Shop-n-Buy-Bye

So, I've given my two weeks notice in at Shop-n-Smile. Hooray! And I can say in all honesty, it was one of the biggest moments of relief in my 3+ decades of life. Now, the job isn't a total nightmare - I've had worse - but it has gone on so steadily for six months now, and has changed me from a normal person into a constantly-exhausted drone who is beginning to detest the human race - so it's probably a good time to quit.

Not without a fair amount of guilt though. Since Beau couldn't substitute teach or drive a school bus all summer, our income took a nose dive and we've had a tough few months. He's back to subbing - and surprisingly, already nabbing several jobs, but he's not driving the bus. And of course, he's still working at Wally World, a job he just might possibly hate even more than I hated Shop-n-Smile, since he works even longer hours there than I do, and also due to the fact that 95% of their employees are either total assholes, complete dumbasses, or both. So, by my quitting Shop-n-Smile, it guarantees another loss of income and kind of locks him into Wally World for awhile (though I have repeatedly pleaded with him to find something else). I just really really need a rest. I think I'd like to go back to a second job in a few months, maybe around the Christmas season (Barnes & Noble again?), but right now I just need to be able to go to my 9-hour day job and come home at night and have a normal dinner and just NOT work. I'm tired.

One surprise is that all my managers have risen up in this sort of group-lament-entice-me-back kind of thing. In the past couple months they started to let me know just how much they value me there, but once I put my notice in, suddenly I'm employee of the universe. Sunday night my manager looked truly sad, and kept saying, "Isn't there anything we can do? Please stay. You're one of my favorite and best employees." The next night, the female boss said, "You're the only employee I can trust to do a good job. This is awful." And last night, a different male boss said, "Have we done enough to try to get you to stay? Remember you get 10% off all those Christmas presents! Is it Shop-n-Smile or something personal? What can we do?"

This is all very flattering, of course, but you have to weigh it against the fact that more than half the staff is below the age of 19 and act about half that. They do a piss-poor job and piss and moan at everything. I wouldn't want to supervise them, no fucking way. One guy last night said he could finish his area (1/3 the store, not including apparel) in "about 20 minutes." My combined areas are domestics and housewares. It takes me two full hours to do domestics alone (housewares considerably less). It would take me about 20 minutes just to leisurely walk the aisles of my area. So, I work hard and do a good job, but I probably look even more stellar next to my co-workers.

Another reason I want to quit so bad is because, like my short-but-insanely-intense time at Target, working in retail makes me HATE people, and sadly, women much more than men. I have seen people do such disgusting, rude, insensitive, inconsiderate shit, day after day. Just last night while folding rugs, my nose was assaulted by the smell of a discarded Wendy's meal, complete with open barbeque sauce packet, shoved behind a rug. WHO the fuck DOES that?!?! You'd like to think that it's a rare thing, but in reality, it's not. It just makes me sad, really. Deep down I want to be Anne Frank and truly believe that we are all basically good, but increasingly (just in the past six months alone!), I have seen so many examples of human indecency. Yes, indecency.

Besides the various half-consumed food and drink I find discarded, people are also constantly breaking, tearing open, pulling apart, and just messing up various items in the store, then shoving them in various "hiding" places, often in a different area than it originated. One of the ones that pisses me off the most is curtains - of which we have a WIDE selection. Despite the fact that a full-sized sample of EVERY. FUCKING. CURTAIN. is hanging right next to the rows of packaged ones, people STILL rip the curtains out of their packages to have a look. Now, if YOU can't get the thing back into its packaging in a neat, folded way, how the hell do you think *I* can? I'm not some Vietnam factory worker who has mastered the kung fu art of curtain folding/packing. And now the product is basically ruined, since who would want a curtain that has been stuffed unceremoniously into a plastic package, and now resembles a wrinkled ball of dirty laundry?

The other thing I detest is the general attitude of so many customers. Kevin wrote a wonderful, satirical piece on the many aggravations of working in an Italian restaurant and dealing with bullshit there. Beau and I had a somewhat academic discussion the other day on how the U.S. has developed such a strong service culture, and how it has sort of mutated from "the customer is always right" to "the customer is a fucking privileged, entitled fuckwit who must be given every demand and allowed any detestable behavior, or else!"

When studying abroad in France back in 1995, it took about 10 seconds for our group of 14 Americans to notice the harsh contrast in Europe's service culture. No, we weren't always right, we weren't always given a big smile and perfect service, and apologies were rarely forthcoming (along with the "we took that off your bill" or free meal many expect). When at an Asian restaurant in Gdansk, Poland, (yeah, I know, I was 22), I specifically (as I always do) asked for NO ONIONS! When my dish came, complete with onions, I complained politely. The waiter gave me an annoyed look, shrugged, and said, "Minimal!" before clomping off fin a huff. I just sat there, mouth agape.

There's just so much DEMAND now - demand, defiance, and entitlement. I have come to hate people with a sense of an entitlement just as much as I've come to hate arrogant or snobbish people, but they kind of all go together. And along with that entitlement is a sense in the United States, that we should have unlimited choice! Years ago when a Swedish friend, who had been living in the U.S. for awhile said, "God, it's just so convenient here," I didn't really get it. When I finally lived abroad, I really did. Not just choice in products, but the fact that things are close, transportation is (often) good, things are open very late or 24 hours, things are cheaper here (especially food, clothes, and home products), etc.

Of course, in part I blame Wally World. It has given people SO much choice, and such low prices (along with being open ALWAYS), that people have become spoiled. Example, female customer the other day:

FC: "Where are your kitchen rugs?"
J: "Right this way; I can show you." *leads her to the row of rugs, as instructed by Shop-n-Smile* "There you go."
FC: *Woman gazes at entire row of kitchen rugs, of which there are about 30 different kinds in various patterns. She pinches her face together and says, "Oh, is this IT? I thought there'd be more."
J: "There are actually several more along that wall right there" *pointing to wall featuring another 30 rugs in various colors/sizes*
FC: *Woman makes another snooty face* "Oh. Hmmm. Still."

This is not an atypical scene. I've noticed that if things are not DIRT cheap, or come in 64 colors, a la Crayola, people get instantly pissy. Shop-n-Smile has FIVE rows of bath towels/washclothes/bathroom rugs. FIVE! You can just imagine how many different colors that entails. People still come in and complain that there aren't enough colors. Especially if it doesn't happen to match THEIR bathroom. At that point, I just want to put my fist through their face.

This also happens with other things like sheets. For the most part, Shop-n-Smile sells the standard sheet set containing: fitted sheet, flat sheet, and two pillowcases (sometimes also with two shams). We also have SEVERAL rows of these sets, which range in quality from crappy-dorm-room sheets to super-high-end-for-company sheets, and all in between. Sateen, satin, flannel, 100% cotton, 100% polyester, half and half, micro-suede, jersey knit, etc. (do I know my shit, or what?). We have entire sheet sets for as low as $7.50, and as high as $100 (though the latter is constantly on sale for much less). Still, I can take people to a display of fairly decent sheet set for $20, and they are instantly offended at the price. Personally, I think that's a lot for $20! Yet, so often I have had people get huffy that they are "that expensive." Again, fantasies of pushing these people off a cliff enters my mind frequently.

So, I'm glad to be leaving Shop-n-Smile. No, overjoyed! The two weeks I have to wait are really torturous, and since I've been given extra shifts, feel like it's just DRAGGING. I do have to thank Shop-n-Smile for some things though. Like, for giving me a job in the first place when I needed one and there weren't many options. And two, for almost single-handedly furnishing and outfitting our apartment with everything from a dining room table, to dishes, bath towels, bed sheets, a shower curtain, picture frames, gardening and camping equipment, and various small appliances like my beloved little food chopper (pesto!). Beau and I had almost NOTHING with us when we first moved in. Now it finally looks like a home and the kitchen and bathroom have what they need. And I got almost all of it either on clearance or at the best price possible (along with my added store discount). That is a blessing. Too bad it took up a good chunk of each paycheck.

And please, in parting, let me speak to ALL women out there: Don't be ASSHOLES! Please! I know men do bad stuff too, but after my experiences at Barnes & Noble, Target, and Shop-n-Smile, the culprits, by FAR are women. Please take care of the following:

-- If you accidentally drop a shirt on the floor, Pick it the FUCK up and hang it back up. We're not your servants. Were you REALLY raised that way?
-- If you want to take out 10 rugs and spread them all over the floor to have a gander, fine, but PUT THEM BACK! Don't walk away, leaving a fucking mess behind that would shame you if broadcast on Youtube.
-- If you look at some towel or t-shirt and can't figure out how to re-fold it, that's okay, just put it back where you found it. We'll happily re-fold it for you. THAT is our job. Do NOT roll it up into a big ball and shove it behind the Cabbage Patch dolls.
-- Do NOT leave your half-eaten, half-drunk food around. It disgusts us and kind of frightens us in case you're diseased. I don't want to carry your half-drunk foamy Starbucks gunk to the trashcan any more than you do! And no, I'm not paid to do that for you. Neither was your fucking mom. Do it yourself!
-- If something you bought is broken/doesn't work, whatever, bring it back and let us know. We'll be happy to refund/exchange it for you. Don't be a righteous jerk and act like you were forced to endure some unspeakable horror. It's not that big of a deal. Seriously.
-- If you grabbed a pillow that you THOUGHT was $5.00, but is actually $10.00 because you didn't read the shelf label right, or read the price tag of the shelf NEXT to the item you're purchasing, do not DEMAND you get it for $5.00. You fucked up, or maybe, just maybe, some customer put it back in the wrong place. Mistakes happen. Chill. If the pillow is really mislabeled, we will ALWAYS give it to you for that price.
-- If you break something, ESPECIALLY if it's glass, tell us! We're not going to throw you in jail or force you to pay for it (really). We'll appreciate that you brought it to our attention, and we'll just defect it and get our money back. Hiding something like that where it can be found like some sort of awful surprise is not just dangerous, but fucking mean, and childish.
-- Despite the fact that most people in retail make shit money, they honestly do want to help you and even have a good time doing it (I often do with the right customer). Be nice, even if you're not satisfied. How you treat a sales clerk or a waiter/waitress says volumes about you.
-- Don't "threaten" us with how you'll go to Wally World instead if we don't do what you want or lower our prices instantly for YOU. Trust me, if you're being that much of a dickhead, we WANT you to leave and go somewhere else.
-- And lastly, don't open the fucking curtains!

J-Smackdown!

"You're a pansy!" Beau exclaimed.

"No, I'm not!" I snapped back indignantly, "I'm a Pacifist! It's different!"
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The other night I was working at Shop-n-Smile, when I remembered I wanted to pick up some waxing stuff for my eyebrows which were once again growing into that "giant-caterpillar-on-face look" I get if I don't keep totally on top of them. I went to the aisle, checked out the products for about 30 seconds, then grabbed one that seemed good and went back to my area. I was in the horrid rug aisle folding my 11,000th rug that someone had unfurled, left on the floor, and then callously walked away from (sometimes I totally fucking hate people), when I heard the Security team page me over the loudspeaker. I called them up, and they asked me to come into their office.

"I can't fucking believe this," I thought to myself. I figured it was because I had previously been admonished for "shopping on the job," and that they'd been watching me and now were going to scold me for grabbing that box of hair remover. A manager had already told me that one employee is always being watched (nice), and that was the direct reason we "all" had been lectured not to a) have our cellphones on the floor (I always do, with a hidden bluetooth behind my hair), and b) stop shopping while working.

I always shop while working. It's probably the only reason I don't go totally frickin postal at that place and mow down a bunch of shit-for-brains customers. But it's not like I take a cart and leisurely peruse the aisles. Basically, WHILE working, if I come across something I like or is on a total clearance (like an entire set of Columbia sheets and pillowcases for $4.50-score! Or a lovely picture frame that was $19.99 and is now 79 cents - cha-ching!), I'll grab it and stick it in my cart. (You always have a cart with you while you work). This is why the bulk of my purchases are in the Domestics/Housewares area since that's where I work, and those are exactly the things we needed so desperately when we returned from New Zealand. But Security watches you and if you even pause to check something out, or scan it to see when it will go on sale soon *blush* then you're a bad bad employee.

I am a bad, bad employee.

As I was walking to the Security office, I was muttering to myself. If they were going to scold me like a little child, I was going to put my two weeks in. Tonight. This is of course, a gift. Beau and I always talk about how much we hate our respective retail jobs and how we are just WAITING for someone to do something that will "enable" us to quit. Otherwise, we can't justify doing it simply because it just sucks to work there right now. The money is still needed.

As I entered the office, the manager was there (great), and the ample-bodied Security woman, who basically looked like a college student with her perk ponytail and enormous UM sweatshirt. That's why they catch people, they never look like the typical cop. Barely looking over her shoulder at me, the Security woman (SW) said, "Okay, this is what we're going to do. See this woman there...?" She nodded toward the two TV screens in front of her and the two complicated-looking joysticks from which she was directing the cameras. They oriented on a young woman with Sinead-short white blonde hair and a baseball cap. "Yes," I said hesitantly.

"We're going to apprehend her. She's been stealing a ton of stuff. You're going to go with me since Ms. X can't." (The other SW had a cast on one leg).

"Oh." I didn't know what to say, but I inwardly panicked. Though I found these occasional smackdowns enormously entertaining, I had no interest in being a part of one. SW continued detailing to me how it would work. "We have to wait until she actually leaves the store, which she will be doing soon. As soon as she leaves the first set of doors, we RUN out of this office after her. I'll go first, you right behind me. We'll bust through the doors and come around to face her. Then we'll identify ourselves as security and ask her to step back inside. Hopefully, she'll go with us."

"Um, okay."

"If she pulls a knife or anything, just let her go."

"Err..."

At this point, I was like WTF?! SW was also eyeing the shoplifter's friend, who had not stolen anything, but who "looked really badass."

"Make sure you watch her friend, don't let her get behind you," said the SW.

"Shit shit shit!" went my brain, "What about Billy?" went my mouth.

"Bill isn't 18 yet, he can't do this."

"Um, okay, and Justin in Electronics?"

"He left already."

Fuck. I realized as I was standing there, that although this was a potentially exciting moment in my life, I wasn't interested. It kind of surprised me since I do like to do new, exhilarating things, but taking a shoplifter down did not appeal to me. At all. There had been a take-down just a few days before, where the enormously buff "truck guys" had wrestled a 6'4 man to ground, putting him in a headlock while yelling at him to "Calm down." At that point, the giant man had crapped his pants, and then led a trail of it from the doors to the Security office. Really. The thought of me having to wrestle ANYONE to the ground, or being shat on, made me want to vomit.

But I shrugged my shoulders and thought, "Oh well, no matter what happens, at least it'll be a good story," and I steeled myself for the encounter.

"Okay, get ready!" said SW, and with that, she leapt out of her chair and took off, with me right on her heels. For such a corpus woman, she was startlingly fast, as I sprinted full speed behind her. As we reached the automatic doors, parallel to ones where the shoplifter was now exiting, SW slammed through them like a fucking Tonka truck, which let out a bang that I thought might be the explosion of my heart. She burst through the second set with just as much drama, doing a sharp 180 to come face to face with the Sinead woman. In one fluid movement, SW identified herself as Security, grabbed the woman's arm, and while pushing her back inside, simultaneously grabbed the stupefied friend by her arm and commanded, "You can go," while pushing her out the exit. Basically, I just stood behind her the whole time, silent and amazed.

We took a few steps into the inner part between the two sets of doors where Sinead paused, her face contorted in fear. Then I heard it. Looking down, I saw a fast stream of pee exiting from both of her pant legs. A mixture of sympathy and revulsion swept over me. The whole time, SW kept ordering her to keep her hands out of her pockets, where Sinead kept attempting to put them. Though mute, I enthusiastically agreed. I don't want anyone to cut me!

After Sinead had finished wetting her pants, she was slowly led back into the store, where due to her condition, she walked as if she wore leg irons. Quickly, it was determined she didn't speak much English, which excited me somewhat. "Hey, maybe I can help with this!" Being a shoplifter's interpreter is much more my style than throwing some poor immigrant to the ground. But unfortunately, there aren't a lot of French, Swedish, or Thai-speaking shoplifters frequenting our stores. Not that I would have gotten very far with Swedish anyway. I could probably have entertained her with the playful child song of "Tycker du om mig?" (Do you want me?) or asked her if she drank milk or loved me.

Then the cranky, broken-leg other SW ordered me out of the room, and I left Sinead to their devices. Later they told me she was terrified...and Romanian. Oh well.

Shut Your Pie Hole!

I've never been accused of being a rumor-starter. Well, until last night. I should have known better.

Like with that disastrous job at the writers' non-profit, and during all the interesting changes at my non-profit job in NYC, I kinda prided myself on having developed the ability to put various tiny clues together to figure out things before others (i.e. like when someone is about to quit/be fired, etc.). This has never really failed me, though sometimes I haven't gotten all the details right, and it's typically something I keep to myself until it all comes out publicly.

Typically.

At Shop-n-Smile there are only two supervisors I really like to work with: Joe, an older, seemingly-gruff man who is actually pretty funny and nice, and Candy, who's about 10 years older than me, and also a lot of fun to work with. They take their jobs seriously and are both very competent, but are thankfully lacking that 'Shop-n-Smile disciple' gene that seems to be embedded within the other managers, and makes me want to projectile vomit.

Besides the dozen or so employees who have recently jumped ship, and made me impulsively want to quit each time it happens, now it seems Candy might be leaving also. This makes me very sad, since I find it so difficult to just tolerate working at Shop-n-Smile as it is, and having to close each night with one of the Mr. Intense Supervisors will just make it all the more teeth-gritting.

Then last weekend, one of the Mr. Intensity's called a "huddle" of all the employees. He was chatting and being his usual children's-show-upbeat self (which can turn into wrath is you say the wrong thing, a la Angie), and he blithely made a comment about Joe that went something like this: "Oh, well it won't matter anymore what Joe thinks after August 27." Mr. Intensity just kept right on talking, but a red flag went shooting up through the top of my head and began waving furiously. Was Joe leaving on the 27th?! I looked furtively around, but no one else seemed to catch it, or care.

I knew this was entirely possible, since in actuality, Joe is a career banker, but after moving to Missoula, was unable to get a good banking job (gee, startling), and ended up working for Shop-n-Smile. I knew if he could find a really good banking job, he'd probably nab it, and who could blame him?

Later that same day, Joe was handing me his wife's business card. She, too, is a banker. Joe is always trying to get Beau and I to move our banking services to that of his wife's bank. As I was looking at her card, Mr. Intensity was walking by. He suddenly yelled back, "Hey Joe! What are you trying to do? Poach J. away and take her to your place?" Again, red flag a'flyin! I thought to myself, "This confirms it, he's leaving to go work at a bank!"

A few days later, I was closing with Candy and she was telling me about her potential job offer at another place, which sounded great. I asked her, "Is it true that Joe is leaving too?" She paused and turned to me, mouth agape. "Is he leaving?!"

Uh oh.

Candy continued, "Really? I thought I heard something going around, but I wasn't sure. There have been signs." (This just seemed like further confirmation to me). "I'll have to call Bev and find out for sure," she said.

That was the last I'd heard of anything, until last night. I came into the store for my shift, and there was Joe, arms akimbo. "I want to talk to you," he said, curling his finger and gesturing me toward the office.

Uh oh.

Once inside his office, which has one of those giant "I can see you - you can't see me" windows, Joe unloaded. "What did you do? Rumor spreader! The whole store is talking about how I'm quitting! What did you say to people?"

After a few rapid blinks, I regained my ability to speak. "What? No! I only talked to Candy. What happened? Are you quitting?"

After informing me, that no, in fact he was NOT quitting, nor had any intention of quitting, he then began a story about how this "rumor" of his quitting had made it around the whole store, until it had finally reached the store manager who had called Joe into his office to have a serious talk, ask if he was really leaving, etc. Joe, unaware of any of this, and pretty fucking shocked, could only tell the manager the truth, he was staying put.

Joe then gave one of his gruff smiles. "It actually did help me out though."

"Oooh, did you get a raise?" I asked, full of hope. Wow, then he'd actually OWE me one for that!

"No, not that, but it helped things out a lot."

"Well, there you go! I did you a favor!" I triumphed.

Joe gave me the stink eye and said, "Nice job."

Of course at that point I apologized profusely. Idiot. You'd think I'd learn. About a month ago I had said, in passing, to Candy, "Damn, I'm gonna quit. I hate my schedule!" It was true, since my boss is continually fucking up my schedule and adding shifts after it's "finalized," which irks me to no end. But I say I'm going to quit all the time. Ask Beau - it's like the first thing out of my mouth when I come home cranky and tired each night.

Candy, taking this VERY seriously, brought it up in the managers' meeting, got my intense boss in a bunch of trouble, and then later, I had to suffer the pain-in-the-assness of having THREE different managers come up to me, including the store manager, asking me to stay and proclaiming how valued I was. Sheesh. I love Candy, but COME ON!

Okay, lesson learned. This time.

Angie Tempest - Delilah Crazy

I was lucky for awhile in that the infamous Angie (well, if you're a Shop-n-Smile worker) has been mostly working days, so has been absent from life. I am now unlucky in two other ways though: a) she is now the head of my department and frankly, is doing a crappy job of it; and b) I've seen more of her lately since a buttload of people have quit and she's been working some nights.

So many people have quit, that nearly every night I work (except for those glorious nights with Angie), I am the senior person there. Keep in mind I started this job in March, less than six months ago. Closing each night with a bunch-a-newbies is painful. They're slow, needy, and naturally, somewhat psycho. One girl, "Delilah," comes off as Severus Snape's younger, annoying sister, with oily tendrils of jet black hair hanging to her chin and a way of holding herself that makes you feel she is uncomfortable in her own skin. In all honesty, I thought she was a tranny, which fascinated me since Montana's not a trans-gender-friendly place. Now, I think not. Anyway, overall, she's a nice girl, but, of course, really peculiar. She introduced us to her fiance, a young man who instantly strikes you as an expert Magic and D&D player, and who has developed a tendency of orbiting her while she works. Never quite talking to her, but always...there.

The other night I was talking to some customers, explaining the futon deal to them (believe it or not, it's complicated), when she walked up, planted herself inches from me, and stood there for a few moments. Because I was right in the middle of my explanation, I kind of just acknowledged her with a smile and kept talking, until I was suddenly interrupted mid-sentence by her loudly chirping out, "Hi!"

I stopped mid-sentence and turned to her. I thought she must need something. "Hi," I said, "Did you have a question?"

"No," she said, "I just saw that you were here and well, I know that there's questions about furniture and stuff, and just in case you had a question..."

I paused again. I didn't even really get this. Basically I am the furniture person. "Um, no, I'm good, thanks," I said, and continued on with the customers. She kind of hovered there for another minute, and then finally strolled off.

And last night I was treated to Evil Angie's presence. Since Harry Potter 5 came out, it struck me that she is almost EXACTLY like the Dolores Umbridge character. Sickly sweet, high-pitched voice, but an underlying current of cruelty flowing. About 7pm, the manager was gathering me, Angie, and another (somewhat new) employee, Barry together. It seems there was a mess-up on the schedule and he was going to figure out who would do what. I was already somewhat annoyed since I'd been placed in Health & Beauty, an area I was unfamiliar with, but it wasn't the end of the world. As he was striding toward us, he got called to the cash registers on the loudspeaker. Walking away, he called out over his shoulder, "You guys figure it out and let me know!"

Angie immediately took charge. "Okay, let's see. where did you start and which way are you working?" she asked me.

"I'm not, really. I started in the middle and I'm jumping around." This was because I didn't want to start in school supplies (a disaster area right now due to back to school crap), nor the other end, grocery, which is a mess even on the best of days. I had decided to tackle the center first and jump around as I put back returns. This was to keep myself from being overwhelmed and stabbing myself in the neck due to both the mess and the utter boredom that my life would take on for the next four hours.

Angie did NOT like that answer. She let out a melodramatic sigh and said, "Well!" Then she turned to Barry and started talking to him. He tried to explain his "plan." It started getting ridiculous, since she was truly trying to map out a strategy, and we were somewhat resistant. Not out of any malice, but simply because, really, the "strategy" is: do your work, and if you finish, come help someone else. Shit, there's only THREE of us. It's not rocket science. We didn't need a game plan. She threw up her hands and shrieked, "Fine! Do whatever you want!" as I paused and waited for all glass in the store to shatter. Then, she stomped off in a huff that would make any silent movie actress proud.

As we watched her exit stage left, Barry shook his head and muttered, "God, I hate her. She makes me want to punch a baby."

If I had been drinking milk at that moment, it would have come out my nose. Not only was I shocked simply by the statement, violent as it was, but also that it came out of Barry's mouth. Barry's just one of the sweetest people I've ever met. About 20 years old, he's one of those people who are ALWAYS in a good mood with a big smile on their face, and it's all for real! "Hey J!" he always calls out to me as if we've been pals forever. He's good to customers and he works hard. He even stayed to close one night after finding out his grandmother was dying. "Go home! Forget fucking Shop-n-Smile!" I said. He wanted to be the good guy, I guess. I've never heard him say a bad word about anyone, ever. Even when he complains about customers he does it with a smile on his face.

Well, I guess that's just the effect our lovely Angie has on her co-workers. How to win friends and influence people!

More Proof I Work With Crazy People - Part II

Sort of update: Sally is already back to work, because as she says, "I can't not work. I have to be working! It's important to me!" This sounded admirable to me, though I thought she did come back awfully fast (after not quite a week). But then as the conversation progressed, she informed me that she was working with her doctor to get disability due to her back problems, so she would only have to work 15 hours a week ever again. Well!

She is all excited and showing off photos of her new baby boy. Of course, she never said anything about adoption (whether or not that was really what was going on, that's her business), but what she DID tell me was this:

Sally: I had my tubes tied. This wasn't supposed to happen.
Me: Really!? Did you have them "tied" or were they burnt off? (I have heard of ones that were literally tied coming undone and women getting pregnant).
Sally: I don't know, all I told them was that there better not be a chance in hell I get pregnant again.
Me: Wow, so much for that.
Sally: Yeah, but they're giving me another free surgery. So, I'll make sure this time!

And now she's in her early 20's with THREE boys (yikes) and working at Shop-n-Smile. Life can't be easy.
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More Proof I Work With Crazy People

So, we've been shorthanded at Shop-n-Smile for days. This really pisses me off, since we tend to be understaffed (imho) most of the time anyway. The typical "night shift" consists of just THREE people on the entire "hardlines" floor (anything that doesn't involve clothes). So, if someone is on break, or someone has to do a "carry out" (wheeling and loading a piece of furniture out to someone's car, which happens OFTEN), then you can easily be the only person left standing. Add to that the cashiers constantly calling you up to help them out or a few annoying phone calls ("Can you tell me the prices and descriptions of ALL your coffee tables?"), and you can see how things can quickly get hectic. All this, and your MAIN job is to clean up/straighten the entire store at the same time, because the first shift people piss, bitch, moan and cry if they don't enter the store every morning to a gleaming, sparkling paradise.

Two nights ago we had four people missing (including the apparel area), which was crazy. We had two people missing last night as well, and walking with the boss, I said, "Who's missing tonight?" My boss told me it was Sally, a young woman about 22 years old who works at the Customer Service counter. She's about 5 feet to 5 feet 2 inches tall and shaped almost exactly like the apple guy from the Fruit of the Looms commercials. She works pretty hard, though she's one of those people who will just start chatting and chatting with you until the point where you can't take it anymore and you find yourself trying to slowly inch away from them and escape. Once I got ensnared by her when she launched into a story about how she was suing Wal-Mart (true). Though I thought this was another crazy co-worker story, it seemed she actually had somewhat of a case. That was months ago. Well, if she ends up with a multi-million dollar judgment, I'm sure I'll hear about it. Or maybe not, as the case turns out..

I was surprised Sally was missing, since she didn't seem the type to skip out. She works full-time as far as I know, and she's got two little kids to support. When the boss was lamenting her second night of double-duty, she began this conversation:

Boss: Yeah, it's Sally who isn't here again.
J: Oh.
Boss: She wasn't here last night. She called and said she had a bladder infection.
J: Oh, ick.
Boss: Then her mother called today. Her mother told me that Sally won't be in for a week now.
J: A week? Wow, what's wrong?
Boss: It seems that last night she had a baby.
J: *long pause while brain explodes inside skull* Wait, whu?
Boss: Yes, she really did have a baby.
J: Sally. Sally had a baby. Sally.
Boss: Yes.
J: A real baby. Did she know she was pregnant? (note: I actually knew someone once who didn't know she was pregnant until her SIXTH month. True. She said it was due to her chronic colitis condition which often swelled up her stomach anyway, as well as her frequently missed periods. Go figure).
Boss: Yes, and she didn't tell anyone. Not any of the bosses here knew.
J: Um, she's full-time. Isn't there maternity leave and stuff?
Boss: Yes. *shrug* Who knows what she is thinking.
J: Wait...still...she had a BABY?

I just went on spluttering and pausing after that. It was a monkeys-fly-out-of-my-butt moment. Sure, she was round, but there are different kinds of round! Not for a minute did I ever think she was nine months pregnant (and she must have worked right up until the day she went into labor).

Further craziness ensued when talking to apathetic teenager Katie, who is a close friend of Sally's.

Katie: Yeah, and Sally just had a baby.
J: Um yeah, what's up with that? Did you know?
Katie: No, I had no idea! I mean, I hang out with her! She never said anything! Everyone keeps saying, "I just thought she was fat."
J: This is so weird.
Katie: I mean, now that we all think about it, it makes total sense. She used to be this huge drinker, and at some point she just randomly stopped drinking.
J: Ahh.
Katie: And she used to be the sweetest person ever, and then she just turned into this total bitch. So, it all makes sense now.
J: Uh huh.

One alarming point is just last week I was sitting in my car during a break, chatting with Beau, and I THOUGHT I had a funny moment. As we were talking, I would occasionally glance at Katie across the parking lot. She was gathering shopping carts, of which there were a lot. At one point, I looked up and saw her hiding behind a bunch of cars where she began, hands down, the fastest smoking of a cigarette I have ever seen. She was taking rapid fire, fierce drags that sucked her cheeks in sharply. It was comical to watch, since she mirrored a dying man sucking on an oxygen mask for dear life. When I mentioned it to her later, she said, "Oh, Sally was in the parking lot in her car and I asked her if I could have a few drags off her cigarette." Knowing what I know now, yikes!

So, anyway, I don't know if this certifies Sally as crazy, but once again, I have a co-worker with inexplicable, bizarre behavior. The only thing I could think of was that perhaps Sally was planning on giving the baby up for adoption all along, since she's very young and supporting two children on a Shop-n-Smile salary. If so, I don't know why she would tell Shop-n-Smile WHY she would have to be out for a week (I'm sure she could make up a similar 'bladder infection' story). Otherwise, I have no clue as to why there would be a big secret.

Weirdos, I tell you, weirdos!

Blah blah blahppity blah!

Yeah, that about sums it up. As usual, all workin workin workin, and not much play. Pretty soon I'm going to take a chainsaw to the nice old man in my life.

I've also not been posting because the past two weeks have been pretty rough and you just get tired of writing the "Woe is me!" posts. You want to write about good news or funny stories, but both are running a bit thin. As Chris Rock said,
"Stop telling me the same shit, over and over! Why don't you go out and get kidnapped, have some new shit happen to you!"

In some good news, I haven't had to work with Angie, hardly at all, since my last post. She's gone to days for the most part, where she's making a whole new batch of friends. Our paths barely crossed over the weekend, though she was up to her old habit of assigning tasks to fellow employees -- the ones who don't challenge her. There's this teenage boy named Christian. He's about 6'4, somewhat gangly, with a mop of blonde hair covering his blue eyes. He's just a sweetheart, and rather harmless, kind of like a great dane puppy. As I was standing there, he was paged by Angie, who, on her way to punch out, started assigning him things to do. "I'd ask J.," she said, "But she hates me." Well, not that I want people to think I HATE them, even if I do, but at least it's good for something. "Tell her 'no!'" I exclaimed. He just kind of shrugged nervously and smiled. I felt like patting his head.

I finally closed with her on Monday night, and was completely shocked to find her behavior totally different. She was quiet, she wasn't constantly paging fellow employees, nor did she do her drive-by inspections. Even the other employees noticed it. I did what I always do when I completely can't stand someone - I stayed out of her way. I know there are people in our lives we may really dislike, but I also don't believe in treating them like dogshit or trying to start stuff with them. Basically, my philosophy is back off and leave them alone. Put as much distance between them and I as I can. If they want to mess with me, I can respond, though I find that so tiresome. So, I've left Angie to her own devices. That girl will hang herself.

Another piece of good news is that for the first time since I started at Shop-n-Smile at the beginning of March, I will have THE ENTIRE WEEKEND OFF! Yes, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday (they tend to think that just giving you ONE of those days off is some kind of privilege). They have recently rotated bosses around at the store, and the new one is a true Shop-n-Smile disciple and pushes everyone to be the same. I just want to go, "Dude! Look around you! You've got tired, old fart me who's working a second job, and a bunch of teenagers coming here after school. We're not converts, we just need some extra cash." After numerous promises of lightening my schedule (we've had about EIGHT employees quit in the past three weeks), and numerous promises broken, he finally did what he said and gave me one free weekend. I'm so giddy I can barely stand it. Tomorrow will be my 19th day straight working 8-13 hours a day, so as you can imagine, I need the break!

I have no idea what I'm going to do, especially since Beau will be working full-time both Saturday and Sunday, but I hope it involves lots of low-key things like sleeping, gardening, playing Civ IV, cleaning our yucky apartment (we hardly eat or just LIVE in the place anymore), teaching my cat how NOT to steal my pantyhose, and watching lots of gory forensic shows. I've been dying to fly my kite which is still in the packaging, and REALLY want to go tubing, which is a big past time here, but that'll have to wait for another time. Maybe we'll even squeeze in dinner and a movie one night.

And in even better news, Beau and I will be celebrating our 1st wedding anniversary in early July. I'd like to say, "Wow, the year went by so fast!" but Ha Ha Ha! No. It was a long and crazy year, but a really amazing one too. It's going to take a whole 'nother year just to recover from it. We've lived in four states (if you count NYC for me and our brief stint in Wisconsin) and two countries. Here's hoping we can tone that down to one country and/or one state from now on.

I've even asked for the whole anniversary weekend off and we'll be going camping up near Libby, Montana, where there are lots of "Beau's special places." For him, it's the kind of places where you are hip-deep in a river fly fishing, with mountains all around you and NO ONE (no one), for miles and miles around. Very A River Runs Through It. It sounds really nice, and a little scary. I've been slowly collecting camping equipment for the big trip (three days is a BIG trip for us), though Beau thinks I'm insane for insisting on bringing the air bed.

- "It'll pop."
- "No, it won't. And besides, I got this gorgeous blue blanket to take with us...it'll be so great. I got it for 65% off and it's Columbia brand, so you know it's good. And it's just like a down blanket, but you can WASH it! And what do you want us to do, sleep on the GROUND?!"

I know the cowboy inside him is screaming his fucking head off.

City Mouse, Country Mouse

I've lived in plenty of places and enjoyed most of them, but most of them have either been big cities or rapidly growing suburban sprawls. It wasn't until early 2006 that I experienced my first, true, "rural" environment (in a teeny tiny Missouri town). You learn pretty quickly that different things are valued in a rural town.

I have never really thought of Missoula as rural or small town. It seems almost like a suburb to me, though there's nothing to be a suburb of since Missoula, at around 65,000+ people, is one of the largest cities in the state of Montana (true). People often comment that Missoula is a big city where the people feel like/think they live in a small town. Living here now, I get that. I just read this from Outdoor Magazine: "If Missoula were a woman, she might show up for a first date in a battered pickup, grease on her overalls and fly rod in hand. She would look ravishing."

ANYWAY, last night while working at Shop-n-Smile, I saw a new product in my Domestics section that made me burst out laughing, shake my head, and say, "Ohhh this is so Montana."

In one of our many bedsheets aisles is one filled with typical kid's sheets, blankets and pillowcases: Disney's Princesses, SpongeBob, Batman, Superman, etc. It reminded me of the Star Wars sheets we had when I was a youngster.

So last night, I'm tending the aisle, straightening out pillows, lining up sheets, when I notice a new spot of kid's sheets.....wait for it.....

JOHN DEERE!

Wooooo hoooo! Sheets, fuzzy blankets, and your own embroidered pillow with "John Deere" emblazoned across the front and a picture of their trademark giant green tractor. I don't know, maybe it's just me, but I find that hysterical and awesome and just soooooo country! I can't imagine that in any of the other places I've lived: NYC, Arizona, hell, even WISCONSIN which worships the holy farmer, (well, I am referring to Madison and Milwaukee now), would carry a product like that. Rural Missouri, sure.

I thought it was strange and amusing when months ago in the Housewares section I saw both place mats and coasters with John Deere on them, but the kid's bedding is just simply the best.

"Here Timmy, look what Mommy bought you. Your very own John Deere bedsheets!"

Feel the love.
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And check out this John Deere crib! YES!
Laz, Jillian, Cabol, be a good mother and show your babies you REALLY love them. I mean, come on!

Angie: With No Loving In Our Souls...

"Cause every woman's got another woman at her job that SHE. CAN'T. STAND."
-- Chris Rock

I don't know if it's true, but it's true for me, at least at Shop-n-Smile. And since I have nothing good to say about my life atm, why not vent about a co-worker whose face you'd like to flush down the toilet?

Let's call her, "Angie."

I first met Angie shortly after I started. I remember I was near the make-up, and looking down at something, when I heard a voice say to me, "Hi, I'm Angie! I'm the head of Health & Beauty."

At this I looked up, smiling, and hopefully, the dramatic gasp that echoed through my head didn't erupt from my mouth. I swear to god, for a split second, it was like I was looking into the face of "Sloth" from the movie, Goonies. That quick, initial glance displayed a large, round white face, paler than my own, with massive amounts of flaring, red acne, a smile full of over-crossing and turned-in teeth, and a sprout of harshly-dyed, white-blonde hair that looked like the top of a carrot. She looked to be a little bit older than I.

Maybe I wouldn't have been so struck by surprise if she had said she was the head of Hardware or something. I think it was because I looked up right at the point where she said, "Beauty" that got me.

Now, before I go any further, I know I'm being mean. And I know that sucks. And I know when you really dislike someone, being mean gets real easy, and sadly, sometimes even a little fun. I rarely poke fun at someone physically, since I've had my own insecurities (and problems with acne!). It was just such a shocking moment, it kind of burned itself into my brain and then getting to know Angie better didn't improve her looks for me. So, just a warning.

I think one of the reasons I really began to get aggravated with Angie was because she represents a certain type of person that I really can't stand. It's that person with the sing-songy, high-pitched voice who is constantly calling everyone "sweety" or "honey" and giving these over-the-top phrases, like, "Well, you bet! I would be oh so happy to show you where the light bulbs are, honey." I can take that kind of personality, in all its sticky sweetness, if I believe the person to be truly sincere -- there are Midwesterners and Southerners like that. But Angie is one of those who are all molasses one minute, and if you say the wrong word or do the wrong thing, fast as the crack of the whip, her mood and demeanor changes. Her face will cloud over, her words will get very slow and deliberate, and the tension in the room thickens to goop. And you stand there as if jolted by a stun gun, kind of wondering what the hell happened and what the hell you do now.

One of the first instances of this, was when we were doing "the walk." This is during the last hour of the night when, after we all finish our respective areas (straightening, putting things away, etc.), the manager will gather us all and walk us through the store, where as a group, we make final touches here and there. It's somewhat social and laid back, since most people there do a pretty decent job.

That night, we were walking by large cannisters of various kinds of nuts. Angie suddenly halted mid-step, stared at the peanuts open-mouthed, and exclaimed in a near-shout, "THOSE don't go THERE!" Apparently, the stocking team had put a bunch of peanuts in the spot reserved for cashews (the bastards!). Angie then leapt into a frenzy, where she started yanking the cannisters off the shelves and literally throwing them into the cart the manager was pushing. The manager, Joe, a good guy, but fairly laid back, just kind of stared. And the previously-mentioned apathetic teenager, Katie was also with us. Katie and Joe stared at each other, and when Angie's attack ended, he said, "Ummmmmm okay" and began to push the cart again.

This must have embarrassed and pissed off Angie, for immediately, she straightened her arms and clasped her hands tightly in front of her at pelvis-level, and with thinly-pressed lips, began a straight-legged, almost marching step, as she walked along with us. I just kept quiet the whole time. It was like watching a show.

At the end of the walk, when Joe offered to send a couple of us home early, Katie offered to give it to Angie. "Me? Why me? Oh no, don't worry about me!" Angie said in this melodramatic, condescending voice. "Why not, it's pretty obvious you're uber-pissed off right now," responded Katie. Angie gasped and said, "Me?? I'm not mad. Why do you think I'm mad? I'm not mad at all!" Katie, being who she was, shrugged and left. I pretty much did the same.

In following shifts, I noticed that Angie would page me (and others) over the loudspeaker. When I would call her, she'd announce to me that she was going on lunch, or break, or something. "Um, okay," I'd say. Then, several times during my shift, while folding towels or straightening some furniture, Angie would come slowly strolling by. "Are you okay, honey? Do you need any help? Can I do anything for you?" she'd coo.

"No, really, I'm good," I always say. Shop-n-Smile does not get very vigorous business, and I'm happy for the work I do have, otherwise I go absofuckinglutely nuts while working with nothing to do.

Now, Angie is not a manager, of any kind, and in these retail places, they tend to have six levels of managers going on. She's not on any level, except maybe the second circle of Hell. I started to resent her checking up on me. And so did everyone else.

Then, if you remember, I got pulled over by a cop on the way to Shop-n-Smile one night. This made me about 10 minutes late in the door. I always start my weekday shifts at 6pm since I don't get off from the university until 5pm. The new manager had scheduled me from 5-10pm, which was not a big deal, since all the other managers understood my schedule and I was told "Just come in when you always do, of course."

That night, Angie must have been trolling the schedules of employees, including me, because she then made it a point to call the manager (once again, that night it was Joe), to tell him, "J. was supposed to be in at 5. She's late!"

Bitch.

And WHAT is the deal with all this tattle-tail telling going on? Angie is the worst, but she is not the only one. I've mentioned this before, and Beau and I have discussed this, but only at Shop-n-Smile and Wally World have we experienced this constant, crybaby, run-to-the-manager crap, where ADULTS are doing the "Guess what she did!?" game in regards to their fellow employees. It's juvenile, and just fucking ridiculous.

Anyway, Joe did call me. "I was worried about you," he said, "I know we can always trust you to come in and be on time. And it was pouring, so I got nervous."

I'm sure it was not all concern on Angie's part.

Things like this keep happening. The stock people are all pissed off because she keeps trying to give them little assignments to do. Even the really (genuinely) sweet woman I often work nights with, Laura, will just go OFF at the mention of Angie's name, and began a tirade of hate. Every night that I work with her, I get home and exclaim to Beau, "Guess what happened with Angie THIS time!" At least she's good for a good story.

Yet, this angry buzz keeps growing, and nearly every shift someone mentions her in frustration. And as I see Angie trying desperately to make her way to manager, I'm alarmed. Seriously, she's enough to make me quit (not that it would take a LOT). Last night, I turned to Deb, another great manager, and asked, "Can't you guys DO something about her? It's getting out of hand." Then Deb told me that Angie's trying to get a managerial position in Great Falls, MT, at another Shop-n-Smile. I'm torn between LOVING the idea of her leaving and feeling like some sort of warning should be sent to the other store. Well, I'm sure the managers here will have something to say.

In the meantime, I look toward my shifts with her with a great deal of apprehension. I have no problem keeping my mouth shut for awhile, but there always comes a point with me when confrontation occurs. She must sense this, because she has backed up off me dramatically of late.

But if I hear, "Oh hunnnnneeeeee" one more time....

One Dish At A Time, Sweet Jesus

I've gotten so used to blogging on a near-daily basis, that when I don't approach my computer with some story or event, I feel disappointed. I guess all this 2-job (3 for Beau) constantly-working thing has made me un-bloggable since the quirky experiences have dried up from my life. Sure, I could talk about the ogre in the office at my day job or the unendingly migraine-inducing teenagers at Shop-n-Smile, but nothing can top the Fart story I told awhile back, alas. You could say a "true" writer would find something to write about the most minute details of life. *stares at stack of papers on desk* Oh well.

I IM'd with a friend from the mud last night, and after it was over realized I had nothing good to say about Beau's life, my life, or our life. This then got me depressed. I try to keep the "my life sucks" blogs to a minimum, but then, I'm running out of blog fodder, so some of it will have to ooze out here and there.

Good news: The constant working has put money into our bank accounts. Since I've been a lifetime paycheck to paycheck girl (thank you, student loans!), I feel suddenly flush. Beau feels the opposite, since he's used to having a bit more in the bank, "just in case." And, since shopping gives me an almost crack-addict pleasure nowadays, I have been spastically shopping while simultaneously working at Shop-n-Smile. The thing is, I work in Domestics and Housewares, and since these are the very items we lacked when we moved here (furniture, towels, sheets, kitchenware, utensils, pots and pans, dishes, etc.), every time I work, I basically shop. As I troll around with my cart, here and there I place something in the cart to be purchased later.

My method is to do things in pieces. For example, we have one very nice dish set at our store. Not the icky Corelle stuff, but good quality, nice-looking stuff, which is something I do like about our store. We'll have the cheapie, crappie towels when you just need a 2-dollar towel, but we also have the $15, so-soft-you-wanna-sink-into-it-and-die towels as well, and everything in between. So, since I am determined to finally, for the first time in my life, NOT stock my home with Goodwill furniture and mismatched, handed down plates, I am trying to get some decent, matching stuff. Well, as decent as is reasonable, and even the top of the line Shop-n-Smile stuff isn't that expensive. So, I wait 'til it goes on sale (which is frequently), and then, on a Monday shift, I'll buy a plate. Just one. And a cloth napkin. And maybe a vegetable peeler.

I'm also determined to make a home. When I was a freshman in undergrad, I was the only one with the flowered comforter, posters and pictures on the wall, and other "decorations." I noticed that my friends started to gather in my room, and hang out there. They said, "It just feels nicer here, there's things on your walls, it's comfortable." I think it also had something to do with the fact that I didn't freak when a drunken, morose friend knocked at my door at 3am to talk (I don't think I'd be as understanding now). So, I learned a lesson -- what you do with your place makes a difference, even if it's a tiny dorm room. It affects how you feel when you're there, and as we all know, our home is our sanctuary. In addition, since adjusting to Missoula has been tough for me, and even tougher for Beau, I really want to make our place look like a home and not some apartment we're renting for now. It helps with the mindset. And I'm for anything that helps.

So, the following Wednesday when I work, I'll buy a bowl, and placemat. Maybe even that pillow that's on sale for $5.49, marked down from $14.99. It cracks up the Shop-n-Smile staff to see me approach the counter with my cornucopia of single items each night. "How can you afford to work here?" asked one woman. "It kinda pays for itself. My day job pays for the rest," I say.

And every night I come home with one shopping bag. I think it both drives Beau crazy and makes him happy. He hates to spend any money, but I think he likes what I'm doing, he just doesn't want to encourage it too much, especially on the nights I come grunting up the stairs, hauling a 45lb boxed bookcase - a nice one, several steps up from my Sauder days, that'll take us about three hours to put together, us both laughing and snapping at each other throughout the process.

Yesterday, I put together the large and beautiful dining room table I had purchased (on sale + my store discount, woo!), to go with the accompanying bench I had purchased a couple weeks before (the two accompanying chairs will eventually join us, for now it's the folding table chairs). I placed the placemats, napkins, napkin holder, plates, cups, and candle holders I had also accumulated over the past few months on the table as well as one of my nice table runners (I have a thing for table runners) and waited for Beau to come home from work. I've never actually owned a dining room table before, though I briefly had use of my dead great-grandmother's mini-set for a time years back. It felt pretty good to have something of my (our) own that was new, nice-looking, decent quality, and real. The place is slowly coming together, one dish at a time.

"Now, watch we end up moving back to New Zealand," Beau says.

Buzzkiller.

Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt

Since I began driving at 16, (18 years ago). I've been pulled over by the cops three times in my entire life. All three times were on major interstate highways amidst a long, laborious road trip of some kind. All three times I was speeding. The one that killed me was on my return from NYC - Madison, non-stop 14 hour trip, where I was JUST reaching the exit to my home at about 3am, exhausted and relieved. Then, flashing blue and red lights! Fucker.

Beau and I have lived in Missoula for 2 1/2 months and we've each been pulled over once already. Cops are everywhere here and though I've never found myself having strong feelings one way or the other about cops or tickets, I find myself growing more and more upset. Big surprise, it's Missoula!

I first started getting irritated, naturally, after Beau got his $81 speeding ticket for doing 35 in a 25 mph zone. It's hard to argue with a ticket when you're speeding. You just are. Doesn't stop me from being annoyed by all the circumstances surrounding it though. For one, we live in a nice apartment, but basically in a pretty depressed area of small, unkempt houses where the front yards often feature a doberman, rottweiler, or something else large-jawed and fear-inspiring. A somewhat major (busy) road road runs along the outside of these neighborhoods near where we live. The other side of the road consists of industrial lots, or just dirt lots, or the cemetery. On this road to our home, right before you pass these neighborhoods on the right, you have to cross a short, yet surprisingly steep bridge, since underneath it runs about ten lines of railroad track. I have to kick our little Honda into high gear to make it up the little bridge, and then of course, to keep me from getting a ticket by going over 25 mph, lean heavily on the break the whole way down. That's where Beau got nabbed, coming off that bridge.

Nearly every single day when I'm driving to and from work, I see a cop and some unfortunate victim pulled over on the side of the road, right in this area -- I did again just this morning on the way to work. You can imagine how that inspires a stately crawl every time I enter the neighborhood. I guess it just seems so unfair that again and again I see people getting that $81 ticket, and I KNOW these are, for the most part, blue-collar families in small homes with not much money. Whenever I've been in the wealthier sections of Missoula (like where I park my car every morning for work), I have seen ZERO cops. Not one. $81 is a LOT of money to pay when you don't have it. Trust me on that one.

And though I've been driving through this area for about 11 weeks now, and have seen daily police pull-overs in this tiny area, I have never seen anyone racing by me in their car. I've never seen an accident, I've never seen anything even remotely reckless or strange warranting such blanket attention. I don't get it. It's not even that busy of an area, traffic-wise. People here tell you that the police are so rabid because of Montana's no sales tax law. I hear this as an excuse for anything that is ridiculous or expensive. We haven't gotten a new car title yet, but we're afraid to, since we hear "It'll cost SO much money, hundreds of dollars, since there's no sales tax and this is how they get their money." I've already mentioned how angry people are about their sky-high property taxes too. Yet, every time it's put to a vote, people want to keep their no-sales-tax way of life. Okay.

The only thing I've seen that should stimulate police action, are the idiots who drive their stupid trucks up the side of a very steep hill lying underneath I-90. These idiots deserve a little Cop Smackdown, or to just die from their dumbassness. It's either teenagers or men in their 30's or 40's who drive their cars straight up the hill, like they're just taunting the hill and the laws of gravity to fling them off. I watched from my window in disbelief as a man went slowly up up up the hill in his Bronco, and then began to slowly slide back down. The teenagers in the station wagon didn't even make it up that high before their car stalled. I'm waiting for the day when something truly tragic happens. Of course, though this is about a half mile from the speed trap area I mentioned -- the hill is literally in view -- I have never seen a single cop nab one of these brain surgeons. I guess you can't get a ticket for being crazy.

It also bothers me since it just rips up the ground. This must be some kind of common pasttime here, because there are several paths just chewed out of the hillside shooting up and down and circling around. Those are not real roads by any means. They're just guys driving around in the dirt. I took a picture of this guy last weekend. I was pretty bummed that the photo doesn't allow you to really see the dramatic angle this hill (and car) are on. Maybe it's because I took the picture from where I live on the third floor. But just use your fantastic powers of imagination to picture this hill as very very steep.

As for myself, changing gears now to a different story, I had MUCH better luck, and an experience that somewhat redeemed my opinion of Missoula cops. After coming off an eight hour shift at Shop-n-Smile, exhausted and just DYING to get home, I get pulled over. JUST GREAT! It couldn't be a worse time to get a ticket since, as usual, we're broke, and our Shop-n-Smile and my university paychecks haven't started rolling in yet. I thought, maybe he'll see my Shop-n-Smile dork nametag and take pity on a poor, working slop like me. He had this giant, bright headlight on the side of his car that he kept shining into my rearview mirror rendering me paralyzed in fear and confusion. He did this about three times, rolling the light around a bit. I felt like there was something I was supposed to do, but had no idea what. Finally, a young male cop came to my window and said, "Could you please move your car farther off the road so I don't get hit."

- 'Oh, oh yeah, sure" *sheepish*

Then he walked over to the car, leaned down and said, "How long has your headlight been out?"

Oh crap.

Now, that stupid headlight has been going out for about a month now, but like a bad sitcom, what happens is this: Beau turns the car and headlights on, only the left headlight will shine, he then gets out and smacks the right headlight forcefully. The right headlight then obediently snaps on in cheery brightness. He gets back in the car and we drive off. I had punched it on myself two weeks earlier and it had inexplicably just kept coming on every time I turned the ignition thereafter without my Mafia-like ass-kicking persuasion. So, since it had been working for awhile, I had forgotten to threaten it that particular night.

I looked at the cop and said, "Um, can I get out and show you?" He said yes, I got out and timidly stepped around to the front of the car. I raised my arm and brought down the side of my fist onto the light.

*bam*

Nothing.

"Oh fuck oh fuck," I thought.

I hit it again, a little harder.

Nothing.

I hit it about five more times. "I can't BELIEVE this!" I thought in rising panic. Like he was going to believe me now! I gave it one more smack.

*blink* *shine*

I muttered under my breath that the light was DEAD, you hear me, DEAD, when we got home. Okay, that just went on in my mind. In reality I looked up at the police officer with hope and triumph in my eyes.

"What, is it just loose?" he asked.

- "Um, I don't know," I said. "It's stayed on for the past couple weeks so I thought it was fine now."

"Okay, let's see your license and proof of insurance then."

So, I got back in the car, frantically digging through the glove box (the overhead light in the car wouldn't turn on EITHER!), and gave them both to him. Again, snag. My license is still out-of-state and the insurance, though totally valid, is under my mother's name until April. And of course, like previously mentioned, the license plate and registration itself is still Wisconsin.

"You new to the area?" he asked.
- "Yes," I replied cheerfully, "We just moved here two months ago."
"You work at Shop-n-Smile, do you?"
- "Yes, I just started there."
"M'am, once you are gainfully employed, by law, you are required to get a driver's license from Montana."
- "Well, you see, I have a story about that..."

Which is true, I do, and it's a totally honest story. I can't reveal right now what it is. It's nothing that interesting. Still, even though everything I had said to the cop was true, even to my own ears it just started to sound like story after story, excuse after excuse. I braced for impact.

"Well, you make sure to get that new license and fix that light. You have a good night."

- "Oh. Oh? Oh! Thank you! Yes, okay!" I spluttered. I was stunned. I had never been let off of a ticket before. The three previous cops had all been big fat meanies to me. I was so relieved that I teared up. He went back to his car and I sat in mine. What made this comical, is that I didn't want to drive off before him. To add to all the other problems, the muffler on the car had just recently started to go, and though it had not yet reached epic noise pollution levels, I'm sure he would have noticed it, and the only "story" I had for this one is that we didn't have enough money yet to get it fixed. So, I sat there for a moment, nervous, but it was obvious he was waiting for me. So, very.....slowly....I began to drive off. I heard the engine growl, not too loudly, but still louder than normal. I bit my lip and continued on, my eyes darting to the rearview mirror every few seconds. No more flashing lights.

I drove home like a senior citizen. In one piece. No ticket.

Glory hallelujah!

Shop-n-Smile!

The J-O-B situation is slowly getting better.

I started working at the university. It feels real real good to be on a university campus again, and the University of Montana is very pretty. At least, I see its potential to be pretty. We are just crawling into Spring and Montana does not leave winter too willingly. It will still snow here, totally unexpectedly (to me), in the middle of the day. And not necessarily snowflakes that I am familiar with, but these tiny little pellets of snow, similar to hale,...but not.

Anyway, it's no wonder it feels so good to be here since I spent such a large chunk of my life on two university campuses. Of course, this time it's different. I'm not an undergrad or the youngest student in my graduate program anymore. I'm just a 30-something temp who isn't wearing jeans and sneakers or carrying an enormous bookbag anymore. At least it's a temp with the university and not another agency!

Oh, and I got ANOTHER call from another university department, but I told them I'd already made a commitment to the department I'm in now and I couldn't do it. It was kind of a bummer since it was a pretty nice job, but despite what happened at my PREVIOUS temp job, I don't really like doing things like that. And there will be other jobs...I hope.

These temporary positions feel like you're always at the casino rolling the dice. It's all about timing and impressions. You're trying to do a good job so you can make it to the NEXT job with a favorable recommendation, and of course, the NEXT job has to start right around the time your present job ends. It's maddening. You feel like you're gambling with your own life, which you kind of are, since it's your rent, fuel, and cat food that are on the line. You don't want to piss off your present employer with your new job search, taking off for interviews and such, but you don't want to wait TOO long since nowadays so many positions require long application processes and multiple interviews.

The job I'm at now only lasts until June (with the "possibility" of an extension). I know how it goes...funding and the "we'll see if we really like you" factor kicks in. And this university, though a state school, seems to really struggle with funding in a way that surprises me. Back during my time at the Univeristy of Wisconsin-Madison, the university itself always bitched about not having enough money and needing to raise tuition, but if you spent some time at the university and used its wide array of splendid services, you'd see that they were doing very well. I guess each state is different in how they treat their universities.

What I think I haven't mentioned either, is that about two weeks ago I started a job at a retail store. Not Target again, but let's just say it's a VERY similar place. How 'bout we call it "Shop-n-Smile." I work there nights and weekends. It's a LOT less intense than Target, but it's also a lot less structured and polished, which can be annoying. And they make me tuck in my shirt, which I HATE. *cough* Anyways...

It was a weird experience, because I got to the interview, and I was asked to sit in a row of chairs facing three supervisors. There was one from apparel, one from hardlines, and one from the cashier section. There were already two other applicants sitting in the row with me -- an attractive high school student (female), and a somewhat shady-looking male with a bald head and tightly folded arms. The three interviewers would ask questions, and we'd have to answer them in turn. It was an odd experience, especially since the three of us couldn't be more different. I think each of my answers was about 3x longer than theirs. I try to be talkative in an interview without turning into Gabby McChat.

I thought the teenager did a good job, though she was very obviously nervous. The shady male kept making comments about his disgruntlement at his past jobs. Idiot! Don't you know you to ix-nay on the riticism-cay during an interview?? When they asked me where I would prefer to work, I quickly said "hardlines" which basically consists of anything that is NOT clothes/shoes or the registers. I learned from Target how un-fun it can be to work apparel, especially working the infants/kids department *vomit* And though cashiering can be fun, a shift where you just stand in place hour after hour can be excrutiating.

After a few more questions, they asked the three of us to go and sit in the breakroom while they conferred. Of course, they gave us the 5-minute "even if we don't hire you now, we'll keep your application and maybe we'll hire you later (yeah right)" speech, so I knew at least one of us didn't make the cut. After an astonishing 20 minutes cooling our heels (what could necessitate ALL that conferring?), they called us back in, each directed to a different supervisor. I sat down with the hardlines guy who said, "What area do you like to work in best?" So I told him honestly, housewares and domestics (furniture, bedding, kitchen stuff, basically everything for the house). I think it's one of the more interesting and least frustrating areas to work. I would work anywhere, but I was praying he wouldn't tell me "Toys," since that section is just about as nightmarish as you can imagine.

He smiled and said, "That's exactly where I have an opening." Score! So, all he had to do was wait for my background check to come back (do felonies count against you?) and then I could start.

So, a week later I was sent to training. Though the trainer was a very nice woman, it was one of the absolute worst training sessions I have ever been on. I felt myself appreciating Target more and more, despite all the things that had annoyed me about them. The majority of the training consisted in us watching fantastically boring videos. The trainer would often push play, and then go and disappear for awhile. Often the tape would end and the four of us would all stare at our shoes for several minutes in polite embarrassment. There were three other women in training with me. A pharmacy student who would intern in the pharamacy, a woman who would be a cashier, and the teenager from my interview who would work in apparel. Apparently Joe Dis Gruntled didn't make the cut.

So, here I am a couple weeks later. The job is easy, and Shop-n-Smile, though a nice store, gets very little business, though of course I'm comparing it to Target during Christmas, which was INSANE. But all the biggies are here in town (Wal-Mart, ShopKo, Target, K-Mart, Stein Mart), so there's lots of competition. I spend hours and hours each shift very.....slowly.....walking through the aisles straightening candles and picture frames, re-rolling the rugs people lay out on the floor to try, and folding aisles of puffy bath towels. It's hardly brain surgery, and sometimes I think I'll go mad from the boredom, but it's a job, it's easy, it's inside, and we could damn sure use the money.

Of course the only drawback is working all day at my temp job (8-5ish) and then racing over to Shop-n-Smile to work from 5ish-10pm. Since I'm one of these freaks who needs like 9 hours of sleep a night to feel even remotely functional in the morning, I've been waking up as a cast member from Night of the Living Dead. I know I can't keep this up forever, but who knows what will happen with the day temp job? I need this night gig to keep some checks coming in for awhile.

Ohhhh Missoula, one day my ship will come in, and I will feast and feast upon that fat bounty!

Until then, I'm knackered.