Tales from the Re(tail).

Hello, dear reader.

I don't know if you've ever worked in retail, but let me tell you, it is a surreal world, one where customers can sexually harrass you with no recourse, and where your management really wants to make sure you're properly trained, but there's just so much to do. At my particular store, the interactions are often bizzare, I usually start looking for hidden cameras. Examples, you say? You must have examples now? Ok.

-Every morning the inflatable Santa looks like he took a bender and passed out in the Christmas trees. He has to be propped up for the air to inflate all the way. It makes me laugh every day, and my new buddy in that department shares in my amusement, asking that I not fix it until after he comes in to work. No problem.

-Someone asked me where some piece of inventory went, and I didn't know. 15 minutes later, they walk by and tell me where it went. I say, "Oh good, thanks for telling me, now I know." You may think the response is, "surely," or "you betcha" or something equally serene. No. The retort is a snappy, "well, I'm just TELLING you, I thought you'd want to know! Geesh!" There have been times where I am caught by a customer or coworker with a bewildered look on my face, trying to fathom what just happened. Honestly.


-99% of the customers who ask me for help end up standing there while I read the label in front of them and tell them what they want to know. They just need me to stand there and read the back of the bottle. What?

-85% of the customers who come in looking for window and door treatments think I can solve all their problems, even though they don't bring me any information about anything. Then they get angry because they don't want to cut their own plastic. They use words like "asshole" and "Greedy stupid bitches," which I know aren't aimed at me, but c'mon! Is it really such a hard thing to believe that doors and windows are different sizes and so hard to cut your own measurements? Why are you yelling at me? That guy you called an asshole for ignoring you? He was on break, and you walked in to the breakroom to ask him a question. He didn't hear you because the of the iPod. True story.

-I have received more sexist comments and gross pick up lines than anyone ever thought possible. Really terrible ones too. I actually thought I was going to get my butt grabbed today, and turned my body. How wrong is that? Can I sue a customer for sexual harrassment? Someone get me a law student, get me Elle Woods! Am I supposed to take some kind of pleasure in the fact that some gross old guy thinks I'm cute enough to offend so entirely? ick.

There are a lot of rules, that you learn as you go. Here is a small list of some of the first rules I've discovered.

Rules of Retail (so far):
-The customer may always be right, but the team members get the last word....after they leave.
-Just because your coworker is a nice-looking lady in her mid forties, doesn''t mean she's nice. She will flat out ignore you, and sigh and throw stuff around when irritated (not even Team Member Valkyrie!), making you feel very pariah-like.
-You will get injured. Pretty much every day.
-Don't extend your knife all the way.
-Politics exist, on a scale yet to be invented.


The Song of the Day today is:
Angry People, by the Barenaked Ladies
http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Angry_People/7476882

Classic. I win, they don't drag me down. They make me laugh :)

Just Can't Seem to Get it Right Today

Hello, dear reader. I apologize for my absence. I have been picking up more hours at work (to quote my coworker, "I have a pile of bills 1/16th of an inch thick!"), and this last weekend I was dog sitting a dog I've known since puppy-hood. He's not one for sharing attention, especially with computers or other living things, and he definitely doesn't understand that sleeping people don't give attention to dogs unless they howl and flop around like an attention-starved starlet with the back of her hand on her forehead.

So today I was going to stay and work longer, make some money. I had the best intentions, and I seem to have a TON of energy on Tuesdays (a phenomenon which I am willing to investigate and extort) when, 15 minutes into my shift I had a comical but devastating incident. Thinking about it now, it is funny, and I hope you find it funny too. In my head it reads like that insurance claim about the guy with the bricks. I've told my manager that I will set up the paint machines every morning (I may as well tell you I work in a home-improvement store; the secret is out. Everyone from my old work knows, and seem to be coming in to check on me. Fabulous), so that she doesn't have to come in a half hour early just to set it all up. It's fairly simple. Purge the machines, check the color levels, etc. Today I was filling the white colorant when I decided it would go faster if I punched a hole in the bottom. Before the can was empty I could see that the color was getting full, so I moved the can to the next machine to fill up that white container. Clearly I had forgotten that I had punched a hole in the bottom, and a trail of white paint was following me to the next machine. In my haste, I dumped the remainder in the next container, only to see that it was the wrong color. My manager hath oft told me this would be grounds for a royal hissy fit. I caught it after only a couple of drops, so no harm was done. I bent down to clean up the paint I had trailed on the floor, and hit my forehead on the counter, getting white paint on my face. I quickly cleaned up the floor and disposed of the offending canister, spraying all the surfaces with a powerful degreaser. I got the paint cleared up and decided to clean the counter. I safely sprayed a paper towel with this wonder-solvent, but it was on stream, rather than spray, and it sprayed back into my eye. I cannot tell you the amount of burning that is involved in this venture. I do not recommend it to anyone. I went to the drinking fountain and rinsed my eye, then, wet, bangs dripping, with white paint on my face, went to ask where the eyewash station was. What was that? Was that embarrassing, you ask? Ohhhh, not compared to what came next. I went to the eyewash station and bent over the fountain of saline solution, when the dock worker told me I had to stay there 15 minutes. 15 minutes, in a busy receiving area, bent over a fountain with my butt hanging out in the world. Everyone walking by wanted to know what happened, and I couldn't tell them, because of the odd sensation I was drowning. It was a high tech Neti Pot, I tell you. So there I am, snot pouring out, eye still burning, hanging my backside out to the world, trying to breathe, alienating those around me who want to know what happened (Minnesota Nice: Asking for the details while one is still in the process of dealing with it...Minnesota Nosy, more like) because I can't speak. Good times. I did NOT go home, however. But I did leave when my shift was over, rather than staying for more hours. I just want to shut my eye!

The good news is I can see. I have a minimal amount of blurriness, which is slowly subsiding, and all I can feel is a bit of a burn. Could have been worse. The ironic thing is that when they showed me that degreaser in the first place, they said, "this right here is your best friend." Ummmmm, no. Not so much.

The morning did not improve. My mineral water and juice concoction exploded on me, going all the way down my shirt and into my pants, my shirt buttons kept coming undone, making me the Mae West of the general area. I dropped a 6 pack of Catfood on my foot. If it could go wrong today, it did. I thought it would be best to just get home, close my eye and hide from the world. The only thing that went well was that I didn't cut myself with the box cutter, as per usual. What am I doing here? The HR guys keep asking me that too, but that's more because I seem so smart and overqualified. Maybe if I do well enough soon enough I will not have to be a grunt for long, but on the upside, I'm a size smaller and I'm getting some upper body strength. Ha!

This job cracks me up. I can't help but find things funny about it all the time. For the first 2 weeks I thought I was socially awkward, having been out of the world for the better part of a year, then I realized a lot of my coworkers are a bit on the awkward side, leaving odd pauses or rambling about seriously trivial things, like their granola bar preferences. The small talk gets really funny. I was thrilled to find out that one of my coworkers watched Family Guy last week, so when I asked him about it this week he had not seen it. He watches SpongeBob Squarepants. What? What is the best response to that?

There are a million more stories like this, and just as many that come from the customers. I will share them with you as I can remember and see. I better hide from the world, before I ruin another remote or laptop keyboard with spilled something or other. Oh yeah, it's all happened.

Today's song of the Day is

Joe Purdy, Just Can't Seem to Get it Right Today

http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Can_t_Get_It_Right_Today/8231261

It's snowing again, for the third day in a row. Here are a few implications of the snow:

America: Land of the Panic Attack

I present to you reasons why I don’t watch the news anymore; it feels like America has become one big dysfunctional family, and the news is the doomsday, overprotective mother. I will watch the news, if I want to see what it is I’m supposed to panic about. Or if there is a story about a waterskiing squirrel. No wonder why so many people are suffering from panic attacks and disability.

Here’s a small list, from the last few years:
-War in Iraq
-War in General
-Obama and his healthcare plan
-Swine Flu (why are you still calling it that, news?) – Minnesota Hospitals and doctors offices took a new take this year, asking all Minnesotans to stay home if they think they have the flu, and don’t come in for help. Same with schools and daycares, and guess what’s happening? Schools are down 50% in attendance because a kid has the sniffles, and the subsequent absenteeism in workplaces makes the parents panic about working in this economy. Which leads us to:
-The Economy
-Unemployment Rates
-Terrorists
-Nuclear Bombs
-Natural Disasters, such as flooding, quakes, fire, storms….basically everything they used to call “Acts of God.” It’s probably better if they don’t call it that.
-Random violence among the youth and in the schools
-Gangs
-Workplace violence

I feel like the news is that daily call from an overprotective, horror-story-for-everything mother; “Did you hear that some woman just murdered a pregnant woman and took her baby!?!?” Add that one to the list. Fear and panic gets ratings, I know. Maybe I should go into business writing about happy fun stuff…like Chicken Soup for the Soul or the light side of news….oh wait, that’s already being done.

I think about panic and how it is not just an American Institution. Religion, National Leaders from all countries, the medical community, they all thrive on panic, because it keeps things rolling. It’s a great motivator. How unfortunate. I am much more motivated by goals and encouragement, but I never see that on a public scale. I’d work for those people. :D

There was a woman in the news (ha! Here we go) from Minnesota, who ran away with her 13 year old son after he told her he didn’t want to go through chemo again. They hunted the two down, vilified her in the news, and a judge forced them to go to chemo. So many people called her neglectful, tore her apart, but I knew what she was feeling. To see someone go through chemo once is hard enough. You inject your body with poison, hoping to kill another poison. The added sickness and weakness that comes with chemo is terrifying to watch, and I have no idea what it would be like to go through, I just pray I don’t ever know. This child (no one seems to remember he’s a child) wanted to live out the rest of his life happily, with good quality, not spending his last year on earth stuck in bed and throwing up all the time. She loved him enough to try and do that. So she ran away with him to hide him. Maybe she shouldn’t have done that, but when a pompous doctor, who, let’s face it, DOES NOT HAVE A CURE, but tells you to subject your body to this horrifying poison a second time or he will take you away from your family, put you in a foster home and still poison you, what is the best response to that? Doctors don’t have a clue when it comes to many diseases, and their response to illness is generally, “let’s try this. Let’s try this. Let’s try this.” I went to the CNN website to read people’s comments on this story, and I was heartbroken, the way people were throwing stones at this woman. Then, they interview a doctor, and he flat out says that this woman ran took her son away from a cure, that he is saddened because he’s holding all the answers in his hand and she has refused them. A CURE. Apparently this guy has cured cancer and failed to tell anyone about it. He’s the savior of this kid and she’s the devil for trying to let him live his life, however long it may be, as he wants, with happiness and some semblance of normality. Since he was 13, he was a minor, and the guardians were not allowed to refuse treatment on his behalf, nor was he allowed to refuse treatment for himself. Doctor (24 year old kid who has swallowed whatever he’s told) knows best. So this kid gets forced into chemo a second time in 3 months, with no hope, no feeling that it will help, totally depressed and with no faith of healing. Yeah, that will get the job done. Good on ya, doctor.

I didn’t mean to digress on this. This situation made me so furious, obviously. I just have issues with the panic and judgment of this country. Not that it is better anywhere else, but America seems to revolve around public gossip and humiliation and judgment, and it’s a little distasteful for my pallet. How many times have you seen the news, where there is a 30 second blurb about, say, a mosque full of men using their wives outside as a human shield (or sacrifice), only to spend the next 4 minutes on Tom Cruise or Brittany Spears? I tell you, it makes me sick. So if I seem like I don’t know what’s happening in the news, I likely do, but I won’t get my news from TV. News, like healthcare, is a BUSINESS. It’s about the money and the attention.

This all came about because of course, someone I know has the sniffles, and immediately everyone is freaking out. Yes, panic and lock yourself in your house with Airborne and Emergen-C, that will protect you. It makes me think of the plague, but we’re not witty enough to make a nice little nursery rhyme out of H1N1. But, we’re not quarantining the sick and the well together, so we got that going for us.

This reminds me of the song by Panic at the Disco: The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide is Press Coverage. But that’s not the song of the day. Don’t worry. It also reminds me of the Weepies: This is Not Your Year. But that’s not the song of the day either.

For my money, I will take my chances. I have never taken a flu shot and I never will. That too is a business, and business from panic is good. I will trust in God and Fate and let science continue to think they’re both. Wow, I am cynical today! I apologize. I don’t know why that happened today, but I feel better, having written it. :P

I didn’t start off cynical today. Hmmmm.

Today’s Song of the Day is
The Weepies, The World Spins Madly On
http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/World_Spins_Madly_On/185470

I Find Things That Irritate Me: I Laugh at Them

So I haven't written in a few days. Thank you to those who send me emails and Instant Messages, prodding me to write. There doesn't feel like there is a lot to say. I still feel like I'm in a holding pattern, waiting for something. I got an email from one of the real estate offices to which I applied on August 20th. I emailed him back. We'll see.

Here's the travesty (photo) of the day: I went into a store last week, on September 24th, and this picture is what I saw. I then found out they've been there for more than a week! That's just sad. No Halloween, no Thanksgiving. Christmas in a recession, starts at Labor Day. Smart.

I feel more and more like we need to get out of this place. My boyfriend's job is getting more and more frustrating. He has an injury that he got on the job, but is still working everyday and overtime. And all his coworkers and bosses do is complain and demand more than they did before the injury. No clue how much money he is saving them, no idea how hard he's trying to keep things "normal" for them, while he is in so much pain. It's like they went on a mission to try and make him quit, because they know he has to be fired over his injury in order to get Comp benefits. The man is in so much pain, and all he gets is complaints and demands. And now he gets disciplined for every little thing also. You can see the company building a case against him. Nice. Good work environment. It's so hard to watch him go through this every day. I just pray for a new situation in life, a chance to leave this one and go somewhere else. And healing, and wisdom, and peace. Life is just hard right now. I look forward to the day when the people complaining actually have to get off their butt, put down their joints and do something, because he does it all, and he pretty much does it for me, for which I am trying to not feel guilty. It adds to the worry that I've been feeling. He's amazing.

Having said that, in many ways life is good. I've gone from helplessly looking for work to helplessly watching him get trampled and abused. I'm a helpless creature, and it's probably better if I know that. I went to Grace Church last week (if you get irritated by peoples' faith, look away now), and the message was all in Colossians 1, where it talks about identity. How people go to church and are nice to other people because they think it will win them brownie points when they die, and how many of the religions of the world are based on human teachers who teach this. I agree, loving your fellow man and living a nice life are important, but at the end of the day, it doesn't earn you anything. All it does is give you, as the tryer, peace of mind, which seems selfish and not self denying at all. Religion is all about advice. Do this, don't do that. I've learned I cannot give advice and change someone; I can't even change myself. This leads to toleration of others' faults. The professor teaching made an interesting comment. He said advice doesn't help, even if it's nice. If you're drowning in credit card debt, and your friends say, "just get a job that pays a million dollars a year," that is not very helpful. I think toleration is good, but I wonder if I love them.

I don't love my neighbors. My actual physical neighbors. Even now, my couch is shaking with their children running through the house on these crappy support beams that resonate on either side. The screamer is at it again, because it is almost dinner time, and the children are impatient. I have been thinking about the idea of loving your neighbor this week. This is the sick sense of humor that God has; love your neighbor, but you can't pick them. Love whoever I put next to you, whether they love and respect you or not. Crap. Crap crap crap. Why? Why can't I say, "I love you" to whomever is there (someone check my grammar there)? Why does it have to be the next person, who is so seemingly horrid to humanity? I heard that love is wanting the absolute best for someone else. No, I don't do this. I wait for the day where they will have to face the way they live, all the while ignoring my own faults. Same thing on the road, I want to see the jerks who cut me off crash, and that's not wanting the best for them. There has to be a middle of the road, where I don't make excuses for their bad behavior, I don't wish them ill, and it doesn't feel like a free pass for someone to walk all over me. I have this saying, when people are jerks in stores or on the road. I look at my cohort and say, "they are more important than we." It seems to be the obvious statement they want to make.

I am glad to be working with my hands, even if it is an easy job and it's not quite making the bills. It's close. I enjoy the customers, I joke around with them, and my coworkers are wonderful. Today I was told that I should leave all 5 gallon drums, and let the guys do it. What gentlemen. Works out for me. I have earned the nickname "Crash," after my run-in with my cohort in a previous post. I wish I could say things are getting less embarrassing, but being a klutz and carrying a box cutter is just an invitation to hilarity. Luckily, I've only cut myself and only once. Today I had to unload a dog house for a large dog. As anyone else would do, I tried to put it on my head and carry it over that way, like those women in Africa. It fell and messed up my hair, but luckily no one was hurt and it didn't break. Also, I made my first disaster today, moving the wrong boxes, and causing an avalanche. Good times. Good times. If you're good at Jenga, send some pointers my way. :) Letting the customers in at 6:30 is a bit unfair, though, when I have Irish pub songs in my head and don't know where everything is. My manager is nice, and also newer to the department. She brings in donuts and runs to McDonald's. Soon I will stop accepting her generous offers in the name of weight loss, but she's nice and helpful. She clearly doesn't understand what I'm doing there; not that I do either.

I am on this journey whether I like it or not, and I simply can't afford to be "destination" oriented, when my journey could mean so much. I am happy to work, I wait for something beautiful, and I need to start paying attention to my travel. I get so frustrated with others, who complain about their jobs, and they HAVE a job. I get frustrated with people turning down good work because it is beneath them or they don't want to negotiate a schedule, so they let it go. I get frustrated with people who owe me money and have a nice job, but spend all their money on some weekend trip or coffee and meals, because they don't want to cook for themselves or plan, or pay back what they owe. These things irritate me (as do Rooster decorations, Red pickups and Audi drivers). But my life is good. I have a home, I am fed, I have a really nice boyfriend (case in point: I wanted to try this new orange toothpaste, so he bought it. And I hated it. And he never said a word, but has been using that nasty toothpaste, even though he bought a new tube for me. That's a nice guy.) I'm 30, I view work as a means to live my life, and I want out of debt. I think that's healthy. It's time to make my "To do by 31" list. I think for my next birthday, I'm going to hire a Jack Sparrow impersonator, I'm going to either pull this tooth or fix it, and I really want my SCUBA certification. Now I just need to find 1500 bucks for all that. 500 if I just pull the tooth. :) Hmmm, and I need $2000 to finish my associates degree. I'm trying not to be greedy, but I want my bachelors. But that is only to make me feel good about myself, and that makes school my religion, and I don't want that. :)

I want another perspective, you know? One that seems so impossible, but isn't. Like in Colossians, when Paul tells the Greeks how Christ is different from the Greek gods. These people were terrified of their gods, their gods broke their own rules, came down to earth whenever they wanted on benders. Paul comes swooping in and says, "this guy isn't like that. He's the lifeguard, and he holds on to you." It's like me telling you that New Yorkers are laid back people who just like to sit at the beach and hang 10; it goes against everything you know about them, and it takes a lot to accept. Perspective is funny. I could be mad right now, but you wouldn't know because I'm typing and you can't hear me or see my handwriting get sloppier. I could walk in as someone walks out, and they might not even see me, but I could spend the day worrying about whether I did something wrong to them (annoying side note, I also dislike when people don't use the "g" on words, like "somethine"...that drives me CRAZY, but I also don't like to hear the "g" at the end of the word, like "songch." And there is an insight into my crazy...have fun with that).

Anyway, I am sure there is more to come, and I am sure you've enjoyed reading about all the things that irritate me, but my life is good, there is a hope to it that many don't have. I don't feel empty, as is easy to do when freaking out. I have authentic friends and loving family. I sit in this storm with all sorts of uncertainty, and I feel fine. No worries. I LOVE no worries. I am still waiting for something to happen that will make things more enjoyable. I have faith that something will. I think more and more about starting my own business, but I have a tough time. I know I could do it, but I don't know the direction to take. Not to sound like I'm adding external stuff into my life to improve it, but how great would it be to have my own business, and then the guy could quit and I could be working towards something for me? Dreams dreams dreams...

Today's song of the Day is a song i LOVE. I've been playing it all week. It's always cued up.
Need to Breathe: Something Beautiful

http://www.myspace.com/needtobreathe

It doesn't seem to be on Grooveshark yet. So if you go to their myspace page, scroll down and click on "something Beautiful"....it's so amazing. It's all I've been thinking about all week.

Impressions of the Week

I was 10 years old, sitting in Mrs. Fitzpatrick's class, waiting for our recycling demonstration set to Michael Jackson's "We Are the World." I remember thinking about it before she even asked us. Our class joined up with Mrs. Strand's class, and I was staring at the pictures on the wall. I never answered the way anybody wanted, and this was no exception. She pointed at me and said, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I looked at the pictures again, of various men and women (mostly men) in their careers. I thought about how, if I said "a business woman," all the girls in both classes would know it was because of our collective crush, our Junior Achievement teacher, who looked just like Tom Cruise, but with better hair. I knew what I wanted to do; I had already started looking into it on my own. I don't know why it felt like a knee-jerk reaction, but I blurted, "I want to be an Archaeologist, but not with dinosaurs. I hate dinosaurs." The assembled classes of course laughed, but the picture of the archaeologist was surrounded by dinosaur bones, and South Dakota was not my idea of excitement; plus I had serious doubts about dinosaurs. I always felt like they just found bones and stuck them together, and who knows if that animal really looked that way? You could have bones from 6 different animals for all you know. I said this, but no one heard me, because they were still laughing at me. I wanted to be in some far off place (not Egypt though, I never knew why), carefully brushing off sand and dust to reveal some treasure from the past that no one had seen for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years. Of course, with all the laughing and the pointing, a girl tends to start keeping that stuff to herself. Not until college, sitting in a course in Egyptology (ironic, is it not? I had to take it before I could take the Civil War class I wanted), when I remembered this moment from the 5th grade. I decided again I wanted to be an archaeologist, but my boyfriend at the time wasn't going to be ok with that. My prof was planning a trip to Jericho, in Iran (or Iraq? I can't remember now), but they didn't end up going anyway because of the diplomatic climate. I thought that would have been amazing. To go on an actual dig, finding pots with burnt grains on top, but whole grains underneath. Yeah, I thought Archeology would be amazing. I had spent the last 2 years with a guy-friend, watching Biographies and learning little known things, and of course had fallen in love with him. He ended up marrying my boss' daughter and I quit and went to college, where I never watched any biographies. Stupid boys. But I digress.

They say you know yourself the best when you're 10. German and Norwegian children choose a career when they are 10, and that determines which kind of school to which they go. They choose, and are trained in that field up until they complete school, when they are ready to go into that field. Can you imagine if Americans did this? How many times would we change our mind and how long would schooling take? 22 and just graduating highschool because you changed your mind 3 times? No direction. No staying power.

All of this is on my mind this morning, along with some random 3rd grade memories, for some reason. Actually I know why. I had a best friend in Elementary school, and one night we watched "The Princess Bride." It was the first time I had seen it, and it was soon my favorite. I still watch it a couple of times a year. When she moved away, I set our whole friendship on that, how she and I shared something that is still so precious. So imagine my surprise when, on facebook, she FAILED the Princess Bride quiz this week. She doesn't remember most of it; hasn't watched it since 4th grade, when we watched it together. So sad. It was cemented in my mind that we would always have that memory and could relive it whenever. :P

You may know that I started my new job this week. I don't really think of it as a job. I think of it more as 4 hours of exercise, first thing in the morning, for which I am paid. I am grateful for the work, and it will nearly pay all the bills, even part time. I just don't see it as my "job." Maybe I will. I forget what it's like to be new. I forget that those you work with have done this job, and are likely bored with this job, and have discovered how to slack off at this job. I stand there at 5am asking, "so the truck is late, what do you do when the truck is late? Down stock?" And they look at me, like, cool it, lady. We chill. We make small talk, and the manager walks by. I start asking if they will teach me....whatever. Show me around. The guys I work with in the morning are really wonderful. Nice guys. My first day, one of them loaded up a cart for me, gave me all the light stuff, carried anything heavy for me. It was really sweet. I know that won't last, and that's fine. But it was nice. And we're already working as a team really well. First day was great, we finished everything early and did down stock, we rocked it. Second day is where it got interesting.

I couldn't remember either of my coworkers' names. They, unlike me, don't wear their name tags out for the world (I still need to find the loopholes that these guys find in the rules :P). So I go to the first guy, tell him I am terrible with names, and can he tell me again. So I learn his name, get it down, remember. Then I confide in him that I can't remember the other guy's name either, so he tells me, but for some reason, I can't hear. So after 2 attempts, he shows me on the schedule. Ok. So all morning, I'm calling them by their names, we're getting along, and 3 hours into the shift, I call the 2nd guy over, and he tells me I've been using the wrong name all day. I looked at the wrong name on the schedule. Fantastic. So I tell him I couldn't remember and tried to cheat by looking at the schedule, thinking, why didn't the first guy tell me? Ohhh, Minnesota Nice. He didn't want me to feel like an idiot. Yes, yes, job well done. Funny, isn't it? The lady at church last week who called me the wrong name and I didn't correct her because I didn't want her to feel foolish, and then this happens? Anyway...

The day goes on, and we have extra work to do because the trucks were late. I still have not learned to take a break. Both days I've worked, I have not taken breaks. I will. Anyway, this guy comes in to the aisle where I am working, standing on a flatbed cart (kids, don't try this at home). Of course he needs something and I have no clue where it is. So I spend about 40 seconds trying to get off this cart gracefully, and finally end up leaping onto solid ground. I turn around to see him with one eyebrow up, so I self-defamate by throwing my hands in the air and singing, "graceful!" I turn to RUN around the corner to ask for help, when I run straight into a fellow employee, a moustached stranger. Chest to chest, full on collision. We are both so stunned, and neither can think of a good icebreaker, or awkwardly funny phrase. We stand there, both our hands on the other's outer arms, embarrassed laughter in our eyes, and all we can think to do is slide our hands down until we are holding hands, and say, "good morning!" In full view of my customer, who already knows I'm a spaz. Yippee. I'm surprised we didn't dance; it looked like we were going to. So I go to my manager and tell her that my morning just got very embarrassing, but feel no need to tell her why, I have a customer waiting.

When I took this job, I thought, "Yes. 5-9am, no customers, just stock and get out." But consistently, customers start coming in about 6:30. Why? And on Fridays it's worse, earlier and busier. They all find me for help, and I always find someone else to help, because really, what do I know? Oh well. It makes it easier to work later for more money. It's pretty relaxed there. The policy is after you miss 3 shifts without calling, then they talk to you. Yesterday the General Manager came up to my manager and said that someone wasn't in yet. She said, "if she's not in within the next half hour, let me know, I'll text her and wake her up." Nice. That was not how I ran things, but I had a much more stringent schedule, and a lot less people to fill it. So those things crack me up. I like wearing normal clothes, jeans, to work. I can just go do anything after. But I ask so many questions, involved ones. "With the discount, does it come out pre or post tax? How long do you have to work to get profit sharing? Can part timers get in on the 401k plan? How much does health insurance cost per week, and what's the grace period? When is open enrollment? What if I am trained in Blood Borne Pathogens, do I still need to call a manager to clean up human fluid spills?" The poor HR guy. In training, we'd watch the riDICulous videos, and you know what I mean. He'd say, "are there any questions?" and look at me. The one time I didn't have a question, he was shocked. He just kept saying, "Don't worry about it." It's a sarcastic and relaxed place. It's a good fit. I just have to make more money with it :) It doesn't sound like extra hours will be hard to come by.

Today's song of the day:

Round Room - Phish. I don't know why. It's the cadence, I think. This is how I'm feeling :)
http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Round_Room/64138

My Super Power is Minnesota Nice. Will I Use it for Good or Evil?

So at Grace Church Roseville, this series of sermons is happening about Minnesota Nice. He had a great definition up there from Wikipedia, and it stirred up my own thoughts on the subject.

Minnesota Nice is an expected politeness, an inherited people-pleasing gene; letting others go first, opening doors, deferring to others when making a decision about social locales. Minnesota nice is nice, but I think it also brings to light an underlying self esteem issue that Midwesterners have as a whole. The premise is nice, make others feel good, so they like you. Minnesota Nice also carries with it a connotation of shallow, passive-aggressive behavior that leaves one open to manipulation. Minnesotans would die like martyrs just to prove a point, without having to say it, as long as they were the nicer one in the situation. They will exhaust themselves helping others and baking "bars," just so people won't think they don't care. They will put other families before their own, giving all they have, just to have the appearance of being a nice, wonderful person, while their own family falls to the wayside. People talk about that too.

With this Minnesota Nice expectation comes some stress. Often I will sit at a stoplight, waiting to turn left or right. If I am the first one at the light, I fear that somehow, even though the light is red and we are bound by law, I am holding up the person behind me. In my mind they get angrier and angrier, and it's my fault, because I am in front of them. Almost invariably, when I finally get up the nerve to confront the seething person by looking in my rear view mirror, there is no one even behind me. If they are there, they are oblivious to me. So Minnesota Nice becomes this constant quest of "how can I make everything easy for those around me," as if it is my job. Also stressful is sitting in, say an office waiting room. You're expected to make small talk. I'm not one for small talk, I don't like talking about the weather. I will give this to Minnesotans: they usually begin the conversation with a joke about themselves, to put everyone at ease, myself included. Because that would make other people comfortable. But after a few sentences, awkward pauses dot the conversation, and no one knows if the polite thing to do is continue the conversation, or if the other person is getting uncomfortable (see my first entry, "Searching for Jobs and Chutzpah"...these are "Bob" situations).

It seems like a wonderful thing, this Minnesota Nice, and it is, when one is in a new situation. People are warm and inviting. But getting into a real friendship is harrowing business. One can't just say, "this is the kind of friend I am, these are my faults" to a forming friend. These things have to come out slowly, over time. You can't stress someone out with any issues you may have with yourself. You can't show imperfections until well after the 5th or 6th lunch date. Many times, you invest the initial 4 months trying to get to know someone, and when they FINALLY start showing you who they are, it's not always pretty, or worth it, and sometimes you never get below their "nice." Sometimes (thank you, Gertrude Stein), there is no there, there.

The other issue about Minnesota Nice I didn't even realize until the last few years is the manipulation and actual insult that Minnesota Nice can bring. I worked in a very stressful place as a caregiver, and one of my coworkers would come and vent about Minnesota Nice on a regular basis. She was from Europe, and she just didn't understand this concept. Just say you messed up. Just say what you want from her and she will do it! There is this sense, and maybe it is heightened in the health care field, that you need to show people you care about others more than they do. You are a better person because of how you care for others, and your whole life is devoted to it. People use it as credentials; "because I work with the needy, I have a more weighted opinion." She also felt like it was lying. She didn't feel like she knew any really honest people, because everyone is trying so hard to be nice, that the truth never comes out at all.

The manipulation is different than the dishonesty. The manipulation comes from those that know what Minnesota Nice entails, and use it for sympathy, attention, food, you name it. Minnesotans are ridiculously easy to guilt. They'll fall for that game, as I have often done. But, taking over hot dishes and bars doesn't even help, because the helper won't ask what's going on. They won't delve into how else they can help; food solves everything. This works out well for the manipulator, because there really is no problem anyway. Other manipulations come from people who, in their quest to be nice, simply cannot show their true personality; they act differently with each friend they have, and in a group social event either don't go, or say little, because they have to be a different person with each friend. This is the people-pleasing gene. They always have to look like the good guy, or they always are in need of help. They pick a role in the friendship that will make the other person feel good about themselves, and the boundaries are set. This creates HUGE problems in a social group, because one friend thinks they know the friend in question, but then they hear a completely different side or issue from another. This brings up gossip, each friend calling the others to see what they were told, and the last resort usually is confronting the friend in question, which Minnesotans aren't typically prone to do. That would be rude.

Here's a perfect example of Minnesota Nice, a real texting conversation between my Minnesotan friend that moved to Tennessee. We'll call her D:

Me: We HAVE to get together and have lunch while you're visiting!
D: Totally! Where do you want to go?
Me: You're the one visiting, what places do you miss? You have to chose.
D: You have to choose, because you know what's there, and what's affordable and what's close. I do miss the ginger dressing at Saji-Ya, but I also like the Good Earth, the French Meadow and Shish.
Me: Well that is just plain not helpful. ;) Where is the French Meadow? I've never been there.
D: It's in Minneapolis, I can't believe you've never been there! It's all natural and delicious.
Me: That may be a little undesirable, geographically speaking (yes, this is how we text. We text for hours, when we could call in 10 minutes, and we both HATE abbreviations).
D: Well, they are all good to me. You pick.
Me: YOU pick! You're the one visiting!
D: Ok, how about you decide between Saji-Ya and the Good Earth?
Me: Fine. Saji-Ya. How's 11?
D: Great. Does Saji-Ya do lunch? Can we do 12:30?
Me: I'll check. (20 minutes later). Yes, they do lunch.
D: Ok, then Saji-Ya at 12:30. Unless you want to do something else.
Me: NO! That's it. Saji-Ya at 12:30. I'm so excited to see you!
D: Me too!

Ok, so that conversation is typical, and really happened. Apparently we have all the time in the world to make decisions. On the actual day, this is the texting that took place:

D: I'm running late and changing plans. Will 3:00 work for you? We could have an earlier dinner, or a late lunch.
Me: Sure! (20 Minutes go by). Uh-oh; Saji-Ya is closed from 2-5. We need to find another place.
D: Gah! ok. How about Shish?
Me: Where is Shish?
D: Somewhere on Grand. I can't remember. By MacAlester somewhere.
Me: Ok, I will google it. I can do that.
D: Are you sure? We could go somewhere else.
Me: I'm sure! I'm not having THAT conversation again. :P I will meet you at 3 at Shish on Grand.
D: Sounds great!

Believe it or not, this is progress. You can clearly see that I made a decision both times. Yay me. Plus, I told her that she was not being helpful, and she didn't cry. Yay her! :) This is why you use emoticons when texting Minnesotans, so they don't EVER get the wrong idea or read your message in the wrong tone. The number one rule: EVERYTHING is fine (I'm not shouting. See?).

So that is Minnesota Nice in a nutshell. A tool that can be used for Good or Evil. An inherent politeness that borders on the frustrating. A deep insecurity. And now you know.

Today's song of the Day is in process. I'm not feeling the right one. If you really need one now, Jack Johnson, Good People will do for now:

http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Good_People/21865857


Right now I'm feeling a little bad because at the service about how MN nice is not nice, a nice woman came up and introduced herself. I told her my name, and she started calling me Alice. I did not correct her. I didn't want to make her feel bad, and I didn't know if I would see her again. I realize this was the wrong thing to do. But Midwesterners aren't great with awkward either, it's a flaw in the people pleasing gene. Mapped to make everything nice.

May the Force Be With Me. The Work Force.

I am up at 5:30am today. No idea why. I did meet with a store yesterday and had the all important, dignity boosting pee test taken, to ensure I don't do drugs. Yay. I told the interviewer I have never even smoked a cigarette or a joint, and I don't know if he just sees a lot of junkies or what, but he giggled, and said, "seriously?" Then he quickly quipped "that's awesome." It was a very informal interview. I found myself joking a lot. I kept thinking of Chandler Bing, and tried not to be as funny (i.e. "you said duties....hee heee heee"). I don't think he has a lot of faith in me, but that's OK (why do we have to capitalize OK? It's not an anacronym), I'll show him. I was offered a job, working M-F 5am-9am. This is perfect for me. I can work around it, I can be done by 9, and money will still come in. Plus I can stay after sometimes and make more money. Win-win-win-win. He seems a bit unsure if I am going to be comfortable working those hours. I told him I was a bit of a ridiculous morning person, and my housemates would probably enjoy having me out of the house in the mornings. At my old job, I was always singing or bouncing by 6. My awake nighters never understood me. And my nickname in Austria was Red Bull, because I didn't need any. I will let your imagination marinate on that a little bit. So yay, one job confirmed (hmmm, after the drug test, confirmed....I don't see a problem there). I move back into the force of the working. What is that? Is Doom shaking a little in its shoes?

Since I haven't been working, I have noticed just how much I used to spend frivolously. There were many lunches and coffees, which I don't really regret, but I used to have this habit of going to Target or Walgreens, and buying like $50 worth of stuff, and just leaving it in my back room, still in the bags. When I moved, I had so much unopened stuff that I totally forgot buying, it was ridiculous. I ended up donating like....yeah all of it. I was just having this conversation with my mom. She has recently joined the work force also, in the form of assisting in yearbook photos while insane mothers come and pull their 5th grade daughters out of class to dress them up like little hussies and hover (Ferris Bueller's Day Off: "My sister wears too much makeup; people think she's a whore.") Suddenly old habits and people seem just so ridiculous. She also realized when she stopped working how she would mindlessly shop. I never thought I was a shopping type of girl, but I guess you don't have to buy designer stuff to be an autobot shopper. I was good at putting money away and paying down my debt, too, but I bought a LOT of stuff I didn't need, or even want, as it turned out. I don't do that now, because I can't. I don't see that as a habit that will come back. I don't know, though. Sometimes I just want to go get something, even if its small. But I don't. So I think we're good. Ha! This is that ambivalence that pervades me....and that doesn't look like a word.

English is such a funny language. I read once that they interviewed people on the other side of the world who didn't speak a word of English, and they asked them to pick the most beautiful word, from a list (I don't know how many words were on the list). The majority of them picked Diarrhea. I found this odd, until my best friend told me that when she was a child she had an imaginary friend named Diarrhea. She was a ballerina and wore a pink tu-tu. I don't think she sees her much anymore. I ask about her sometimes, because I'm a good friend. :P I wonder if my friend is reading this post! Ha! I'll be hearing about this, I'm sure.

Today's song may require a bit of explanation: I've chosen The Sound of Settling by Death Cab for Cutie. I don't feel that I am settling, as I am grateful for any job at all, and this one actually will work really well for me, schedule wise. But somewhere deep inside, this rings a little.
http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/The_Sound_of_Settling/7280094