This story was originally posted on  March 21, 2011

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 nowhere 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

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From: Riferous, March, 2010

I think that there has been a trend in the last couple of decades toward the absolutely ridiculous in terms of what is child abuse and what is good parenting. However, I did recently bear witness to what I would call incredibly horrible parenting.

A woman and her son, he being a mere 3 or 4 years of age, were in my store shopping. The boy had somehow acquired a flashlight, which the mother did not want him to have. She had taken hold of the flashlight and was telling him to give it to her, but he emphatically said "NO!"

I ask of you, the common blogger, whether you have exercised your reproductive capabilities or not, what you would do in the mother's place? Would you decide that this was not a battle that you wanted to fight and let the child keep the precious flashlight? Would you be the bitch and rip the flashlight from the child's hand, risking a raging temper tantrum? Would you apply a firm slap to the back side and then take the flashlight, still possibly inducing the much loved public crying and yelling?

While I would be willing to bet that most of you would choose one of those options or some derivative thereof, this mother did none of the above.

She bit him.

She actually took hold of his arm, raised it to her face, and bit his wrist.

She then asked the child "Did that hurt?"

"NO I WANT MY FLASHLIGHT!!!"

What do you think she did next?

That's right, she bit him again. And then took the flashlight from him, inducing the much anticipated screaming and crying that sounds so delightful when coming from someone else's child.

Being that it was not my place to tell this woman how to raise her child, and that I'm sure it wouldn't have changed her parenting methods one iota, all I could do was watch her walk away. Would that I could intervene, raise this child for my own, and maybe screw him up anyway, I'm pretty sure that I would never have bit him.

I don't remember, at least once I got to be school age, being spanked. I was a good kid anyway (and modest too). But I sure as hell never got bitten.

I hope that this mother remembers that she bit her child - twice - when he gets big enough to beat the shit out of her and raid her purse for drug money.

--Riferous

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From October, 2013. Ralph's, Los Angeles

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From Reagan, September, 2009

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From March, 2011:

Greetings, Retail Hellians! Stepford Snarker here, feeling downright delighted that I wasn't scheduled to work Mardi Gras.

As to be expected, it was really busy, and I was stuck on the busiest register in the store. I was working my ass off, trying to get everyone out as quickly as I could. And then, I had a a lovely teachable moment with a custy.

Ah, this custy. She expected me to be a psychic and freaked out when I didn't know that she wanted item A and item B rung up together and item C rung up separately; never mind that there was no indication of how she wanted them rung up. She was too busy showing off her new phone to her friend to respond to my greeting. And then, when I held out my hand for her to pay me, she put the money on the grocery belt.

Well! I calmly picked up the money and counted out her change. I ignored her hand held out for the money and calmly placed the money right where she had put her money.

As she struggled to pick up the money and whined about it to her friend, I did my best not to say, "Now you know how it feels. I hope you won't be doing that again."

It might not be the most polite way of expressing how I felt, but damn, it felt good.

--Stepford Snarker

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From September 5th, 2010: Outside of a grocery store in an upscale area of Santa Monica, CA. Beer bottles and sandwich leftovers were dumped inside.