For some reason, this video is giving me the creeps. Is it just me? Could it be those freaky ass inverted color shots usually reserved for horror movies and the like? Ugh. Somebody get me a ranged weapon and a corner to crouch in where I can see the exits.
Once upon a time (like, until the end of May this year - tomorrow), I owned a small independent bookstore, as I've mentioned before... We're closing effective May 31 after 27 years, and the new tenant wants in no later than June 2.
Among other things (like approximately 50,000 books), we had fifty bookcases - 4' wide, 6'10" high, 6" deep. Solid pine. Sturdy. We sold a few, but wound up with 40 left over. I thought I had it all arranged for the bookcases to go to Habitat for Humanity; they backed out - on Wednesday. I scrambled, and found another charitable group to take them - "We'll be there Friday morning for sure!" They even had a bouquet delivered to thank me for the contribution. What a relief.
Friday, the next-to-the-last-day we could be there, *they* called at ten-thirty (about the time we expected them to show up) - and said they'd changed their minds. Sorry and all that. I nearly threw up. I did shed a few tears, I think, I was so upset/mad/disappointed! 40 bookcases to dispose of, in 36 hours. So I called Larry the Landlord and wept upon his telephonic shoulder.
He said if I could commit to breaking up and discarding them, he would send two guys and a truck to take them all away, plus the cash desk and sorting table and anything else needing disposal. And pay them. Bless that man, he's been a peach. Total antithesis of the stereotype landlord.
In the meantime, Daughter and both Grandsons had arrived, and they and Son started loading cars with recyclables and running to the recycle center (yes, all those books) while Hubby and I began bagging the last books off the remaining 9 bookcases. Son and his buddy, Dave, had spent hours the day before, detaching and stacking the other 41 cases, and as soon as we emptied another down it came. The boys hauled them outside, and the truck guy and his buddy smashed them apart and loaded the truck.
End of day - all gone. All those beautiful, sturdy bookcases, gone to the dump. The store is just full of little heaps of things we need to pick through and either toss or haul home, which we'll do tomorrow. And all it cost me was $46 worth of subs for lunch. Tried to give the truck guys some money, but they refused quite nicely. Kind of made up for the _two_ charities breaking their word and letting us down, a bit. We'll just see who gets contributions next fund drive!
Guess I'll just keep my screen name ... Even though now I'll be Bored in Retirement (or not)
--Bored at the Bookstore
One day we had a lady come to the security office with questions about how much we charged, where to park, and she didn't want to risk the fire lane or the drop off area, so she parked in the Whole Paycheck across the street.
She knew how high her truck was, so it was quick and painless (she would fit). Not less than five minutes later she came back in tears. It seems the PMC who owned the strip mall where the Whole Paycheck was watches their lot like a hawk and ticketed the lady for $70 as she was getting answers.
I ended up writing her a letter explaining that at the exact time she was being ticketed, she was asking how to park over here, and I would witness it.
I don't know how it shook out, but I hope they tore up that ticket. May your good custies not be punished by management.
I had a Bad Retail Slave experience at WAL-FART a few days ago.
It was late at night (but really, not that late... we're talking only 11PM on a Tuesday!), and unfortunately it was the only store open within a 25-mile radius, which really? As expected, since it was the only store open and not even that late, it was obnoxiously busy for 11pm. And there were only 4 cashiers. Terrific.
I had exactly 3 items, so seeing how busy it was I chose to stand in the "10 items or less" line even though it too was a long line. Fine, I'm in for a bit of a wait, I came to grips.
But I did not come to grips with a lady who had 25 (I counted) items in her basket. Now, I'm not a Nazi about strict application of the "10 items or less" rule, but above 15 items you're starting to push it. And the cashier said nothing. It took waaaay too long to ring her up (hence depleting the whole point of the "express" lane).
I'm tired (long day), and now I'm cranky. I stand there counting her items under my breath, hoping that someone heard me counting them. I also give her a death stare, though she never noticed so it was moot.
She immediately helps the next person there. I, meanwhile, have to wait another minute (already been waiting at least 10 minutes to get THREE things) for the next cashier to wipe off the station - I watch him use his own spit as if it were a disinfectant and was ok for properly cleaning surfaces - and to sign in.
My blood pressure must have skyrocketed. I realize how difficult it is working in retail hell, but is it really hard to explain to a custy what you're doing and why?
I'm not a nasty custy, really I'm normally very patient and thankful for the retail slaves that help me. But this was such an asinine experience.
And now I remember why I don't shop at WAL-FART.