Retail Hell Underground

Hellmart Custys: Things You Can Apparently Wipe Your Ass With

Ashy-Boy here! I'm at the Hellmart with Daddy-Boy, and this is everything that was in the toilet paper aisle.

So, without further hesitation, we present 'Things You Can Apparently Wipe Your Ass With' by Hellmart Piggy Shoppers.

The above hot dog buns are a Hellmart piggy crowd favorite because they can easily accomodate super-sized turds the size of Lincoln Logs!

 

Create your own personalized shit sheets with multi-purpose photo paper! Use pictures of your enemies, hateful coworkers, and famous douchebags like Kim Kardashian!

 

 If you're a Hellmart-brand popcorn chicken eater, the produce keeper is perfect for depositing diarrhea into two hours later!

 

 Not sure what this reject is, but it looks to be plenty comfy for asswiping!

 

 Flatbread and fuzzy fingers? Not so comfy. A combo for those who like their wiping on the sadistic side.

 

RHU Advice: What Do You Do When Homelife Drama Comes To Work?

Hello everyone. Ashy-Boy of mirth and joy here. Or so I wish, anyway.

The working front has been running okay up until just recently. That was about when my home life followed me to work...and there's nothing I can do about it. I now have to be on my toes more so than usual while catering to custies, answering bogus calls, etc etc.

I have never had a very good relationship with my step-father. There's a funny stereo-type for it: 'Like a Red-Headed Step-Child' sound familiar? That's what it is. I've recently come to terms with the fact that I've been facing abuse every day I've lived where I do now, with he and my mother, and it's become increasingly worse. He joined with a notorious motor-cycle gang about mid-way through the summer, and it's started to go downhill even faster. I'm terrified it'll get violent. I have my suspicions that the incident that put him in the hospital earlier in September was from using bathsalts, which one of his new gang buddies O.Ded on.

I've stayed here because I'm afraid of the world, to some degree, but also because I don't know what would happen to my mom if I just up and left. I know that all the housework that I do now, which is about everything, would fall back on her, and she can't handle the stress with her back being as fucked up as one-legged horse. But I can't take it anymore. I was grounded the other night for being out with my grandmother past 9.

I'm twenty years old.

Today I had to pack up the electronics he was going to take from me and send them to my father's for safe-keeping, and during the week I'm packing. My grandmother has allowed me into her home so I can breathe for once in ten years, and I'm grateful for her generosity.

And right after I'm settled, I have to find a new job. That's what this post has led up to.

On Saturday I was late to work and was so upset that I was ready to leave after I got off and disappear for good. I hated my life, hated myself, didn't think I could do anything right for anyone, and I was so sure they were going to fire me. What was worse, and what scares me even now, is that we got a new employee. I didn't find this out from my co-workers, I found this out from my mother:

'Ashy-Boy b carful wat u say 2 ne1. 1 of (stepdad)'s gang frnds has a gurlfrnd that is wrkng fr Hairy Dickson's now where u r.'

I broke down.

Not only has the torment and the degradation been so severe at home that I was ready to attempt the unthinkable, but now it had followed me, and who knew how long it would go on. I was told, in that message, that I was being watched. If I fucked up, he would know. I knew what would await me if I did something stupid or wrong or silly at work, if I talked about a video game or a book or something else deemed 'stupid shit' by Ye Old Tyrant on his couch throne. It would bring in a wave of fresh misery for me and opportunities from him to steal more of my things...my Playstation 2 and my special Pikachu N64 are still in his safe.

I was ready, RHU. I was ready to just take the eternal nap right then and there. I love my job, I love it up there with all the teddy-bear bikers and the awesome co-workers. I love coming in and talking to ladies who bring in their dogs, gossiping about new jewelry with the Motor-clothes girls. And it's been ruined. I will never go back there and be as relaxed as I once was. I'm angry, I'm upset, and...

...I'm over it.

If I'd gone through with what I wanted, it wouldn't have done any better, it would have proved that I wasn't cut out for the world. But I am. My co-writer and I are producing our series right now. It'll be out, we might get internet famous. We just found out the entire series might pull in 36,000$ in donations and up for its quality. I have talent, I am beautiful...but being smothered in the darkness isn't going to make me bloom, and neither is spraying me down with weed-killer whenever I miss a speck of dust.

I read GameGal's post about how she's now being pursued by her past. Does anyone else have anything like this that's happened to them? Exes, abusive parents?

I'm sorry if this was so long and drawn out. I'm just very upset that this means I'll have to leave a job I love because of one asshole of a man.

--Ashy-Boy

 

Singing Drunk Custy Calls Motorcycle Showroom and Asks To Be Made a Star

Hello, RHU.

For some time now, I've been without my computer. The mother board is dying, but I have it back for the moment, and while I have that moment, I want to write out what I haven't been able to for a bit.

I had a woman who I believe was intoxicated call up around 10:30AM on a Sunday, (You know this is going to be weird right off), and I still can't help but ponder over what posesses people to make calls like this...and what possesses those around them to ALLOW it. Her name will be Drunk Idol, and you'll know why once we get there...

Ashy-Boy: Good morning, thanks for calling Famous Hairy-Dickson, this is Ashy-Boy speaking, how may I direct your call?

Drunk Idol: ...Why's...why's it famous? (This is part of our location's name, due to the previous owner.)

Ashy-Boy: Well, it's the largest Hairy-Dickson's on the East Coast, we have an enormous show-room and plenty of excellent sales planners to help you find exactly what you're looking for.

Drunk Idol: ...What is this again?

Ashy-Boy: Famous Hairy-Dickson's...? The motor-cycle dealer, ma'am.

Drunk Idol: ...Do you...do you make...people famous?

Ashy-Boy: I...believe that we can make you noticable, yes.

Drunk Idol: Oh...well...I wanna be famous. Can you help me?

Ashy-Boy: Maybe I can put you through to (lists departments)?

Drunk Idol: I just wanna...be famous, okay? 'S that so hard t' ask?

Ashy-Boy: I'm sorry, ma'am, if one of our departments can't help you, then perhaps you should try another store.

Drunk Idol: Oh...okay...g'bye.

We hung up, I swigged my orange juice and thought about puppies and rainbows smothered in bacon, but about fifteen minutes later...

Ashy-Boy: Good morning, thank you for calling Famous-

Drunk Idol: FFFAAAAMOUSSS I WANNA BE FAMOUSSS THEY MAKE YOU FAMMMOUS AATT...ATT HAIRYYYY...(unintelligable).

So I was serenaded for about five seconds, torn between laughing out-right and throwing in the towel entirely, as it was not even an hour into the eight hour shift I was working. Drunks before 11AM can't mean much for your day.

I finally pulled myself together and told her that as much as I liked her singing talents, we were a business and couldn't take these sorts of calls. I didn't hear from her again, but I did have a good laugh with some of the other employees about it. It could have been worse.

*    *    *    *

Before I forget, though, I want to also thank the employees working at my mother's favorite nail salon. I've mentioned my mom on here a couple times before. She's been sick for the past week ever since we met at the salon in question for some TLC. I was pulled out of my face waxing and led to the crowd of people around the small waiting area where she had gotten up to get some fresh air after becoming dizzy and unable to breathe while sitting and had not made it outside. She had collapsed on the floor and was starting to get re-oriented when I was shown to her, and she continued to have these spells through the entire process of her getting her nails done. Why she stayed and stuck it out is anyone's guess, but what really stood out to me was the way she was treated.

We've been going to this salon for a while, which I suppose helps, but the entire lot of employees was concerned for her, offering her water, towels, blankets, allowing her to lay down and being extraordinarily patient with her as she continued to get up and down. They were genuinely worried about her, and I'm glad they were, because I almost didn't go to the salon at all that day. If I hadn't, at least someone would have been there to see to her and make sure she got out all right. They even offered to take half off her total, but she refused, and we tipped her nail tech and my waxer extra for their trouble, since both of them came to her aid and were attentive to her first and foremost. That's a risk, it seems, from what I've read about some work places forbidding the employees take any action when it comes to those sorts of emergencies.

We're still not sure what's ailing her, but she and I agree that what the employees there did for her that day was generous. So thanks~

I guess that's about it, for now~ Thanks for sticking around. My secondary job is about to also make a huge leap: my co-writer and I are releasing our comic before the end of the year. It's an exciting period of time, but also busy. Who knows how it'll work out.

Catch Ya' Later~

--Ashy-Boy

 

Retail Slaves As Custys: Movie Theater Hell With Screaming Hellspawn and Bad Parent

From Ashy-Boy:

Movie Theater slaves, I am so sorry for what you have to put up with, and here is why I have suddenly had this revelation.

Because I am just SO MATURE and so is my 18 year old sister, my father, who is equally mature, took us to see The Lion King in 3D today. They got there on time, I met them a couple minutes after it started. We popped on our special glasses and got all nostalgic.

This is my first problem with people who take their kids to a movie. Squirmy kids, yeah, sure, no big deal. But my problem is when your child is continuously crying and screaming and generally being unamused with the moving and simultaneously unamusing to the rest of the movie-goers, why in the HELL would you insist on sitting them through it? It's not fair to your child if they don't want to be there, and it certainly isn't fair to the rest of us, kid's movie or no. There were PLENTY of kids in this theater that were enjoying the movie and giggling and over-all being decent children. This one poor kid was sobbing his ass off from the start to...well...I'll get to that. And my DAD would have yanked the pair of us out of the theater the moment we started that bullshit when we were that little, sat us in the car, and told us we weren't going back in until we behaved. No violence, no spankings, just denial of what we wanted.

Halfway through the movie, MANY of us were fed up of this kid and his Ignorasaurous-Rex of a mother. My sister is WAY less patient than I and was already going 'Oh my GOD' at an increasingly louder volume, and the teens behind us were bitching about it under their breath.

Finally, one man stood up, wandered over in front of this woman, and asked her, quietly, so that none of the others could hear him, if she would please quiet her child.

This Ignorasaurous turned into the mother fucking Loch Ness Bitch. I am not shitting you. "WHO YOU THINK YOU IS, COMIN UP HERE CUSSIN IN FRONT OF MAH MOTHAH FUCKIN KID?!" Etc, etc, until the man had no choice but to tell her to calm down and finally HE exploded and told HER that this was why people hated 'people like them', and I quote. No racial NAMES were used, but you get the point. In any case, he took his own children and left, with her and her small group shouting that they'd see him in the lobby, and ten minutes later, THEY left, much to the relief of the rest of us. Several of the other guests were trying to tell them to calm down, because IT'S A KIDS MOVIE and, shocker, there WERE children there.

Apparently, after both groups left, there was a nice brawl in front of the children of both parties in the lobby, and Loch Ness Bitch smacked the shit out of the child who was crying through the entire movie. They BOTH cussed out the managers and employees who asked them to leave, or offered to compensate them for their ruined movie, and finally, FINALLY, left.

When the movie was over, the head manager came in and gave everyone still there a pass for a free 3D movie since our experience was ruined or something...which I think was nice, but shit, that really sucks for them. And for the slaves who had to DEAL with that brawl?! Holy shit you guys.

And this was all over a KID'S. MOVIE.

You all put up with a lot of shit, and I told the girl out in the lobby so, who was collecting tickets. You have to clean up some of the WORST piles of trash left behind by patrons, you have to deal with people constantly complaining about prices, (More so, I think, than other forms of retail), and now brawls in your theater? In front of kids, possibly ENDANGERING children?

I take my hat off to you all, Movie Slaves. I just...have no other words. And to those who had to work there at Beagle Cinnamons today, I'm so fucking sorry that you had to put up with that display of animal like behavior.

--Ashy-Boy

 

 

Ashy-Boy's Ex Grocery Manager Makes Sarcastic Comments To Mother

I'm so stark-naked-raving pissed off.

For those of you who remember, I used to work at a place called Short-Stop Produce, and I did rather like it there before I was laid off due to the store location closing.

I also was told I would get my job BACK by the new boss there, who happened to be my old boss from another location. I was then promptly told AFTER I had left my other job that they had taken on someone else instead. Without telling me. And likely wouldn't have told me.

Fine. I was pissed off as FUCK when it happened, cried a bit, but that's all over with.

Until today.

My mom stopped there on the way home for veggies. She and Ex Boss have known each other since I was in the Girl Scouts (yes, I was), so she reluctantly stayed to talk. They apparently had a good chat, she was rung up, but before she could go, my Ex Boss did this.

She gave my mother one of their company shirts and told her it was for me. And then told her the other employees had been asking for me, and could I please stop in?

My mom was speechless, and so was I upon hearing this. She gave me a uniform shirt? Really? But I can't have my JOB BACK? And stop in? What, for morale? Apparently not everyone likes how she's been running the place, but seriously? What the absolute FLYING-LIGHT-SPEED-FUCK?

Someone explain this to me. First she LIES to me about me having my job back, and now she's giving my SYMPATHY gifts in the form of my old UNIFORM? TO MY MOM? Mom pretty much told me that she thought it was rude as hell.

I just...have no words. I know this could totally be over-reacting, but really, what the fuck?

--Ashy-Boy

 

Retail Hell Witnessed At Otakon 2011

Ashy-Boy the grey, here.

Why grey?  Witnessed

Because I ended up going to Otakon just recently as Sollux from the popular webcomic 'Homestuck'. The paint still hasn't come off, and I put it on Sunday. I still have a grey neck and I BELIEVE that my eyebrows are permanently stained. But I digress.

NumismaticNerd's post about conventions recently just jumped out at me, so it feels appropriate that I post a bit about the absolute nerdverse that is Otakon.

Otakon takes place in Baltimore, Maryland, every year at the huge convention center right across from the baseball stadium and only a few blocks from the harbor. It is the BIGGEST and most widely sought convention on the east coast of its kind. We have guests of all sorts come to speak here and host panels, as well as Otaku who hail from all over. I was in line with a couple from Texas last year, and heard we had a few from the U.K. wandering around as well. Last year we boasted over 25,000 attendees (Which anyone would have seen, due to the fire alarm sending us all into Baltimore's streets).

It's kind of a big deal.

In any case, you can guess that, for three days, a ton of weird looking and strange-tongued people scuttle through the streets like multicolored crabs, pack away in every hotel in the city, and flood into anything selling food. And I do mean 'anything'.

This is sort of an apology to all of those having to work in these establishments through con time. I try, myself, to be a nice (if strange-looking), guest in this city. I kept all of my things together in a drawer at the hotel so that I didn't end up with a huge multicolored mess everywhere, and I didn't complain about pricing for food. Yes, it's expensive, but I had to remember that unlike my home state, they had sales tax here, and everything is expensive around Otakon.

But even if most of us con-goers try to be good guests, there are those of us who stick out like sore thumbs.

This goes out to the Other-State Tortilla restaurant that was right across the street from the convention center. These poor employees, in all this heat, worked diligently through it all as well as the huge influx of animal-eared Otaku that was always crowding their lines. I humbly apologize for my fellow con-goers who, on top of all other things, I witnessed:

-Bitching about the prices

-Taking someone's order that wasn't their own, without paying

-Arguing with staff about how much [topping] they had or hadn't wanted on their food, forcing them to remake it and give them a discount (No, I'm not kidding.)

-Dumping sodas all over the second floor so that it dripped off the ledge and onto the heads of fellow customers and their food below

-Leaving heaping piles of half-eaten food and mountains of trash on their table when trash cans were only a short distance away

-Letting their order sit at the counter for an hour and then coming up, complaining about the chill of the food

-Walking away before waiting for their number to be called and bitching when their food is cold
and finally, because this was fucking retarded as hell:

-Running into the restaurant, grabbing food from someone's tray AT THEIR TABLE, WITH THE PERSON SITTING THERE, and running out.

Because that makes a fuck load of sense. These slaves put up with so much, and they all need a raise for having to deal with some of us. Some of us con-goers WORK to get our costumes, our hotel, our spending money, so those of us that do should KNOW what these people put up with on a daily basis, even if they DON'T share our interests. Just because there are a ton of us freaks in one place doesn't mean we have to act like fucking dickwads.

And my quesadilla was fucking amazing, by the way, so thank you Other-State Tortilla.

I also extend my apologies for the hotel workers who had to put up with people partying up and down the halls at two AM. (No, not me, although I WAS partying at 2AM. We have a rave for that.)

For those of you not convinced of my greyness, here is a picture.

'Ii apologii2e for the 2tupiidiity of my fellow co2player2.' (Sollux Speak)

Cheers Mother Fuckers.

--Ashy-Boy

 

Crazy Custy On The Phone Demands To Speak To A Manager Using Crazy Comparison

I see you, 'ashyboi'. In before it's Gary Oak trolling me.

OH HELLO RHU. I think I busted several fuses in my brain recently over personal matters. Like my car's bearings being shot and needing to be replaced and the total bill coming to about a grand. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Or the fact that Infectious Diseases got involved with my mother because her surgery became disgusting and icky~ I'm sure you can just see how twitchy I am through my text.

I think if I was a drinker I'd be wasted right now. But I'm not. Sadly.

Anyway. Calls. What is it with people not having the brain function to process things before they say them? First of all, NO. We aren't Planet Rhonda. We were associated with them, but now we aren't, and please don't LIE to me when you tell me the nature of your call. I ended up getting this one bitch INSISTING that one of our three specific Hairy-Dickson Stores bait-and-switched her, and when I FINALLY put her down to someone, she then revealed "Well, actually, it was Planet Rhonda" and made me look like a fucking dumb ass when I poked and PRODDED this bitch through the phone to make SURE it was our problem.

Not the dumbest call I've had. Nope.

Then there was the guy convinced that our lawn-care crew damaged his truck in our parking lot and that WE needed to do something about it. HURRRRRRR. Yes. Because we own the lawn-care company. No. We then had to review our security footage ANYWAY. Guess who's car was fine the entire time he was there? HMM.

Still not the dumbest.

No, that goes to Building-On-Fire Bitch. BoFB for short.

This absolute lump of dead brain matter called in a few days ago. She demanded to speak with: 1) The owner of our three stores, 2) The boss of two of our three stores, and 3), The boss's assistant. First, it was after five. Which meant that if they WERE there (Owner is NEVER there and Boss rarely), they'd gone for the night. Which I told her, then apologized to her, and asked if she would like to leave Assistant Boss a message on her voice mail for when she came back in the following day.

"No. I need to speak with an ACTUAL person."

Okay, I understand that. What is the nature of your call, and perhaps I can hook you up with a manager?

"Oh, well, if you tell anyone, they'll probably KNOW about me just by name. So just get me the manager."

Now, he's a Sales Manager. If it's something concerning a bike we sold them or a matter like that, sure, I could do that. But we also have Service related issues that go to DigDoug, who is our Parts and Service overlord, and then we have anything Marketing related, which would be promotions for rides and events, and THEN we have cleaning issues, and of course Motorclothes, which is an entirely different animal. You can see where I'm going with this.

"Ma'am, he may not be able to help you, and I don't want to waste your time. What is the nature of your call?"

She still wouldn't tell me, insisted she be put down to him, and so I finally just did and resolved to tell him why after she ended the call.

Big surprise: because we were busy, SM didn't pick up the phone. So she called BACK.

"I need to speak to a REAL person."

And then I got THIS gem:

"Let me say this for you, honey. Maybe this will help you find someone for me: if the building is on fire, and the fire department has been called, who else do you call?"

...

Um...

...What?

I sat there in silence for five seconds. What the FUCK did that have to do with anything? And she wouldn't stop saying it for the rest of the time she was on the line...which was a grand twenty minutes.

Lady, you don't call SHIT. You get the fuck out of the building and wait for someone to show up in a helmet with a hose to spray the fuck out of it. She refused to be put to voicemail, and said she wanted to be put on hold until someone could help her. So after five minutes of trying to explain this to her, I finally did so.

Peace.

I didn't have any other calls at the time, so I took some time for myself to call down and explain to SM what the fuck this lady was doing, and then talked to a manager from our more southern store who apologized and told me that BoFB had been doing this for MONTHS and to just put her into Assistant Boss's voicemail.

So after ten minutes of her line still there, I picked up and explained, again, that there was no one available today, that the three people she wanted to speak to were gone for the day and that if it was that big of a problem, that she DID need to speak specifically to them about it, and that I would put her through to AB's voicemail so that she could leave them a message.

Now, some of you remember my post about the guy who threatened me into giving him the Boss's cellphone number. You all remember how bad that is.

This bitch demanded AB's cellphone number. I'd had enough at this point, and I was through dealing with her codswallop.

Ashy-Boy: "Ma'am, I don't have access to that information, and even if I did, I am not allowed to simply give it to you."

BoFB: "It's fine. Really. She KNOWS me."

Ashy-Boy: That isn't the point. It is personal information, and I cannot give it to you. Now I am going to put you to her voicemail so that she can get back to you tomorrow morning when she comes in. She will address your concerns as best as she is able to."

BoFB: "I need to talk with someone TODAY. If the building was on fire-"

Ashy-Boy: " Ma'am, my father works for the 911 switchboard. Chances are, if you called the hotline, they would tell you to worry about being out of the building and making sure you were a safe distance away before calling ANYONE, and likely the only people who could help the building being on fire would be on their way, so there wouldn't be a point in calling anyone else. That said, I am sorry that Owner, Boss, and AB are not here to take your call, but they have left for the evening and AB will be back in tomorrow. I am sorry for wasting your time, ma'am, but if you would leave AB a detailed message, it would likely help ease the situation you have. Have a good night."

I transferred her before she could say anything else. Of all the dumb-ass comparisons I've heard, comparing your not being able to contact a MOTORCYCLE DEALERSHIP'S higher-ups with a BURNING BUILDING takes the proverbial cake. I have no idea what happened to her after that, but I do hope someone helped her in the end...or told her to stuff it with the building burning bull shit.

Told my dad and he laughed, though, which was good.

Peace Love and Shiny Pokes'

--Ashy-BoY

(Don't think I forgot about you, ImposterMe.)

 

A Brush with Fame on Canvas of Hell

Hey guys~

Ashy-Boy reporting in from the bitch seat.

For all of you non-biker folk, that's the seat behind the driver of the bike. Not to be confused with the humiliating side-car, mind you. In any case, Queer Geek's latest post about his brush with an irritating and bitchy celebrity reminded me of something I needed to share.

Get this, my fellows! Not all celebrities are pieces of trash to us lowly minimum wage slaves!

Take a gander at this picture. On the left, looking rather hideous and trying not to cringe at the thought of working in two minutes, is your faithful Ashy-Boy. Danny Bonaduce is on the right. :D

Danny was there for our 'Harley Days of May' event. He comes every year, so I've been told, along with 94 WYSP, who he does a radio show with. Pretty damn cool, if you ask me. The whole time he was there, he was polite and nice to everyone. He didn't turn down a single picture, he hugged people, he shook hands. He was happy to talk to those of us who worked there, and what he did for me was...pretty awesome.

See, my mother happens to be a fan of his radio show. She was going to come up so that she could meet him, but she had surgery the day before, and was unable to attend. So when I explained to Dan what was going on, I don't know what possessed me, but I said: 'Do you mind talking to her for a second?'

He said he'd love to! So I called her at home on my cell phone, handed it over, and let them talk. Nobody at work will stop talking about it! It was seriously the coolest thing ever, and it really made her week. I really hope he comes back! He's apparently always been this nice to us in the past. So not all celebrities are balls-off-the-walls insane and nasty.

But with all good things...

I know, what I do isn't exactly retail. I just find it somewhat hard to leave you all alone. I'm creepy and annoying like that.

In any case, here are a couple of the more irritating sorts of calls I've gotten recently.

1) 'I'VE BEEN CALLING FOR SERVICE FOR [x amount of days] AND NOBODY'S CALLED ME BACK OMFG'. I always, ALWAYS get these calls after Service CLOSES FOR THE DAY. That'd be around 4:30 p.m. My standard response is that the caller can leave a message for them to grab the next morning (or, if this happens on Saturday, the message gets picked up Monday, since Service is closed on Sundays) and recite the hours they are open, every fucking day. Eight A.M. to four-thirty P.M. This doesn't change. Ever. So my big question is, after I hang up the phone and tear out another chunk of hair, is why these people STILL CALL AFTER 4:30 P.M. when I KNOW one of us, the receptionists, have been telling them this for [x amount of days] that they've called after this time. You seriously can't forget that fact every fucking day.

2) This poor guy kept calling in with a phone that wouldn't hold his call. He wanted our sister store, who I also answer calls for, and each time I would page their clothing department, his hold light would blink off, showing that the call had been dropped. Clothing and I were irritated, but I couldn't help feeling bad for the guy, especially since he called in, three hours after he called ten times to do this, to apologize for the trouble. At least he did that much, y'know?

3) Crank/Prank calls. I literally had two of these in a day. The first was a girl trying to poorly imitate an Asian woman. "I WAN ROOK AT BIKE. YOU SELL ME?!" And so on. I asked her if she wanted new or used and she told me: "I PAY YOU FIVE DALLAH" which was the point when I hung up. Don't waste my time or the sales team's time.

The second was a guy who sounded intoxicated. We've had drunks in here before, so it's no big deal.

Drunk Guy: ..Yo...I was...was looking at this advertisement on this video...wanned t'see 'f it still...still worked.

Ashy-Boy: Well yep, this is Hairy-Dickson's! =D What're you looking for?

DG: ...Well...I'll...I'll tell you what I'm...what I want...Cause [garbled]

Ashy-Boy: I'm sorry, sir, who can I put you down to? Would you like to speak to Parts?

DG; I want you, baby. I want your Parts on my Parts.

Ashy-Boy: >_>

In the end, he told me he DID want to speak to the Parts department, but I was still pissed off about it. There needs to be a drunk-proof phone ap for some of these people. It'll detect if they're sober or not and shut down the phone accordingly.

Other than the fact that one of our sales managers were fired two days after one of our financial people was also fired, (for 'relations', if you catch my drift), nothing of importance has been going on. We'll be renaming our company, soon, but that's about it.

Peace, Love, and Shiny Pokes-

Ashy-Boy~

Ashy-Boy: Replaced After 4 Years

Hey there, RHU. It's your favorite hat-wearing fool.

(Well, no, actually I'm sure that's Joe the Cigar Guy. It's hard to top his hat, I'm afraid. Second best isn't too bad, though.)

I had a post ready to submit...gosh...I guess it's been a couple weeks, now. You see, the last time I wrote in, I was working for Balls Sporting Goods. I was fed up with working for them, rest assured, and was looking high and low for a way to get into another second job and tell them to fuck off. I was tired of being treated like another number. I was REALLY tired of having the bitchiest, pro-scamming custies getting their word taken over mine. And maybe I'll delve into a couple of the last-notice stories another day.

The point is that I no longer work for them. I went back to Short Stop, because they were prepping to open, and asked BossLady (Big Jim's replacement; BossLady was also my first ever boss, and manages our larger store) if she need help.

She was happy to see me, and said, yes, in a week or two's time, she'd bring me back on, back to my old sallary, and back to doing what I was more fond of than handling tried-on jockstraps and all different sizes of balls. Not only that, but she was looking for Floor Boys, and guess who's baby brother finally got himself a car and was looking for a job? I was so fucking happy I could cry, RHU. We talked for a while, she asked about how Balls was going, as well as Hairy Dicksons, and told me I was better off coming back for her rather than stick with the job I didn't like. I could work around my schedule for HD and all would be well. I had the most wonderful feeling driving home that day, and my brother was a bit nervous. She wouldn't take him on for another month or so, she said, but he cut his hair and made sure his hair color was down to the roots again, anyway. Bless his soul, he'll be such a good little slave.

By this point, I'm sure you've all noticed the subtle tones I'm sneaking in, so I know you can guess where this is going.

With her constant reassurance that I would be back in within a week or so, I went ahead and simply walked out of Balls. I know. It was the dumbest fucking move, looking back, but I was desperate to get out of that hellhole and relax a bit before heading back into working two jobs. I got some housework done, paid some of my tuition, made sure my truck was running smoothly. My brother lost his application, (which I somewhat saw coming), which sucked, but by this point I had something else to worry about.

You see, even if I'd given my two weeks notice to Balls, the fact is that BossLady never called. I stopped by the store MULTIPLE times, offering days I was off if they even needed a couple hours of relief and such, and the old crew was happy they were going to have another one of us back.

So about a week or so ago, I finally called BossLady. And this is what I got, in a nutshell:

A year or so before we opened Short Stop at its current location, it had ANOTHER location, in a little shanty-shack, just down the road. BossLady said that one of the girls from THAT far back approached and asked for her job back, two days prior to my call. BossLady then said they had always been told that if this PARTICULAR GIRL wanted a job, they should give it to her. I could understand that if she was a decent worker, but I know nothing about her, so who am I to pass judgment? In any case, since she'd already hired NEW people and those that came AFTER I came to Short Stop, she was out of scheduling time.

Which meant I wasn't getting back my job.

I literally got screwed out of 3-4 years of this fucking store for some bitch that popped up after THREE FUCKING YEARS. Never mind all the Floor Boys she's training to suddenly run the register. And here's the absolute bottom-of-the-barrel worst: she wasn't even going to TELL ME. No joke. She actually said that she was going to give THAT dirty job to Marvina Martian, who apparently was in tears and refused. She wouldn't have called me, that I know now.

The reason it took me a while to re-write this post was because, for one, I realize how fucking stupid it was for me to walk out on one job, only on the assumption I'd get my old one back, not counting how many years and all I contributed to Short Stop in the past.

The second reason is that I haven't been fairing well emotionally. I flung my phone across the room after having a civil conversation with BossLady when she dropped the bomb and cried on my bed for a good few minutes. I still live with my mother and my step-father, and because my step-father's always been on the side of humanity associated with money and sexual appeal being power, I've never really felt like I'm ever doing anything to make he or my mom happy. I really dreaded going down there to tell them what had transpired, especially since they had advised me before not to quit Balls. The past couple years have been a really big internal struggle, and I really don't need blows like this from people I grew up around (BossLady was also my Girl-Scout Leader) and came to respect and be respected by. My thoughts get extremely scary at some points, but I've stopped talking about them with friends and family because, quote my former-best friend, 'they really dampen everyone's spirits'.

I think this is what it actually feels like to be a slave to the dollar. There are a couple people, when it gets really dark, that keep me grounded. I need to get some things straight, but it might take a while with my income as well as the people I have to deal with. Needless to say, aside from all the really eerie side of Ashy-Boy's heart, I haven't gone back. I used to visit every once in a while for their soup and to catch up, but it's not really worth it to show my face there and know that everybody's just going to talk about how I wasn't hired back. Plus, I don't want that added stress on the girl that DID get my job, even if she IS more experienced. Me coming in just is going to alienate her from people like Marvina Martian and Tall Floor Guy, and that always sucks.

I was going to put in a little blurb about me and my friend Zach'sAnomaly's upcoming webcomic, but he's currently blaming me for getting rid of his creative muse, which may or may not throw the entire thing out of whack and make it sit in the bottoms of his creative pool for a while.

I'm sorry for the really depressing post. Part of it's my own fault, but then again, a lot of things are my own fault.

--Ashy-Boy

Motorcycle Store Hell: Custy Bullies To Get Owner's Phone Number

Fucking jammin' tits, RHU.

I thought this Poke-loving fool was gonna get slammed, today. I've seriously only been this scared and riled about twice in my life: once when my car's front axle broke while I was making a turn near the highway, and the second when we were in the middle of what was almost a tornado touch-down.

I fucking hate this so much: I'm the fucking receptionist. I barely know one kind of motorcycle from the other. I just connect you to the people you REALLY need to talk to. Yelling and bitching at ME will get you nowhere, as I cannot do SHIT about your bike in service, or your title being processed, etc. This is the reason I like working at Hairy-Dickson's, because even the owner's main assistant, which would be our second in command, has told me not to take this sort of bullshit from anyone. My co-workers...I seriously love them.

Let me give you some background. This JUST happened and I'm still a bit spastic and over-nerved. It's like someone liquefied several horror films and shot them into my gums.

This asshole, and we'll call him Ninjadouche, since that's the type of bike he's bitching about, has been calling and harassing our store for an entire WEEK. I couldn't even begin to tell you what his issue is, now, it's gone on so long. Second in Command finally sent out an email yesterday and had all the receptionists initial it: that as far as the dealership was concerned, the matter was closed, and if he called we were to put him straight to SiC's voicemail, and not to talk to him about anything else. If he asked for ServiceHead, tough cookies. If he asked for TitlesGirl, tough cookies. Fine. I read it, I initialed it, I didn't get a call from him all that evening.

Fast-forward to today. I got in at 1, relieved D1 (We have several girls with the same name, so I'll call her D1), and sat down to greet custys coming in the door.

An hour later, Ninjadouche SHOWED UP IN PERSON.

I didn't know this, of course. I saw someone headed out the door and told them to have a nice day...and he BEE-LINED for my desk. Now, the desk is set up by the front doors, which have security pylons on either side of them, a trashcan between that and the desk, a solid glass wall behind me, a locked door to my left, and finally a small space I can use to get out from behind the desk. This guy brought his wife, she turned her back to me and began to GREET the customers. I knew something was up, then, but he was already planting his hands down on my notepad and leaning across the little dinky desk.

"I need the owner's name and number."

For those of you who have heard this before, it'll sound routine: You don't give out personal information, whether it's yours or a co-worker's. So I smiled and told him I didn't have access to that.

"I. Need. The owner's. Name and number. NOW. I have an issue with my BIKE, and I want it RESOLVED."

By this point, he's leaning so far over my desk that he's nearly in my chest, wrinkling my papers, and giving me a good wiff of his lunch. The phones are ringing, so I just nod and flip through the binder to look as if I'm looking while answering the rest of the calls.

Ninjadouche eventually catches on and waits until I'm off the phone.

"If you don't FUCKING get that name and number, I swear to GOD-"

That's pretty much the point my entire brain shut the fuck down. I've seen and read about these situations before, I know now what I SHOULD have done, but at that point, the only thing I was thinking about was the fact that I was fucking trapped behind a small desk, with no other employees in sight, and if this guy decided to grab me, I'd be down and bruised before anyone even knew what was happening.

So I found the owner's number, wrote it down, and gave it to him. It was the dumbest fucking thing I could have done, and I know this. I have ADMITTED IT to my co-workers, to the manager on site, to everyone. I don't have an excuse for it, and if I'm punished for it, I probably deserve it.

This is the point where I tell you that I was also never briefed on what should have been done previously. No where did anyone mention any sort of code word for me to have used, who to page, nothing. I should have fucking dialed 9-1-1 and told DaddyAshy-Boy to get over there, since the 9-1-1 center is five minutes down the road from Hairy-Dickson's, but I panicked. During this entire thing, I actually called and spoke to the manager on duty, but I was so paranoid that Ninjadouche was about to flip shit and come over the counter at me that I was trying to be discrete with how I told him that I had a HUGE problem. The manager said he'd send someone over since he was busy, and no one ever came.

After it all happened, I finally got the hamster jogging on the wheel in my head again enough to realize how fucking stupid it was for me to have done what I had, so I took a small break and sat on the toilet for a couple minutes with to text Red-San, (Ashy-Boy goes by Green-san on occasion, and you Poketards out there would understand who I'm talking about), Ashy-Boy's current significant other.

I later was asked by C.W., one of our sales guys, what was going on with me, and when I told him he told me to point problem people to the manager's side. He kind of realized how fucking much it scared me when I told him that I was sure if I'd reached over the counter to point, Ninjadouche would've had my wrist in his hand in a second.

I waited till the end of the night to talk to some of the others about it. They all pretty much told me that it wasn't my fault, and that the owner likely wouldn't be mad. J.T., who runs financial with SuperWalt (A really muscular black dude), was PISSED when she heard. She called me to sit down in her office and tell her what happened. She then proceeded to look up Ninjadouche in the system and call him to have him call her back, and told me that she'd straighten him out.

"I love little maggots like him who see young girls and think it's okay to bully them." She said. There's talk of filing a report against him, now.

I still feel bad that I gave out the owner's information, though, and am terrified I'll be fired for being what one of my best friends call a 'cupcake'. I'm seriously non-confrontational, and I know I screwed up tonight, even if I WAS terrified. C.W. says that I know for next time what to do, and they all sat with me and went over what to page next time...or to just call up DaddyAshy-Boy at the 9-1-1 center. I sat with MamaAshy-Boy when I got home and she told me that, working for a sub-shop as a 14-year-old, she'd had a woman come in brandishing a foot-long knife at her, which made me feel a bit better.

Still...I'm ashamed of myself. I should have more balls then that. And we're not sure if he'll leave us alone, now...I have to work 10-6 tomorrow, and I'm fucking terrified of the fact that he might come back, even if I know how to handle things this time around.

What are some moments in retail that scared YOU all shitless, RHU, and what did you do?

Tossing and turning,

-Ashy-Boy

Ashy-Boy's Grocery Hell: Newbie Nightmare

Ashy-Boy here yet again,

SO~ I had my first actual day working for Balls a couple days ago. Which meant I was supposed to be training.

BOY OH BOY~ If you're all looking for a job where they take you gently into the position and train you decently, do not work for Balls. The manager told me as soon as I came in that I'd be working with another slave, and that I'd shadow her for an hour to watch how things were going before they put me on my own register and had someone shadow me for the last five hours of the shift. Cool, I could deal with that.

Not even fifteen minutes after I started to watch this other co-worker work, the head cashier came up and dragged me to another register, had me count out my money, and flicked my light on.

Then walked off.

I shit you not. I was literally alone up there, with only the basic clues as to how this computer register worked, and suddenly custys FLOODED in. It was like a nightmare. I was overwhelmed, got mixed up on several simple transactions several times, and had to keep calling to the guy who was supposed to be watching me to help.

I felt like an idiot because each time he came over to 'help', he'd act like it was the biggest pain in the world, even though that was what he was supposed to be doing. Then I got a lecture each time I didn't manage to sign up a customer with a Scorecard, which is this little grocery-store like card thing that earns points for every dollar you spend at Balls. It's useless for people who don't go there often enough, like me. But heaven forbid I didn't sign up every Jack, Mary, and Cock for the shitty thing.

At one point I was ringing people alone. Literally no one else was on a register, and the guy who was supposed to be helping me was no where to be found. No heads up, no nothing.

On top of that, we had fifty million fucking returns that day, which were hard enough to master without having the custy pissed off because I was too slow or something else. I began to get the hang of it only after screwing everything up at least a dozen times, thankfully, so things started to go smoother...no thanks to my supposed 'help'.

I mean, seriously, I don't mean to be bitchy, but I'm brand-fucking new. The point of me having help is because I have NEVER DEALT WITH THE SYSTEM THERE BEFORE. If you're going to provide me some guidance, fucking don't half-ass it. I nearly went into the bathroom and cried, I was so fucking over-whelmed.

And, of course, we got a rush as I was supposed to close up, which I also didn't have an inkling how to do there at Balls, which they all must have forgotten. I didn't get my light off and get myself into the back with my things until an HOUR after I was supposed to have left. More hours? Cool. But leave it for when I know what the fuck I'm doing. I was so happy to get out, you had no fucking clue.

To top it off, my sister sent me a funny text message that day: 'I love you Ashy-Boy'. Just out of the blue. My entire family got something similar, so you can imagine what we thought. She's fine, thankfully, but it wasn't any help, and it's not as though I feel comfortable around my co-workers there to say anything about it.

Co-workers in general reminded me of a high-school. It's seriously turning into the worst retail-experience ever, and it's only just begun. I'm so getting out of here as soon as Short Stop opens back up, Honky-Tonk bitch be damned. I'd put up with a MILLION Honky-Tonks before I submit for years to Balls.

Thank heaven Hairy-Dickson's is a much better place...the co-workers there are all so nice and funny. They like to talk to me, too, which is always great. A couple of the girls working Motor Clothes last night talked to me about Balls and how it went and told me that if I had the chance, I needed to leave.

Am I just being too over-sensitive, RHU? I just feel like if this is how I'm treated while being a new face, it won't get any better.

Troubled and ass-deep in sweaty sports wear,

--Ashy-Boy

RHUer Ashy-Boy's New Retail Gigs

From Ashy-Boy:

Hello RHU. Most of you may not remember me...it's been some time, and I know the site's been getting a TON of new followers.

Last time I wrote, I was still looking for a job.

I have TWO now. Go me~ However, that means I have double the shit to rant about. So here we go:

Job #1

This job is #1 because it pays more at the moment, and because it was the first of the two to get. What is it?

It's a motorcycle emporium. And I do mean it like it's this HUGE ENORMOUS PLACE because it fucking is. There are over 300+ bikes out on the floor here, along with a huge selection of motor clothes and a large parts department. There's a nice hoagie shop attached where I get an unlimited refill soda everyday, and they're pretty decent all around, my co-workers.

So far, anyway.

What do I do here? Well...I have to know about bikes, obviously. A bit about parts and clothes for bikers. Why? Because I'm their receptionist. Which means I always answer every fucking call for not only this store, but another branch about an hour away. Thank god they've made it so that the phones can distinguish what number they're calling so I know where to send them. It's a pretty cool place. The good news about working as the receptionist means less dealing with the custys who make the normal money-issue problems. The bad news is the influx of Creepy-Too-Over-Confident Custys that like to touch now and ask where the Parts department is later.

Recently they've stuck me at a little postage-stamp sized rolling desk by the door, where as before I was upstairs in a nice little nook guarding the administration offices. I have no idea why it was there, either, it was merely where I was.

More on that later. I suppose you can call the place Hairy-Dickson, though.

Job #2

I will start off by saying that, upon getting this job, I now work for dick. No, not cock, 'Dick'! Like Richard! It's a sports store, so we'll call it Balls, since it's equally inappropriate.

The training video was the basic retail-slave-brainwashing program. It was then followed by further computer-brainwashing. I haven't even begun to train yet and I KNOW it'll be hell. The manager called today while I was working for Hairy-Dickson and asked why I wasn't in. The thing is, I put in that I was working at H-D prior to this. I've explained to Balls that the other job came first, and that I get H-D's schedule every MONTH instead of every week like Balls does. Therefore, H-D hours come FIRST.

Also, I should note that I've never liked sports. Why take the job then? Because it was what was available. I'll likely end up leaving for Short Stop, my old job, when the store reopens so that I can make my old salary again, since this one is paying me less than what I was making before.

I cannot WAIT to regale you all with my tales of the custys here and the 'Scorecards' we have to offer as well as the TWO credit cards. For a sports store. SRSLY?

A quick story before I mosey off to play Pokemon White, however, since I dearly missed writing here:

So here it is, about 6pm. Phones are almost dead, I'm doing nothing (which is really my favorite part, I won't lie), and finally I get a ring.

"Hello thank you for calling Hairy-Dickson's, this is Ashy-Boy speaking, how may I direct your call?" (NOTE: 'direct you', meaning that I cannot answer all your questions, and that I can point you to someone who CAN.)

"FUCK YOU YOU BITCH YOU LIED TO ME HOW THE FUCK-"

I'm sitting there blinking, phone in one hand, other hand on the computer to open the lock for the door to let someone through to the back, and the person I'm letting in can even hear this weird-ass on the phone. Guy was quiet for a while, then sighed, and some woman in the background is arguing with him.

"...Sir...?"

He must've heard me, because: "...FUCK THE PHONE-"

It would've been over then, but the guy came in and apparently apologized to Frank, the sales manager, for what he said. Also bought a bike that day. I got partial credit, which doesn't usually happen since, you know, I'm not a sales person...but hey.

Only the beginning of fun times and bad times and holy-mother-of-tits-let-me-get-out-of-here times~ G'bye RHU!

--Ashy-Boy

Ashy-Boy: Holiday Retail Kindness

Hi everyone. It's Ashy-Boy the Unemployed here again. And I just want to say thank you.

My mom has it bad around Christmas. Both of her parents passed away in November and December about a year before I was born, and she has no family of her own to spend the days with while I have my father's large family. My stepfather is a roid-penis who 'hates Christmas' and constantly ruins whatever cheer she has every year. It's so bad that I stay with her as long as I can, even though my grandmother invites me every year to spend a few days with her to help prepare for our Ashy-Boy's-Family-Dinner on Christmas Eve. I have my disagreements with her, but I love my mama.

The reason I'm thanking someone today is because a couple slaves at a local Coals really made her day a couple days ago.

My mom does her shopping in advance and puts things on layaway. She's been making payments since October on this order and finally paid it off. When she went to go get her order, the line was huge, custys were bitchy, and she was getting frustrated. I'll admit, my mom can be a crusty when she wants to be.

When she FINALLY got up to the counter, after half an hour of waiting, she was made to wait to the side another half an hour. She felt somewhat neglected, she said, although this is likely an exaggeration, as I said: she can be a hell of a crusty.

A manager and a floor associate came up to her finally and told her this:

"We have bad news, and we have good news."

She took the bad first.The manager then told her that my mom's entire layaway was gone. Not misplaced or never-was-there, gone. Naturally, my mom was upset. Wouldn't you be if your hard earned money paid for a pile of nothing?

But this is where it gets good. The manager offered to take her through the entire store and have her select whatever was closest to what she had, and if it was slightly over priced? They would compensate. He said it was entirely their fault (which I doubt...it's the Holidays) and that he was truly sorry.

I've never seen her so moved and so happy. She said she thanked them profusely for their honesty and their offer.

I know it just sounds like a spoiled custy got a deal she likely didn't deserve, but it means the world to me that they did this for her. She was extremely grateful for their service and got on my computer to write a nice letter to Coals about the two workers who helped her out. She said they even talked and laughed.

Thank you, Coal's Slave and Coal's Manager. Thank you for making my mom's day.

And the gift gives back: While I was out getting gas, an old lady brought in an entire cookie plate for the gas-station attendants to share. When I asked, the cashier ringing me up said that no one knows her, but she comes in every week or so for gas and such.

It's nice to know that in the realm of retail, not everything is hell.

Season's Greetings~

--Ashy-Boy

P.S.- My truck IS fixed. Temp tags will come off soon. Finally, a vehicle that doesn't rattle like it's about to explode.

P.S.S.- The business that fired me just sent me two checks totaling to a little over 260$. They were apparently sent to the wrong employee and she hadn't cashed them. The kicker? They're from early October. Happy Holidays indeed! Time to get my friends some presents. I did all my shopping online. I tend to get chatty with employees and I don't want to get them into hot shit for 'holding up a line'.

FUCK SCROOGE CRUSTYS!

 

Motor Vehicle Hell

Hey all. It's Ashy-Boy again.

Still no luck in the job field. I actually got blown off by one potential boss entirely. :/ But I digress.

I have court on December 1st. Why? Because my tags expired on my car and we haven't had the money to fix what needs to be fixed for it to pass. Thank god my dad knew the dispatcher handling the situation...It should be a smooth ride.

In any case, after I got pulled over (in the middle of my house sitting week, and I was on a time limit to get back and give one of the cats medication), it became apparent that I had to make my way over to the Motor Vehicle inspection lanes some time.

No one likes doing it, but I'm NOT getting pulled over again.

I failed, of course, but I got sent in for a temp tag so I could put it on, not worry about getting pulled over for a while, and fix what I needed to fix.

You've all had to do it, I'm sure: sit for an hour in your car for them to get you to run through the tests, then head inside to get a tag renewed and sit for ANOTHER hour.

NO ONE LIKES TO DO THIS.

That said:

STOP FUCKING BLAMING THE PEOPLE AT THE COUNTER.

These people might as well be retail with the shit they deal with. They DO handle transactions, and fuck if they don't have to deal with the bullshit from people bitching about the wait. It is NOT their fault. Each transaction is likely different, and requires different amounts of time.

Me? I sat there playing Pokemon Soul Silver until my number was close. It's NO big deal.

And yes, the number series do change! There may be a couple B numbers called, then an F, and then five Cs. Deal with it. That's just how it's supposed to run. This lady, while I was up getting my tag, bitched out not one, not two, but THREE employees there for 'skipping' her number.

Lady, it wasn't called yet! It WILL, however, so sit the fuck down! I told the woman helping me that she must get a lot of that.

So yes, this is my defense for these poor slaves. They have it MUCH worse then I've ever had it, and someone must have the patience of a sea cucumber and the firmness of a steel plate to deal with all that shit.

That bitchy lady wasn't the only one, either. And if I had a dime for the number of people who tried to switch numbers with me when I was getting ready to get called, I'd have a few extra bucks.

It's like the basement level of Retail Hell, folks.

--Ashy-Boy

PS: Just so that I don't stir up shit, it was my own fault, not the cop's, for getting pulled over. I know why he did it, and I'm not blaming him. However, his buddy trying to swerve around me in the other car needs to learn how not to ride people's asses. >/

PSS: I was in South Carolina for Black Friday. HO-LEE SHIT. I had NO idea. People were parked on medians, in the grass, in flower beds, on sidewalks. There were TWO accidents in the parking lot of the mall I was dragged to. No fist fights that I saw, and the lines were actually well behaved and somewhat cheerful. Maybe it's just Southern charm...?

 

Ashy-Boy's Gag-Inducing Retail Hell

Here's Ashy-Boy's latest tale that could very well be a Halloween Retail Hell Horror story. Don't read this if you are eating:

I had just about the grossest fucking day today.

And when I say gross, I mean the most foul smelling things in existence all compiled into one, gut-wrenching, cookie-tossing smell to end all smells.

The ingredients to this cocktail of Retail Hell:

-Sour Clam Chowder.

This shit will make ANYONE gag. I got in at 3:00pm today, and someone LEFT ME A NOTE to empty it...you know, rather than empty it within the OTHER seven hours it was there.

How the FUCK did ANYONE let it sit there that long?! I could smell that shit as soon as I went inside the damn store.

The soups are on the counter behind the register, so our backs face them when we ring up customers. Why no one did anything and left it for ME is absolute laziness.

So I immediately took that shit outside and poured it out.

Sick sick sick.

Scrubbed that pot until it fucking smelled like nothing but dish soap and then washed it again once it was dry.

-Cooler FULL of Rotten Milk.

I shit you not.

Our entire cooler of milk, (which isn't much, really: about four varieties, two sizes, and about four of each fit in it), was rotten.

The dates haven't even been reached yet.

I had to refund some poor guy's money because he gave the milk to his daughter and she and her mother both said it was sour.

I felt horrible for it, even if it wasn't my fault.

This apparently isn't the first time the guy had bought rotten milk from us, either, which made me panic. I immediately checked the half gallon I opened for milkshakes, and THAT was ALSO rotten.

Tall Guy, one of our floor guys, was inside with me due to lack of things to do, and we took all the milk out and checked the temp.

Big Jim says the cooler's set right, but I'm thinking no...

And I refuse to sell any of the milk until the cooler's checked.

-Shitty Bathroom.

Of course.

I walk in and some asshole has shit on the back of the toilet seat.

This one speaks for itself.

-Maggot-Infested Potatoes.

Don't ask.

Rotten potatoes are the most foul things, for some reason. This one isn't really anyone's fault. We DO check these guys very often, and keep them where they can't get wet, but we'll miss a couple on occasion.

Tall Guy dropped one on the floor and revealed the delicious little add-ons inside.

Yummy.

-Dishes Sitting In the Sink.

You know.

The stuff that should have been washed LAST NIGHT at eight pm and never was.

Yes. THOSE kind of dishes.

The most gag-inducing day ever.

I'm super pissed about the milk due to the fact that I came up with an awesome new shake for the store and now can't make any. I'm also terrified that the milk I found in our personal refrigerator that was rotten may have been used for shakes anyway.

It's also raining like a bitch, and the dead earthworms also stink for whatever reason.

Someone may as well have come in and blown ass all around the store, it was THAT bad.

Sometimes wearing a hat has other uses. Like fanning the stench away from one's nose.

Poor hat...

--Ashy-Boy