I didn’t even post anything today – well, with the exception of this – and I got over 1500 hits.

I think it’s because Jeopardy was a repeat (Power Players week) and I already had it posted from May.

I had that Little Edie’s voice from Gray Gardens stuck in my head all day. It was quite annoying. Any time that I thought ANYTHING, it came out in her voice. Strange.

How big of a bonehead do you actually have to be to let this happen?

I like this.

If you stare at it too long, this is what happens to you.

Putting a Band-Aid on the Efforts of the Dilatory

Yesterday, when I was a work (part-time; I’m pretty much retired), and trying to help a lady from India pick out a wedding present for the daughter of an aquaintance (that she hadn’t seen in about 20 years), my manager approached me and said that she needed a favor. Apparently, the new guy, (insert generic employee name here … _____ ), who was supposed to be unboxing the new products and organizing the stockroom, just left without checking with the manager. She said that she needed for me to put a ‘band-aid’ on his work. I guess that means that his work wasn’t up to par. So, I left the sales floor and went to take a look.

Hmmmm… interesting. “It kind of looks like the aftermath of the Joplin tornado”, I said.
She didn’t get it. That’s okay. They never do.

Again, she asked, “So, can you put a band-aid on it”? (In other words, fix another employee’s mess)

“A BAND-AID? Honey, this shit needs Dr. Victor Frankenstein and about one million volts of electricity to bring it back to life!”

Again, the puzzled look.

“Yeah, I can do it”

“Thanks, you’re the best”! *She puts up her hand for the high five*

I high-fived

I spent the next 2 1/2 hours breaking down boxes, trying to find a way to put them into an already overloaded dumpster (vaguely commensurate with trying to solve a Chinese Linking Ring puzzle), carefully taking broken glass out of an overly-heaped ‘broken glass only!’ trash can and transferring it to a dumpster that is not the one designated for ‘boxes only’ (which other employees totally ignore), trying NOT to slice my wrists with the box cutter, listening to the incessant honking from the cars at the car wash next door (a cacophony of sounds reminiscent of a Edgard Varese composition), smelling the not-really-that-up-to-par Mexican food from the food truck that is located in the car wash parking lot (I would equate it with a Smell-O-Rama version of The Jungle by Upton Sinclair), jumping into the trash dumpster and trying to squish the boxes down just ONE more inch so that I could close the lid (which would have been much easier if I hadn’t lost that 50 lbs. last spring), reorganizing the area of the stockroom known as the cage (which I have stated in another post could double as a torture room set in one of those SAW movies), sweeping the floor with a broom about the size of one that you would find in a Barbie Dream House ( because somebody broke the big, long, ‘covers a lot of area at once’ broom)… and about 10 other tasks that, when accomplished, would get me at least to the final 5 on a season of Survivor.

Of course, during all of that I hear “Bob, how’s it coming?”, every five minutes.

“It’s fine”.
aside: Now quit bugging me.

So, I was finally finished. It looked neat and orderly and like I had spent time in the Military (which I haven’t).

So, what did I get for all of that?
Well, I got another high five.
I got, “OMG, you’re so great. It looks fabulous. I love you”
I got… drumroll please…”Now I know who to go to whenever we need messes fixed”.

That’s right, just call me Bob, the factotum. I fix the messes of the lackadaisical and dilatory. Just ask any of my past employers and co-workers.

There is a lesson in there, you know. A lesson that quite a few people learn early in life, but here it is 55 years later and I still haven’t learned it.

If you don’t want to spend your life doing prosaic and pedestrian tasks, then do them half-assed the first time. That way you don’t become the go-to-guy when other lazy-asses screw the shit up.

Of course, my 9th grade Civics teacher would be proud of my efforts. He always said that I was a ‘good citizen’ (yay me).

P.S. Don’t get me wrong. I was satisfied with my efforts and final results. Doing your best should always be what you strive for.)


Sometimes, people’s comments are so obnoxius that it kind of makes you not want to do a blog. Or at least set it all to private. I do my blog mostly for me. I don’t have some great, inspirational message to send out. I don’t have fabulous bits of wisdom to dole out that are going to change people’s lives (if anything, it would make them more dysfunctional). I just do it for my own entertainment. I post stuff that I like, or that I can use for future reference. But, someone always wants to try to spoil it.

Yeah, I know that there are people like that all over the place. Even before the internet there were those obnoxious psychic vampires. Those people who do nothing but go around trying to suck the life out of everyone. They’re like pesky gnats; I abhor them.

Anyway, I guess what I really wanted to say in this post to those obnoxious commentors was… Fuck you. Bite me. Eat shit. Drop dead. Go to hell.

I THOUGHT it was a good idea.

So, I came up with this idea that I thought was so original. A pillow that plays music. You know, to listen to while you are falling asleep. I got the idea when I decided to stick my iphone between a large folded over pillow. When you lay your head on the pillow (with the ear on the pillow as you are laying on your side), it kind of sounds like the music is in your head. I finally decided that I’d better go online and see if it had already been done. It had. I was like, “damn, that sucks”. It was basically the same idea that I had come up with; an iphone or ipod stuck in a pillow. They even had one that you could connect to a radio. Anyway, I scrapped that idea. I guess that I’m going to have to think of something different.

Why is there blood on my keyboard?

So, in addition to all of the other crap that I do, I also have a part-time job at a famous retail outlet that specializes in IMPORTS that apparently come from a PIER. Only, it’s not really part-time because I usually get asked to work on my days off. Technically, I am considered a store associate, but in reality, I’m the store bitch (because I’m the only guy and I’m supposed to know how to do everything that guys are stereotypically supposed to know how to do).

Currently, we are do a transition from Summer to Fall. The transition process usually happens on the weekend after the store closes. So far, everytime that I’ve been scheduled for the transition, I have worked 4 to 5 hours past my scheduled time with, at the most, one ten minute break.

Last night, my shift started at 7. I was supposed to work until midnight. At 5 am I was still there. The people who had come in at midnight were already gone.

My first task of the evening was disassembling and reassembling shelfs on the wall for the imported carpets and rugs. The same carpets and rugs that end up on the floor and block the aisles 5 minutes after the store is opened in the morning (People don’t like to put shit back on the shelf after they have looked at it). The diagram for the wall of shelves showed 9 shelves. We only had six of that size in the store. I was instructed that the wall was supposed to look EXACTLY as it did in the diagram. I guess that I was supposed to pull 3 additional shelves out of my ass. Normally, that task (with the CORRECT number of shelves) takes about an hour. Fifteen minutes after I started, I was asked if I was finished yet (No, I’m still trying to find those 3 shelves in my ass). Eventually I was told, “Okay, I guess were just going to have to go with that”.

Next, I was supposed to climb on a ladder and hang a bunch of lanterns and cutesy owls from the ceiling. I should have used the 7 rung ladder, but little Sally Sue, or whatever her name is, was using it to climb one rung to put crap on a shelf in the candle department. So, I used the 5 rung ladder and needed every rung (even though the employee safety manual says to never climb past the 3rd rung on the 5 rung ladder). After I hung all of the lanterns and cutesy owls to the satisfaction of manager B, manager A comes along and says that they all need to be moved. So, I had to precariously climb the ladder, unhook everything, and redo it.

My next task was putting together an all-purpose end table. Before I even got it out of the box, manager B was was asking, “How’s that table coming? Are you almost finished’?

My next task was going into the cage, and finding small, medium and large pedestals to store all of the new stuff. The cage is it the back of the stockroom and partially outside. There is no light in the cage. There’s also a bunch of crap in there and it’s almost impossible to move around. Most of the stuff I needed was WAY in the back, in the bowels of hell. Getting through the maze of the cage is kind of like getting through on of those torture rooms designed by the creepy puppet guy in the SAW movies. When I was finally able to find an item I needed, it would usually fall apart the second I tried to drag it through the maze of the cage. Three hours later, when I was finally able to drag everything out of there that was needed, my hands felt like they had gone through a meat grinder. In the daylight, I’m sure that there will be certain areas in the back of the cage that look like a CSI Crime Scene, because of the bloody handprints left behind on broken shelves and boards with exposed screws (that I couldn’t see because, like I said, it’s dark in there).

After my time in the cage, I had about 8 other tasks involving ladders too short, boards, shelfs, moving heavy crap, etc. I won’t go into them because my time is limited. After 2 hours of sleep (which would have been 3 if I hadn’t done this post – call me a masochist), I have to go in and unload a truck with about 20 feet worth of new merchandise. I then have to unbox everything and put it away. It’s my day off. LIke I said, I’m the store bitch.