Sick day.
I decided to pretend to be sick today. I may hate my job, but the company is surprisingly generous when it comes to paid time off: I currently have an absurd number of sick days, an even more absurd number of vacations days, and even a couple of "personal" days. So taking a day off despite not actually being sick isn't such a big deal1.
I've mentioned before that you have to be profoundly stupid and/or engage in some truly horrific bastardry to get fired from Barnes & Noble. This week, I accidentally tested the limits of this theory. New Year's Eve is obviously not anyone's favorite day to work, and even though the store was closing at 6:00, I still couldn't get out of the store soon enough and so, as I often do on boring days and/or days when I especially don't want to be there, I amused myself by answering the phone as various characters, such as Cactus Bob, the cattle rancher from Nacogdoches, Jerry the Stuttering Drunk, Stoned Eddie, Enrique Ignacio Suarez de Contreras, and of course Tweaker Bob. Tweaker Bob was the one that got me in trouble, as Tweaker Bob is the one that talks really, really fast. And so when Tweaker Bob answered the phone in a blur of verbiage that I'm pretty sure contained the words "Barnes" and "Noble" in there somewhere, the voice on the other end cautioned me to "slow down, for the customers."
The thing is, Tweaker Bob likes to keep his hands busy, and at that moment I was busy twirling a pen. Just as the person on the line told me to slow down, the pen slipped out of my hand, and in the attempt to catch it2, I accidentally hit another line. This, of course, had the effect of hanging up on the guy to whom I was talking.
No big deal, though. I mean, it happens, and it's not like I wanted to talk to some disgruntled customer anyway. Minutes afterward, I was joking about it with my fellow desk-drones, even embellishing it to make it sound like I'd hung up on the guy intentionally. All in good fun, until a manager called me over and told me that the person I'd hung up on was the store manager. In the context of the conversation, I have to say that it definitely looked like I'd intentionally hung up on him, and I didn't expect him to believe me, but at the same time I knew I had to stick to my story or I might very well be out of a job. There's a happy ending here, as the manager's retribution has been limited to busting my chops about the whole thing, but he understandably doesn't believe that I didn't intentionally hang up on him. Would you?
The option to hang up on customers who walk into the store does not, alas, exist, and so on the frequent occasions when I get someone who is stupid or an asshole or just pain crazy, I just have to take it. Being a store in the middle of Manhattan, we get more than our fair share of crazy people, and I generally don't mind dealing with them because it amuses me to do so3. Every once in a while, though, a customer blurs the line between stupidity and insanity in a way that leaves me a bit unsure of what to think. This particular woman was working on her third chin and in dire need of a shave, but she put on the airs of a sophisticate when she asked me if we "might have any books on" -- and the next two words were enunciated very, very carefully so as not to overwhelm my poor ignorant minority brain -- "moral relativism. From both sides of the argument." The haughty pseudointellectual tone is a dead giveaway that someone doesn't know what the fuck they're talking about and might be crazy, but it got better.
"For example," she continued, "would you choose to see a doctor who looks hot in scrubs, but who cheated on all of his tests, and has a poor bedside manner, and whose patients tend to die? Or would you go to a doctor who -- pardon my French -- studied his ass off, worked hard, has a warm, friendly bedside manner, and is a good doctor?"
Obviously, one thing was clear almost immediately after she started talking: this woman had no fucking clue what moral relativism is. Hell, the supposed dilemma she was presenting to me wouldn't even make decent bar conversation because the answer is so blindingly obvious. When she made it clear that her question was not rhetorical, I replied -- shocka -- that I would choose a doctor who knew what he4 was doing over one who was hot. She looked at me like I'd just said something really profound and said, "Hmmmmmmmmm. Why is that?"
I glanced to my left and saw one of my managers helping two customers; all three of them looked on flabbergastedly, mouths agape, seemingly unable to decide whether this was funny or just sad. Another co-worker actually had to leave the desk so she wouldn't lose it right in front of the customer. "Well, I'm not really that into hot doctors," I replied.
"And the good bedside manner," she said, "it's very important, or you won't heal. The mind-body connection."
"Right."
"Because some doctors, they don't know how to treat people and they lose them."
"Right."
I directed her to the philosophy section, where I sincerely hope she found a book that explains in very simple terms what "moral relativism" means.
"And they don't even care, because the insurance pays for it."
"Right."
1 Remind me of this sentence in six months when I really am sick and don't have any sick days left.
2 Which failed, by the way.
3 If for no other reason than that I know I can say anything I want to, say, the utterly insane woman who comes in periodically to request printed lists of all the books pertaining to a wide variety of topics chosen seemingly at random. Last time I dealt with her, I told her that someone had stolen all the printers in the store.
4 Or she. Sorry ladies.
I've mentioned before that you have to be profoundly stupid and/or engage in some truly horrific bastardry to get fired from Barnes & Noble. This week, I accidentally tested the limits of this theory. New Year's Eve is obviously not anyone's favorite day to work, and even though the store was closing at 6:00, I still couldn't get out of the store soon enough and so, as I often do on boring days and/or days when I especially don't want to be there, I amused myself by answering the phone as various characters, such as Cactus Bob, the cattle rancher from Nacogdoches, Jerry the Stuttering Drunk, Stoned Eddie, Enrique Ignacio Suarez de Contreras, and of course Tweaker Bob. Tweaker Bob was the one that got me in trouble, as Tweaker Bob is the one that talks really, really fast. And so when Tweaker Bob answered the phone in a blur of verbiage that I'm pretty sure contained the words "Barnes" and "Noble" in there somewhere, the voice on the other end cautioned me to "slow down, for the customers."
The thing is, Tweaker Bob likes to keep his hands busy, and at that moment I was busy twirling a pen. Just as the person on the line told me to slow down, the pen slipped out of my hand, and in the attempt to catch it2, I accidentally hit another line. This, of course, had the effect of hanging up on the guy to whom I was talking.
No big deal, though. I mean, it happens, and it's not like I wanted to talk to some disgruntled customer anyway. Minutes afterward, I was joking about it with my fellow desk-drones, even embellishing it to make it sound like I'd hung up on the guy intentionally. All in good fun, until a manager called me over and told me that the person I'd hung up on was the store manager. In the context of the conversation, I have to say that it definitely looked like I'd intentionally hung up on him, and I didn't expect him to believe me, but at the same time I knew I had to stick to my story or I might very well be out of a job. There's a happy ending here, as the manager's retribution has been limited to busting my chops about the whole thing, but he understandably doesn't believe that I didn't intentionally hang up on him. Would you?
The option to hang up on customers who walk into the store does not, alas, exist, and so on the frequent occasions when I get someone who is stupid or an asshole or just pain crazy, I just have to take it. Being a store in the middle of Manhattan, we get more than our fair share of crazy people, and I generally don't mind dealing with them because it amuses me to do so3. Every once in a while, though, a customer blurs the line between stupidity and insanity in a way that leaves me a bit unsure of what to think. This particular woman was working on her third chin and in dire need of a shave, but she put on the airs of a sophisticate when she asked me if we "might have any books on" -- and the next two words were enunciated very, very carefully so as not to overwhelm my poor ignorant minority brain -- "moral relativism. From both sides of the argument." The haughty pseudointellectual tone is a dead giveaway that someone doesn't know what the fuck they're talking about and might be crazy, but it got better.
"For example," she continued, "would you choose to see a doctor who looks hot in scrubs, but who cheated on all of his tests, and has a poor bedside manner, and whose patients tend to die? Or would you go to a doctor who -- pardon my French -- studied his ass off, worked hard, has a warm, friendly bedside manner, and is a good doctor?"
Obviously, one thing was clear almost immediately after she started talking: this woman had no fucking clue what moral relativism is. Hell, the supposed dilemma she was presenting to me wouldn't even make decent bar conversation because the answer is so blindingly obvious. When she made it clear that her question was not rhetorical, I replied -- shocka -- that I would choose a doctor who knew what he4 was doing over one who was hot. She looked at me like I'd just said something really profound and said, "Hmmmmmmmmm. Why is that?"
I glanced to my left and saw one of my managers helping two customers; all three of them looked on flabbergastedly, mouths agape, seemingly unable to decide whether this was funny or just sad. Another co-worker actually had to leave the desk so she wouldn't lose it right in front of the customer. "Well, I'm not really that into hot doctors," I replied.
"And the good bedside manner," she said, "it's very important, or you won't heal. The mind-body connection."
"Right."
"Because some doctors, they don't know how to treat people and they lose them."
"Right."
I directed her to the philosophy section, where I sincerely hope she found a book that explains in very simple terms what "moral relativism" means.
"And they don't even care, because the insurance pays for it."
"Right."
1 Remind me of this sentence in six months when I really am sick and don't have any sick days left.
2 Which failed, by the way.
3 If for no other reason than that I know I can say anything I want to, say, the utterly insane woman who comes in periodically to request printed lists of all the books pertaining to a wide variety of topics chosen seemingly at random. Last time I dealt with her, I told her that someone had stolen all the printers in the store.
4 Or she. Sorry ladies.
posted by Dktr. Blasphemy at 11:53 PM
1 Comments:
Dear DKTR,
I have a rash...a rash of laughter when I read your posts. Your writing fucking slays me! Whey I say "slays" I mean I am transfixed. I am supposed to be shutting down for the night and I check the recently posted blogs scroll by. I see "girlsinskirts...", it makes me laugh so I click. I start reading your most recent post. I keep reading and reading...I scroll down and read about "Broke Back Mtn"... Bwaah!!Now I am recommending to a fellow blogger that she check out your site. Nice style and voice. I can picture the scenario with the asshole who doesn't think your are very helpful and doesn't believe that there are people on the 2nd floor. I can envision you with your angry face pointing to the escalator. I am mad at the asshole myself and I wasn't even there except that you have described it so well, in emotional terms, that I can feel it.
Well, that's enough blubbering and fauning.
Thanks!
mykl
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