An Apology and A List in One Post

I feel bad for being gone so long. I'm sorry loyal follower(s). I've sorta had things going on... it happens, and to be totally cliche, c'est la vie or c'est ma vie however you wish to put it... Anywhizzle, I've decided to compile a list of all the things I hear people complain about at work just to let people know about what cashiers, baggers, and stockers really really hate (and hopefully someone out there will learn a lesson or two about etiquette).

1) I am a human being. I am not to be ignored. When I ask you how you are doing, is it so hard to force out a little "fine"?

2) We do not control the prices. Ever.

3) If you do not have your loyalty card, please do not get angry with us when your discounts come off. We always give you options to replace it.

4) (This is a quote from an unnamed source.) "I hate it when people leave random miscellaneous items on the shelves. I don't think they realize that [stockers] have to go back and put them in the right spot, which just makes our jobs harder."

5) When we ask you to donate money to a cause, it's because we are required to. Don't kill the messenger.

6) Sometimes we are shorthanded at the front end. No, you do not have to bag your own groceries. No, it is not our fault that whoever made the schedule didn't anticipate the rush of people.

7) When the person from a self check-out asks you if you would like to check out there to avoid the wait, you have the right to say "no". Do not bite our heads off because you don't like it. It's our job to ask.

8) Most of us make minimum wage. So we may not ask for it but when we're outside in the pouring rain or blazing heat or twenty degree weather, it would be nice to get a little tip for our trouble. We know you have money, we saw you rummaging through your wallet. And you just spent thirty dollars on dog food. But you can't spare a buck for a kid at a grocery store?

9) Don't come through lines, go to the pharmacy, or order at the deli while you're talking on your cell phone. For one, it's rude, and for another you usually get your order wrong. Want to finish the convo with your ex? Go ahead, we'll wait.

10) During the holidays, we have to say "Happy Holidays" (with a few notable exceptions at our store because a few feel they're above political correctness and I feel no need to stop them). Please don't snap at us that it's Christmas.

11) We love when people talk to us like we're intelligent human beings. You'd be surprised by how much better quality service you'd get if you just talked with us at the beginning of the order.

12) Hate to say it, but we remember the polite regulars. And we certainly remember the rude ones.

13) I am an intelligent being. I promise I won't put your eggs under the dog food.

14) If you come in at ten-thirty at night, we will serve you, but don't expect the full package or an actual check lane.

15) Make life a little easier for everyone; if you are in a group buying alcohol, have everyone bring their IDs. We can't sell it to you otherwise. And if you try to be clever and go through a different line, believe it or not, it's our job to call that person and have them refuse service.

16) We always have managers on call. But they have jobs too.

17) If we say we cannot lower the price on something perishable (i.e. flowers, meat, deli items) we really mean it.

18) If your bagger has a brace on their arm, chances are they won't be too helpful picking up your six fifty pound bags of dog food.

19) A lot of us love your kids. Don't worry, they can't break anything.

20) You know that attendant at self check out that you were rude to? Yeah, she'll be right back...as soon as she finishes talking to a friend.

21) We do not care if you think that a certain someone in front of you is ridiculous for having a check in an express lane. Similarly, we don't care what you think about the person behind you.

22) If we have not started your order yet, it's probably for a reason. Do not proceed to stick your money, card, or loyalty card in our face. One day, we may bite.

23) Use common sense when dealing with item prices. The rule of thumb is if it seems too good to be true, it probably is.

24) Girls, we are not looking at your boyfriends, husbands, or significant others. Boys, we are not looking at your wives, girlfriends, or S.O.'s. CALM DOWN.

25) When we call someone asking for the code of a produce object (it usually sounds like "Hey, RANDOMCHECKERHERE, what's parsnips?") we don't want the code. Sorry, but we hate it when you go "It's forty-nine cents..." it doesn't help. (Thanks, this one was from one of my friends at a well-known grocery chain.)

And finally...

26) No one wants to work on the holidays. Or on sale days. We realize you've been packed into a store full of bodies, but we've been doing it for eight hours.

So, I'm sorry, but maybe if anyone out there reading this they'll think "Huh, maybe I shouldn't yell at this cashier, or maybe organize my coupons, or put this frosting back where it belongs..." Anyway, sorry...

xoxo

Holley is Not the Most Observent Kroger Employee

While that's true, can't force myself to love her any less. In fact, I'm sure it only increases my admiration for her. Poor girl.

In any case... I'm sick. Really, really sick. And it's upsetting, really. They gave me a steroid shot in my arse. It hurts. I have a bruise that's about the size of Paris. Maybe as big as Sicily. Who knows? I haven't had the opportunity to get my ruler back there to make precise measurements. My whole body hurts, and I have this nice little low-grade fever. I can't breathe. [insert sobbing here] Desperation's the name of the game.

My fever was a bit higher last night at work and guess who came through my line! Kind Mr. Riggs who didn't remember who I was until I go, "Uhm, I was a creeper-girl..." And the realization hit him: "Ooh, I hugged you!" Yeah. Daily, at my request, sometimes bi-daily. Then it seemed I was to make a choice: Pass out or puke, both of which he's seen me do, though I doubt he remembers either occasion.

I did neither, thank goodness and as soon as he left [did he catch me checking out his butt...?] I got to go on my break. Woohoo. Small consolation, that. Oh yes, and I got rejected by a boy who's desperate for my best friend. Yesterday was indeed an eventful day.

Doctor says that I am released to return to school/work on the second, unless I get worse. Happy thoughts. Anyway, I'ma get gone. Later.

xoxo

Qu'est-ce Qu'y Se Passe Au Florence...

I truly have no clue if that was grammatically correct, but since I'm losing sleep over so much else, I won't allow myself to lose sleep over this. I must say, I'm a little disappointed in some GISD systems. Let me explain, Internet Abyss.

This is my fourth year in French. I was supposed to be the only French IV (an AP class) but we have a lovely foreign exchange student from Italy [she's beautiful, it must be the water, I never saw an ugly person in Italy] and she's also in that level, which would be wonderful if there were a French IV class. Alas, there is not. Which sticks both of us in different French III classes. This is the first problem I have: Why on earth, if I just took French III and passed with flying colors, would they put me in that class? Do they expect the teacher to clone herself so that she may pay individual attention to us IV's who need the attention? For we are the ones taking the college-level exam at the end of the year and, frankly, it's been three days and I've learned nothing. This has never happened to me before. French has always come very easily to me and I've never really had to work at it and I've always learned something new in the first few days and now I feel like I've gone back in time.

It's just very irritating, because I've worked my arse off to be the best in my level and now I find myself floating along with nothing to do really, to no fault of the teacher, to be sure. Here is another issue we're having: A woman [I've forgotten the particulars, like her actual title, so allow me to call her 'woman' hahaha] told Prof that she could have a zero period that she could use for the IV(s). Yet when I asked the councelors to let me transfer into the zero period and supplement my last class with American Sign Language, they stared at me much like I stared at the woman in Paris who didn't seem to understand that I was an American, dammit. It was that wide-eyed, please-talk-slower look. So e-mails were sent and now we have to go through this whole ridiculous process just so that I can have an hour a day to learn something. I just have no idea what was going through the Higher Beings' minds when they set this whole thing up. Did they say to each other, "Yes, this system shall work, for certainly both the III's and the IV's can get an adequate education squeezed out of one teacher in one hour." Apparently they think my French teacher is a starfish, so they can cut off her arm and a new Prof will grow!

That last bit may not have made sense, but it did to me, so get over it.

"This is all very vexing." -- Lady Catherine de Bourgh, P&P, no context here

I'm just very tired and very stressed and very sick, and Fatty wants some cake. Maybe I'll make un gateau...

xoxo

Not All Carts are Created Equal

I reeked, but I showered. I hope my smell is no longer so offensive. [insert smilie emoticon here]

I pushed in well over one hundred baskets at Kroger this evening. On the first day of school. I mean not to complain, I am actually very proud of myself. I didn't know I still had it in me to be such a late-night courtesy clerk. I can be a hard-worker. This is exciting. My feet ache, so do my arms and my back, but I am satisfied. It's not like pushing carts in the middle of the day when it's busy and you push in five and at the same time five customers come in and take all the carts. Neutral, like neutral birth rate. It eventually dies out. Anyways, this was gratifying.

Oh yes, and did I mention that MY SENIOR YEAR started today? Well if I hadn't, IT STARTED TODAY [tooooooohhhh-daaaaah-hay-uh] and I have four AP classes this semester. Happy thought indeed, yes? But my schedule will be changed tomorrow, so I won't bore you with the details of it until I've got the final copy. Hopefully though by tomorrow I'll have eight classes [one more than most, mind you] and absolutely no time for a social life.

Anyway, I'm exhausted. Good night, my dearies!

With much love.

xoxo

P.S. Thanks Ness for letting me know about the comments, I tried to fix them. If there's anyone out there reading, couldya tell me if those darned things are up and working yet? I'm not exactly a techno-thusiest.

The Height of Narcissism

Someone ate my last slice of sausage and onion pizza. I can scarce believe it.

I do believe that that is all I have to say of importance. I... I... I. I. I. This is what a blog is. An account about me by me. And while I am not the first one to come to this conclusion, I still think it is strange.

I am at the height of our narcissistic age. Good for me.

I saw a boy today who I haven't seen in nearly two years. Spent five minutes trying to get him to look at me, though to be sure I've changed greatly in those two years. He didn't look... Sad, right? And I'm such a creeper, I always remember names, especially his [Brandon Riggs, haha] for I... well, I'm pretty sure we sorta stalked eachother. Oh, well. I'll get over it.

Someone really ought to talk to me.

I Do Bite My Thumb, Sir

This title, like so many others, has nothing to do with the subject of my tiney rant this evening. Tonight's subject is the total lack of regard for someone's personal property when they are showing you hospitality when you don't deserve a lick of it. I don't understand in which generation respect became a vice and not a virtue. Really. Someone barges into your house and uses your broken toilet? No room for P's and Q's there, huh?

But I'm getting ahead of myself, dear children.

So, my grandfather fixed my gas gauge, which means I can now tell when my tank is full, half so, or empty. Thanks, grandpa! This has nothing to do with anything except that my day started off well, what with my receiving a nice little paycheck AND getting free work done on my car. The blood drive, however, was bust. I won't go into detail, I just couldn't find any people.

Well, after a nice, hour-long conversation next to the gas pump at a Shell gas station, thus holding back many a potential customer for said gas station from the perfectly usable pumps, I went home, ran upstairs to my room to check my e-mail in a jolly little manner [I have no clue why I'm writing like this... do I sound like a pompous ass yet?] and to my great surprise had a message from someone whose blog I enjoy very much. My point: Great afternoon. Perfect.

As I was replying, I hear the dogs start to bark frantically. Oh geez. This could mean anything from there's a man with a machite and a hockey mask outside of my door or a child playing on his skateboard down the street. The dogs are indiscriminent in their attempts to ward strangers away from our house, and I don't mind much because I'm basically a hermit. I hate driving, going out [except with my beloved girlfriends because they understand what social situations are acceptable and which are not and that is a rare quality in young women] and being around most people in general, save at work when I have this knack for striking up conversations with perfect strangers because they're hot/gorgeous/buying funny things. But I digress...again. Then comes the banging on the door, the constant ringing of the bell, which of course I don't answer because I'm a "child left home alone" as my mother so prudently put it. Plus I hate it when people don't get the hint: either A) I am in no condition to answer the door, B) I'm screening my visitors [a ridiculous effort when my car was in the drive way], or C) you're being rude and I don't want to deal with rude people.

Well, not taking the hint, whoever was doing the door-banging and bell-ringing, went to the other door and rushed it, which annoyed me. For two reasons. I did not answer the door for a reason. And she didn't announce herself, or allow the dogs to sniff her as dogs are prone to doing when a stranger enters. She just ran straight to the bathroom [which, mind you, is broken at this time]. I feel like now I should tell you that "she" is my stepfather's sister, with whom I have had many bad experiences. All I shall say is that she once told me that I needed to lower my standards to that of the average barroom brawler if I wanted some man-muffin in meh. Sorry, I want a guy who's in the same caliber as myself. My mistake, forgot this was America. Anyway, I calmly told her through the door that that bathroom was off-limits because it was broken, but she said she could hold it no longer [not quite so eloquently] so she went at it. My kitchen, which is located next to the bathroom, now smells like piss.

Upon exiting, she was then rushed by all the dogs [three] and I tried to control them with her egging them on. Did I mention that she parked in my front yard under the porch? She did. My dog is big and white and of a breed that I cannot spell so I shan't embarrass myself trying. Anyway, he's particularly vicious to people he persieves as strangers or people who barge right on in. So he's sitting there growly loudly and not at all in a playful manner. And what does the woman do? She sticks her drunk face in the dog's face. I told her, rather repeatedly, not to get that near to a dog that clearly has no other inclination than to rip her to shreds. Perhaps he was just going off of my body language though because, sure, I was a tad tense myself. When she didn't stop, I grabbed his collar and pulled him to the back door, saying to myself, "Well, then, since you won't listen I won't do a bloody thing when you get yourself bitten cause you don't [insert obsenity here] listen." She asked me what I said and with an almost joking smile I repeated, shoving my dog outside. Then the niceties continue. She goes upstairs and tries to walk in my sister's room. Not sure why. The girl held the door closed and yelled, "Be out in a minute." But that just set this woman off, and she stormed out of the house spouting nonsense like she got it and she knew when she wasn't wanted, and I, flipping through mail, called "Sorry to make ya feel so" as she slammed the door.

Five minutes later, when I was sure she was gone, I grabbed my phone and told my mother about it. She told me to lock all the doors and not answer for anyone, as was my right as a minor, left home alone with a younger sister to take care of. Well, later, I get this text. From the stepfather. It said, and I quote, "i sent my sister up ther. u will not b rude to my family do u understand me?" I didn't understand him so I didn't reply, but I think what offended me most was that he has a full QWERTY keyboard on his phone and still insists on using chatspeak, which I cannot allow.

So that's my rant. There's the end, finally. Off to watch some cheasy chick flick and nurse my wounded pride! [insert overexaggerated sniffles here]

xoxo

Well, Then You Are Pretty, Mr. Queen

I don't understand myself sometimes. And really, my bestest friend ought to do her job and not allow me to speak around men in uniform. On my way to the Sunshine State, there were a few Air Force boys and I told 'em I'd give them all the money in my wallet [it was starving, so they wouldn'ta gotten much] if they'd strip 'cause I do love a man outta his uniform as much as I like 'im in it. Now this. At the school were some very nice gents, no clue what branch they were in [Navy or Marines, I'm not dumb, just special] and a girl told one he was pretty.

"Pretty? Now, I woulda gone with handsome or stoically...erotic anyway, pretty works. Je peut dire: Vous etes joli, monsieur. C'est gauche mais..." Is my French terrible? I was in France for three days. It might be terrible. But I digress... Someone asked if the man's last name really was Queen and he said it was, and I have no brain-to-mouth filter so I blurted ever so kindly, "Well, then, you are pretty, Mr. Queen." So now you know.

These guys with ridiculously deep voices came through my line the other day. I'm bad at flirting. Maybe someday someone'll like that. Anyway, that wasn't important.

My first ever blood donation is tomorrow at two. Good times.

Yesterday, I had this very nice photographer Katie Chapman, whose link is in the title, do my senior photos. Sweet woman, really nice. Go to her. Tell her Shaylee sent you. It won't get you a discount, but I told her I'd tell people so, there you are.

I took some valerian root pills in hopes that it'd make me sleep, I'm tired. So tired. Maybe I should crash some help groups and pretend I'm dying. Would that help me sleep? Did alright in Fight Club. Anyway, it tasted like the smell of old socks.

I hate people who smell bad. I s'pose this is my slandering post but where are your friends, people that smell like B.O.? I would love to be nice to you, but I can't breathe around you. Shower. Antiperspirent. Look 'em up.

xoxo