Happy Anniversary

Work was incredibly boring Wednesday. Luckily I was drunk for most of it. I certainly don't approve of workplace drunkenness; I just had too much wine at Janet's birthday lunch. Given the nature of the work I do, I'm sure the only consequence was that the sweaters weren't folded as neatly as they usually are. Also my co-worker Lynn, who was high on Benadryl talked me into going out back to search for the guy she likes which I normally wouldn't have done. We didn't find him, but we did chat with a foul-mouthed stock boy and took candy from a toothless truck unloader. The girl covering for us said we were gone half an hour but I don't think that's true.

I finally have a Wal-mart stalker. It was starting to get embarassing; pretty much everyone here has at least one stalker. Toby from electronics has an elderly woman. Lynn from ladieswear has a middle aged man who brings her coffee. Noelle from ladieswear has a teenaged former employee who was recently fired for being stoned on the job. Harley from electronics has a group of skanky love-sick teenage girls. My stalker is an "artist" from Montreal. He came into the store on Saturday at 8am with a knapsack full of drawings and asked me to watch them while he went to the washroom (probably to do some crack). When he came back he wanted to know which drawing was my favorite. I found most of them disturbing but finally settled on one of a little girl sitting on Santa's lap. He autographed it for me and included his email address. I told him I had to leave and he didn't have an outburst or stab me so I count it as a positive encounter.

As a testament to my impeccable timing, I was on lingerie duty last week when the infamous Phone Pervert finally made a personal appearance. The Phone Pervert is just the latest in a string of weirdos we deal with on a regular basis. We suspect he's too cheap to pay for phone sex so he gets his kicks by calling his local Wal-mart and asking naughty questions disguised as wardrobe questions. Normally he gets a polite apology that we don't have what he's looking for but he really hit the jackpot when he struck up a conversation with the new girl in the infant department. Nadine, a frumpy girl with a face like a Siamese cat and a knack for boring me to death with stories about her mother-in-law, actually turns out to be quite the freak and talked to the Phone Pervert for half an hour asking detailed questions and offering suggestions. This excited him so much he decided to come in in person, where I was lucky enough to be the one fielding his questions about groin restricting undergarments. I think he was pleased with my calm professional demeanor and left with a slimy smirk on his face. I hightailed it back to the fitting room where my supportive co-workers were concealed in the back room still recovering from fits of hysterical laughter.

It was one year ago that I was first hired at Wal-mart. If I'm very, very good, I'll get a 30 cent raise. I feel I'm owed much, much more.

I'm a Barbie Girl

I have drastically cut back on the amount of hours I work at Walmart to accommodate my learning to be a librarian. I now only work two or three days a week, but I think somehow every crazy person in Halifax got a copy of my schedule because they all show up when I'm working.

I almost got into a fight yesterday with a man who came into the store to buy an umbrella for his daughter. He refused to even consider the Barbie one because, according to him, she presents a negative body image. I wanted to slap some sense into him but we're not allowed. He tried to trick me into saying bad things about her, but I'll defend Barbie to the death. Barbie is like the hot friend I never had, and I don't think these parents are doing their kids any favors by not letting them have Barbies. Some of these same people have no problem with Barbie's fashionable new competition, Bratz, whose heads are bigger than the entire rest of their bodies. Obviously that's a much better body ideal for young girls to aspire to. At least they're flat-chested. To keep the peace, I told myself that this man was obviously misinformed and had no way of knowing how little girls think. I blame the damn feminists.

I got yet another visit from CrazyPants, an older lady who comes in every day looking for the same pair of pants which we don't carry and never have. I always spend 10 or 15 minutes with her searching for the elusive pants and listening to her chatter. When she's satisfied we don't have them, she bids me farewell and I wave good-bye knowing the search will continue tomorrow. There's always old people coming in looking for things that haven't been produced in decades. One gentlemen came in looking for pajamas made of long underwear-type material because his were wearing out. Hoping to figure out what he was talking about, I asked him where he got his last pair. He told me he got them from the door-to-door peddler and together we estimated that that was around the late 1940's.

I had to postpone my lunch break on Tuesday. I lost my appetite after we caught a couple in their 30's having sex in the men's fitting room. Apparently it's like the mile high club for poor people. I hate thinking about ugly Walmart people having sex! Gross!

Cheeseburger Eddie, who is in charge of store security, recently busted a mother-daughter shoplifting team. The scoundrels stole a suede jacket right out from under my nose. The nerve! I'm always completely oblivious to any illegal activity going on around me. I always mistake the security guard's increased presence in my department as an interest in me, but it's usually all about the thieves. But anyway, just think how much it would suck to have to go to jail with your Mom. This particular duo ended up not getting charged, which is unfortunate, because I especially like when the cops escort them out. It's always interesting and sad to see how they react to the walk of shame down the main aisle, and also the cops are usually hot.

On a questionably more positive note, I finally got an answer to a workplace mystery involving my co-worker Mel. Mel is a nice person, but I wasn't sure if Mel was a nice woman or a nice man. Today I saw Mel come out of the women's washroom. That solved, I don't think there's any potential for me to learn anything new at work.

Walmart is da bomb!

My mother sent me a newspaper clipping about a Walmart store in Quebec that evacuated all the customers after a bomb threat was called in but had the employees stay to look for suspicious packages. The article said that several of the employees found the experience traumatic. I think I would find it relaxing. Being in a potentially life threatening situation would be a fair trade off for an hour or so of peace from the customers, their unruly children, stupid questions and unreasonable requests.

"I'm going to Sobeys" is now code for "I'm quitting" in our Walmart fashion department. That's the last thing our co-worker Dominic said as he left for his 15 minute break. We never saw him again. The manager didn't believe us when we told him and seemed more concerned that the remaining 4 of us weren't working hard enough. Dominic's sudden departure made a lot more work for me, but I salute him and his final fuck you to Walmart. It warms my heart to know that I work in a place where if you mysteriously disappear during your coffee break everyone just assumes you quit. God forbid you should be lying bloody and beaten in a ditch somewhere.

Due to our depleted workforce, the store was in a disastrous state when I went into work on Sunday. I knew the manager would ask me to stay longer so I made a point of staying out of his way. With 15 minutes left of my shift, I heard the jingling of his keys so I ducked into a more obstructed aisle and hid behind a table. I did this very quietly, having just removed my shoes figuring I may have to make a stealthy escape. He paused near where I was hiding as if he sensed my presence but there's no way he could have seen me. He continued on his way and it took me a minute or two to realize that my shoes were gone and that he had taken them. Fortunately I found them soon after in the shoe department. It is possible that he didn't notice that they were expensive Clarks of England shoes, the likes of which we don't sell at a shithole like Walmart or, more obviously, that they were worn. Or he may just be messing with me, in which case I'm extremely embarrassed.

I continue to be unimpressed with the heartiness of my colleagues. Those who don't quit are always leaving early with mystery ailments. Yesterday Leanne who I work with put on a terrific show for the manager with real tears and complaints of nausea. So that big whiner got to go home. As soon as she left, I began feeling sick myself. An hour later I was certain I was deathly ill. I bought a thermometer during my lunch break. I figured my temperature would be about 102, maybe even 103. It was 98.1. How disappointing! Having no hard evidence that I was sick and lacking the acting skills of Miss Crybaby McGoHome, I felt obligated to stay. There's probably some horrible fungus poisoning us all. A lawsuit might be the only way to get decent money out of Walmart.

Guilty

Work is mind numbingly boring these days. I spent 45 minutes the other day sitting on the floor repackaging underwear. Although I must say that working in the lingerie department was a welcome change from the frantic pace at the ladies fitting room. If I have to tell one more woman she doesn't look fat in a bathing suit, I'm going to lose it. I don't know why they're asking me anyway. I wouldn't ask a stranger in Wal-Mart how I looked in a swim suit. And I'm a terrible liar too. I've tried to come up with a handful of vague but encouraging responses that I can use in most situations. People who look good know they look good. If you have to ask, you probably don't.

The men's fitting room is much less hectic and men are much more docile shoppers than women in general, but you will get the occasional pervert asking you to measure his inseam. So right now I'm happy to be assigned to the lingerie department. I invented a game to help make putting boxed bras away fun. It's called "Guilty" and works like this: I take a quick glance at the model on the bra box that I need to return to the shelf and pretend that she's committed a crime (because so many crimes are committed by smiling women wearing only bras). Then I go through the aisles of boxed bras as if they were a police line-up and try to identify the suspect. This process takes a long time and makes my very simple job a bit harder. But unfortunately, the game is getting easier and less fun now because they've all become so familiar to me. I feel like I know them. I've named some of them. I might be going crazy. I think I'll let the madness take me. It'll be easier that way.

I tried carrying snacks around in my vest as tasty entertainment and to keep my morale up but fruit flies kept following me. I hate my job.

My Sad Story

Tired of looking for a job, I went and checked in with the good people at Wal-Mart. Since it seems like all my current options are undesirable, I decided to go with the devil I know. I should start work by the middle of next week. I can't wait! At some point, I think I said that I actually enjoyed working at Wal-Mart. Well that was when I thought I was leaving... for good. I feel like the naive farm girl from the Midwest who's gone to Hollywood to pursue her dream of being an actress and ends up doing porn instead. Not that I had a specific dream in mind when I came here, but if I did, it wouldn't have included a "How may I help you?" smock and name badge. At least this time, instead of the shapeless, unflattering smock, I'll opt for the marginally sexier vest. I guess it will just be until September. Hopefully, I'll get into my course at NSCC and by some miracle, will really love it. As I left my interview today, the Wal-Mart personnel manager uttered that dreaded phrase: "You'll fit in in no time". If by that she means I'll start making poor lifestyle choices and develop an obsessive fondness for Michelina's frozen dinners, I sincerely hope she is wrong. I just narrowly escaped last time.

Hardly Workin'

With only one day remaining as a Wal-Mart Fashion Sales Associate, I'm enjoying my job more than ever. Absolutely nothing can dampen my mood at work. On Monday, I dropped a bureau on my foot. No problem. Yesterday my car broke down on the way to work and I had to run along the Trans Canada with my lumberjack lunch to arrive at work 20 minutes late covered in sweat and dust and sporting a crack whore inspired hairstyle, but I sang all the way. I just love quitting jobs. I've quit 3 in the last nine months. People I haven't even spoken to before are sorry to hear I'm leaving. My leaving seems to have started a mass exodus at our local Wal-Mart. A lot of the people who work there have been there since it opened and many of them are curious about my future plans, I think, to work out their own exit strategies. They ask me questions as if I'm some kind of expert on quitting shitty retail jobs and moving to the big city. I impart what wisdom I can.

I will miss it though. For all my complaining, I did actually enjoy working at Wal-Mart. If it weren't for the stretches of boredom and craptacular pay, I could work there forever. The people are delightful and fun to hang out with. I'll always remember spending New Year's smoking pot with my teenaged colleagues. Actually I don't remember that very well even now. But there will be plenty other fond memories.

I'm headed into the city on Friday. My cousin has agreed to sublet me his apartment on Barrington. So hopefully that will work out.

Dreams of Summer

I handed in my letter of resignation last Saturday. It was a bold move because I still have no plans for the future. Maybe the fact that a week from now I'll be unemployed will be enough to motivate me. I spent a lot of time yesterday trying to decide what I should be doing. Should I continue living here? Move to the city? Where will I work? It must have been weighing on my mind because the answer came to me in a dream that night. I had a wonderful dream where I lived in our travel trailer on the beach and worked as an actor with the local theatre company. By day, I took in the sun, the sand and the waves and had drinks with interesting tourists. By night, I performed a supporting role in a crowd-pleasing murder mystery. And in those first few glorious, naive moments when I first woke up, I congratulated myself for having come up with such a stellar plan. And then it slowly dawned on me that not only am I not an actor, but we sold the trailer from my dream eleven years ago. And that's why I hate dreams.

Stolen chocolate tastes better

Work was pretty boring yesterday, but it wasn't without its perks. I was out back in the Claims department where we keep all the stuff that people have messed up and we can't sell, and there was an entire cart full of delicious abandoned Easter candy. Chocolate bunnies with broken ears, chocolate chickens cracked down the middle and tons of 'accidentally' opened bags of chocolate eggs. So I grabbed a couple handfuls just to keep up my strength. What are they going to do? Fire me? I'm pretty sure you only have a problem when you take things you don't even want, so I'm in the clear.

"I wish I could quit you"

Another day has passed and I still haven't quit my job. I really intended to today, but I just didn't get around to it. They'll be so sad to see me go. I worked the day shift today which was good because I didn't have to attend the evening meeting which inevitably concludes with the Wal-Mart cheer. A more uninspired and degrading "cheer" I've never heard. One line that gets a particularly lackluster response is "Who's Number One?!!" (The correct answer is "The Customer!") What little enthusiasm we had fades at this point and people start leaving because although there's quite a mix of people who make up the Wal-Mart staff, the one thing we all have in common is our mutual hatred for the customers. I'm definitely going to quit tomorrow.

Creatures of the Night

I was abandoned at Wal-Mart last night. Normally, I have a car so I can drive home but we were short on cars yesterday so my parents said they would pick me up. Unfortunately, 10:30 is really late by their standards and they never though of me. On the plus side though, I got to observe the after hours inner workings of the store. One reason I was so intrigued with Wal-Mart was the Natalie Portman movie ‘Where the Heart Is’ where a pregnant, homeless teenager lives in a Wal-Mart for 2 months by hiding in the washroom at closing time and clearing out in the morning. I always thought it would be really cool to live in a department store and just have the whole place to yourself. In reality, though, Wal-Mart is never closed as I learned yesterday while waiting for someone to pick me up. Shortly after we all leave at 10:30, the nighttime crew begins to show up. These are not people you would want to run into in a dark alley. If you thought the daytime Wal-Mart workers were a bit rough looking, you should see the night crew. They make the daytime staff look like the cast of The O.C. They clean and stock shelves but they also make obscene pages over the intercom. One guy's sole purpose seems to be the capture of the roughly 5-20 squirrels that make Wal-Mart their home. They seem to have a pretty good time, but I 'm kind of disappointed that I'll never get to live in the Wal-Mart.

Baby Days

I put in another fun day at the Wal-Mart today. Just as I was getting used to wearing my fetching bright yellow and blue Wal-Mart smock, today they hand me a t-shirt promoting Wal-Mart Baby Days and strongly suggested that I wear it since I work in the infant department. The t-shirt is size extra large and I could easily make myself three t-shirts from the material it contains. Enormous, unflattering shirts seem to have become the common thread linking all my recent jobs. The purple monstrosity I was given to wear at Curves was extra large so I slit it up the side and wore it tied at the hip, slutty cowgirl style. However, I think Wal-Mart would frown on that. My life goal right now is to get a job where I can wear my own clothes. I don't think that's asking too much.