So, it's Friday, and I have off work because I'll be working the odd Saturday. An odd day to get some odd things done. Cool. It's not the prettiest of days, but I did do my requisite laps around the neighborhood and I finished the hem job I was doing on a pair of pants.
Then, I decided to go out to the mall and redeem a Free Panty card at Victoria Secret. Now, I'm always a bit embarrassed about going there. I've had no success in analyzing this. It's more than the fact that the sales staff take way too much time wrapping everything--even the small item--in tissue paper and a pink and pink striped bag that proclaims to the world (or at least everyone in the mall): UNDERWEAR! And--these same sales clerks are always visibly unhappy that you've trekked into the store and not bought anything.
However, I'd mentally prepared myself: I love their lip balm, and I'd decided to find that first, then slink over, pick up my free booty, and get in line. Oho, but this was not to be. I was immediately approached by the most enduring young lady who wanted to know what she could do for me, is there something special? Why wasn't I prepared for this? The sales people in this place usually ignore me. So what do I do? I LIE. I say something like, oh, no, I'm just lookin' around...and then I proceed to poke around, obviously lost because the set up is completely different than the time before. And yes, I have a problem recognizing the order in things. And yes, retailers purposely make you walk around and look at things. So, Young Sales Person approaches me again, telling me how the bras are organized. The bras--the overpriced item that these people are dying to sell you in the store. My eyes get round, and I realize that I'm about to panic. I cannot now admit that well, I'd just come for the free panty, and then ask where on earth they're keeping the yummy bubble gum lip balm--I just can't. So, I stroll around again, and....stroll right out of the store. Slink. I slinked out. I did notice, on the way out, that there was a quite a line waiting for the one cashier on duty.
Without thinking about it, I wandered down to Sears, where there were some very good sales. No one spoke to me, and I relaxed. On one of the racks, I found a beautiful gray cardigan--I love cardigans, and they're so hard to find--on clearance for $3.99. Gray goes with everything, I'm thrilled, and feel so much better now. Then I get in line to pay. It's a long wait. In this whole big department store, there is just one kiosk with two cashiers working. And the dear, sweet lady who waits on me wants my email address, and to be polite, I don't refuse. However, after a few attempts at spelling out my address to her, I decide to LIE again. I know how it feels to face a line of customers, but I have no idea how it feels to face a line of customers speaking a language I wasn't born speaking. So finally, I tell her that yes, she's typed my email address correctly, and then I hit a button confirming that it is correct--so hopefully she won't hear about it. Mea Culpa. Let the Fickle Finger of Fate or whatever come down and point ME out as being a liar. I don't even want those emails.
As I drove home one cardigan happier, I pondered the under-staffed mall, and wondered if that's a sad trend right now. At the bank where I work, we are understaffed to the point of being unhappy and stressed--and it turns out that our branch has it better than a couple others close to us. One of our tellers was loaned out for an entire week to another in this area, and when she came back she told us a tale of woe: she didn't get a proper lunch break the entire week, and on one of those days, the teller she was working with actually passed out. This is suck.
And then, of course, there's the usual drama. On Wednesday, I was the first one to arrive at our branch for the opening shift. We were supposed to begin at 7:30 am. When my supervisor did not show up on time, I was frankly not surprised. (Assistant Manager runs late.) Pulling out a book, I proceeded to read in my car until my peripheral vision told me that some else had arrived. Supervisor? Nooooo....it was Dee, the teller scheduled to start at 7:45 am. We shrugged at each other. And waited. And waited. Finally, our manager drove up and rushed into the building, saying he'd been called out of a meeting and told that his branch wasn't open! We should always call him! Eventually, he told us that we'd done nothing wrong (DUH).
Dee and I had assumed that our assistant manager, who was supposed to open, had had some kind of emergency, and of course she'd called--someone. We were wrong. She'd completely forgotten that she was the opener. Yep--and she's the one who approves our schedules.
One day at a time. I've gotten a lot better at holding my breath and relaxing as the waves crash over me. There is nothing I can do. Mona tends to call off on Mondays, Assistant Manager is not very considerate, Lankydude is lazy, and Manger is just gonna be arrogant and weird. The corporate culture is insane, and perhaps it's worn off on him. Blah. I show up, I work, I leave.
I saw this image on Facebook, and it took me a full two minutes to perceive what I was supposed to notice right away. This might be related to the frustration I have with shopping, that I don't know how to look.
Omigosh, did I just happen to find this--now?
And look, it's practically 5:00 pm! Days off go whoosh.
More fun tomorrow! Whatchaupto?