Finding BOB

OKAI EMO POST TIME AARRGH.

Yeah, so. School, whatever. Work, whatever. Life, no idea.

I mean, you go to school and take courses. For what? I still don't know. I work because I need to live. Why am I living? Don't know. So life continues. Work hard, study hard, what the hell am I doing? I need to quit my job and go dig wells. I need to get into a proper program and learn how to build rocketships. I need to stop getting drunk every weekend. Or alternately, start getting drunk way more often.

END OF EMO.

So the latest special thing Safeway is doing. Finding BOB. BOB is stuff left by customers on the Bottom Of Basket as the pass through checkout. Oftentimes the cashier doesn't see it, and the customer walks out without paying for the item. Apparently Safeway loses 10 million per year because of this. I don't really buy it, but w.e.

So to encourage cashiers to catch more of these, we're having a "Finding BOB Story contest". You write your story about finding BOB on an index card and put it into a box, and there's a draw each week. The winner gets a cheesecake or something.

An example story: "I was working on till and I checked the customers basket. There was a large bag of flour left on the bottom. I said, "Excuse me, is this your flour?' The customer said yes. I rang it in and finished the sale. The end."

It turns out I would have won this week, except my entry contained a little too much much "playing silly buggers" for the management's taste. Bleah. The thing is, the contest is so damn ghey I can't bring myself to write a BOB story without being a smartass. No cheesecake for me.

Edjamacation

Five months of summer vacation is really to much. I was starting to forget that I'm still an irresponsible child who can't do anything right and isn't expected too. I almost felt like and adult for awhile there. Dangerous thoughts. Anyway, school is back in, and I fuckin' love it. Yes, tuition, blah blah, books, blah blah, screwed up registration at Uvic, whatever. School is good. No one knows me here, and those who do, think I'm hot stuff. It is so much better than the distant memory of high school on every level.

There is the downside, of course, which will hit me as soon as I fall off this caffeine high that I've been on. I haven't worked in a few days, and realizing that I have to go back tomorrow makes me remember how much I really don't want to. I did screw up my one course at Uvic, so I think the Creative Writing thing is out the window. I really want to take ACP (that's applied communications, working in tv, radio, media, whatever) or Economics. I'm trying to figure out which one would be more likely to get me a globe trotting job the UN. I'm pretty sure one of those is definitely what I want to do though, although Computer Science has become an attractive option thanks to a really cool teacher.

All this typing has made me remember what brought me to the computer in the first place which is to do some homework. That's the third downside: school is work. Brain work. No one to make you do it, just the threat of impending failure and a life of humiliation working at Starbucks. Onward...


PS. One other thing I'm psyched about: I can make my own coffee now! I got one of these.

Burn In Hell Bitch

One of these days I will blow. On that day, I advise you stay about 20 feet away- out of range of flying objects, but close enough to film for the interwebs. It will be worth filming.

So:
I scan customer's ice cream and reusable shopping bag.

Me: "Do you have a club card?"
C: "No"

She pays.
I put ice cream in bag.

C: "Don't put that in the bag."
Me: "Huh?"
C: "Wrap it in plastic please."
Me: "O...kay..."
Me: "Why buy the bag if you're not going to use it?"
C: "If you out the ice cream in that bag it will melt and get the bag wet."
Me: "But it dries...no..?"
C: "Just wrap it in plastic!"
Me: (rolleyes)
C: "Give me one of those game cards."
(The store is running one of those silly contests with game cards, only card holders can play, she did not give me her card)
Me: (Doesn't hear, I'm deaf, yknow)

Me: "Wha...?"
C: "Give me a game card!"
Me: "No."

(Satisfaction)

C: "Why?!"
Me: "No club card." (Also, I hate you, bitch)

C: (storms out)

It is possible that I am overreacting. It is possible that I was being a little dumber than usual that day and she grew legitimately frustrated. This does not change the fact that if I ever get really angry when I've had enough coffee and am feeling energetic enough, I will do something really, really violent...lose my job, but by god, it will be worth it.

$$$$$$$$$$$

Holy cow, we're getting a raise! It's significantly lower than what the management hoped for, but what the hey. I'm out of here in a couple years anyway. It's 8.75/hr to 9.75, for me, plus .50/hr in back pay retroactively from the end of March. (Is the use of retroactively redundant? I'm not sure.

It means I'm still below the poverty line, but it's still a hell of a lot better than before. I'm going to spend the back pay on booze and clothes. I deserve it, don't you think? I spend like, 20 bucks a week on food. I live like a monk, only without the cool robes and Buddhist street cred. So yeah, this makes me pretty happy.

I still don't think 1 dollar an hour is enough of a raise, considering what a pain this job is, but my boss said something wise- "If both parties are unhappy, that's a sign of a successful contract. If one side walks away thinking, 'What a deal!' then the other side is fucked." It just remains to be seen if the corporation is unhappy too.

Headbang

Not the rock on, pounding heavy metal sort of headbang, but rather the kind where you have no other outlet for frustration, so you let it out on the walls and your forehead.



I want to go to England. I want to have a proper job and things to do at the weekends. My online friends, who started out in the same boat as me (high school and bored as hell) have now graduated. They are nuclear engineers and newspaper reporters, website designers or in school for degrees in heavy, prosperous subjects. Me, I'm still at fucking Safeway, and it's time to get the hell on with life. This has got to change...

The Fish

Last year I worked in a fuel dock, or gas station for boats, in Tofino, BC. As the float supervisor, I was meant to hang about down on the floats, rather than in the store with the other employees. One very foggy morning, I was going about my business, coiling hoses and such, when a small motorboat puttered into my line of sight. The engine was dying- the problem later proved to be a mucky carburetor. Anyway, they didn't quite make it to the dock. I had to throw them a line and haul them in.

These three old fellas were in Tofino on a fishing trip, which, unfortunately, could not get underway until the engine was fixed. While one of the gentlemen went ot up to the store to see about the carb, I stayed and passed the morning with the other two. As there were few other boats out on that foggy day, we had plenty of time. By the time the fog burned off and the motor was putting again, we were all fast friends. They swore to bring me a fish in honor of the way I had reeled them in.

I assumed I'd never see them again, of course. To my surprise, though, they came back at the end of my shift, the next day. With a fish. A coho, just like this one:


Such are the good days, even in shit jobs.

Plastic Bags: It ends here.

A letter to the editor of my local newspaper, published here for anyone doesn't live in Victoria.

I want to commend Oak Bay residents. Many of them try to reduce waste by using cloth grocery bags rather than plastic ones. As a Safeway cashier, I’m in a position to notice and appreciate this.

However, for every conscientious person who brings bags, there’s another who doesn’t seem to care. They wrap each item- the coffee, the chicken, the single apple, and the tiny box of pills- in its own produce bag, and expects the cashier to put the whole lot in another plastic bag at the checkout. Sometimes they even ask for double bags, lest their hands get sore from carrying that heavy load.

The usual justification for this is to prevent coffee grounds from getting on the apple, or fluid from the chicken leaking out. But why? Stuff washes off.

It almost hurts to think of the reams of flimsy plastic that pass through my hands every day. I want it to stop. It’s possible- Ireland has almost eliminated the use of plastic bags by simply of taxing the heck out of them. People waste things that are free, but a 25-cent tax will make them think. It would make me think too- I occasionally use plastic bags myself, even though I have fabric ones at home. I wouldn’t mind some help breaking the habit.

Not to generalize, but I have noticed a pattern in the worst of the bag-wasters. They tend to pay close attention to discounts, quibble over sales prices, and count their change carefully. I think people of this temperament would respond very quickly to a bag tax.

I don’t understand, in fact, why BC doesn’t have a bag tax already, seeing how well it has worked for the Irish. Perhaps the people in charge of these things are just waiting until enough citizens demand it, to be sure it’s what we really want. In that case, add my name to the list.

How To Deflect Hatred

When you are paying for your purchases in a store, especially a high volume grocery store, 9 times out of ten, you are in close proximity to someone who hates you. Severely, passionately, hates you. I speak of the cashier. S/he hates you because you do the same annoying things that every single customer does. Time wasting, idiotic little things that make the poor cashier want to do violence. As a public service, I want to explain how to avoid bringing this psychic wrath down on yourself.

1. Don't count change.

If you're paying cash, use bills. Don't count out every damn penny, especially if you're old and you don't know how to count and your hand shakes. Just put your stupid change in a jar and take it to the bank once a month. Let them deal with it-it's their job. At the store, just pay fast and get out.

If you really don't have any money but change, forgawdssake let the cashier count it, okay? They're good at it. It's their job.

2. If you brought your own bags, say something.

Don't wait until the packer has already loaded most of your stuff into plastic, and then make them take it out and repack it. Get your head out of your ass and speak up.

3. Also, don't bring floppy bags.

Look, you brought your own bags, it's good, you're a good person, saving the environment and stuff. You're much holier than the person in no. 4. Still, don't bring your grungy old bags from the seventies. They are floppy and hard to pack, and the cashier has to waste time wrestling with them. It sucks.

4. Don't be a pansy.

Ooh, this bag is too heavy. Can you double bag it? Wah, I have a bad back. Don't pack too much stuff in the bag. Could I have a bag for this tiny bottle of medicine? For this single apple? To put my asshole in after the cashier tears me a new one?

Man up and take the heavy bags. If you can't handle it, go die. You're probably too old to live anyway.

5. The cashier has no fucking clue how much stuff costs, and doesn't care.

It's a big store, okay? The prices are marked right on the shelves, if you want to know, go look. Don't ask me.

This is a partial list. I think I've forgotten something. But next time you go to the cashier, analyze your actions. Think, would it be annoying if I had to watch someone do this 1000 time a day? If yes, don't do it. Kthxbai.

Whoa, veggies...you can eat those?

Hmm. So there don't seem to be very many motorbike mechanic courses around. In fact, the nearest one seems to be in Saskatchewan. That's on hold for a bit while I think about it, I guess.

Anyway, about actually working. It's simply amazing what sunshine, good sleep, and decent food can do for a person's mood. I've tried living healthily for the last few days, and I must say, I'm feeling pretty kick-ass. You know, spinach and such. Onions. Blueberries. Whatever, it doesn't take much.

Also, my sleep rhythm was completely screwed up due to having the night shift all the time, and then getting randomly shifted to day shift one day per week. It's hell, really. I was going to bed at three am and waking at 1 pm. Yeah, I'm getting enough sleep- actually, I'm getting too much. Who knew? Word to the rest of you- sleeping 13 hours a day won't make you less tired.

Today's shift went alright- the bitchy old ladies seem less so when I can bring myself to greet them with a smile. There's a cute guy who's been making unnecessary trips to the store and getting into my line. There were 8 police cars outside when I knocked off. Yeah, 8. An ambulance, a fire truck, and drug dogs as well. Who knows?

I'm all registered up for courses next fall- can't wait. Got to get an education, got to get a life.

Motorbike Mechanic

Alright, I've decided to become a motorcycle mechanic. I'm still getting my degree in Creative Writing as planned, but I'm going to do this on the side so as to be able to eat. Also, I'm having a hard time actually finding a course in bike repair. I'm going to down to Action Sports and see if the lads in the shop can give me some advice.

I actually ride a motorcycle- or used to, rather. It was a 250 Kawasaki Ninja, about 15 years old but in great shape. I smashed it up about a month ago, though. I sold the wreck for 900, so that's my price range for my next bike. I'm hoping I'll be able to learn something about motorcycle repair so I can fix it myself next time I screw up.

Anyway, another tale of Safeway:
A young man bought a single banana. e paid with exact change- 20 cents, although the banana actually cost 21 cents. He couldn't come up with the final cent. I let him off the hook. As I closed the cash register, the gentleman spotted some sort of organic matter on the conveyor belt. It looked a bit like a pomegranate seed- I'm not really sure what it was. Anyway, he picked it up, looked it over, and popped in his mouth. Yup. Good old Safeway.