(WARNING - Many F-BOMBS are dropped in Carolanne's Rant, as usual. If this bothers you, you can, cover your ears, and scroll down. Then watch the ice cream movie from yesterday.)
I FUCKING hate Inventory. FUCKING HATE IT!
(See, we warned you.)
Inventory IS total IN-VOMIT-ORY....it makes me want to VOMIT... RIGHT OUT MY FUCKING ASSHOLE!!! I am so glad it's OVER!!!
My stupid fucking Store does it twice a year and every time it happens I end up feeling like slitting my wrists with a fucking paperclip. I mean why the fuck can't they have a company come in and do it? Why us Retail Slaves? Why not fucking InventoryScanners.com?
I don't have enough energy left to bitch about every single fucking thing that went wrong and annoyed the fuck out of me during this year's Invomitory, but I will spew some of the shitty highlights because I feel like venting:
Two weeks before Invomitory, my Droid Manager - I'll call her Psycho Cindi here - was completely out of control making us check tickets on merchandise that had been already checked a hundred times over. One day when she asked me to check an area that I had checked twenty minutes before, it took everything in my retail hell-drained body, to not rip into the douchy droid and say, "Cindi are you fucking nuts? Someone needs to take you in the back and fuck your brains out, you need to calm your shit down! What the fuck is wrong with you? I just checked that fuckin table three times in the last two hours. I am sure as fuck not doing it again, you wired up Stepford Wife from Retail Hell." Unfortunately I couldn't say that because I need this shitty retail job, so I gave her a fake ass smile, pictured myself pushing the snatch down the escalator, and re-checked the fuckin table.
Psycho Cindi's craziness only got worse. Her Invomitory Schematic for the scan stickers looked more complicated than the mall's parking structure: Blue Lily, Orange Level, section 4, area b-12, column 36, row 6, grid 22, gravestone 4389---What the FUCK!?! How about 1,2,3 - you FUCKING MORON! It took us forever to lay the stupid fucking stickers. Psycho Cindi looked more confused than Paris Hilton trying to find her car outside of a nightclub. Fucking idiot.
Then right before Invomitory, the neurotic nutcase gave a meeting where she treated us like a bunch of fucking babies: We had to quadruple check every goddamn thing. We were not allowed to socialize. We had to whisper our counting communication to our partner. And if we needed assistance or had to go to the bathroom, it was required that we raise our fucking hand. What the fuck is this? High School? I'd rather be chained to a locker and forced to listen to fucking Vanessa Hudgens and Zac Efron sing for ten hours! FUCK THIS SHIT!
But things only got worse after that. I told Psycho Cindy I wanted this hot temp boy named Drew as my partner - of course I lied to her and told her it was because he looked like he had half a brain - but fuck no. Psycho Cin assigns me this woman who apparently had no fucking brain at all: total female version of Homer Simpson. I almost beat her to death with the scangun when she had to SLOWLY recount 8 pairs of denim 5 times because she was convinced her count was off by 2. AAAAARGH!!!!
Then my fucking scangun froze and had to be rebooted. Fucking piece of shit thing lost ten stickers that Dispshit counted, so we had to go back and re-count everything. Then we had to make new tickets for 50 pairs of jeans because the vendor tag wouldn't scan with our lame ass cheap Toys R Us scanners. Dipshit couldn't get the ties around the belt loops so I had to do all them and that's when I hit my fucking head on one of the shelves and nearly blacked out. It felt like I'd been whacked with a crowbar. Then I was nauseous and dizzy. No food or water anywhere. Psycho Cindi said I should go get a drink of water from the fountain by the bathrooms. I said, Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME? I AM NOT PUTTING MY MOUTH ANYWHERE NEAR THAT SKANKY THING. FUCKING GROSS!!!
I'd had enough. I told Psycho Cindi I needed to go home. Invomitory was over for me. I felt like I was going to pass out. She said, "No, everyone stays until it's done." Fucking douchebag. I would have ignored her and cut out anyways, but our Store had turned into a maximum security high school prison that night. No one was allowed to leave during inventory unless they had a pass issued by the HR Manager or Floor Watchers. Sounds unbelievable doesn't it? It's all true motherfuckers. Fucking Store Security stood guard by the employee entrance and would not let anyone leave unless they had an exit pass. WTF?!?! People it's fucking inventory at shitty department store for god sakes! Not back stage of a Hannah Montana concert!
So then I said, "Listen Cin - it's like this: If you don't let me go home RIGHT NOW - my head trauma is going to cause the kind of migraine that will force me to call in sick tomorrow morning. You won't have an opener and they'll be calling your ass in to cover me."
Psycho Cin short circuited like coffee hitting a key board. She babbled away on her walkie-talkie to the HR Manager about my condition. The HR Droid bitch was not happy I got to leave early, but forked over the Exit Pass and I got the fuck out of Invomitory Hell! I went straight to PF Changs.
The next morning, I should have called in anyway. The place looked like it was under Crime Scene Investigation - fucking yellow tape, fingerprints, and pink tickets everywhere, everything a total fucking mess. Worse than a goddamn sale. I barely got the shit cleaned up before the store opened. The air hadn't been turned on, my clothes were soaked from sweating, and my head hurt worse that fucking Harry Potter's.
INVOMITORY IS RETAIL HELL PURGATORY!!! IT FEELS LIKE IT NEVER FUCKING ENDS!
Next year I'm going to save some cash from my Christmas paycheck and buy a fucking doctor's note that says I have mono and then I'm going to spend the week on my couch watching DVDs and eating nachos. Buah motherfuckers!