Finally a day off after 13 consecutive days of work... thank God. I detail-cleaned my car, am in the process of laundering my gargantuan pile of clothes and bedding, put up the cat's new house, and have checked two people off my Christmas shopping list (online shopping beats actual shopping ANY day- you can find exactly what you want, access stores that aren't in your area, the sizes are generally stocked, and if your order is over 50 dollars, it's usually free... AND you can do price comparisons and see 120 items at once... that's what I call shopping). I can't remember the last time I went shopping in a store and actually enjoyed the experience. I can never find what I'm looking for and then I get all pissy.
It felt so good to sleep in past 6:30 am today. Especially after the wretched day I had yesterday. I know I've posted entries where I bitch about rude customers before, but OMG... yesterday definitely surpassed any of my past experiences in terms of awful customers. I was ready to cry, and almost did. I spent all day yesterday running around, directing associates and assigning them tasks in addition to folding, cashiering, running the dressing rooms, and doing stock. The store got super busy around noon, and I was running around trying to keep shit neat as hoards of thirteen year old girls, shoplifting fifteen year old boys, and crazed parents tore it apart searching for specific sizes. I was heading over to fix the clearance denim wall and noticed this woman standing there, so I asked her if I could help her find anything. Instead of giving me a polite, 'yes' or 'no' answer, this bitch said to me: "This wall [of jeans] is SO messy, how am I supposed to find anything?!" I almost lost my shit right then and there, and I couldn't help but give a bitchy response, "Well, we did just have about 50 shoppers in here at once, what size are you looking for?" She was looking for a double 00. I'm not sure how anyone in her family could have been a 00, when she was morbidly obese at around 400 lbs (not even lying). I was searching for the 00 jeans, when she said to me, "Your hair is long; is that your real hair?" Oh my fucking God, you dumb, fat bitch. Does my ass look black to you? Does my hair look fake to you? That's what I wanted to say. But I bit my tongue and said, "yes, it's real" (It took every ounce of self control I had to stop myself from adding, 'but yours sure as hell isn't'). I took my lunch promptly after that because I was stressed and reading to slit throats at that point.
I went to Dunkin for my afternoon coffee fix, as it usually puts me into a better mood. But the line was about 10 cars long and I wasn't willing to wait 30 minutes for a $4 beverage. I drove back the mall parking lot, and pulled into one of the aisles to park. This fat bitch was walking up the center of the aisle at a leisurely pace. There were also normal people walking to the side of the aisle (where one SHOULD be walking in a parking lot) so I couldn't possibly go to either side of her. She just kept walking up the center of the aisle while I trailed behind her at about 1 mph. I thought about honking, but there were children with parents and I didn't want to be rude. Finally the fat fuck turned to go to her car. I know something so trivial shouldn't bother me so much, but it was almost the straw that broke this camel's back. I finally pulled into a parking space and spent the remaining 30 minutes of my lunch break trying to pull my shit together. When I went back into work, life only got worse.
When I walked back into Mollister, the "models" (I hate referring to minimum wage associates as 'models' like "Mollister" says I should...because who are we kidding, they're not fucking models, they're decent looking kids working retail) were doing their jobs, either greeting customers or busy folding clothes. I found myself taking over the cash register, as the store was still really busy and a line of customers was forming. There was an angry looking woman standing at the front of the line with a pile of clothes; probably about 10 articles of clothing, all of them sweats and t-shirts. It takes so long to scan the clothes, take off the sensors (and they are on EVERYTHING in this store) and fold and bag the clothes. I had finished de-sensoring and was about to put the pile of clothes into a bag. I had the clothes folded over once (neat, but not perfect, as is protocol when you're checking someone out) and was about to put them into the bag when this fat bitch shouted: "Excuse me, what are you doing?" (Me, with a dumbfounded look...not knowing I'd done anything wrong) "Are you really going to put the clothes into the bag like that?!" (me still dumbfounded). "Aren't you going to fold them?" What a fucking cunt. I wanted to slap her. My face grew hot with embarrassment. I hadn't done anything wrong, and the clothes were neatly folded over. I mean, she wasn't purchasing a fucking suit, or even a dress shirt. These were already wrinkled, cotton, lounge clothes. I sucked back my anger and said "I'm sorry." And so I began folding the clothes, meticulously, silently, and pain-stakingly slow, while that fat, fucking cunt stood there shaking her head in disgust and watched me fold each and every shirt like it was the finest silk and about to go on display in the window of Saks 5th avenue. I was enraged. I was humiliated. After I was done, I was forced to thank her and tell her to have a nice day, even though I wanted to punch her in the back of the knees and after she had fallen, climb on her back and punch her some more while pulling her fucking permed mullet. How can someone be SO FUCKING RUDE?????? There was a line of like, 5 customers waiting behind her, and I was folding her clothes to go into the bag in the same manner I always do for every customer, and apparently that wasn't good enough. I really hate people sometimes. I mean, I'm sure rude people have always been in existence, but I am starting to think that manners are a slowly dissipating art-form. It is few and far between that a customer treats me with the same respect I treat them with. And I find that half the customers who are supremely rude are fat. I'm sorry if I'm a bigot right now, but if you're fat and hating your life and taking it out on others...fucking don't eat so much and take more walks. It's not hard. What is wrong with Americans? What is wrong with humanity?
When I finally punched out after 9 hours running around on my feet all day, I met my family to go out to dinner. We went to the Lost Dog Cafe, where the wait was going to be about 40 minutes. I wanted to down a few drinks, but since I was driving my car and still had to drive home from Binghampton, alcohol wasn't an option. I felt pangs of hatred towards pretty much everyone as I stood looking around at the crowd, because my heart was wounded from the savage verbal assaults of the day. I spotted some blonde bitch teetering around in boots with a 4-inch heel. I always get so angry when I see people who try to pull of heels and think they're hot shit, but they can't walk in them and look like the have a corncob up their butt. I've been walking in 5 inch heels gracefully since like the age of 15, but perhaps I'm just an exception, and that's why I get so angry seeing girls who can't walk in them. I think I was also angry because this blonde bitch did in fact have a weave. I remembered the comment from the fat lady earlier, asking if MY hair was fake, and then I spotted some actual fake hair and was disgusted. I'm sorry, white girls should never get weaves. This girl's hair was as yellow and acrylic as a Barbie's hair and hung almost to her butt in nasty, manufactured ringlets. I could see her dark roots from 20 feet away, and the tiny clumps where the extensions were attached/weave was sewed in. I really wanted a drink at that point in time. Luckily the wait wasn't as long as they said it would be, and we were promptly seated. The food was awesome, and I was glad I didn't get alcoholic beverages, because I probably consumed upwards of 3,000 calories.
I really hope work gets better, because right now, every day there is painful. I hate being told what to wear (especially when my choices are limited to plaid button-ups, jeans, and navy cardigans, and like, two skirts), I hate being told how to style my makeup, told that I can't wear any accessories, having to wear fucking ugly ass flipflops in winter, and having no control over my appearance. I hate being told I have to remove a simple, classic, tiny gold necklace with an initial, when fucking skanks working the floor can get away wearing fake, porn-star acrylic nails (NOT ALLOWED BY COMPANY POLICY). I hate tuning into conference calls run by men who must have miniscule peens based on what douche bags they come across as, even on the phone. I fucking hate this company, I hate retail, and as soon as my bank account reaches $8,000 I'm peacing out.
