From the archives: What holiday is complete without a returned turkey?
I have been amazed and overwhelmed by the outpouring of wonderful comments, emails, text messages and the general torrent of support I've received from my readers.
Thank you just doesn't seem adequate, but it really is the only thing I can say. Oh, yeah. Please help control the howler monkey population in L.A. Have your howler spayed and neutered. Also, keep your hands and arms inside the Mart Cart at all times!
Your questions:
1. The "Behind the Counter" archive will remain online.
2. My new project is called "21 Minutes" - and it is available at http://twentyoneminutes.blogspot.com/. I guess some of ya'll had tears in your eyes by the time you got down to that paragraph.
3. The behindthecounter1(at)gmail.com email will remain active.
4. Wal-Mart still does not accept starter checks.
5. White trash still don't quit!
6. Comcast is still a terrible, terrible company.
7. I'm still just amazed that you liked it.
Much love. And Happy Thanksgiving.
PS: Be nice to your cashiers on Black Friday!
Showing posts with label blog-related. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blog-related. Show all posts
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
How may I help you?
It is with great joy that I announce my departure from the House of Wal.
It is with a far greater amount of sadness that I announce the likely end of regular posting to behindthecounter.com.
You, my faithful readers, deserve to know the rest of the story.
On October 20, 2007, in the year of our Lord, I walked out of the Wal-Mart a free woman. FREE AT LAST LORD, FREE AT LAST. I had spent 1,097 days in bondage to the Lords of Low Prices.
For most of the last year, I have struggled to come to terms with the fact that the only real reason I worked at Wal-Mart was to have material to post. The increasing popularity of Behind the Counter made it harder and harder for me to walk away from something that I had literally poured my heart and soul into over a period of three years.
This is how the argument went in my head. “My life is horrible. What’s good right now? My blog. What’s bad right now? Wal-Mart. What can I do to make my life better? Quit Wal-Mart. But if I quit Wal-Mart, I won’t have a blog.” Yeah. Vicious, please meet my friend Circle.
When I started my blog back in April of 2004, I was searching for myself, happiness and a purpose in life. Five months later, I happened to start working at Wal-Mart and Behind the Counter was born. Writing my blog gave me a purpose and a focus.
When I began writing, I never imagined that the things I put out there would attract such a diverse group of readers, fans and people who generally appreciate my work.
I started working at Wal-Mart for the sole purpose of being able to pay my bills. Over time, my real job began paying me enough so that – with prudent budgeting – I could survive without the House of Wal. I need to break the Starbucks addiction, but we’re working on that.
I cut back to just the weekends at Wal-Mart and tried to stockpile stories for an entire week of posting. One side effect of this was that I never had a day off from work. Ever. Monday-Friday at the office and Saturday-Sunday at Wal-Mart. It was a grinding schedule that I kept up for more than two years.
As Behind the Counter grew in popularity, I felt the pressure to pump out more content. Most weekends, I would come home after a 2-11 shift on Sundays and stay up writing until 5 a.m. – when I would go to sleep for three hours and then get up and get ready for work at my real job by 9 a.m.
Over the past year, I have battled depression, the likely beginnings of diabetes and come face-to-face with the fact that my life is a completely screwed-up mess of my own making.
In all that time, Behind the Counter – and constant stream of comments people leave – has been one of the only things that made me feel like getting out of bed in the morning.
Every time I checked my email, I hoped for a comment. Comments – be they good, bad, hateful or inane – were like little happiness grenades in the dark hours of my days.
If you, my readers, were making an effort to tell me how you felt about my work – I owed it to you to give you fresh content.
Even the haterade. You don’t exist on the Internet until you have haters. For every voice that speaks out, there are ten more that scream in silence.
I made mistakes – lots of them. If I had it to do over again, I would probably try to interact with my readers more. My paranoia over being discovered led early on to me instituting a “zero-contact” policy for all but the most extraordinary requests. In retrospect, I think that only made some people MORE curious about me – including some stalkers who analyzed every single post for clues.
I also wanted to sell merchandise. I had some T-shirt designs in the preliminary stages, but never got around to setting up a store on Zazzle. I really, really wanted to sell T-shirts where someone tries to return a baby.
Over the past year, my responsibilities at my real job have grown enormously. Some weeks, I spent up to 80+ hours at both jobs. Something was going to have to give.
I have always made no bones of the fact that I personally feel that Wal-Mart is not the best steward of its workers. The company as a whole needs to be broken down to its component pieces and completely rebuilt.
The current attitude of the bean-counters in Bentonville – who are issuing directives for the store-level employees without ever having been inside a store – are incredibly damaging to employee morale. So too is the absolute refusal to acknowledge the fact that stores cannot deliver even a minimal level of customer service if confined to the insanely low limits of the Bentonville directives for staffing.
In the time period from March until I left in October, I got a 2-11 p.m. shift nearly every Saturday and a 2-11 p.m. nearly every Sunday. I can count on one hand the number of shifts that were not 2-11. For that entire time, I was the only person scheduled at the Service Desk after the morning people went home at 4 p.m.
Psychologically, I knew that I could handle it. Wal-Martians don’t scare me. I am smarter, better and a thousand times meaner. However, it is immensely draining to go through weekend after weekend after weekend of the same crap, facing down the ghetto trash, the white trash and the dregs of society that only crawl out from under their rocks after dark. Nearly every Sunday, I had to plead for someone to give me my lunch; if I got a second break I sent a silent prayer up to the heavens and Kali’s waiting arms.
Wal-Mart literally does not care about its employees. They will mouth pretty words, but they are as empty as Paris Hilton’s head. The final straw came sometime in early summer. I had a rare 10-7 shift on Sunday and was actually looking forward to getting home in time to do laundry and sleep before going to work on Monday. When did I leave? 10 p.m. TWELVE HOURS AT THE HOUSE OF WAL.
I have had several long talks with the very few people in my life that I trusted with the secret of Behind the Counter. (Thank you all, you know who you are!) Every time they asked me “Why are you still working there?” – the only answer I could give was that I needed material for my blog. Finally, that answer just wasn’t good enough anymore.
I had to make a terrible choice – between my sanity and my blog. To be fair, it took me nearly a year to finally decide to walk away from Behind the Counter. I don’t believe that my writing should make me unhappy – and going to the House of Wal each weekend simply made me miserable.
At the end of the day, I wrote about entitled idiots trying to scam the system and generally acting like they need a beating with whips made of scorpions. I saw a niche in the blog ecosystem and I filled it – maybe not especially well or with great style and verve – but I filled it.
My next project is going to be “21 Minutes” – which is linked in the top right-hand column. (I thought seriously about concentrating on my Howler Monkeys project, but at the end of the day, I don’t think it has real legs. I mean, how much complaining about children can I do?)
What is “21 Minutes?” Well, the premise is that I’m going to go somewhere each day and describe the action for 21 minutes. The same snark, the same fashion critique, the same howler monkeys, the same WOACAs, the same witty wordplay. We may even do a post at the Wal-Mart from time to time. I hope you like it. If not, that’s fine too. This is something I’m doing for myself – and it doesn’t make me hurt inside.
Right now, I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time. I’ve had a few weekends to spend reconnecting with my friends, rebuilding my social life and trying to figure out what exactly it is that I’m going to do with the rest of my life.
For the record, I want to personally thank each and every reader of Behind the Counter over the past three years. Thank you for reading. Thank you for leaving comments. Thank you for subscribing via RSS. Thank you sending me your emails. Thank you for clicking on the advertisements. Thank you for putting links on your own personal Web pages and blogrolls. And to the two people who purchased me gifts off my Amazon Wish List – I LOVE YOU!
At the end of the day, all I did was write. Thank you all for appreciating it.
Yes. You all still have questions. No. I’m still not going to tell you my name or the location of my store. I’m not stupid. Anything else you want to know, please leave it in the comments.
It is with a far greater amount of sadness that I announce the likely end of regular posting to behindthecounter.com.
You, my faithful readers, deserve to know the rest of the story.
On October 20, 2007, in the year of our Lord, I walked out of the Wal-Mart a free woman. FREE AT LAST LORD, FREE AT LAST. I had spent 1,097 days in bondage to the Lords of Low Prices.
For most of the last year, I have struggled to come to terms with the fact that the only real reason I worked at Wal-Mart was to have material to post. The increasing popularity of Behind the Counter made it harder and harder for me to walk away from something that I had literally poured my heart and soul into over a period of three years.
This is how the argument went in my head. “My life is horrible. What’s good right now? My blog. What’s bad right now? Wal-Mart. What can I do to make my life better? Quit Wal-Mart. But if I quit Wal-Mart, I won’t have a blog.” Yeah. Vicious, please meet my friend Circle.
When I started my blog back in April of 2004, I was searching for myself, happiness and a purpose in life. Five months later, I happened to start working at Wal-Mart and Behind the Counter was born. Writing my blog gave me a purpose and a focus.
When I began writing, I never imagined that the things I put out there would attract such a diverse group of readers, fans and people who generally appreciate my work.
I started working at Wal-Mart for the sole purpose of being able to pay my bills. Over time, my real job began paying me enough so that – with prudent budgeting – I could survive without the House of Wal. I need to break the Starbucks addiction, but we’re working on that.
I cut back to just the weekends at Wal-Mart and tried to stockpile stories for an entire week of posting. One side effect of this was that I never had a day off from work. Ever. Monday-Friday at the office and Saturday-Sunday at Wal-Mart. It was a grinding schedule that I kept up for more than two years.
As Behind the Counter grew in popularity, I felt the pressure to pump out more content. Most weekends, I would come home after a 2-11 shift on Sundays and stay up writing until 5 a.m. – when I would go to sleep for three hours and then get up and get ready for work at my real job by 9 a.m.
Over the past year, I have battled depression, the likely beginnings of diabetes and come face-to-face with the fact that my life is a completely screwed-up mess of my own making.
In all that time, Behind the Counter – and constant stream of comments people leave – has been one of the only things that made me feel like getting out of bed in the morning.
Every time I checked my email, I hoped for a comment. Comments – be they good, bad, hateful or inane – were like little happiness grenades in the dark hours of my days.
If you, my readers, were making an effort to tell me how you felt about my work – I owed it to you to give you fresh content.
Even the haterade. You don’t exist on the Internet until you have haters. For every voice that speaks out, there are ten more that scream in silence.
I made mistakes – lots of them. If I had it to do over again, I would probably try to interact with my readers more. My paranoia over being discovered led early on to me instituting a “zero-contact” policy for all but the most extraordinary requests. In retrospect, I think that only made some people MORE curious about me – including some stalkers who analyzed every single post for clues.
I also wanted to sell merchandise. I had some T-shirt designs in the preliminary stages, but never got around to setting up a store on Zazzle. I really, really wanted to sell T-shirts where someone tries to return a baby.
Over the past year, my responsibilities at my real job have grown enormously. Some weeks, I spent up to 80+ hours at both jobs. Something was going to have to give.
I have always made no bones of the fact that I personally feel that Wal-Mart is not the best steward of its workers. The company as a whole needs to be broken down to its component pieces and completely rebuilt.
The current attitude of the bean-counters in Bentonville – who are issuing directives for the store-level employees without ever having been inside a store – are incredibly damaging to employee morale. So too is the absolute refusal to acknowledge the fact that stores cannot deliver even a minimal level of customer service if confined to the insanely low limits of the Bentonville directives for staffing.
In the time period from March until I left in October, I got a 2-11 p.m. shift nearly every Saturday and a 2-11 p.m. nearly every Sunday. I can count on one hand the number of shifts that were not 2-11. For that entire time, I was the only person scheduled at the Service Desk after the morning people went home at 4 p.m.
Psychologically, I knew that I could handle it. Wal-Martians don’t scare me. I am smarter, better and a thousand times meaner. However, it is immensely draining to go through weekend after weekend after weekend of the same crap, facing down the ghetto trash, the white trash and the dregs of society that only crawl out from under their rocks after dark. Nearly every Sunday, I had to plead for someone to give me my lunch; if I got a second break I sent a silent prayer up to the heavens and Kali’s waiting arms.
Wal-Mart literally does not care about its employees. They will mouth pretty words, but they are as empty as Paris Hilton’s head. The final straw came sometime in early summer. I had a rare 10-7 shift on Sunday and was actually looking forward to getting home in time to do laundry and sleep before going to work on Monday. When did I leave? 10 p.m. TWELVE HOURS AT THE HOUSE OF WAL.
I have had several long talks with the very few people in my life that I trusted with the secret of Behind the Counter. (Thank you all, you know who you are!) Every time they asked me “Why are you still working there?” – the only answer I could give was that I needed material for my blog. Finally, that answer just wasn’t good enough anymore.
I had to make a terrible choice – between my sanity and my blog. To be fair, it took me nearly a year to finally decide to walk away from Behind the Counter. I don’t believe that my writing should make me unhappy – and going to the House of Wal each weekend simply made me miserable.
At the end of the day, I wrote about entitled idiots trying to scam the system and generally acting like they need a beating with whips made of scorpions. I saw a niche in the blog ecosystem and I filled it – maybe not especially well or with great style and verve – but I filled it.
My next project is going to be “21 Minutes” – which is linked in the top right-hand column. (I thought seriously about concentrating on my Howler Monkeys project, but at the end of the day, I don’t think it has real legs. I mean, how much complaining about children can I do?)
What is “21 Minutes?” Well, the premise is that I’m going to go somewhere each day and describe the action for 21 minutes. The same snark, the same fashion critique, the same howler monkeys, the same WOACAs, the same witty wordplay. We may even do a post at the Wal-Mart from time to time. I hope you like it. If not, that’s fine too. This is something I’m doing for myself – and it doesn’t make me hurt inside.
Right now, I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time. I’ve had a few weekends to spend reconnecting with my friends, rebuilding my social life and trying to figure out what exactly it is that I’m going to do with the rest of my life.
For the record, I want to personally thank each and every reader of Behind the Counter over the past three years. Thank you for reading. Thank you for leaving comments. Thank you for subscribing via RSS. Thank you sending me your emails. Thank you for clicking on the advertisements. Thank you for putting links on your own personal Web pages and blogrolls. And to the two people who purchased me gifts off my Amazon Wish List – I LOVE YOU!
At the end of the day, all I did was write. Thank you all for appreciating it.
Yes. You all still have questions. No. I’m still not going to tell you my name or the location of my store. I’m not stupid. Anything else you want to know, please leave it in the comments.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Dirty Old Man: In the style of Behind the Counter
You asked for it … you know you wanted it ... now you got it.
It’s one of the rare Friday nights that I work – because we all know that I can’t get enough of the House of Wal – and I’ve yet to find a man wealthy enough to keep me in the style to which I could become accustomed.
I’m alone at Customer Service – of course – trying not to think about how much my feet hurt. I’m sorting through a cart of returns and cataloguing the stuff that’s been stolen and already hating the fact that Christmas carols are playing on the speakers.
Suddenly Customer Service is mobbed with people. Old people. Young people. WOACAs. Tall people. Short people. Skinny people. Fat people. I think I even saw some Canadians. Not too much in the way of white trash though.
They are obviously all together, because they have the same T-shirt on, but I can’t quite make out the connection. Orange and white T-shirts don’t ring a bell with me for anything other than Tennessee football – and somehow, I don’t think that’s it for this group that is wandering around in the bowels of Florida.
ME: “Can I help ya’ll?”
THEM: “Yeah. We want to return these posts.”
ME: “Fence posts? We don’t sell fence posts.”
THEM: “No. Your stories.” Oh. You mean the ones I wrote? The ones you didn’t write? The ones you didn’t create? The ones you didn’t put out there?
ME: “What’s wrong with them?”
THEM: “We don’t like them.” Cause nobody like nothing they get for free.
ME: “Oh.”
THEM: “Yeah.”
ME: “What specifically was wrong with them?” Other than the fact that no one likes change?
THEM: “Did you really intend to regurgitate this same story all week long, but in a different style each time?” Yep. That’s pretty much what I said I was going to do. Yeah. One story, five times.
ME: Speechless. Realizing at this point that I have never misjudged something so badly in all my life. My first boyfriend. My second girlfriend. Any decision. Ever. In the entire history of time. This ranks right up there with Little Bighorn or the decision to invade Russia in the winter.
THEM: “Well, when we first started reading, you were kinda funny. We liked you then. The first few posts were fine. But the last ones in our RSS reader really sucked. They sucked hard. They sucked like a Lewinsky-bot. We want to return them. We didn’t hardly read them. They have the html tags on them and everything.”
ME: “But see, you did read them. I can’t give you money back on something you already read.” And you read it for free. Didn’t even click on my ads now did you?
THEM: “The posts didn’t look good – especially that Jane Austen mess. And don’t get us started on Gabriel Garcia Marquez and that priestess wench. We want some cash back. Right now.”
ME: “Well, do you got a receipt.”
THEM: “Naw man. We read it online. Books are so like last century.”
ME: “Well, you can’t have cash back without a receipt.”
THEM: “No. That is not acceptable. These posts were NOT ACCEPTABLE. It crashed my browser and I DEMAND MY CASH BACK!”
ME: “Look. Ya'll got them for free. On the Internet. And you don’t have a receipt.” Why are you complaining? If you hated it, wait a week. It changes, like the weather.
THEM: “I demand to speak with an editor immediately.”
ME: “I write it. I edit it. And you’re going to have to deal with it.”
THEM: “I still want a refund. And some free hosting for my trouble.”
ME: “Like I said. It was free. I can’t refund something you got for free.” This isn’t Wal-Mart. I’m not a spineless jellyfish of a manager. You can and will be getting the big N-O as an answer.
THEM: “Do you realize how long I’ve been reading here?”
ME: “And?” I realize you care. You care enough about me to leave hateful troll comments imploring me to stop even though I was clearer than glass about the fact that this was a five-day experiment.
THEM: “If you won’t refund these crappy posts, I’m going to take you off my RSS feed.”
ME: “Thank you for your feedback. Would you like a comment card?” When you’re done, drop them in that round can with the plastic Hefty bag inside. Please. Yes. Do take me off your RSS. If you're reading me on RSS, you’re not giving me ad impressions. And if you really dislike my writing enough to leave me a venomous comment, I’m not so sure I want you around anyway.
THEM: “This is stupid. If you want to keep your readers, stop it.” Don't drink too much of that there haterade now!
ME: “Thank you for your feedback, would you also like a comment card?”
THEM: “But we’re important. We are your readers. We demand to be heard.”
ME: “That’s right. I’m listening. I’ll never do anything like this again.” I SWEAR BY THE MANY ARMS OF SHIVA THAT I WILL NEVER DO ANOTHER TRIBUTE POST AS LONG AS I AM ALIVE. McDonald’s could take a lesson from me. Stick to what you know.
THEM: “I'll be back next week when things have hopefully gotten back to normal.”
ME: “You do that.”
THEM: “So we’re cool then? Can we get back to normal now?”
ME: “I guess so.”
THEM: “Good. But let that be a warning. Don’t stray from the path again.”
ME: “I can't deny the fact that you hate me, right now, you hate me.”
Regular posting resumes Sunday or Monday. And we have another guest post this week. Thank you for all your comments, emails and diatribes. Even if you hated it. ☺
It’s one of the rare Friday nights that I work – because we all know that I can’t get enough of the House of Wal – and I’ve yet to find a man wealthy enough to keep me in the style to which I could become accustomed.
I’m alone at Customer Service – of course – trying not to think about how much my feet hurt. I’m sorting through a cart of returns and cataloguing the stuff that’s been stolen and already hating the fact that Christmas carols are playing on the speakers.
Suddenly Customer Service is mobbed with people. Old people. Young people. WOACAs. Tall people. Short people. Skinny people. Fat people. I think I even saw some Canadians. Not too much in the way of white trash though.
They are obviously all together, because they have the same T-shirt on, but I can’t quite make out the connection. Orange and white T-shirts don’t ring a bell with me for anything other than Tennessee football – and somehow, I don’t think that’s it for this group that is wandering around in the bowels of Florida.
ME: “Can I help ya’ll?”
THEM: “Yeah. We want to return these posts.”
ME: “Fence posts? We don’t sell fence posts.”
THEM: “No. Your stories.” Oh. You mean the ones I wrote? The ones you didn’t write? The ones you didn’t create? The ones you didn’t put out there?
ME: “What’s wrong with them?”
THEM: “We don’t like them.” Cause nobody like nothing they get for free.
ME: “Oh.”
THEM: “Yeah.”
ME: “What specifically was wrong with them?” Other than the fact that no one likes change?
THEM: “Did you really intend to regurgitate this same story all week long, but in a different style each time?” Yep. That’s pretty much what I said I was going to do. Yeah. One story, five times.
ME: Speechless. Realizing at this point that I have never misjudged something so badly in all my life. My first boyfriend. My second girlfriend. Any decision. Ever. In the entire history of time. This ranks right up there with Little Bighorn or the decision to invade Russia in the winter.
THEM: “Well, when we first started reading, you were kinda funny. We liked you then. The first few posts were fine. But the last ones in our RSS reader really sucked. They sucked hard. They sucked like a Lewinsky-bot. We want to return them. We didn’t hardly read them. They have the html tags on them and everything.”
ME: “But see, you did read them. I can’t give you money back on something you already read.” And you read it for free. Didn’t even click on my ads now did you?
THEM: “The posts didn’t look good – especially that Jane Austen mess. And don’t get us started on Gabriel Garcia Marquez and that priestess wench. We want some cash back. Right now.”
ME: “Well, do you got a receipt.”
THEM: “Naw man. We read it online. Books are so like last century.”
ME: “Well, you can’t have cash back without a receipt.”
THEM: “No. That is not acceptable. These posts were NOT ACCEPTABLE. It crashed my browser and I DEMAND MY CASH BACK!”
ME: “Look. Ya'll got them for free. On the Internet. And you don’t have a receipt.” Why are you complaining? If you hated it, wait a week. It changes, like the weather.
THEM: “I demand to speak with an editor immediately.”
ME: “I write it. I edit it. And you’re going to have to deal with it.”
THEM: “I still want a refund. And some free hosting for my trouble.”
ME: “Like I said. It was free. I can’t refund something you got for free.” This isn’t Wal-Mart. I’m not a spineless jellyfish of a manager. You can and will be getting the big N-O as an answer.
THEM: “Do you realize how long I’ve been reading here?”
ME: “And?” I realize you care. You care enough about me to leave hateful troll comments imploring me to stop even though I was clearer than glass about the fact that this was a five-day experiment.
THEM: “If you won’t refund these crappy posts, I’m going to take you off my RSS feed.”
ME: “Thank you for your feedback. Would you like a comment card?” When you’re done, drop them in that round can with the plastic Hefty bag inside. Please. Yes. Do take me off your RSS. If you're reading me on RSS, you’re not giving me ad impressions. And if you really dislike my writing enough to leave me a venomous comment, I’m not so sure I want you around anyway.
THEM: “This is stupid. If you want to keep your readers, stop it.” Don't drink too much of that there haterade now!
ME: “Thank you for your feedback, would you also like a comment card?”
THEM: “But we’re important. We are your readers. We demand to be heard.”
ME: “That’s right. I’m listening. I’ll never do anything like this again.” I SWEAR BY THE MANY ARMS OF SHIVA THAT I WILL NEVER DO ANOTHER TRIBUTE POST AS LONG AS I AM ALIVE. McDonald’s could take a lesson from me. Stick to what you know.
THEM: “I'll be back next week when things have hopefully gotten back to normal.”
ME: “You do that.”
THEM: “So we’re cool then? Can we get back to normal now?”
ME: “I guess so.”
THEM: “Good. But let that be a warning. Don’t stray from the path again.”
ME: “I can't deny the fact that you hate me, right now, you hate me.”
Regular posting resumes Sunday or Monday. And we have another guest post this week. Thank you for all your comments, emails and diatribes. Even if you hated it. ☺
Monday, July 30, 2007
More posts vs. better posts
Talk amongst yourselves: Do you want more posts (defined as daily), which may not always be of sterling literary quality or be OMG drop-dead shocker material - or do you want literary gems (MWF w/occasional extras)?
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Your thoughts?
First, let me thank you all for leaving comments over the last few months. My real life has been brutally time-consuming and stressful. Every time I get a comment, it reminds me that someone, somewhere was actually engaged enough by what I write to interact.
Oh, my favorite haiku was from David:
In turquoise pantsuits
they circle and wait for me.
The snow-birds return
Followed closely by FarFetched:
Crowded parking lots,
Sunday afternoon returns...
Rented it for free
I'd like to ask for a little help. Let's pretend - because I'm still not sure how this would/could work - that I want to write a book.
The blog posts are basically columns - despite their ranting nature. I looked at a Dave Barry book at Barnes & Noble -- and he has about 60-70 columns in there - with nothing linking them. I'm not saying I'm Dave Barry.
On the other hand, I don't think my meager talent extends to writing any sort of "War & Peace" opus set inside Wal-Mart. There's not really a continuing plot lines outside of the "I hate my job" and "Customers are mean." Jessica Simpson's "movie" (and I use the term loosely) with Dane Cook notwithstanding!
So what do you - the readers - think that a) a major publishing house would give me money for and b) people would actually pay $24.95 in a bookstore to pick up, take home and read?
Oh, my favorite haiku was from David:
In turquoise pantsuits
they circle and wait for me.
The snow-birds return
Followed closely by FarFetched:
Crowded parking lots,
Sunday afternoon returns...
Rented it for free
I'd like to ask for a little help. Let's pretend - because I'm still not sure how this would/could work - that I want to write a book.
The blog posts are basically columns - despite their ranting nature. I looked at a Dave Barry book at Barnes & Noble -- and he has about 60-70 columns in there - with nothing linking them. I'm not saying I'm Dave Barry.
On the other hand, I don't think my meager talent extends to writing any sort of "War & Peace" opus set inside Wal-Mart. There's not really a continuing plot lines outside of the "I hate my job" and "Customers are mean." Jessica Simpson's "movie" (and I use the term loosely) with Dane Cook notwithstanding!
So what do you - the readers - think that a) a major publishing house would give me money for and b) people would actually pay $24.95 in a bookstore to pick up, take home and read?
Monday, May 07, 2007
Achoo! No, wait haiku!
So, as a side note to the fallout from the "Suits you sir" post, I owe Heidi a haiku.
That's right. Inspired by a flippant remark, my very unpoetic self has had to get an education in haiku writing. I've spent an hour on this, doing the syllable thing with my fingers and blowing off tonight's episode of "Heroes."
So, dedicated to High-Maintenance and Hostile Heidi, here it is:
A tired worker waits
Pen gripped in hand
“Do you want to return that?”
This being a democracy and all, (for the time being) let's see what you've got. Please limit your topics to Wal-Mart.
UPDATE: Someone pointed out in an email that my original haiku doesn't follow the strict 5-7-5 syllable per line scheme, so I'm reserving the right to re-edit the lines.
Tired worker stands
Ink pen held in waiting hand
How may I help you?
That's right. Inspired by a flippant remark, my very unpoetic self has had to get an education in haiku writing. I've spent an hour on this, doing the syllable thing with my fingers and blowing off tonight's episode of "Heroes."
So, dedicated to High-Maintenance and Hostile Heidi, here it is:
A tired worker waits
Pen gripped in hand
“Do you want to return that?”
This being a democracy and all, (for the time being) let's see what you've got. Please limit your topics to Wal-Mart.
UPDATE: Someone pointed out in an email that my original haiku doesn't follow the strict 5-7-5 syllable per line scheme, so I'm reserving the right to re-edit the lines.
Tired worker stands
Ink pen held in waiting hand
How may I help you?
Monday, April 16, 2007
Making me smile
This is a "meta" post, so if you really want to read about evil customers, leave and come back later.
I've had a really rough few months - working too much, being sick and of course slaving away behind the counter. One thing I always look forward to are reading the comments people leave on my posts.
There are a number of people who comment - or did comment - frequently, including this person, who was really the first loyal reader to consistently leave comments - as well as a particularly saucy voice from the wilds of frozen Canada. The nature of the Internet is that as certain voices move on, newer, different voices replace them.
One certain person used to leave tart one-liners that often sum up EXACTLY how I feel before, during and after a day of going "How can I help you?" and thinking inside "You want to return this piece of crap that you destroyed or shoplifted without a receipt?" I think of these comments as tiny happiness bombs. And I smiled.
So without further ado, I present a compendium of YellowDog Granny's greatest one-liners. And yes, Debo Blue, you have some good ones too!
I've had a really rough few months - working too much, being sick and of course slaving away behind the counter. One thing I always look forward to are reading the comments people leave on my posts.
There are a number of people who comment - or did comment - frequently, including this person, who was really the first loyal reader to consistently leave comments - as well as a particularly saucy voice from the wilds of frozen Canada. The nature of the Internet is that as certain voices move on, newer, different voices replace them.
One certain person used to leave tart one-liners that often sum up EXACTLY how I feel before, during and after a day of going "How can I help you?" and thinking inside "You want to return this piece of crap that you destroyed or shoplifted without a receipt?" I think of these comments as tiny happiness bombs. And I smiled.
So without further ado, I present a compendium of YellowDog Granny's greatest one-liners. And yes, Debo Blue, you have some good ones too!
- If I had your job, I would have 3 scripts for Paxil - with 3 refills on each one.
- If I had your job, I would intentionally eat the bad peanut butter.
- If I had your job, I would have ripped off his balls and played 18 holes with them.
- If I had your job, I would be tweaking by 10 a.m.
- If I had your job, I would be popping Prozac by the fist full.
- If I had your job, I would be mainlining right at the counter.
- If I had your job, I would be swilling Jack Daniels like Dr. Pepper.
- If I had your job, I would live in the pharmacy.
- If I had your job, I would own lots and lost of stock in Lexapro.
- If I had your job, I would be in rehab.
- If I had your job, my teeth would be ground to dust.
- If I had your job, I would have a shunt in my jugular vein and shoot smack directly into my neck.
- If I had your job, I would be doing lines off the countertop.
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