Sunday, December 23, 2007
Just A Quick One

The very worst of the rush seems to be over. The crowds are thinner now that everyone who works downtown has headed back to the suburbs for the holiday, though we've heard tales of the Beaverton and Gresham stores being anally raped over the weekend. At least it's somebody else's turn now.

The entire staff is at the breaking point. The overall tone is of barely-constrained mutiny. To put this in some perspective, apparently our store does half -- HALF -- of its business for the entire year between Thanksgiving and Christmas. We've sold seven-fucking-hundred of those hideous Josh Groban Christmas cds. We've sold almost 500 DVD box sets of the Planet Earth series. We've sold more DVDs of the last Harry Potter movie than any Fnorders store in the entire country. Our sales total for the two hour lunch rush on Thursday (the busiest day of 2007) was greater than the average sales total for two typical days any other time of year.

In other words, I'm doing the work of five or six cashiers. Too bad I'm only getting the pay of one.

It's almost over now anyway. One more day of this bullshit and Christmas will have passed. Time doesn't currently have any meaning for me -- I'm ringing up customers in two five-hour blocks during the day, and dreaming about ringing up customers all night long. I usually try to make eye contact and smile at strangers on the street, but no more -- I've begun to have to check myself in public, constantly fearing that strangers are going to come up to me and ask me to show them where something is. I alternately cower and simper when people approach me. I am no longer myself.

Apparently the job's not that bad the rest of the year.

Like everyone else, I've developed a special loathing for a few particular types of customer. I detest the oblivious ones -- the vapid, blonde Lake Oswego moms who are barely cognizant of a world beyond swinging range of their Prada handbags, and their mouth-breathing, slackjawed adolescent spawn of various genders. But most of all I hate the throwers -- the ones who chuck their purchases and black AmEx cards across the counter at me with a dismissive little swat. Those are the ones I have to fucking grit my teeth to stop from snarling at. Fucking throw your money at me, you cirrhotic, palsied old douchenozzle.

Hey, Merry Christmas!

Interesting things I've seen this week:

- a retarded girl and a fake Irishman having a spontaneous Christmas carol sing-along on the bus

- an asian dwarf pulling a suitcase down the street and cursing to himself

- some dude standing next to a pay phone, holding the receiver about eighteen inches away from his ear, proclaiming over and over again, "I am 100% NOT! racist! I am 100% NOT! racist!"

PS: Sorry if I'm unresponsive in the comments. I'm not ignoring you, it's just really hard to make mental space for it right now.
9:39 PM ::
Amy :: permalink