mall. Or at least one woman dressed like the a lady leprechaun working on the corner for a special kind of pot of gold. She walked up to my register and threw a bag on the counter and said she needed to return some things. Well, there was only one shirt in the bag and this was just devastating. She almost had a breakdown because she forgot the other shirt she needed to bring back. I had no sympathy because I'm pretty sure there's bigger problems in the world right now than an ill-fitting shirt sitting alone on a kitchen counter. And I think she needed the money for more booze anyway...

I suppose there's always the "real" St. Patrick's day to celebrate, but men in skirts playing bagpipes only march around once...well, maybe twice....maybe a few times a year. What? Yinzers like parades.

The Easter Bunny would be ashamed...

Being the good little ex-Catholic school girl I am, I usually try to give something up for Lent so the Easter bunny will hide eggs all over my house Easter morning . This year, I decided I was going to give up sarcasm and be nice to customers. Well, I made it through Ash Wednesday...because they called me Tuesday and said my hours were cut on Wednesday (like it was a bad thing!) Then I realized when I came in on Thursday that it would have been easier to give up breathing.

As soon as I came in, I had to deal with the mannequin who thought it was still Mardi Gras and couldn't keep her clothes on. I hate changing the mannequins to begin with, but I hate the immature, dirty old men who seem to flock to the store when they hear the sounds of disassembling and disrobing the plastic women of their dreams. Honestly, you would think they were the boys from Porky's looking through a peep hole... into a mannequin factory? So hot and steamy.

Now, there are also the lady customers who must have had a little bit too much, forgot to "just dance" and somehow forgot how to use her telephone... her-her-her telephone. Either that or they bought a cellphone that is far beyond their technical knowledge. Twice today I had to show women how to text with their own phone. (We have coupons that are sent via text message) And I just love the awkward moments when they just stand there, staring at you, waiting for the coupon that never comes.

So, God, Jesus, the Easter Bunny, I'm sorry I failed miserably on my Lenten sacrifice and gave into the evil, evil sarcastic little demon on my shoulder... in one day. I'll try to do better next year... especially since I'll probably be in jail for stalking up The Dark Knight Rises set. Joseph Gordon-Levitt, here I come!