Pepper the Mad Insert annoying injoke
(12/27/00 8:04 am)
Tales from the Doldrums
Dark Side of the Monkey is all about interpreting reality creatively, and thus inventing one's own. Nothing is more real and thus in need of warping than the workplace, where it feels like one spends most of their time. So tell us what you do, exaggerate, embellish, and engration (yes, I made up a word for the sake of alliteration).
I was going to post this all at once, but I figure I'll just vent in short bursts.
*****
Kid Kmart or Surviving as a retail drone
Pepper the Mad
I belong to a dispersed army of millions defending the bloody trenches of retail's frontlines. They give me the smallest cubicle in the world, smaller in "cubic" area than the common stall, but with no seating capability. In fact, the analogy is quite sound, if you can imagine your superiors (everyone) occasionally bursting the door open and dumping on you.
I will now add "emasculating" to my list of Cool Big Words with which to slag on my employers. Considering our aforementioned metaphoric relationship, this list and any petty victory resulting would be likened to the phenomena commonly known as "splashback".
Yeah, checkout monkey here. I incur great personal risk to myself by writing this.
1) If any of my supervisors are reading this and are curious to who "Pepper the Mad really is, embarassingly, I am the only checkout "monkey". Narrows it down a bit. All the other checkout nouns are checkout "chicks". Even the gay guy gets to mindlessly lift things. (emasculating, castrating)
2) Having found out my identity, my company would then realise the exorbitant amounts of free time I have, by this place's sheer existence. The conditioned reaction to this would be to bombard me with nocturnal marathon shifts, knowing any excuse I have would be a lie. (emasculating, castrating, zombificationary)
Which brings me to the point of this initial rant. The ultimate goal of Kmart, a subsidiary of Coles Myer, a subsidiary of the Eskimo Global Puppeteering Collective, and its parent corporation Hellish Demigods Inc., is to zombify me to become the perfect worker - mindless, braindead, mindless, braindead, mindless, braindead, and unquestioningly loyal. My goal is to ensure that even after Hell defrosts, I'll still be legally draining as much of their ill-gotten gains as possible.
ThunderDroid Even Monkeys will Speak
(12/27/00 8:31 am)
"Take a look at these hands!!!" - Talking Heads
My story will be broken down into two main sections. In an attempt to surprise and astonish everyone, I will at least try to be brief:
I. In Hell, We Will All Wear Orange Aprons
II. These Hands Were Made For Typing, and That's Just What They'll Do
Well... off to work I go!!! I'll need to build up eight hours of rage and angst before I write my story. I'm coming off a holiday, and in far too good a mood to do this topic justice.
ThunderDroid Even Monkeys will Speak
(12/27/00 8:08 pm)
brief schmief After Life Now
Introduction
I provide the following information and insight not to earn your sympathy, your empathy, or your big cozy bear hugs, but to prepare you for what lies ahead should you find yourself dead and still thinking. I believe some places in this world exist for the sole purposes of preparing us for this higher (or lower) plane of existence. Ok, I don't ACTUALLY believe that. But, indulge me for the sake of giggles, wontcha?
Friends... for years, I spent forty hours a week in one of these places:
PART I: In Hell, We Will All Wear Orange Aprons
I've met Satan. The Devil. The Crimson King. Bealiz.. um.. Beyilzab... uhh... Satan. I can say with absolute certainty that the Devil is not some hooved, red beast with horns and pitch fork prodding you while you roast on the babeque. No. The Devil is a middle aged woman from Long Island with blue hair and frisbee-sized earrings vacationing at the Jersey Shore, and wants to have a new pink carpet installed in her big pink nightmare of a shore house before July 4th because she's having a big party with all of big relatives and "if it's not done by the time I get down... OH DAMNIT, JUST LET ME TALK TO YOUR MANAGER RIGHT NOW!!!!!"
Now, most retail employees, especially those in the home improvement business, love to hear "Let me talk to your manager!!!" It's a way out. As long as you can swallow your pride at your failed customer servicing attempts, you can now rest easy that it is someone else's problem. The only real setback in this scenario is when it is YOU who are the manager, or at least... the absolute lowest form of middle management: the department supervisor. So, as you stare through the bakery's-worth of caked on cosmetics and the thick, dark jungle of fake eyelashes into Satan's eyes, you take a deep deeeeeep sigh and whisper, "I'm the manager."
At this point, hell opens up beneath you and the beast from Long Island (pronounced lawn guy lend) drags you down.
More to come... I need to get some water after reliving such harrowing experiences...
Re: brief schmiefAfter Life Now PART I: In Hell, We Will All Wear Orange Aprons (continued)
It's amazing how... thrifty... Satan really is. As supreme master of all the underworld, one would expect her to have infinite wealth at her big pointy silver fingertips, what with all of the successful attorneys and politicians imprisoned in her endless dungeon. But, no. Apparently Satan is on a budget so tight, that $0.35 Highway tolls on her drive to the shore are "ridiculous", and $100 have a carpet measured is a "ripoff", even though that $100 is ONLY a deposit, and COMPLETELY refundable should she choose to NOT have the installation done.
And, Satan is a masterbitch at self-victimization. Again, we all expect The Beast prance around her tortured souls shouting "KNOW MY NAME, FOR I AM THE BEAST, AND FOR ALL ETERNITY KNOW THOU SHALT WRITHE IN WRETCHED AGONY TO APPEASE MY TWISTED WILL!" Our Lawn-Guy-Lend Princess surely says these things in her head as she confronts helpless clerks in the Tri-State area. But, she keeps such intentions private. What a retail employee hears is "This is NOT fair what you're doing to me! You're taking advantage of me, and I think this is a terrible way to treat a customer!" Ironic that Satan's m.o. is ultimate helplessness in the face of big corporate tyranny, a true student of our millenial Zeitgeist.
more to come... I need to go outside and kick over some trash cans and punch some brick buildings.
Customer service is the public and interactive face of retail. The great majority of retail drones will be involved in customer service. This is because it requires almost no training whatsoever to be in customer service.
Customer service staff pre-requisites:
- Dextrous enough to press buttons
- Able to don namebadge without puncturing ventricle (difficult)
- Not adverse to babbling mindlessly on the phone to other staff about non-work related trivialities and getting paid for it
Typically, customer service staff are checkout chicks/monkeys. Ostensibly, the department's goals would be to deliver the best possible customer service. Realistically, as the retail organisation's public face, the department's goals are to appear to deliver the best possible customer service. No-one can tell the difference anyway, and the latter is actually achievable.
Examples: You accidentally charge a customer 6 and a half billion dollars to her credit card for a 50c stick of candy. Instead of admitting failure, act like everything is fine. One of two things will happen: 1) the customer will die of coronary seizure upon seeing her bill, and you will be credited with racking up a cool six bil, 2) the customer will bitch and moan to someone more important, in private, where no one else can see your mistake. Your job will be spared, because you let it slide, instead of admitting it, thereby saving widespread disruption.
1.2 - Maintaining the goals
The enemy to the impeccable appearance of good customer service is awkwardness. This occurs in any situation that could potentially be cause for observable disruption. The main strategy to avoiding awkwardness is acting like whatever's happening is commonplace. Ignore everything and hope that your mistakes will cancel each other out. For example, how would you act in this situation?
*****
Pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon?
INCORRECT: "Oh my God!!! That monkey is so fucking funny!!!"
It goes without saying that your personal objective as a retail drone is to create the most uneven work/pay ratio you possibly can. At some organisations, this means occasionally goofing off and delegating work. At Kmart, they don't pay you enough for not working. Realistically, to get the better of them would mean spending half the shift masturbating and the other half smashing expensive items in a drunken rampage. But there are those who would stand in your way.
Quote: Examples of psychozoid superiors: The only real setback in this scenario is when it is YOU who are the manager, or at least... the absolute lowest form of middle management: the department supervisor.
Enough said. Dudes like Thunder get to tell you what to do. What kind of maniac would want to be anywhere near an institution where he wields authority?
2.2 - Types of superiors:
The first rule about any sort of superior is that they have been insane enough to stick around past the retail drone phase. Each type has varying reasons why.
The Uni Student: Trying to pay their way through college. This means their time will be fleeting. Their juggling of work and study, and their knowledge that they deserve better, leads to an exploitable amount of stress. Vulnerable to sudden, loud noises, or subtle, continuous annoyances. Sadometer: 3
The drifter: Inevitably suffering from some kind of career angst, but may be resigned and laid back about their aimlessness. Your job is to bring that to the surface, sort of like a ten bucks an hour psychiatrist. Say things like "When I grow up, I wanna be an astronaut!" in childlike, nostalgic voices. If they break down in tears, you win. If they see you as a lazy manifestation of the chances they will never have again, break down in tears. It's worth a shot.
Sadometer: 6
The career bitch: These people are... putting it nicely, disgusting fucks. A lifetime of retail has corrupted their souls. These people are outside the sadometer. They'll crack it open and make you drink all the mercury. Usually, they take the form of grumpy frumps. Or frumpy grumps. Y'know, the type of middle aged women with no justified frumpication such as motherhood.
Continued... Edited by: The Icon Fairy at: 8/3/01 7:41:52 pm
ThunderDroid lord of the pipes ®
(1/10/01 6:20 pm)
work schmerk!After Life Now PART I: In Hell, We Will All Wear Orange Aprons (continued)
Satan does not act alone. Far from it. Her minions, or "fuckheads" as they are officially known, are everywhere. They stop you juuuusssstttt before you get to the restroom or breakroom in the back and ask you which throw rug would look best in their kids' rabbit cage, only to pick a different one just to spit you.
Oh, and lest we forget the Global Retail Justice Squad. Yup, they're the old people who complain that everything is too expensive. But, they don't just complain. They actually ASK you why something costs "so much", as if you were a top marketing advisor for your company... who just HAPPENS to be standing behind a service desk with a dumbass apron on talking to chowderheads! Oh deary deary... I need a break...
more to come... I need to go shove my head through the wall of my apartment repeatedly, rip out the drywall, stack up the drywall sheets like a ramp that leads up to my window, and take a running leap through the glass and hurl myself into the dirt below.
TuskenRaider Equality for all workers
(1/10/01 8:51 pm)
Flying through time with a nickle and Dental Plan Why work at a sweatshop?
Simple. Everybody cool is doing it. And the fact that every family that needs money to the point of making their own children get a job so that they can stay home and make baskets. They are more plentiful then you'd think. And they are just what I'm looking for. Why not hire children that arn't properly aware of the legal codes and restrictions that the sweatshop community is breaking? It's all logic really.
The Sweatshop Tycoon is the Unappreciated Genius
It's not all hiring children, loners, and drunks you know. There is more to it, and us sweatshop tycoons don't get the proper credit we deserve. We have to buy buildings, advertise our services to the Quality, In-your- Face busiensses out there. It's just like any other salesperson. Door to door, by phone, or even infomercials. Selling the sweatshop benefits and qualities to suit and tie business men in their huge corporate offices is not an easy task to say the least.
Chuck E. Cheese for example. Who do you think provides them with the toys that their little games give out? Thats right, the sweatshop tycoon.
I walked into the large office to speak with the CEO about my services. Him in his nice suit and tie, with his glass desk and leather chairs. This man couldn't do my job. My job would kill this man. This was a Sweatshop Tycoon's tourist. He wishes he could be me. Do what I do, tell off who I tell off. But he can't, because he is in the public eye so to speak. I however am not and have a much more enjoyable lifestyle then the suit and tie Chuck E. Cheese man. I ended up selling my services to the man and we have a long term contract. But this only goes to prove my point, Sweatshop Tycoons are the true geniuses of the business world. I'll release more of my secrets a little later.
I can't allow the works to beging to slouch. Edited by: The Icon Fairy at: 8/3/01 7:42:49 pm
My actual work done can be summed up very neatly - I take people's money, and in return allow them to leave the store with pretty much whatever they can stash in concealed areas. It's against unwritten policy to query their stereo-shaped pants, or CD-earrings, because this would create awkwardness. Due to this fundamental principle of customer service, as a consumer it is actually very easy to steal from large department stores. I have never once seen one security guard. I guess ignoring thieves and overcharging others to make up for it is a more agreeable company policy than thrusting a truncheon in my hand, pushing me in the direction of some burly thieves with more tattoos than mercy and saying "Go get em, champ."
Because I am very tired of organising these thinly disguised rants, and I'm really only guessing as to whether my numbering system is right, the rest of this tale will be comprised of various whinges and tips of how to survive the retail drone life. Besides, I've written enough already for a lifetime of hip throwbacks.
Customer service: The Retail Trenches:
Retail, if viewed from a sufficiently bored and twisted mind, is a constant war of epic proportions, but with no actual killing. I recommended it as a warfare reform to the UN, but they said that killing was an essential part of the "Dramatic Effect" convention, and if there was no killing, they wouldn't be able to accept bribes, give themselves funny yet conflicting titles like "Secretary-General" and generally have a better time and salary than all other mortals.
You and your comrades are bristling with enough bitter sarcasm to down a small zeppelin, and the collective mind of the customers dictates that they try and run your psyche into the ground through trivial pricechecks and inane banter. The way I see it, if they get you to "break", or "flee" your post to ask someone in the know whether the store accepts cheques from the Bank of Lichtenstein, all the customers will flood through the gap you left in a flurry of non-paying. So in that regard the customer-staff relationship is a little like one of those idiotic sports where muscleheads ram each other, only popular in countries with good beer. Unlike those sports, the customers actually use tactics, unlike the faculty of those sports, who only pretend to so they don't look like they've suffered brain damage as a result of playing "Crushball" or whatever. You can actually see the customers arrange into pincer formations, making concerted efforts to break the center of the line for double envelopment. Sometimes they pile on the big guns, like screeching kids, or old ladies with 700 pairs of discounted panties... urrrghhh.
From a military perspective, there is very little you can do to fight back. Evasion is your best bet, and yes, betraying your own co-workers. Arranging all the specials baskets outside their aisles, thus funneling traffic to them, or "minefields", as I like to call them, is hideously effective. The Pokemon ones especially, as they draw bratty kids and their "nervous breakdown waiting to happen" mothers. Under no circumstances though, should you literally try to fight back. The scanning gun is the closest thing you have to a weapon. The legends are true, it does indeed cause cancer... after about 4 decades of concentrated fire. Conspiring with co-workers to create "enfilade" fire to halve the time seems like a good idea but will probably get you betrayed and fired.
Next up: Less work, more time and How to pass the time.
Re: Tales from the Doldrums After Life Now PART I: In Hell, We Will All Wear Orange Aprons (continued)
So, in summation of Part I, we've learned that home improvement retail service is a trial ground for hell itself. There was a movie called "Jacob's Ladder" about a man's inner struggle to free himself from the living word in those last moments before he passed on. Throughout this psychological thriller, Jacob had a guide (played by Danny Aiello) who offered the advice "It all depends on how you look at it. If you're scared, and you're holding on, then you'll see demons tearing your life apart. But, if you let go, then the demons are really angels... freeing you from the earth."
Bullshit!!!!
The only thing those demonic customers ever freed me from was a good night's sleep. No thanks. Lesson well learned, and I'll know what to expect in hell. But, life's too short for cash registers and can I help you's. Not long ago, I turned in my orange apron and left the financially secure world of retail hell...
...to go work in purgatory. Who knew the long, ardous journey of spiritual attonement could be loaded as a DOS program? Apparently, data entry cleanses the soul... one monotonous hour at a time. Well, at least I'm free from the Retail Justice Squad for now.
more to come... I need to go start my car, tie the steering wheel over far left, place a concrete block on the gas pedal, put it in drive, and go lay in a parking lot and let it run over my legs repeatedly.
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