Customer Rejects or Clever Merchandising?

There's no doubt Despicable Me would be quite a nice side dish with several bottles of champagne (even the cheap shit). But something tells me this wasn't Wally World trying beef up was the Minons...(and if you don't know know who the Minons are, you need to watch Despicable Me, it's LOL awesomeness xD)



Queer Geek: Coworker Party To Remember

Xmas2009 234 Queer Geek here with another hilarious story of retail hijinks!

I wanted to break away from the norm of regular RHU rants and do something different for change since it pertains to retail.

Now if you’re like me, you enjoy letting loose once in a while and letting your hair down by socializing outside of work with your coworkers.

Who else understands your plight of being exploited by crazy custys than your peers who slave to the grind while wearing plastered smiles on their faces?

A retail slave has a right to get their party on.

Can I get a what what?

You know what they say; the party gets started when retail slaves get together!

Since the dawn of retail time, I have partied with the best of them with my fellow co-employees at various retail companies so I speak from personal experience about my drunken days of retail debauchery.

I’m sure many of you reading this can relate! (Don’t act like you don’t know! I know I’m not the only one here! Not a word from the peanut gallery? LOL! You know who you are!)

One of my more intoxicated moments happened when I use to work for that red blemish of a star logo company Messy’s involving my friend who I refer to as Mary. Xmas2009 233

Now I worked at the fine jewelry counter while Mary worked in accessories. Immediately we hit it off and became BFFs. Anyway, Mary had just moved into her new apartment and decided to host a late night housewarming dinner with few friends from work.

Now understand this was Saturday night and word quickly spread around the store about the invite and the few friends turned into fifty attendees who began showing up at her little cramped apartment.

It soon became evident that the small little dinner was to be transformed into the wild party of the century!

Just to let everyone know how crazy the party became, the cops had to show up a few times to turn the ruckus down but to be honest I barely remember most of it since it remains in my head as a drunken blur except for a few images of me eating the pavement outside in the parking lot, hood surfing a moving vehicle, pole dancing a stop sign, hugging the porcelain goddess a few times, and finally passing out in Mary’s bedroom next to cute straight boy coworker whom I shall call Gordon. (For the record, Gordon, nothing happened, I think, but there was spooning involved. That much I remember. Oh and Gordon shave the five o’clock shadow! I think my neck got rugburns!) C12

My other coworkers were not as fortunate as they all passed out on Mary’s carpet huddled in a puddle of vomit and looking like victims of the Jonestown massacre.

The worse part was yet to come as half of us had to show up for work the next morning to open up the store including myself.

It certainly was going to be an interesting work day. As we managed to clean the residue of puke, sweaty body funk, and wrinkled clothes that we wore the night before we finally arrived at Messy’s looking like the zombies from Resident Evil. (All you needed was a first person shooter carrying bullets of Red Bull and Vodka and the rest of us would be down for the count.)

Luckily for us, that Sunday was slow and most of the crazy custys cared less if our eyes were bloodshot and that we emitted an odor of Jack Daniels and gasoline as long as somebody would ring up their crap.

Meanwhile, my coworker and spooning buddy, Gordon, had the worst of it as a wave of nausea almost struck him every half hour forcing him to regurgitate his Doritos into the trashcan in the back stockroom.

Mary and I kept popping Midol for our hangover headaches and ended up taking turns falling asleep in the back office desk.

As usual, Messy’s department managers were not to be found on the floor so we were left to own devices as many of the other hungover employees kept Mary’s wild party hush hush.

You would think custys would notice but they were just as oblivious tearing up the store and asking annoying questions so in retrospect I don’t feel guilty smelling and looking like a wino but what surprises me is how the custys didn’t say anything about any of our hungover appearance. C13a

Go figure.

Epilogue: After this incident, Mary almost got evicted from her apartment but thankfully was able to salvage her relationship with her landlord. She is now happily married and living on the east coast and no longer works as a retail slave.

Gordon eventually moved on to Doomingdales (Messy’s high end company) after being offered more pay and still has yet to curb his partying ways from what I heard.

I finally left Missy’s (involuntarily but I’ll save that for another RHU post) for another big fancy company with better pay but I have calmed down considerably since then and behaving myself.

Though I still laugh about my debauched nights with Messy’s coworkers, it is a bit ironic that no one except the parties involved ever knew about the wild party that went on.

Well that was until now...

--Queer Geek


Line-cutting Gas Station Custy Gets Told

BallsawardAAAa A Retail Balls Award goes out to a Gas Station Slave at the request of a thankful custy:

Although I'm long past my years as a retail slave, the memories still haunt me. 

As such, I do my best to be a good custy and am teaching my daughter to do the same.  It's funny to see the looks we get when we're folding shirts and straightening shelves! :-D

On to the subject: I'd like to nominate a slave working at my local gas station for a Retail Balls Award! 

This particular store has a certain large, bouncy Aussie animal as a mascot.

I was next in line to buy my coffee and a newspaper. It was early in the morning, and I was in that "oh-gods-why-am-I-up-before-sunrise" fog. I REALLY needed a double shot of whatever to perk me up. 

As I approached the counter, a man standing between the registers steps over and says something to the effect of "give me the next one". 

I learned later that he was referring to the scratch-off lottery tickets. 

Before I could open my mouth and unleash my inner PMS'ed, caffeine-deprived bitch, the girl behind the counter pointed at me and said very firmly, "She's next. You wait your turn. Sir." 

I could tell she probably wanted to say, "Back off, asshole, and keep scratching! God knows your balls are lonely."

Chastised, he backed off and I was able to walk up and ask how long the guy had been there.

The slave rolled her eyes and said, "He's been standing there scratching those things and trying to jump the line for about and hour."

I said, "Well, maybe he'll run out of money soon...?" 

She grinned and said she hoped so. 

I finished purchasing and wished her luck with the lottery bloodsucker. She thanked me and we parted.

That's all for now!  I'll post some stories of my years as a jewelry slave when my befuddled brain can dredge any up. :-D  Oh, guess I should nickname myself... Hm, I sing the lowest part in my local women's chorus, so you can call me:




Bowling Alley Slave's Pet Peeves

BowlinghellAFrom Riva:

I would love to discuss the issue of KIDS at our places of work.

What I would love even more is if I never saw another demon child at my work. Don't get me wrong, I love kids.. but keep them the hell out of my job - which sadly won't happen, since I work at a bowling alley. This alley is known for it's lounge area and bar, but that's all I'm gonna say about it without giving too much away.

Now I work at the front desk of my establishment.. doing transactions to put people on the lanes, calling in broken lanes to the mechanic, handling phone calls and reservations, and of course the business of cleaning shoes that are returned to me extremely warm and moist with an occasional chicken wing left in it (true story). I'm sure I'll write another post soon about handling the phone calls, which makes me want to purposely go home to my cat and allow her to rip the shit out of my head because that would be more tolerable.. but today I'd gonna bitch about my customer pet peeves.


- When I ask you for your shoe size, I completely understand that you don't know how to take off your shoe and look for the size on it.

What I don't understand is when the parent will lean down and whisper in the brat's ear what size to say to me, and renders the child completely unhelpful and useless, as now they will just spin around to hide in the parent's legs.

As the line behind these slowasses gets larger and larger, the parent keeps pushing the child forward trying to get them to tell me the shoe size because "it's so cute when she does it!"

No, after 3 years it's definitely not cute anymore, and all you're doing is helping the guests behind you get more and more impatient, giving them time to think of what insults they can sling at me claiming I'm too slow.

Just tell me the goddamn shoe size and get the fuck out of the line!

- When I go to hand the rental shoes to a child, whether it's 5 years old, or 20 years old (apologies, but this has happened).. DON"T JUST STARE AT ME!!!!

Take the goddamn shoes! You have no idea how irritating it is for me to reach over the desk to give you your ugly bowling shoes, and instead of taking them from my hand, you just stare at my hand, utterly confused as to why I'm doing something so odd. Hellspawnbowl

Taaaake theeeeee shoooooooooessssalkhdkajsdbj

- Quit fuckin' screaming. Pre-teens, I'm looking at you. These ones are worse than the 4 year olds that are pissed they have to leave cause mommy wants to go have a drink at home.

The lanes we have are directly behind my desk, so I get to hear all the loud hyena laughs and murderous screams. Really, there is NO need to see if you can break the sound barrier with your lungs while you're bowling. I know I don't feel the need to screech every time I successfully cook dinner.

- Do NOT run up and down the lanes. Do NOT throw balls into other people's lanes than your own. And If I catch you trying to "skate" on the freshly waxed lanes, I swear I will laugh when your mother comes to yell at me for her precious son falling on the lane. Biatch please.

Part 2 : ADULTS

- Watch after your own hellspawn. I do not get paid enough to babysit while you go sit at the bar.

- If your coupon is expired, accept it and move on. Do not demand to see a manager to try to invalidate what I have just discussed with you. Guaranteed the manager will take my side, especially if you're giving me attitude that a dragon would run from.

- You left your iphone here last night, you say? Since it's not anywhere in the store the day after, it's my fault, you say? Fuck you. That's what you get for leaving your expensive shit lying around. Electronics are GONE baby gone if you are unlucky enough to lose it here.

- I never get tired of hearing "You better spray my husband/wife's shoes extra good! Someone's got smelly feet!" Seriously. Never. Just like I never want to win a million dollars.

It was almost funny the first time I heard it.. but hearing it on a weekly basis.. Christ, I think I hear that little joke in my sleep now.

And for the record, you're right.. the shoes are always fuckin' rank and warm and moist..


- The price list is posted on my desk right in front of you. If you come to my desk, look at the price list for 20 seconds, then proceed to look up and ask me "so how much is it to bowl?".

...all you're gonna get it my finger pointing to the sign and an incredulous expression from me.

Or a bout of laughter.

- Also regarding prices, yes I know we are expensive.

No, I did not create the prices myself. And I LOVE how you just stare at me with your mouth agape catching flies, because I won't give you a discount.

If you just stare at me, thinking I'M the idiot.. all you're gonna get in return is an eyebrow raise and equally blank stare.

Hey, you came to me buddy. I just work here.

That's it for right now. I'll post some actual confrontations next time, 'cause there are a LOT.. any other bowling slaves here?

I'd love to hear some shared pains!

Stay strong darlings, until next time..