Late night repeats.
Now that GiSoL has amassed an audience that makes it the envy of every two-bit Everyone-Is-An-Idiot rantblog in the Western Hemisphere, I can't help but feel like I am letting you, the reader, down by not delivering everything I promised in my little "next time" blurb in the previous entry. This entry contains nothing about Jonathan Safran Foer or the dumbest sentence I've ever read. Next time, I promise.
What follows is actually something I wrote in a previous blog, with slight alterations. Yes, I know: three posts in and we've already got a re-run. But I feel the situation warrants it. Obviously, when one works at a retail store, there are certain situations that are going to pop up on a regular basis. When I worked at a grocery store, I knew that I was going to have to deal with price disputes pretty regularly. At the current job, I know people are going to ask where the bathrooms are, ask me if I'm going to answer the phone as if the thought had never occurred to me1, and get irritable when I tell them that we cannot send books to prisons. Monday, though, I had a repeat performance of a scenario that I didn't think would ever get repeated, and so below I reprint the blog entry I wrote the first time it happened.
+++++++++++++++++++++
Customer walks up to the desk. Asks for
and after asking where it is, he adds, in a really pissy manner, "And it's not for me," as if I'd made any indication that I even cared. This is one of the things people don't seem to understand about the place: we don't care what you, as an individual, buy. We may not be happy that, say, Patricia Cornwell is a top ten bestseller and not, say, John Banville, but as far as what your book selection says about your mores, peccadilloes, and fetishes, we really don't care, and I guarantee you that no matter how weird you think you are, we've seen way weirder2.
But anyway, as my silent revenge, I spent the next however long writing down haikus for my friend the very heterosexual dude.
Don't get defensive.
It just makes me wonder what
You're hiding from me.
Shut the fuck up, guy.
You're as gay as the day is
Long and hard and thick.3
"I am gay! Yes, gay!"
This is what you are screaming
With your denial.
Potential gayness
Should not be embarassing.
Bad taste, though, should be.
Do a Google search
For the words "on the down low"
And so, find yourself.
And so on and so forth.
+++++++++++++++++++++
No new haikus this time around, sadly.
Next time: Jonathan Safran Foer and the dumbest sentence I've ever read. Promise.
1 This one really gets me. Complaining about the ringing phones is arguably the most annoying thing a customer can do. Let me make it clear, so you don't make this mistake: There are between ten and twenty lines at your average Large Chain Bookstore. Even if the employees are really good about answering the phones (which we are), they're still going to be ringing pretty much constantly, and believe me, it is way more annoying for the employees than it is for the customers. The phones get answered when they get answered, and when some wanly grinning moron comes up and asks "Is someone going to answer that?" while operating under the underlying assumption that it is my job to provide him with a tranquil little oasis of peace in the middle of a heavily trafficked area of Manhattan, it is all I, or any of my co-workers, can do, not to throw the fucking phone at him. The best interaction of this sort I've ever seen was when a particularly persistent asshole confronted several employees, all of whom stammered out weak excuses, about the ringing phones. Finally, he unknowingly pulled this on the store manager, who curtly told him, "You get the phone." Asshole then answered the phone and handed it to the store manager with a smug grin, saying "It's for you." Store manager then hung up the phone, to Asshole's utter disbelief. This footnote has gotten way, way out of hand, but I'd like to finish it up by pointing out that, for the most part, the managers at this store are really fucking awesome.
2 I do confess to getting a chuckle out of things like the simultaneous purchase of a secrets-of-how-to-be-a-millionaire book and a get-out-of-debt book, or helping Drew Barrymore find a copy of He's Just Not That Into You, which I'm sure was for a friend.
3 This is easily my favorite. A front-runner for the finest thing I've ever written.
What follows is actually something I wrote in a previous blog, with slight alterations. Yes, I know: three posts in and we've already got a re-run. But I feel the situation warrants it. Obviously, when one works at a retail store, there are certain situations that are going to pop up on a regular basis. When I worked at a grocery store, I knew that I was going to have to deal with price disputes pretty regularly. At the current job, I know people are going to ask where the bathrooms are, ask me if I'm going to answer the phone as if the thought had never occurred to me1, and get irritable when I tell them that we cannot send books to prisons. Monday, though, I had a repeat performance of a scenario that I didn't think would ever get repeated, and so below I reprint the blog entry I wrote the first time it happened.
+++++++++++++++++++++
Customer walks up to the desk. Asks for
and after asking where it is, he adds, in a really pissy manner, "And it's not for me," as if I'd made any indication that I even cared. This is one of the things people don't seem to understand about the place: we don't care what you, as an individual, buy. We may not be happy that, say, Patricia Cornwell is a top ten bestseller and not, say, John Banville, but as far as what your book selection says about your mores, peccadilloes, and fetishes, we really don't care, and I guarantee you that no matter how weird you think you are, we've seen way weirder2.
But anyway, as my silent revenge, I spent the next however long writing down haikus for my friend the very heterosexual dude.
Don't get defensive.
It just makes me wonder what
You're hiding from me.
Shut the fuck up, guy.
You're as gay as the day is
Long and hard and thick.3
"I am gay! Yes, gay!"
This is what you are screaming
With your denial.
Potential gayness
Should not be embarassing.
Bad taste, though, should be.
Do a Google search
For the words "on the down low"
And so, find yourself.
And so on and so forth.
+++++++++++++++++++++
No new haikus this time around, sadly.
Next time: Jonathan Safran Foer and the dumbest sentence I've ever read. Promise.
1 This one really gets me. Complaining about the ringing phones is arguably the most annoying thing a customer can do. Let me make it clear, so you don't make this mistake: There are between ten and twenty lines at your average Large Chain Bookstore. Even if the employees are really good about answering the phones (which we are), they're still going to be ringing pretty much constantly, and believe me, it is way more annoying for the employees than it is for the customers. The phones get answered when they get answered, and when some wanly grinning moron comes up and asks "Is someone going to answer that?" while operating under the underlying assumption that it is my job to provide him with a tranquil little oasis of peace in the middle of a heavily trafficked area of Manhattan, it is all I, or any of my co-workers, can do, not to throw the fucking phone at him. The best interaction of this sort I've ever seen was when a particularly persistent asshole confronted several employees, all of whom stammered out weak excuses, about the ringing phones. Finally, he unknowingly pulled this on the store manager, who curtly told him, "You get the phone." Asshole then answered the phone and handed it to the store manager with a smug grin, saying "It's for you." Store manager then hung up the phone, to Asshole's utter disbelief. This footnote has gotten way, way out of hand, but I'd like to finish it up by pointing out that, for the most part, the managers at this store are really fucking awesome.
2 I do confess to getting a chuckle out of things like the simultaneous purchase of a secrets-of-how-to-be-a-millionaire book and a get-out-of-debt book, or helping Drew Barrymore find a copy of He's Just Not That Into You, which I'm sure was for a friend.
3 This is easily my favorite. A front-runner for the finest thing I've ever written.
posted by Dktr. Blasphemy at 2:38 AM
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