4.5 Hours Until I Have to Wake Up
7 hours until my plane to Japan takes off.
I'm not yet asleep. Hopefully this isn't a huge detriment to my health. It's gonna be hell to adjust 14 hours ahead, but you know I'll do it.
Green tea, here I come.
Our internet is down, so I'm stealing wireless from the neighbors. When Alan and Carl first got their laptops for college, we drove around looking for unprotected wireless to tap into. We didn't do any harm, but it was fun, like a secret mission or something.
I keep meaning to update with some more thrift store stories, so here are a couple for you. I stopped working last Friday, so these are all from last week.
Vegetable Lady
I was cleaning up the store, minding my own business, and I walk around a corner... to find boobs confronting me. I made a O.o face and backed up as the woman chuckled. There is a mirror by the plus-sized women's rack, and people will sometimes try things on there (which inevitably leads to them tossing what they don't walk onto the PSW rack which PISSES ME OFF), but generally over their clothing. I grumblingly went to Joe and asked,
"Joe, are you allowed to tell the half-naked woman over there that we have dressing rooms for a reason?"
"Yeah," he said, and headed off. Shortly I see him coming back, and he looks a little perturbed.
"That's the Vegetable Woman. Just leave her alone. She's crazy. She'll talk to herself over there and she starts ranting if you talk to her. She collects rotting food from outside grocery stores and keeps it in her trunk and gives it away to people."
"Uh. Okay."
She bought some ugly t-shirts and left.
Update on the Turtle Man
One day as I was walking out to my car during a break, I saw the Turtle Man going to his car. I had to see his bumper stickers, which were just a little too far for me to read, so I walked nearer discretely.
This man has Cthulu stickers. Like, serious, believes in Cthulu bumper stickers. I got a good snicker out of that, and thought I would post it.
Before I posted it for your enjoyment, however, I found out that we like Turtle Man--his name is Mr. Brooks, and he's an antique book collector. He isn't as crazy as I thought, and Joe really enjoys talking to him. He and his wife come in most weekdays, but never Monday--it's too crazy for him then. I asked Joe about Cthulu, and obviously he didn't know anything about it--he said "Oh yeah, Mr. Brooks told me about Cthulu once. Some god he believes in or something."
Patricia Harris, or FUCK YOU STUPID LADY GO AWAY Lady
I was sitting behind the register, minding my own Thursday night business (which is to say: drinking some water, picking my fingernails, trying not to be bored), and suddenly Joe comes up and mutters, "Get ready, I have to get that woman to start checking out now or we won't get to leave on time." I looked at my watch. It was 7:50. "Oh god," I muttered, and he looked at me and nodded. "Oh yeah. She'll take at least twenty minutes to check out, and YOU get to do it!" Joe likes inflicting a certain amount of torture on his favored employees, but it's all good-natured and it's not terrible torture or anything. So. Patricia Harris. I know her name from her credit card.
She comes up to the counter with a buggy FULL of stuff. She proceeds to pull Each. Item. Out. and then Look At It. Very. Slowly. After all, she couldn't have decided when she put it in if she wanted it or not. Then she proceeded to haggle over EVERY GODDAMNED ITEM, regardless of its price. She got upset because we wouldn't take anything off the minutely chipped vase that was 69 goddamned cents. Get a life. Please. Sure enough, it took her a full fucking twenty five minutes to get checked out. I snapped at her several times. Joe said she'd be back the next day, in order to show him what she was not rung up correctly.
I mentioned it was was 7:50 when we finally induced her to check out, right?
She came in at 1:00.
The Four Indian Girls
There are a lot if Indian people in the vicinity of our thrift store; in unrelated news, it allows me to get beautiful Indian attire that I then don't wear because I feel a little culturally icky (though a woman came in and bought several salwar kamises and was wearing one as well, which I didn't notice, which she used as evidence that I should wear mine whenever I feel like because, after all, Indian people wear our clothing; why shouldn't we wear theirs? It's an appreciation thing anyway--the salwar kamises I have are simply gorgeous. But anyway.) So these four Indian girls came in with one of their mother. Their ages ranged from about 8 to about 14. They were loud, obnoxious, ran around the store knocking things over, and just generally pissed us all off.
You don't piss Joe off. That is what we call a Bad Idea.
Joe is a great guy to work with--awesome manager, really funny, interesting person. But you do NOT get on his bad side. He will make life hell for you. That is why I worked and didn't fuck around in the store, because Joe will let you get away with a lot more when you are a good employee and don't slack off all the time.
Anyway, these girls were being really disrespectful. At one point, they took off their shoes to try some on, and then just left their own shoes there while they ran giggling around the store. I muttered something about hating little girls even when I was a little girl, and Joe got an evil smile on his face. He went away briefly, and when he came back he told me he'd hidden their shoes in the back. "I threw them away," he said. "Let's see if they try to wear our shoes out of the store."
Eventually, after we discovered that it was the 8-year-old's shoes he'd hidden, Joe got them back and told their mother/adult-person, "Your girls are really disrespectful, aren't they? You can't just leave things lying around our store." They all just smiled, and Joe muttered, "You'll all be married off by the time you're 16 anyway."
He told me later that he knows some of the language they were speaking (I forget what it's called). When he gave the shoes back, they stared at him and one started talking to the other in the language. He understood enough to know they were saying nasty things about them, and he said in their language, "You shouldn't talk about other people in front of them, either." They were shocked. I was also shocked, when Joe told me he knows bits of that language solely from working in the store for 6 years and with some of the Indian employees in the back.
Anyway, that's all I've got for now. I may post more thrift store stuff when I remember it, but now I'm focussing on Japan.
Expect my next post to be in a few days, when I figure out how I'll be communicating from Japan.
Until then, さようなら！
I'm not yet asleep. Hopefully this isn't a huge detriment to my health. It's gonna be hell to adjust 14 hours ahead, but you know I'll do it.
Green tea, here I come.
Our internet is down, so I'm stealing wireless from the neighbors. When Alan and Carl first got their laptops for college, we drove around looking for unprotected wireless to tap into. We didn't do any harm, but it was fun, like a secret mission or something.
I keep meaning to update with some more thrift store stories, so here are a couple for you. I stopped working last Friday, so these are all from last week.
Vegetable Lady
I was cleaning up the store, minding my own business, and I walk around a corner... to find boobs confronting me. I made a O.o face and backed up as the woman chuckled. There is a mirror by the plus-sized women's rack, and people will sometimes try things on there (which inevitably leads to them tossing what they don't walk onto the PSW rack which PISSES ME OFF), but generally over their clothing. I grumblingly went to Joe and asked,
"Joe, are you allowed to tell the half-naked woman over there that we have dressing rooms for a reason?"
"Yeah," he said, and headed off. Shortly I see him coming back, and he looks a little perturbed.
"That's the Vegetable Woman. Just leave her alone. She's crazy. She'll talk to herself over there and she starts ranting if you talk to her. She collects rotting food from outside grocery stores and keeps it in her trunk and gives it away to people."
"Uh. Okay."
She bought some ugly t-shirts and left.
Update on the Turtle Man
One day as I was walking out to my car during a break, I saw the Turtle Man going to his car. I had to see his bumper stickers, which were just a little too far for me to read, so I walked nearer discretely.
This man has Cthulu stickers. Like, serious, believes in Cthulu bumper stickers. I got a good snicker out of that, and thought I would post it.
Before I posted it for your enjoyment, however, I found out that we like Turtle Man--his name is Mr. Brooks, and he's an antique book collector. He isn't as crazy as I thought, and Joe really enjoys talking to him. He and his wife come in most weekdays, but never Monday--it's too crazy for him then. I asked Joe about Cthulu, and obviously he didn't know anything about it--he said "Oh yeah, Mr. Brooks told me about Cthulu once. Some god he believes in or something."
Patricia Harris, or FUCK YOU STUPID LADY GO AWAY Lady
I was sitting behind the register, minding my own Thursday night business (which is to say: drinking some water, picking my fingernails, trying not to be bored), and suddenly Joe comes up and mutters, "Get ready, I have to get that woman to start checking out now or we won't get to leave on time." I looked at my watch. It was 7:50. "Oh god," I muttered, and he looked at me and nodded. "Oh yeah. She'll take at least twenty minutes to check out, and YOU get to do it!" Joe likes inflicting a certain amount of torture on his favored employees, but it's all good-natured and it's not terrible torture or anything. So. Patricia Harris. I know her name from her credit card.
She comes up to the counter with a buggy FULL of stuff. She proceeds to pull Each. Item. Out. and then Look At It. Very. Slowly. After all, she couldn't have decided when she put it in if she wanted it or not. Then she proceeded to haggle over EVERY GODDAMNED ITEM, regardless of its price. She got upset because we wouldn't take anything off the minutely chipped vase that was 69 goddamned cents. Get a life. Please. Sure enough, it took her a full fucking twenty five minutes to get checked out. I snapped at her several times. Joe said she'd be back the next day, in order to show him what she was not rung up correctly.
I mentioned it was was 7:50 when we finally induced her to check out, right?
She came in at 1:00.
The Four Indian Girls
There are a lot if Indian people in the vicinity of our thrift store; in unrelated news, it allows me to get beautiful Indian attire that I then don't wear because I feel a little culturally icky (though a woman came in and bought several salwar kamises and was wearing one as well, which I didn't notice, which she used as evidence that I should wear mine whenever I feel like because, after all, Indian people wear our clothing; why shouldn't we wear theirs? It's an appreciation thing anyway--the salwar kamises I have are simply gorgeous. But anyway.) So these four Indian girls came in with one of their mother. Their ages ranged from about 8 to about 14. They were loud, obnoxious, ran around the store knocking things over, and just generally pissed us all off.
You don't piss Joe off. That is what we call a Bad Idea.
Joe is a great guy to work with--awesome manager, really funny, interesting person. But you do NOT get on his bad side. He will make life hell for you. That is why I worked and didn't fuck around in the store, because Joe will let you get away with a lot more when you are a good employee and don't slack off all the time.
Anyway, these girls were being really disrespectful. At one point, they took off their shoes to try some on, and then just left their own shoes there while they ran giggling around the store. I muttered something about hating little girls even when I was a little girl, and Joe got an evil smile on his face. He went away briefly, and when he came back he told me he'd hidden their shoes in the back. "I threw them away," he said. "Let's see if they try to wear our shoes out of the store."
Eventually, after we discovered that it was the 8-year-old's shoes he'd hidden, Joe got them back and told their mother/adult-person, "Your girls are really disrespectful, aren't they? You can't just leave things lying around our store." They all just smiled, and Joe muttered, "You'll all be married off by the time you're 16 anyway."
He told me later that he knows some of the language they were speaking (I forget what it's called). When he gave the shoes back, they stared at him and one started talking to the other in the language. He understood enough to know they were saying nasty things about them, and he said in their language, "You shouldn't talk about other people in front of them, either." They were shocked. I was also shocked, when Joe told me he knows bits of that language solely from working in the store for 6 years and with some of the Indian employees in the back.
Anyway, that's all I've got for now. I may post more thrift store stuff when I remember it, but now I'm focussing on Japan.
Expect my next post to be in a few days, when I figure out how I'll be communicating from Japan.
Until then, さようなら！
posted by Bridget Lough at
3:00 AM
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