A few weeks ago at a family dinner the idea of teenagers (and young people in general) and drinking. The conversation rose from knowing that my younger sister, seventeen, is now getting in to the whole party sort of 'scene' (if that's what you can call it?) and is, to my parents' knowledge and discretion, drinking; and when I say this, I don't mean to discredit her whatsoever, because she's very sensible and can only have two or three coolers before deciding she doesn't need to press on. While I can only offer my opinion, it's limited in the sense that, truthfully, I never had that experience when I was in high school - oh, yes, I drank, but I was never in big situations at big houses with big amounts of people, and the only time that I came close to partaking in this mystical party scene became probably the most embarrassing drinking night of my life and ended in despair. Instead, my friends and I largely kept to ourselves - by choice, or because we weren't superbly popular? - and nights involving drinking were confined to basements where dance parties and life chats ensued, or if we were feeling especially deviant, in public parks on jungle gyms.
Indeed, we never went through the whole 'party scene,' a term I've used enough as a loose foundation for my concept through this post so far that I'm just coining it as a phrase. What I mean by said 'party scene' is the social life I never had as a grade eleven or twelve student who drank - no doubt a result of not being the social elite of the school, and there's no use in even denying that this sort of cliche, stock hierarchy didn't exist at my high school, because it did. You were an athlete, or you were in the school musical; it's easy to see the sorts of division, but I'm not resentful about it in the sense that, had my high school not been like those stereotypical high schools in the media, I might've felt cheated from my experience. What I largely assume of this other group of people is that they were the ones to party every weekend at house parties here and there, and there's no use in continuing to paint this sort of picture without worry of somehow offending someone or embarrassing myself from my lack of knowing for sure. Considering my tight group of friends weren't that untouchable popular - I'd say we were middle ground, really; knew a lot of people, were friends with a lot of people, and I'm at ease with that - we never carted around to these sorts of parties, so my knowledge of what might transpire at this big high school house party is limited to my assumption.
I don't mean to exploit my sister whatsoever, but she has begun to drink casually at these parties - parties, I need to add, that I drove her to, only the coolest older brother in the front seat. As I said, my parents have elected to buy her alcohol, maintaining that they're more comfortable with controlling what she drinks, how much, and ensuring that it isn't from that obvious grade twelve date raper. I believe my sister owes me thanks for paving the way for her in this fashion as I revealed to my parents over a year ago that I was, in fact, lying to them and running off and drinking when I was seventeen. They were pissed off at first - a testament to their obliviousness? You have a teenager; they will fundamentally drink illegally (an idea I'll return to) - but now it's a big joke. Regardless, my sister has been given the okay.
When my uncle asked me what I thought about the idea of binge drinking, I couldn't promote or defend it. I do it. We all do it. High school kids do it at this party scene; university kids do it and wake up somewhere else in the morning with their pride missing as much as the money in their wallet from the night before. Why do we drink until we're fall-over drunk? I really do not have an answer; really, it can borderline dangerous if you don't know your limit, and a state of inebriation might lead to reckless behaviour. There is truthfully nothing to reap from getting smashed. You might say - as I did during this conversation with my family - that it's to have fun, but the obvious counterpoint is that you don't need alcohol to have fun. That's certainly true; so does this idea of binge drinking come down entirely to peer pressure, this peer pressure that everyone denies ever being subjected to? You see your friends pounding back beers around a table when playing beer pong and you need to catch up to them to have as good a time as they are tonight; isn't the idea of being in a sober state of mind entertaining to you, being able to kick back and watch your friends be idiots? I can say that I usually get uncomfortable when I know I'm beyond sober when the people around me are beyond drunk - peer pressure, and that's it. You can certainly have fun without alcohol - why, I have fun watching movies by myself - but we've seemingly separated the 'alcohol fun' from the 'sober fun' and confined them to these separate spheres of concept. Why stay in on a Friday night when you know the other people your age are out at a bar and having fun?
I can say that I've gotten to the point where I look at alcohol in a different light. High school drinking in these basements or parks involved building your tolerance up enough so that when you trail off to university, hey, you're a seasoned drinker. (I need to mention - I look back at this aforementioned most embarrassing drunken night of my life and can recall only drinking a quarter of a bottle of vodka. I've far surpassed that now. Silly grade twelver) Today, I can drink a beer after work because I feel like it, and not because I'm drinking for payoff. I used to drink for result - any alcohol ingested without a drunken high is wasted alcohol - but I'm now able to drink casually with friends over an extended period of time just because, and I can fully stop with only a good buzz. Gone is this serious compulsion to drink until I slur, but that isn't to say that I don't enjoy doing that from time to time.
In a somewhat similar sense I've been thankful that I have a good enough memory that I've never blacked out from drinking - that is, I can wake up the next day (sickness varying) and can recall everything that happened the night before. My only weakness is remembering the conversations I had to fill up the timeline, but I will know everything worth knowing, anything I did that made enough waves, anything with serious gravity that might henceforth affect my sober life. I would feel that blacking out is a scary thing; I can't imagine waking up and not knowing what the hell I did last night, and I would never find that fun at all. To black out is to tread past the line of moderation; hell, it's almost a slap in the face to yourself - why would one disservice their own credibility so much so that they're willing to drink past the point of memory and let this intoxicated system of consciousness take over their will and make them look like an idiot? That is never fun, and I do believe we've come full circle: this is just another addition to the 'cons' list of binge drinking.
It really doesn't even seem lucrative to do it, does it? And that's why people older than our generation will continue to be perplexed at this idea of drinking like a fish; why, I'm twenty-one, and I can't even fully defend the things I've done. Worth mentioning is binge drinking isn't the same for everyone. As I've said, I've learned my limit, I know how much I need and know when I'll cross into this embarrassing state of no control - and, if I ever do, it's because I decided to, and not because I let myself get too messed up because I couldn't stop myself. So then, again in opposition to this concept, why drink like that at all? Why not instantly jump to the sort of maturity about drinking I think I have now and just have a few drinks, enough to feel it, and just have a good time?
I'd say that drinking underage has this sexy quality to it, meaning that it's illustrious to do it because you're not allowed to. Thinking back to my teenage mentality, as I'd previously mentioned, to drink without result is useless, especially when considering how hard it is for underage kids to get their hands on it - almost like an offense to the bottle itself. Throw in the idea of the popular kids drinking in a large social setting and you have this constant pressure of refilling your cup with a greater ratio of more alcohol to less mix (or mix at all? Kudos to you shot takers, but lord knows I can't stomach them) to get as trashed as the people all around you who are all obviously having a better time than you are. This high school party scene is a bit of an enigma, and for as long as the legal drinking age in Ontario will be nineteen, teens will always drink behind closed doors and their parents' backs because the idea of doing something they shouldn't is as intoxicating as the alcohol itself.
The high school binge drinking mentality is just a phase we all go through, and I should hope everyone is able to easily find this balance and maturity with drinking as I was able to. I know people who haven't, but I guess that just comes with the untouchable sense of freedom one experiences as a young adult with the world in their hands. As Drake or idiot teenagers might say, YOLO, but I despise that phrase. Honestly, and as I said to my family, it's up to a person's own discretion; if you're like me, be proud in knowing you know what you can handle, and drink up should you feel like it.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Friday, June 1, 2012
Grunt, mumble, bite lip, repeat
I like Kristen Stewart.
There's something, simply, bizarre about her: apathetic more often than not, this girl is simply weird. She grumbles, she seldom forms complete sentences, she cracks a smile less frequently than a corpse. I would wager that she isn't used to the sort of fame and rabid fandom that came from and is the Twilight saga, but I could never blame her, because my impression too is that she was never overly invested in it to begin with and I can't imagine what it would be like to build your life up around something that you don't wholeheartedly love yourself. Then again, I could be completely off base - for all we know she could be the biggest Twilight fan there is and she fangirls when she's by herself because she gets to play opposite (and date in real life!) Rob Pattinson - but I just don't see that. All that being said, though, I've noticed recently that she's been more expressive and, really, funny, but she's still fundamentally just bizarre.
To say that I like Kristen Stewart then seems like a left field claim to make considering I've likened her habits and personality to something of an oaf, but I truly do like her for some reason; back when the first Twilight came out - I loathed it like any other sensible human being - I remember saying I loved her as a sort of mockery, though I can remember then look back to her filmography with a sense of being somewhat impressed as easily as I would now. It certainly helps her case that the last Twilight movie is to be released in November (thank god), and that she's been popping up in other movies, much easier even, I would argue, than any of the Harry Potter kids. Something still just doesn't sit right about seeing Daniel Radcliffe as a widower with a four year old child in The Woman in Black - he's still Harry Potter and sadly might always be (I can foresee a great career regardless), but I digress. Also in her favour is that brightness that is slowly emerging about her as I've already mentioned, and I mean that in the sense that she doesn't crumple into a jagged ball of skeleton when on a red carpet or at an award show like she used to, or that she seems a lot more comfortable in interviews or whatnot (see: her and her Snow White castmates reading raunchy exerpts from Fifty Shades of Grey), or that she's able to smile and, dare I even say with absolute conviction, look attractive.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, is Kristen Stewart the fairest of them all? The funny thing about when Snow White and the Huntsman was announced with her in the titular, fairest role, I disagreed. I know for a fact this movie might suffer because of some peoples' absolute disdain for the girl, or that envisioning her as this fabled beauty is hard for some, but I find that unfortunate considering this thing looks visually beautiful - if nothing else, as reviews might indicate. Yes, when in contrast to Charlize Theron, she might pail in comparison, but even the biggest hater needs to look directly at her face and agree: she is attractive. She might not be classically beautiful and her persona or characteristics might be off putting to some, but she is a good looking girl. That is to say, when she isn't hunched over, trapped in the disgusting blue filter that is Twilight.
That's it: Twilight. That is the only reason she has a bad reputation. I hate that franchise as much as everyone else, and I hate that someone as talentless as Stephenie Meyer has constricted a staple in horror mythology with one tightening of her fist, but to needlessly bash something with any merit as many people do would be doing so for the sake of doing so - and therefore it isn't my target. As I mentioned before, I would say that Kristen Stewart's career has at least been above average - she has done much better than, say, Megan Fox (although she was just fine in Friends with Kids), but she comes nowhere close to Meryl Streep or Kate Winslet - and that her work in this past movies is actually good. Her Bella Swan-awkward carries over into Adventureland, a movie which benefits from the comedy of a fellow Kristen, Wiig, and Bill Hader, but she doesn't destroy the movie at all; if you feel like ripping on her, I'd ask you to watch Panic Room, or Into the Wild; maybe not The Runaways only because it was bad (she wasn't that bad, though), and I've heard very good things about Welcome to the Rileys where we find her as a prostitute. Point is: she is a talented young actress, but I'm afraid that Twilight will always leave a dark stain on her career, a stain she'll never beat.
Twilight is the easiest vehicle to hate on her. (I need to step aside to say that this really seems like a defense of her; I'm not that crazy about her, I just feel like the hate she gets is unwarranted) Yes, the movies are absolute abominations, and she simply is awful in them - but everyone in that movie is bloody awful. You can't look at any of the films and pinpoint a strong acting performance - that's how inherently bad being a part of something like them would be on your reputation. Had she never been Bella Swan, I don't believe looking at her in Snow White as 'the fairest of them all' would be an issue; instead, we see Bella Swan in a medieval dress, we see Bella Swan riding a horse in armor, and we see Bella Swan attempting to usurp this mad queen. We've seen Bella Swan be an amusement park worker, the object of Jesse Eisenberg's affections; as Joan Jett, or as a prostitute. That is how poignant the character is on her - much like how I referenced Dan Rad as forever being the wizard under the stairs - but what works as a detriment to her favour is that Bella Swan and Twilight are embarrassments. Not to mention I don't think something like a movie centered around sparkling vampires would be a good showcase of talent.
So, yeah, I've come to like her a lot. I don't know what it is; she has something that's likable about her, to me at least. But that's because I can excuse Twilight as a misstep, and that I can realize that there is a reason why she's booked these huge roles and has become as famous as she is - remember, it wasn't her first movie job, so something had to have been there to establish her name enough to become this 'beloved' character. Regardless, I know the hatred will never stop; I know that a portion of Snow White and the Huntsman's audience will be affected by this stigma surrounding her.
I don't care. I'm excited to see the movie in an hour, anyways, and I'm fully invested as her being the fairest of them all - in this universe of fiction, at the very least.
There's something, simply, bizarre about her: apathetic more often than not, this girl is simply weird. She grumbles, she seldom forms complete sentences, she cracks a smile less frequently than a corpse. I would wager that she isn't used to the sort of fame and rabid fandom that came from and is the Twilight saga, but I could never blame her, because my impression too is that she was never overly invested in it to begin with and I can't imagine what it would be like to build your life up around something that you don't wholeheartedly love yourself. Then again, I could be completely off base - for all we know she could be the biggest Twilight fan there is and she fangirls when she's by herself because she gets to play opposite (and date in real life!) Rob Pattinson - but I just don't see that. All that being said, though, I've noticed recently that she's been more expressive and, really, funny, but she's still fundamentally just bizarre.
To say that I like Kristen Stewart then seems like a left field claim to make considering I've likened her habits and personality to something of an oaf, but I truly do like her for some reason; back when the first Twilight came out - I loathed it like any other sensible human being - I remember saying I loved her as a sort of mockery, though I can remember then look back to her filmography with a sense of being somewhat impressed as easily as I would now. It certainly helps her case that the last Twilight movie is to be released in November (thank god), and that she's been popping up in other movies, much easier even, I would argue, than any of the Harry Potter kids. Something still just doesn't sit right about seeing Daniel Radcliffe as a widower with a four year old child in The Woman in Black - he's still Harry Potter and sadly might always be (I can foresee a great career regardless), but I digress. Also in her favour is that brightness that is slowly emerging about her as I've already mentioned, and I mean that in the sense that she doesn't crumple into a jagged ball of skeleton when on a red carpet or at an award show like she used to, or that she seems a lot more comfortable in interviews or whatnot (see: her and her Snow White castmates reading raunchy exerpts from Fifty Shades of Grey), or that she's able to smile and, dare I even say with absolute conviction, look attractive.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, is Kristen Stewart the fairest of them all? The funny thing about when Snow White and the Huntsman was announced with her in the titular, fairest role, I disagreed. I know for a fact this movie might suffer because of some peoples' absolute disdain for the girl, or that envisioning her as this fabled beauty is hard for some, but I find that unfortunate considering this thing looks visually beautiful - if nothing else, as reviews might indicate. Yes, when in contrast to Charlize Theron, she might pail in comparison, but even the biggest hater needs to look directly at her face and agree: she is attractive. She might not be classically beautiful and her persona or characteristics might be off putting to some, but she is a good looking girl. That is to say, when she isn't hunched over, trapped in the disgusting blue filter that is Twilight.
That's it: Twilight. That is the only reason she has a bad reputation. I hate that franchise as much as everyone else, and I hate that someone as talentless as Stephenie Meyer has constricted a staple in horror mythology with one tightening of her fist, but to needlessly bash something with any merit as many people do would be doing so for the sake of doing so - and therefore it isn't my target. As I mentioned before, I would say that Kristen Stewart's career has at least been above average - she has done much better than, say, Megan Fox (although she was just fine in Friends with Kids), but she comes nowhere close to Meryl Streep or Kate Winslet - and that her work in this past movies is actually good. Her Bella Swan-awkward carries over into Adventureland, a movie which benefits from the comedy of a fellow Kristen, Wiig, and Bill Hader, but she doesn't destroy the movie at all; if you feel like ripping on her, I'd ask you to watch Panic Room, or Into the Wild; maybe not The Runaways only because it was bad (she wasn't that bad, though), and I've heard very good things about Welcome to the Rileys where we find her as a prostitute. Point is: she is a talented young actress, but I'm afraid that Twilight will always leave a dark stain on her career, a stain she'll never beat.
Twilight is the easiest vehicle to hate on her. (I need to step aside to say that this really seems like a defense of her; I'm not that crazy about her, I just feel like the hate she gets is unwarranted) Yes, the movies are absolute abominations, and she simply is awful in them - but everyone in that movie is bloody awful. You can't look at any of the films and pinpoint a strong acting performance - that's how inherently bad being a part of something like them would be on your reputation. Had she never been Bella Swan, I don't believe looking at her in Snow White as 'the fairest of them all' would be an issue; instead, we see Bella Swan in a medieval dress, we see Bella Swan riding a horse in armor, and we see Bella Swan attempting to usurp this mad queen. We've seen Bella Swan be an amusement park worker, the object of Jesse Eisenberg's affections; as Joan Jett, or as a prostitute. That is how poignant the character is on her - much like how I referenced Dan Rad as forever being the wizard under the stairs - but what works as a detriment to her favour is that Bella Swan and Twilight are embarrassments. Not to mention I don't think something like a movie centered around sparkling vampires would be a good showcase of talent.
So, yeah, I've come to like her a lot. I don't know what it is; she has something that's likable about her, to me at least. But that's because I can excuse Twilight as a misstep, and that I can realize that there is a reason why she's booked these huge roles and has become as famous as she is - remember, it wasn't her first movie job, so something had to have been there to establish her name enough to become this 'beloved' character. Regardless, I know the hatred will never stop; I know that a portion of Snow White and the Huntsman's audience will be affected by this stigma surrounding her.
I don't care. I'm excited to see the movie in an hour, anyways, and I'm fully invested as her being the fairest of them all - in this universe of fiction, at the very least.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
A guide to the almighty immaculate Customer
I am a cashier. I am nothing more, and nothing less; I stand behind a screen at a cash register, I scan your groceries, I bag your groceries, and I take your money. Because I've been working so much lately I've come to realize that I do in fact enjoy my job, to an extent - meaning that I've come to know myself as functioning better with explicit instruction and straightforward responsibility. I certainly do not mean that I enjoy dealing with customers for long amounts of time, and the position itself is absolutely monotonous. I'm lucky that I like the people I work with.
You might think to yourself that I am a good fit for a customer service job, and you would be wrong. Yes, I can quickly switch on the smile and be so obnoxiously polite that it's nauseating, but so help me god I have to stop myself from yelling and swearing at some people. Not that I have an anger issue - I suppose that actually might depend on who you talk to because I can think of at least a few people who would swear that I'm a raving aggressive psychopath - but I definitely do have a short fuse and it takes me little to piss me off completely. I used to joke that I would never be suited to deal with people, and my parents and friends did agree, and yet regardless of my short fuse the switched-on smile came out during my job interview three years ago and I now find myself a bright ambassador of that above-and-beyond customer service my store guarantees during your visit. Why, yes! - not only do I scan, but I smile. Are you having a good day? No? Then smarten the fuck up because I'm personable, happy, and when I tell you to have a nice day when I'm done with you, do it.
From working as a cashier for so long, I've noticed trends in the sort of people who come through from day to day. Again, due to my sudden influx of working hours (no complaints, the paychecks are gorgeous), I've only come to recently define these customers as the stereotypes of my day, and I'm sure if you've ever had a job similar or currently do, you will agree with me.
The Asian woman who doesn't speak English. I do not mean to completely generalize, but I often get a handful of middle-aged to elderly Asian women who jab their fingers at me or their groceries and throw their change onto the conveyor belt out of reach from my large and uncoordinated fingers. Nothing against them whatsoever - why, some are rather sweet.
The single man. A staple of the lunch or dinner rush, either in a suit (clearly coming from work) or in some sort of activewear (clearly coming from whatever was so active about their life), the single men that come through seem to have this aura of being completely out of place from their grocery store surroundings. They don't care how much it is, they don't care how I bag their groceries or if I even bag them at all; they want out.
The sweet elderly woman, man, or couple. Nothing puts me in a better mood than the sickeningly sweet elderly person or people who brighten my day with a compliment or their general positive demeanor. Meanwhile, the horrific elderly woman, man, or couple are the worst, because nothing beats a mean old person. I've had a woman yell at me for not bagging her groceries properly, or old men treat me like I have caveman intelligence. I dislike them, but then I remember they're old, so I feel bad.
The mumbler. "Hi, how are you?" "mmmhmmpfhhmm." If you are obviously mumbling, or if you don't answer or even attempt to acknowledge me whatsoever, I will probably by default not treat you with the same kindness as I do anyone else. I try my best to be nice to the cashiers I encounter when I'm a customer, and I see absolutely no reason to mumble or be rude about a simple "I'm good, thank you;" in fact, I don't even understand why people in bad moods choose to go shopping anyways. Stay at home and brood, you black hole.
The children who shouldn't be unaccompanied and often cannot count change. I don't really like having really young kids as customers, and that sentence is horrific if you were to take it out of context. What I mean is you usually get the kids who come through with handfuls of chocolate bars and coins that they haven't yet bothered to total. I never quite know how to interact with these kids, because they act like I'm a scary yeti.
The bystander. I understand that to bag one's groceries is part of my job, but I always appreciate the courtesy of help, especially if customers are extremely particular about how their groceries are packed - that being said they don't have to help me at all. But if I have a line, and if the order is massive, it pisses me off to no end to see someone stand with their arms crossed watching me as I rush as fast as I can to complete their order.
The "that's-too-much!" complainer. If you are aware that this particular grocery store in general does have higher prices, and that create your own salads are done by weight, do not get angry at me when your bloody salad comes to be over twenty dollars. (by the way - I hate having serve yourself foods left to me because of the price being too much, because we can't do anything but chuck it)
And, the most frequent, the nice woman, who is, really, just a nice woman (with or without kids) who engages conversation and carries a positive disposition. Take heed, and be that nice woman.
I've hardly begun to account for every sort of person I encounter: some are overly concerned with price, watching the screen like a hawk and refusing to forgive should I make a minor mistake; some are oblivious, leaving their keys and cards behind; some critique my packing skills and make and later blatantly repacks their groceries the second after I hand them the bag. The joys of customer service. I almost crave that mundane desk job if it means I'm to myself all day long.
You might think to yourself that I am a good fit for a customer service job, and you would be wrong. Yes, I can quickly switch on the smile and be so obnoxiously polite that it's nauseating, but so help me god I have to stop myself from yelling and swearing at some people. Not that I have an anger issue - I suppose that actually might depend on who you talk to because I can think of at least a few people who would swear that I'm a raving aggressive psychopath - but I definitely do have a short fuse and it takes me little to piss me off completely. I used to joke that I would never be suited to deal with people, and my parents and friends did agree, and yet regardless of my short fuse the switched-on smile came out during my job interview three years ago and I now find myself a bright ambassador of that above-and-beyond customer service my store guarantees during your visit. Why, yes! - not only do I scan, but I smile. Are you having a good day? No? Then smarten the fuck up because I'm personable, happy, and when I tell you to have a nice day when I'm done with you, do it.
From working as a cashier for so long, I've noticed trends in the sort of people who come through from day to day. Again, due to my sudden influx of working hours (no complaints, the paychecks are gorgeous), I've only come to recently define these customers as the stereotypes of my day, and I'm sure if you've ever had a job similar or currently do, you will agree with me.
The Asian woman who doesn't speak English. I do not mean to completely generalize, but I often get a handful of middle-aged to elderly Asian women who jab their fingers at me or their groceries and throw their change onto the conveyor belt out of reach from my large and uncoordinated fingers. Nothing against them whatsoever - why, some are rather sweet.
The single man. A staple of the lunch or dinner rush, either in a suit (clearly coming from work) or in some sort of activewear (clearly coming from whatever was so active about their life), the single men that come through seem to have this aura of being completely out of place from their grocery store surroundings. They don't care how much it is, they don't care how I bag their groceries or if I even bag them at all; they want out.
The sweet elderly woman, man, or couple. Nothing puts me in a better mood than the sickeningly sweet elderly person or people who brighten my day with a compliment or their general positive demeanor. Meanwhile, the horrific elderly woman, man, or couple are the worst, because nothing beats a mean old person. I've had a woman yell at me for not bagging her groceries properly, or old men treat me like I have caveman intelligence. I dislike them, but then I remember they're old, so I feel bad.
The mumbler. "Hi, how are you?" "mmmhmmpfhhmm." If you are obviously mumbling, or if you don't answer or even attempt to acknowledge me whatsoever, I will probably by default not treat you with the same kindness as I do anyone else. I try my best to be nice to the cashiers I encounter when I'm a customer, and I see absolutely no reason to mumble or be rude about a simple "I'm good, thank you;" in fact, I don't even understand why people in bad moods choose to go shopping anyways. Stay at home and brood, you black hole.
The children who shouldn't be unaccompanied and often cannot count change. I don't really like having really young kids as customers, and that sentence is horrific if you were to take it out of context. What I mean is you usually get the kids who come through with handfuls of chocolate bars and coins that they haven't yet bothered to total. I never quite know how to interact with these kids, because they act like I'm a scary yeti.
The bystander. I understand that to bag one's groceries is part of my job, but I always appreciate the courtesy of help, especially if customers are extremely particular about how their groceries are packed - that being said they don't have to help me at all. But if I have a line, and if the order is massive, it pisses me off to no end to see someone stand with their arms crossed watching me as I rush as fast as I can to complete their order.
The "that's-too-much!" complainer. If you are aware that this particular grocery store in general does have higher prices, and that create your own salads are done by weight, do not get angry at me when your bloody salad comes to be over twenty dollars. (by the way - I hate having serve yourself foods left to me because of the price being too much, because we can't do anything but chuck it)
And, the most frequent, the nice woman, who is, really, just a nice woman (with or without kids) who engages conversation and carries a positive disposition. Take heed, and be that nice woman.
I've hardly begun to account for every sort of person I encounter: some are overly concerned with price, watching the screen like a hawk and refusing to forgive should I make a minor mistake; some are oblivious, leaving their keys and cards behind; some critique my packing skills and make and later blatantly repacks their groceries the second after I hand them the bag. The joys of customer service. I almost crave that mundane desk job if it means I'm to myself all day long.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Attack of the squirrels
The property that my house is on seems to be prime real estate for
squirrels - not that it's big or even far away from anything industrial
considering we live on a fairly busy and active street. Needless to say
we've had bad luck with squirrels.
Years ago my dad had to string up wires over top of the pool to hang down shiny ribbons to distract birds flying and squirrels from jumping down from trees into the pool - trust me, as ludicrous as that sounds, it happened - but nevertheless we have had the occasional aquatic daredevil paddling around. Apparently, squirrels love above-ground pools. So much so they'd die for it.
Last year, my parents took a multi-week vacation to Europe, and because I'm still jealous of where they went and what they got to see as my sister and I starved ourselves alone, I won't say anything more about their trip. Anyways, my sister and I were indeed left alone to fend for ourselves, cook meals, find the willpower to force ourselves to go to school or work at a time where the disappointing eye of a parent upon a skipping delinquent child. One unfortunate morning (I have a feeling like I was hungover, too), my sister, her friend and I found a dead squirrel floating in its watery above-ground grave. Given that the jets in the pool make a constant clockwise current, this dead squirrel made its slow rotation around and around, making my stomach turn every time it floated in front of us on the deck. We have no idea how this squirrel got there - it's sad, actually - but I couldn't bring myself to remove this dead thing from the pool. I tried; we used the pool net, but I felt almost nauseous when I felt the dead weight in the mesh net and couldn't do it. My sister and I being the gracious guests that we are, we made her friend do it. Out from the pool, straight to a garbage bag - what were we supposed to do? - and they drove it to the park up the road to dispose of it. As I type it now, that just sounds wrong.
What made things more disturbingly disgusting was, when my sister and her friend had a baseball game that night in the same park, they went to the garbage bins and had a vigil for the departed animal. Sick.
Last week, as I lay in my hungover stupor, I started the HBO comedy Veep which I find to be hilarious. As I was uncomfortably horizontal in the living room couch, I heard a loud noise against the window by my head which startled me and my headache. I looked to find a squirrel on the window ledge, looking directly at me - but not at me, but into my goddamn soul, my goddamn soul. I hit on the window a few times until it disappeared, but it was then that I saw it had scratched a hole through the window screen. Minutes later I heard more thrashing outside, and I alerted my mom who said I was hallucinating a squirrel attack. I took it as nothing.
This past week I was informed by my parents when I got home from work that a family of squirrels had made a nest (do squirrels make nests?) somewhere on the property as the amount of squirrels fucking around was staggering. After some time my dad found it, and I can barely explain where exactly it is, except for it's by the corner of the roof so they'd dug through the.. house? and into where our attic is. Either way, it's directly outside of my parents' bedroom window, so my dad got on the roof outside of these windows and blocked the hole up from the squirrels with something I don't know the name of.
What ensued was a chaotic melee of squirrels all over the place. From the windows we witnessed a squirrel, now a pair of squirrels, now a pair of different squirrels all running around. Singular squirrels stood on the roof, upset, and I got similarly upset when my mom goes "oh, it's the babies, and they're confused without their mother!" I need to say that I get emotional about animals. I don't give a hell about how lame that sentence is, and I'm certainly not a bleeding heart animal lover. But the moment that I think of animals having emotions, or families, I get upset. To think that baby squirrels were panicked without their mother made me depressed, and I get upset thinking about it now. For the few days after we still saw various squirrels running around, so something was up.
Yesterday morning, I awoke to my dad scraping something on the roof. Turns out he was reopening the blockage he had made to investigate, and as he worked, he was getting attacked by malicious squirrels from the exterior. (my mom, meanwhile, hung out of the bedroom window with a broom hitting them away) My dad tore through the blockage and out rushed three squirrels who were trapped in the house - and that would explain the high frequency of squirrels on the property, who were still scurrying around trying to find a way back into the attic to free their trapped family. (see, again, I get upset thinking that those three squirrels may have been trapped away from their mother) Apparently - and, again, I missed this - the third squirrel jumped out and actually attacked my dad, but he recounted this story while piss drunk last night.
And so, the squirrel saga has closed. For now.
The only explanation is that my house is on an old Indian squirrel burial ground.
Years ago my dad had to string up wires over top of the pool to hang down shiny ribbons to distract birds flying and squirrels from jumping down from trees into the pool - trust me, as ludicrous as that sounds, it happened - but nevertheless we have had the occasional aquatic daredevil paddling around. Apparently, squirrels love above-ground pools. So much so they'd die for it.
Last year, my parents took a multi-week vacation to Europe, and because I'm still jealous of where they went and what they got to see as my sister and I starved ourselves alone, I won't say anything more about their trip. Anyways, my sister and I were indeed left alone to fend for ourselves, cook meals, find the willpower to force ourselves to go to school or work at a time where the disappointing eye of a parent upon a skipping delinquent child. One unfortunate morning (I have a feeling like I was hungover, too), my sister, her friend and I found a dead squirrel floating in its watery above-ground grave. Given that the jets in the pool make a constant clockwise current, this dead squirrel made its slow rotation around and around, making my stomach turn every time it floated in front of us on the deck. We have no idea how this squirrel got there - it's sad, actually - but I couldn't bring myself to remove this dead thing from the pool. I tried; we used the pool net, but I felt almost nauseous when I felt the dead weight in the mesh net and couldn't do it. My sister and I being the gracious guests that we are, we made her friend do it. Out from the pool, straight to a garbage bag - what were we supposed to do? - and they drove it to the park up the road to dispose of it. As I type it now, that just sounds wrong.
What made things more disturbingly disgusting was, when my sister and her friend had a baseball game that night in the same park, they went to the garbage bins and had a vigil for the departed animal. Sick.
Last week, as I lay in my hungover stupor, I started the HBO comedy Veep which I find to be hilarious. As I was uncomfortably horizontal in the living room couch, I heard a loud noise against the window by my head which startled me and my headache. I looked to find a squirrel on the window ledge, looking directly at me - but not at me, but into my goddamn soul, my goddamn soul. I hit on the window a few times until it disappeared, but it was then that I saw it had scratched a hole through the window screen. Minutes later I heard more thrashing outside, and I alerted my mom who said I was hallucinating a squirrel attack. I took it as nothing.
This past week I was informed by my parents when I got home from work that a family of squirrels had made a nest (do squirrels make nests?) somewhere on the property as the amount of squirrels fucking around was staggering. After some time my dad found it, and I can barely explain where exactly it is, except for it's by the corner of the roof so they'd dug through the.. house? and into where our attic is. Either way, it's directly outside of my parents' bedroom window, so my dad got on the roof outside of these windows and blocked the hole up from the squirrels with something I don't know the name of.
What ensued was a chaotic melee of squirrels all over the place. From the windows we witnessed a squirrel, now a pair of squirrels, now a pair of different squirrels all running around. Singular squirrels stood on the roof, upset, and I got similarly upset when my mom goes "oh, it's the babies, and they're confused without their mother!" I need to say that I get emotional about animals. I don't give a hell about how lame that sentence is, and I'm certainly not a bleeding heart animal lover. But the moment that I think of animals having emotions, or families, I get upset. To think that baby squirrels were panicked without their mother made me depressed, and I get upset thinking about it now. For the few days after we still saw various squirrels running around, so something was up.
Yesterday morning, I awoke to my dad scraping something on the roof. Turns out he was reopening the blockage he had made to investigate, and as he worked, he was getting attacked by malicious squirrels from the exterior. (my mom, meanwhile, hung out of the bedroom window with a broom hitting them away) My dad tore through the blockage and out rushed three squirrels who were trapped in the house - and that would explain the high frequency of squirrels on the property, who were still scurrying around trying to find a way back into the attic to free their trapped family. (see, again, I get upset thinking that those three squirrels may have been trapped away from their mother) Apparently - and, again, I missed this - the third squirrel jumped out and actually attacked my dad, but he recounted this story while piss drunk last night.
And so, the squirrel saga has closed. For now.
The only explanation is that my house is on an old Indian squirrel burial ground.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Complaining again, goddamnit
[my last installment of complains was very well received, and given that I'm constantly upset with everything, my complaining for the sake of complaining is anything but over. I've barely even scratched the surface, in fact. I'm scared for myself, because I can totally picture me being a Clint Eastwood type of elderly man in the distant future yelling at the wind and chasing the kids on my lawn away with a hose, or if their use is entirely legalized and I somehow come to possess one, my shotgun]
I forced myself to buy pizza again from my store on lunch, and for precautions, I let it cool down for twenty minutes before I ate it as to save the skin on the roof of my mouth. Is it skin, really? My complaint now is that the pizza was crap.
Misfortune accompanied me to my shift this morning as when I lifted something at work I heard a massive tear and what do you know, I'd ripped my pants. I'll neglect to say where, but you can imagine that if I were promiscuous, my customers could have been treated to a lil sumthin else with their checkout should I move my leg. That is a slutty and repulsive sentence, but I think you get the picture. Regardless, my embarrassment shot through the roof, and I stole away to call my mom, panicked, as I begged her to somehow produce a new pair of black pants that I may wear for the remainder of the shift. An eternity later and I had a replacement pair.
My work shoes still suck, and this eight hour shift brought about ridiculously late breaks. The thing is, I like when breaks are late, because if it means slaving away for a few more minutes now, I know that there'll be less to do when I return. It was a bit of a stretch, though, to have my last break at 3:30 only to return for fifteen minutes before I was relieved and ended my shift. Visit me at the time and I'll cry out for you to cut off my feet in mercy.
That HBO show Girls is confusing me. I've decided to watch both Girls and Veep with Julia Louis-Dreyfus as they air back-to-back after Game of Thrones (and, soon enough, True Blood - and now I'll complain that Game of Thrones is over soon and I'm pretty sure that my favourite character will not survive; preparing for a silent vigil for Robb, I feel like he's a dead man), and I've heard good things about both. Girls, though.. I just don't know. It's very well written, and Lena Dunham is obviously talented - creator, writer, star, director, producer - but at times I'm completely uninterested in the mundane yet blatantly-hipster things going on on the television. The other thing is is that it's just a little bit unattractive; I understand Ms Dunham is comfortable with her obvious out-of-shape physique, and I understand that the purpose of the show is to encapsulate this reality, but it's just ugly sometimes. Marnie's not.
It's too goddamn hot. I woke up this morning so drenched I might've just jumped out of the shower or the pool. The leather couch I am sitting on currently is sticking to my arms and back as if it just can't quit me, and I hate this goddamn couch. My family hasn't yet turned on the air conditioner.
Kristen Wiig's last episode of Saturday Night Live aired on Saturday, and jesus, I'm sad. I woke up Sunday morning still as drunk as I was as I went to bed at night, so I think that contributed to my absolute bawling as the entire cast and Lorne Michaels gave her a goodbye.
I can't believe Fifty Shades of Grey has been published, and I haven't been.
There's this motherfucker of a bird who lives directly outside of my bedroom window and as my parents have yet to turn on the AC and give me sweet, sweet salvation from Burlington's current phase as being a rebellious sauna, my windows are wide open all night long. It's bad enough that at my angle on my bed a street light shines directly into my room, but this bastard of a bird chirps like it owns the whole world at five in the morning.
This leather couch is attempting to fuse itself to me to make sure I never leave it.. I'm certain.
I forced myself to buy pizza again from my store on lunch, and for precautions, I let it cool down for twenty minutes before I ate it as to save the skin on the roof of my mouth. Is it skin, really? My complaint now is that the pizza was crap.
Misfortune accompanied me to my shift this morning as when I lifted something at work I heard a massive tear and what do you know, I'd ripped my pants. I'll neglect to say where, but you can imagine that if I were promiscuous, my customers could have been treated to a lil sumthin else with their checkout should I move my leg. That is a slutty and repulsive sentence, but I think you get the picture. Regardless, my embarrassment shot through the roof, and I stole away to call my mom, panicked, as I begged her to somehow produce a new pair of black pants that I may wear for the remainder of the shift. An eternity later and I had a replacement pair.
My work shoes still suck, and this eight hour shift brought about ridiculously late breaks. The thing is, I like when breaks are late, because if it means slaving away for a few more minutes now, I know that there'll be less to do when I return. It was a bit of a stretch, though, to have my last break at 3:30 only to return for fifteen minutes before I was relieved and ended my shift. Visit me at the time and I'll cry out for you to cut off my feet in mercy.
That HBO show Girls is confusing me. I've decided to watch both Girls and Veep with Julia Louis-Dreyfus as they air back-to-back after Game of Thrones (and, soon enough, True Blood - and now I'll complain that Game of Thrones is over soon and I'm pretty sure that my favourite character will not survive; preparing for a silent vigil for Robb, I feel like he's a dead man), and I've heard good things about both. Girls, though.. I just don't know. It's very well written, and Lena Dunham is obviously talented - creator, writer, star, director, producer - but at times I'm completely uninterested in the mundane yet blatantly-hipster things going on on the television. The other thing is is that it's just a little bit unattractive; I understand Ms Dunham is comfortable with her obvious out-of-shape physique, and I understand that the purpose of the show is to encapsulate this reality, but it's just ugly sometimes. Marnie's not.
It's too goddamn hot. I woke up this morning so drenched I might've just jumped out of the shower or the pool. The leather couch I am sitting on currently is sticking to my arms and back as if it just can't quit me, and I hate this goddamn couch. My family hasn't yet turned on the air conditioner.
Kristen Wiig's last episode of Saturday Night Live aired on Saturday, and jesus, I'm sad. I woke up Sunday morning still as drunk as I was as I went to bed at night, so I think that contributed to my absolute bawling as the entire cast and Lorne Michaels gave her a goodbye.
I can't believe Fifty Shades of Grey has been published, and I haven't been.
There's this motherfucker of a bird who lives directly outside of my bedroom window and as my parents have yet to turn on the AC and give me sweet, sweet salvation from Burlington's current phase as being a rebellious sauna, my windows are wide open all night long. It's bad enough that at my angle on my bed a street light shines directly into my room, but this bastard of a bird chirps like it owns the whole world at five in the morning.
This leather couch is attempting to fuse itself to me to make sure I never leave it.. I'm certain.
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