Friday, December 31, 2010

"Remember those less fortunate"

Alrighty then. The holidays are just about overwith, the Christmas madness has drawn to a close as loyal Volde-Mart customers strip our shelves of the last few lonely clearance items, now reduced to 25% of their original price to make way for Valentine's Day goods. Blech. But along with it, my nasty mood has abated and I'm feeling myself again. Was I very angry with Pips? You bet I was. Have I let it go, moved on, and re-accepted him as my dumb redneck friend without him being any the wiser there was a problem in the first place? . . . Yes I have. Stupid holiday spirit, ha. I was waiting to clock in on . . . the 23rd? I think, yes. And I while I was trying to play it cool with him standing there, also waiting on the clock, we ended up mutually bonding as two people only can when something horrible and awkward happens. There is a guy who works at Volde-Mart pushing carts. I understand this is a rough job, but . . . none of the other cart pushers smell like this. If life was a cartoon, this one would be like Pigpen from the Peanuts series. And it lingers. I'm sitting on the bench when he walks by and I tell myself "Act normal. Don't do anything. You're just over sensitive. Just like the three people you've already heard in the past complaining about this guy's funk. Don't react. Just don't. It's not that bed . . . OH DEAR GOD . .. ugh, no really, it's not bad . . . " and then I look up where Pip is standing, leaning against the lockers across from me and he looks like he's somewhere between letting tears stream out of his eyes and throwing up right there in the hallway. Our eyes met and then we were faced with the inevitable task of non-verbally communicating the 'dear sweet powers in heaven that is disgusting' reaction we both had and trying equally as hard not to be conspicuous about it. I'm sure our fellow coworkers knew exactly why we both chose that precise moment to scoot off and use the other time clock, however hard we might have tried to be casual about it. I can't stay mad at people, no matter how hard I try. Or animals, for that matter, although I'm still fairly certain I wouldn't mind selling Sawyer sometime this year.

My Dad's been home all week and it's been a little rough on all of us. He gets harder and harder to deal with as he ages. He doesn't remember things very well, he needs to be yelled at because he's too proud (and cheap) to go get a hearing aid. My temper with him this week has gotten a little short on more than one occasion and I've been unkind. Then yesterday he brings something into the house. He's spent the entire day making my late Christmas gift, a DVD tower handmade from solid cedar. From a tree he helped saw himself, and took to the sawmill, and sanded down in his workshop. And I kind of felt like shit. I really should lighten up and pull the stick out of my bum sometimes, shouldn't I? Coming home tonight, I pulled up to discover my dog Strider had once again climbed out of his pen and was running loose in the yard, just like he did last NYE. I opened the door and let him in, and instead of predictably yelling "GAH STRIDER! Get him out of here!", Dad just kind of looked at him and a while later fed him treats with the other two dogs. Strider is currently stretched out beneath the footrest on Dad's recliner. What a brown-noser, lol! I still feel a little like shit, but I'm gonna bake a new batch of cookies for Dad before he goes back to work on Sunday. Cookies make everything better. And besides, now is the time to get to the point of my post title tonight. If I thought my Dad was driving me crazy, it's nothing to what my friend Pip's been through. His Dad drives him crazy, he starts. I told him I knew how he felt and he replied, quite miserably -

"I bet yours doesn't bring crack-whores home!"

Um . . . awkward. No, can't say that he does, thankfully. Apparently Daddy Pip, who is in the beginning stages of Alzheimer's/dementia has taken a fancy to a less than savory neighbor of theirs and Pip is at his wit's end trying to keep her out of the house, albeit a bit unsuccessful as he said the two of them were in his living room having a full blown drunken argument 1:30 this morning. Pip actually went to the doctor's this week begging for Xanax and bemoaning that he's extremely angry at home, always trying to fight the urge to yell and swear at people.

"And you're not angry at work? Good God, I'd think you'd need Xanax for Volde-Mart, not home!"

And then he suggested Pip just kick out the people making him miserable, but it's not exactly easy to boot family out on their ass. He wouldn't give Pippy the Xanax and suggested instead that he visit his very own Volde-Mart pharmacy and buy some St. John's Wort and one of those weird bracelets. I told Pippy I'd had a lot of requests for the bracelets but that I thought we didn't have any in right now and he half-jokingly spazzed on me. So no, I certainly don't have it that bad. My Dad doesn't bring home crack whores and I never considered actually seeking medical help because of how he annoyed me. I tentatively brought up the subject of putting his Dad into a home and he said he really has tried, but the guy's memory and such isn't so bad yet that he can't function, he just does incredibly stupid things. It's horrible, every time I think my family life is screwy, all I have to do is sit down and talk to this guy and realize that someone has it far, far worse. Apparently after he threw out his Dad and the crack-whore neighbor for the night, his niece knocked on his bedroom window at 3:30 in the morning because she forgot her key and brought the emergency one inside last time. She and her friend then spent several hours doing their hair in the bathroom and further enraged him by filling the bathroom sink with cigarette ashes that were still waiting for him in the morning.

I'm not sure exactly why he chooses to share these things with me. Not that I mind, I just find it odd. And while I know now that nothing is every likely to happen between us, and he's gone from being "That guy I'm trying to win over and desperately want to be with" to just my sweet, dumb friend who also happens to be frustratingly attractive to me. I don't have beachhouse or white picket daydreams about him anymore, but . . . what does it say about me that I can talk to him and have a normal conversation, but still think in my mind how much I'd like to make out with him. What does it say about me that I admit fully to myself and to you that, given the chance, I'd tap the hell out of the man. What the fuck? Ah well . . .

In Volde-Mart news, remember Nature Boy? Nature Boy is no longer with us, according to my troubled little friend in Produce. NB called in the day after Chrismtas. From jail. He tried coming in to speak with our new store manager a few days ago, but due to the points on his record with Volde-Mart from calling in, not showing up, and constantly leaving early, they couldn't justify keeping him on top of calling in from jail, too. Fare thee well, Nature Boy. You were weird. Please make smarter decisions next time and stop being so dramatic, you'll be happy for it.

Meh, new year in a few hours. Not really a biggie with me. I'm only tentative because . . . well, all in all, 2010 was pretty great for me and I'm scared that 2011 will become the flip side and be horrible. Maybe not. One can only hope . . .

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

So this is Christmas, and what have we done?

I can't really decide if I'm looking forward to Christmas or just looking forward to it being over. Maybe a little of both, does that make sense? I've been melancholy lately. I don't miss Kenny (Pip), I really don't. But I do miss liking someone. It was fun looking forward to going to work each day because I knew I'd see him and get those fluttery feelings. Maybe some worthy person will come along, because I sure as hell know it ain't gonna be him. He made me so angry last week, and I'm not even sure why it pisses me off so much since he didn't do anything personally to me at all. He was off Friday and off Sunday, and decided he'd call in Saturday so he could have a three day weekend. I told him he'd get a point on his ass if he did that (Voldmart has a point system. Get too many points and you could get coached/fired). He said it'd be worth the point for a bonfire and drinks with friends. He wasn't there Saturday and I came home to find my FB feed filled with half a dozen posts from him about how he's getting shit faced drunk even though the wood is wet and he can't have a fire and then later on how much he wanted a BC powder because his stupid head hurt REALLY bad. And of course he thinks what he did is fucking hilarious. Almost his entire department was pissed off because he left them a person short on one of the busiest weekends of the year, and the majority of the work was left on the back of an older gentleman who has had three strokes and can't really get around all that great. He's always complaining that he has no money and has kids/bills to pay for, and yet he pulls this shit and it infuriates me. I just feel like telling him to grow the fuck up. Fine, you have a shitty Volde-Mart job. Go ahead and treat it like it's not important and see how funny all of this is when they show you the door, because there are probably 40 people who would be chomping the bit to have your job and do it properly, you useless, self-centered drunk piece of redneck shit. I dunno what your problem is but you must have a big one if you like Jack Daniels and Bud Light better than the company of real people and a decent, respectable life.

Also, he said that Louis is a brown nose because Louis started on overnight remodel in April, went up front to cashier with me for a while, then got service desk, then was moved to sporting goods, and now has a position as an Asset Protection guy. I guess impressing management and showing some initiative makes you a loser. I like Louis :(

He also makes fun of the new store manager. Not because he's a manager, but because he's Hispanic and 'his voice is funny and I can't understand a word he says and I laugh every time he talks!'

I guess I should be glad that he was never interested and finally showed his true, ignorant, asshole colors before I got involved with him, but he still infuriates me, as do most people with no initiative whatsoever. Does the fact that I kind of hope he gets fired so I don't have to see him or deal with his bullshittery anymore make me a huge bitch?

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Life's Little Triumphs

+ Funny Pharm stories, for a change.

The Sweetest felon I've ever known

I've been hung up on guys before. Badly. I made pretty good on last weekend's decision to keep a casual distance between Pip and myself; if I noticed him working when I walked in and he didn't notice me, I didn't go out of my way to draw his attention to myself. He mentioned Wednesday that he hadn't seen me in a while, but didn't make anything of it. I still talk to him, since I don't want to come across as rude or make him suddenly think he's done something offensive, etc, and I was admittedly quite terrified that all the gooey feelings would come back if I got near him again, like they did with all the other guys. It was just the usual, asking if the Pharm was busy, moaning that he was 'so ready to go home' just like he always is, right from the minute he walks through the front doors. Later I was on lunch and he popped out and came over to sit beside me. I felt . . . nothing. I mean I don't loathe or hate him, nothing like that, but the gooey feelings did not return, and I couldn't be more thrilled. He's just yet another addition to my circle of endearingly rough around the edges friends; can we ever have enough of those? While I still have to admit that he's damn cute and has some of the prettiest blue eyes I've ever seen, I can at least see the rest of him for what he really is. For his sake, I do hope he wakes up and changes someday; I think he's genuinely a sweet person with a good heart if only he didn't make such dumb life choices. But I can't help him, I can't change him, and I'm not going to spend all my energy and time trying, and he's definitely not relationship material. And I inwardly cringe more and more every time he quotes the Simpsons and then laughs hysterically at himself. Yikes.

Have we missed this?

Oh my god . . . so, the pharmacy. It is what it is. Let's start with needles. Yes, needles, we sell them. Lots of them. Coming to the counter and asking me for needles is like going to the Pharmacist and telling him you need a pill. We have three different types of needles and each type comes in varying lengths and gauges. How can you stick something in yourself on a daily basis and NOT know what it is? And for those of you who send friends or relatives to buy your needles without telling them the correct size and gauging, we hate you. Your friend probably hates you a little too, because the whole situation has made them feel foolish.

No, you may not take the needles to the front to pay for them, that has to be done back here.

No, I cannot open a needle so you can look at it to see if it 'looks right/looks like the one I use'.

Idiot Customer: "I need a box of insulin needles."

Me: "What size and gauge?"

IC: "Uh . . . they're for my Mom, I give her a hundred units and then 30 at night, so I need the 100 unit ones."

Me: "What gauge?"

IC: "100 units. I give her blaah blah blah"

They'll proceed to give me a long-winded speech about how many different insulins they give their relative, what kinds, how many units, and the time of day they administer. Shut the fuck up, I seriously don't give a shit because none of this helps me one iota. Gauging. It's how big the needle is. No, not how long, you miserable dolt, how BIG. Girth. Do you want the biggest needle we have, the smallest, or the one in between?

IC: "I told you, 100 units."

Fuck you, die and go to hell and burn in fire and damnation. I'll just get you a box of 100 unit syringes in the smallest gauge I have, for the sake of your loved one, and don't you dare try to bring them back, because they're non-refundable by FEDERAL LAW.


Okay . . . whoever sent this senile old man in the scooter on the pharmacy errand, I really, REALLY hate you. He came to my counter, gave me the name and date of birth for the scripts he was picking up, and before I could get a single syllable out, he told me he needed a box of ReliOn. I asked him if he wanted the N, R, or 25/75. He says he doesn't understand. Oh, for fuck's sake! How can he not know this? It turns out he wanted needles, not insulin. RAR! When people tell me they want ReliOn, they're usually asking for freaking insulin. From the fridge. And of course once I figured out he wanted needles, we repeated the above situation because he had no idea that they came in so many different types and sizes. My fellow cashier had arrived by this point and she ended up going off with him on a hunt for the elusive Phillip's Stool Softener and they were gone for a good solid 10 minutes. At least before he left with her, he told her "I really don't know what I'm doing." Which again begs the question, who the hell did thought he'd be a good person to send on the quest for needles and poo pills? Oh yeah, and he had a piece of paper with drug names and RX numbers that were needing refilled, but he didn't know that, he only knew he was supposed to 'get them' and so he tried reading them off to me at breakneck speed and expecting me to know what to do with all the mumble jumble. Screw the person who did this to both him and me.

"These tough economic times"

That phrase is getting more and more overused every day and I'm kind of starting to hate it. At Volde-Mart, a lot of our scripts are $4 for one month and $10 for three months supply, which IMO is a spanking good deal, considering the price of drugs. If I say your total is $4, you have no idea how much rage I have to contain when your eyes bug out and you whine "But didn't my insurance take anything off?!" Seriously? REALLY? I know money is tight for some people, but it's four freaking dollars, stop being a skinflint and pay up and get out of the way so I can take the massive line building up behind you. I might feel a little bad for you if I hadn't seen you already trolling the store an hour ago, your cart filled with useless holiday crap, movies, and junkfood. And again with the insurance and medicaid cards, give the damn things to the techs when you DROP OFF. Drop off. It's not hard. Don't give them to the cashiers, we hate it. We have to take them back and give them to the techs anyways and you make this whole process longer and hold everyone up, AGAIN. Also, don't argue with the tech or Pharmacist and then come to a cashier expecting us to wave a magic wand and fix things, aka, tell you what you want to hear since our superior didn't. We're at the bottom of the totem pole here, how hard is that for your tiny pea-brains to comprehend? Especially if the Pharmacist tells you something. They're the big bosses, they know everything there is to know back here and then some. If they told you it can't be done, it can't. Be. Done.

Also, sob stories don't work with us. So you or someone you know needs this medicine right now. They're hurting/sick/throwing up in your car. Well, I am sorry, but that's too bad. Everyone here needs medicine. And if you are gonna try the "My son is at home crying, he's so sick and he needs his Mama right now, and he really needs this medicine" card, I should let you know that I'll only feel bad if it's a small child. When I looked to see your son was nearly 13 fucking years old, I had to turn around so I could roll my eyes. If he really is at home crying, which I doubt, tell him to man up and grow some freaking balls. Now sit your Helicopter-Mommy ass down and wait your turn, I'll let you know when it's done.

Please don't bleed on my counter.

Please join the rest of us in the 21st century and stop writing checks at the store. Especially when you take so long writing said check that I feel like it'll be the 22nd century before I finally get rid of you.

And some general retail peeves/things not to do in the store:

Please do not randomly grab employees. The young man in grocery seemed to take it well enough, but it's good for his customer that he wasn't the jumpy type who reacts to being touched by hitting people or screaming at the top of his lungs.

Please do not ram yourself into employees stocking the shelves/bins to get at the product they are stocking. Pip was nearly floored several times last week all in the name of customers getting the almighty sweet potato/celery/cranberries. Also, if you observe an employee rushing in front of your path to pick up a bag or something slippery off the floor, don't walk in front of him/her so you can step on the object in an attempt to trip, fall, and sue the store.

You don't get a please this time. Never, under any circumstances is it EVER acceptable for your child to stand up in a shopping cart, drop trou, and pee all over the floor. Why on earth would he/she think this is ok in the first place? Your house must be a literal pig sty. My friends in the toy department are tired of cleaning up pee.

Do not pull off the 'Out of order' sign taped to the stall door in the bathroom and then proceed to fill up the already broken toilet with loads and loads of paper towels. Not toilet paper, but paper towels. Again, who does this?

Thus ends another week of tales from the Mart of Wal. Look forward to more as the holiday season grows ever more failtastic!