GFC.
It always takes me a little mental minute to process acronyms. Whenever someone mentions the GFC my brain kicks into overdrive. Does it stand for Games For Consoles? Gluten Free Cooking? Grease Fried Chips?
Alas, the rather prosaic answer is the Global Financial Crisis. Nothing quite so fun as the other food-related alternatives my mind tossed up.
Anyway, the 'GFC' has meant that consumer spending has dropped, which means that retail stores are laying off staff, cutting hours and slashing wage budgets. Which means that when I walked into work today for my first shift in two weeks, I was apologetically informed that I wouldn't get another shift until the 10th of July. And this shift would be a grand total of three hours. Huzzah.
However, given the lack of consumer enthusiasm, it meant that my Thursday night shift was very very quiet. This was basically my night:
(M is my Manager, AM the Assistant Manager, 3IC the third-in-charge).
5:45 p.m- Arrive early for shift. AM has downloaded two episodes of Season Four of Supernatural on his iPhone for my viewing pleasure, so I stand in the backroom annoying M, making little squeaky noises when the little Jensen Ackles on screen lifts up his shirt. I get an inordinate amount of pleasure turning the iPhone upside-down so the image rotates too. Why doesn't everything come with built-in accelerators?!
5:55 p.m- M and AM start humming. They enjoy stringing my name along to the Spiderman theme, probably because my full name has three syllables and the tune is as catchy as anything.
6:00 p.m- Shift starts. 3IC is having a teary argument because apparently the Area Manager noticed her very frayed pants hems and told M that 3IC must buy new ones. M informs 3IC that if she doesn't get new pants and comply with uniform standards he can send her home for her next shift. 3IC threatens to call the Union, because obviously the Union does not have better things to do with its time than look at people's trousers.
6:25 p.m- M gives 3IC way too much leeway. I make a mental note that tears will get you out of anything. M and 3IC leave.
6:45 p.m- Colleague is stuck with an Asian woman and her two kids trying to haggle down the price of some kind of robot kit with Bluetooth capabilities. In three years, I have never seen a customer successfully put that thing together. The control box always karks it or something.
7:00 p.m- Am stuck with someone looking for Components. Crap it.
7:05 p.m- Have located a crystal earpiece, but am now combing the Components area for bloody ferrite rods.
7:10 p.m- I emerge triumpantly from the midst of fuses and resistors with three ferrite rods, only to be told that they're not suitable because they lack coils. Why do ferrite rods have coils?! It's a rod! It's ferrite! Why add coils to it's rodly goodness? AARGH.
7:15 p.m- Am now stuck looking in the diodes section for some kind of obscure diode. I hate diodes.
7:18 p.m- Asian woman still haggling.
7:20 p.m- Find a dude roaming the tools section looking for an AV switch. Dump him in front of the right section while discreetly checking him out. Final verdict: nah.
7:25 p.m- Asian woman still haggling.
7:30 p.m- Another customer wants to know if he can ask a tricky question. I say sure- he's holding a SCART-3RGB adaptor, it's not like there's anything else he needs to know about. Except:
"Is it bi-directional?"
EH?!
7:32 p.m- Apparently bi-directional is just a fancy name for input/output. Point-of-Sale database, how I love thee.
7:45 p.m- Boss brings me giant coffee, latte with two sugars. Wish my favourite barista was working so we could bitch about the trials of law school during the coffee-making process. Ooh, it's a large coffee. Daphne the Caffeine Squirrel ain't gettin' any sleep tonight.
7:50 p.m- AM hooks up his iPhone to a 22" Samsung in the back room and Jensen's glorious visage fills the screen. Were my life a Stephenie Meyer novel, I would be gasping at his smouldering dark eyes and chiselled chest, thinking how sweet and intoxicating his breath would be and bemoaning my own feeble insignificance next to his heartbreaking beauty.
AM tells me to stop drooling.
7:53 p.m- Jensen is sharpening a knife. How manly he looks in his singlet and his gun arsenal.
7:54 p.m- AM asks me if I can blow up some more balloons for the sale display.
7:56 p.m- Have filled the last two minutes with blow-related jokes.
7:59 p.m- I attempt to earnestly give a brief etymology lesson to AM by arguing that the word 'erect' cannot be used in relation to a balloon, as 'erect' implies something being built from foundations or rising up, and really, the word 'inflate' is more appropriate. What can't you do with a B.A in English?
8:00 p.m- AM decides to test out iPhone and component cable on a larger LCD screen. Am impressed that such a compressed file can be shown in clear 576p. Have reevaluated my scorn of the iPhone, but I still wouldn't get one.
8:30 p.m- Remember that my coffee is still sitting out the back. Coffee is duly sculled, luke-warm and all, but still coffee.
8:45 p.m- Almost home time!
9:00 p.m- End of shift.
And they pay me $21/hr for this* :D
*Well, in the good old days when I had weekly shifts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
The Miracle Cure-All
Today, I had a headache. I blamed it on the early morning start at the legal centre and the fact that we had NO clients, so I was doing filework all morning, staring at the computer screen while trying to figure out how superannuation works in matters of divorce.
In the afternoon, I tried:
1. Drinking more water
2. Drinking green tea with lemon
3. Eating
4. Eating something with sugar
5. Eating something high in sodium
6. Eating something else just because I wanted to
7. Taking paracetamol
8. Playing Rainbox Six Vegas 2 and getting myself repeatedly killed
9. Eating (again)
10. Sprawling on my sister's bed interrupting her study session and thumping my head repeatedly on her mattress to the sound of my own wailing
Then I had to go to work.
Now that I'm doing an average of 3-5 hours a week, instead of 30, I'm finding work much more relaxing- a sort of antidote to law school. Of course, working full-time in the holidays really did suck, so I suppose absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that jazz. I don't know how my managers put up with the weekly tirade that follows their innocent question of, "How's uni?"and I sure as hell don't know why they bother to listen, but it's nice to get an outside perspective on things.
Anyway, headache persisted until I was about to get another paracetamol from my bag- it's a giant tote that I discovered is actually giving me back pain in my left side, that's how much crap I stuff into it on a daily basis- when my assistant manager (bless him) shoved a $20 note and a loyalty card at me and told me to get coffee.
Coffee.
COFFEE.
So we got coffee.
And headache DISAPPEARED.
Gone. Dissipated. Goooooone.
Which just goes to show that coffee is a miracle panacea and the most amazing thing ever.
(And also why I'm awake and blogging at 12:48 a.m in the morning.)
And yes, this is yet another of my 'Coffee is the Best Thing Ever' posts...prepare to see quite a few of them in the lead-up to exams...
In the afternoon, I tried:
1. Drinking more water
2. Drinking green tea with lemon
3. Eating
4. Eating something with sugar
5. Eating something high in sodium
6. Eating something else just because I wanted to
7. Taking paracetamol
8. Playing Rainbox Six Vegas 2 and getting myself repeatedly killed
9. Eating (again)
10. Sprawling on my sister's bed interrupting her study session and thumping my head repeatedly on her mattress to the sound of my own wailing
Then I had to go to work.
Now that I'm doing an average of 3-5 hours a week, instead of 30, I'm finding work much more relaxing- a sort of antidote to law school. Of course, working full-time in the holidays really did suck, so I suppose absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that jazz. I don't know how my managers put up with the weekly tirade that follows their innocent question of, "How's uni?"and I sure as hell don't know why they bother to listen, but it's nice to get an outside perspective on things.
Anyway, headache persisted until I was about to get another paracetamol from my bag- it's a giant tote that I discovered is actually giving me back pain in my left side, that's how much crap I stuff into it on a daily basis- when my assistant manager (bless him) shoved a $20 note and a loyalty card at me and told me to get coffee.
Coffee.
COFFEE.
So we got coffee.
And headache DISAPPEARED.
Gone. Dissipated. Goooooone.
Which just goes to show that coffee is a miracle panacea and the most amazing thing ever.
(And also why I'm awake and blogging at 12:48 a.m in the morning.)
And yes, this is yet another of my 'Coffee is the Best Thing Ever' posts...prepare to see quite a few of them in the lead-up to exams...
Sunday, October 12, 2008
But I said, "No, no, no..."
Tomorrow, I am doing a little moonlighting as a computer technician.
Actually, 'technician' is the wrong word. 'Technician' would be implying that I am actually competent in that field.
And that is a LIE.
So let me rephrase that- tomorrow, I am masquerading as a computer technician.
So this could go down very, very badly.
And this is why I should just keep my mouth shut.
So why take on the job, you ask?
Well...let me tell you a story...
When I was but a lass of seventeen, I was desperate for a job. Even McDonalds didn't hire me, so I really only had two choices- prostitution or telemarketing...cos really, those are the only two careers where you don't really need experience to get a foot in the door...
...needless to say, I chose the latter :P
Please not that I really only suffered through five days of telemarketing, only two of which were on the phones. It was, quite frankly, "solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short," with emphasis on the 'short' part. I actually did quite well, but I hated it with such a passion that I quit immediately after I'd finished the five-day training sessions.
Except...my mother was deeply affected by my plaintive tale of telemarketing woe. So much so that now she actually exhibits sympathy for telemarketers. In fact, she now exhibits sympathy for anyone trying to sell her anything. As she said to me, "Oh, but I was thinking, 'This could be Daphne' and I felt really sorry for her..."
"Mum, I only did five days of telemarketing. Not even that- only TWO days on the actual phones!"
"It doesn't matter, I still thought of you with your little childish voice asking for donations..."
And that mentality has just made her WEAK.
Let me just cite three examples off the top of my head:
The first incident happened when she got a young girl on the phone asking her to sell tickets for an epilepsy raffle. "I thought of you in your telemarketing days," says mother, and so she caved.
Now, the Epilepsy Foundation will not leave us alone.
Secondly, one day she returned from shopping with a bizarre chicken strudel.
"This is random," says I. "Why'd you get one of these?'
"They're new. The girl at Lenards was trying so hard to get me to buy one. I thought of you trying to get a sale and I felt really sorry for her."
"Right. So you bought a strudel."
"Yes."
"Oookay..."
Probably the most impressive one was when she was swayed by the over-eager desperation of the commission-based World Vision girl at a shopping centre- "She was so desperate, and I thought of you trying to get a sale..."
So she adopted a child.
And now I have an adopted little sister in Bangladesh.
Anyway, the point of my story was this- I've been ridiculing her for this weakness, but today I was coerced into saying yes simply because the desperate woman in front of me was my Mum's age, also Asian, and completely hopeless with computers.
Just like my Mummy.
And I thought, "What if it were my Mum seeking out computer help and everyone wanted to charge her $98 just to look at her PC?"
So I caved.
Sigh.
Anyhow...from what I gathered, her computer just seems to be low on virtual memory. So I figured that all I have to do is delete some shit on her hard drive and browser cache and increase the size of her paging file.
I think.
I mean, if it turns out to be anything harder than that I am royally, royally, screwed.
At any rate, it wasn't just the fact that she reminded me of Mum that made me say yes...she also looked at me desperately and said, "I'll pay you whatever you want. Anything!"
And y'know, that might have swayed me.
Just a little.
Actually, 'technician' is the wrong word. 'Technician' would be implying that I am actually competent in that field.
And that is a LIE.
So let me rephrase that- tomorrow, I am masquerading as a computer technician.
So this could go down very, very badly.
And this is why I should just keep my mouth shut.
So why take on the job, you ask?
Well...let me tell you a story...
When I was but a lass of seventeen, I was desperate for a job. Even McDonalds didn't hire me, so I really only had two choices- prostitution or telemarketing...cos really, those are the only two careers where you don't really need experience to get a foot in the door...
...needless to say, I chose the latter :P
Please not that I really only suffered through five days of telemarketing, only two of which were on the phones. It was, quite frankly, "solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short," with emphasis on the 'short' part. I actually did quite well, but I hated it with such a passion that I quit immediately after I'd finished the five-day training sessions.
Except...my mother was deeply affected by my plaintive tale of telemarketing woe. So much so that now she actually exhibits sympathy for telemarketers. In fact, she now exhibits sympathy for anyone trying to sell her anything. As she said to me, "Oh, but I was thinking, 'This could be Daphne' and I felt really sorry for her..."
"Mum, I only did five days of telemarketing. Not even that- only TWO days on the actual phones!"
"It doesn't matter, I still thought of you with your little childish voice asking for donations..."
And that mentality has just made her WEAK.
Let me just cite three examples off the top of my head:
The first incident happened when she got a young girl on the phone asking her to sell tickets for an epilepsy raffle. "I thought of you in your telemarketing days," says mother, and so she caved.
Now, the Epilepsy Foundation will not leave us alone.
Secondly, one day she returned from shopping with a bizarre chicken strudel.
"This is random," says I. "Why'd you get one of these?'
"They're new. The girl at Lenards was trying so hard to get me to buy one. I thought of you trying to get a sale and I felt really sorry for her."
"Right. So you bought a strudel."
"Yes."
"Oookay..."
Probably the most impressive one was when she was swayed by the over-eager desperation of the commission-based World Vision girl at a shopping centre- "She was so desperate, and I thought of you trying to get a sale..."
So she adopted a child.
And now I have an adopted little sister in Bangladesh.
Anyway, the point of my story was this- I've been ridiculing her for this weakness, but today I was coerced into saying yes simply because the desperate woman in front of me was my Mum's age, also Asian, and completely hopeless with computers.
Just like my Mummy.
And I thought, "What if it were my Mum seeking out computer help and everyone wanted to charge her $98 just to look at her PC?"
So I caved.
Sigh.
Anyhow...from what I gathered, her computer just seems to be low on virtual memory. So I figured that all I have to do is delete some shit on her hard drive and browser cache and increase the size of her paging file.
I think.
I mean, if it turns out to be anything harder than that I am royally, royally, screwed.
At any rate, it wasn't just the fact that she reminded me of Mum that made me say yes...she also looked at me desperately and said, "I'll pay you whatever you want. Anything!"
And y'know, that might have swayed me.
Just a little.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Jerks and Dickwads
"Well, animals are not like people, Mrs. Simpson. Some of them act badly because they've had a hard life, or have been mistreated...but, like people, some of them are just jerks."
Today, I was forced to serve a pompous jerk of a customer.
Firstly, let me just say this- I have a lot of respect for the elderly. Really, I do. And yes, calling an elderly person a pompous dickwad really does not sit right with me, but in this case I think I was somewhat justified.
So this man comes up to the counter, and wants to get a personal digital recorder. Fair enough (except I hate digital recorders with a passion. For some reason, that sale category just seems to attract morons and incompetent people who CANNOT READ INSTRUCTIONS. Even when the manual comes in seven different languages.)
Anyway, I try to open the cabinet- but the work cabinets often stick and they're difficult to get open. The old pompous guy stands behind me and says something like, "You shouldn't force it, you're young, you should know better."
Meantime, I'm pushing at the glass door thinking, "What the fuck is he on about?"
(Had this been spoken by my 3IC, it would have probably devolved into an extremely immature conversation about sticking things into slots.)
Then later on, as I'm asking him whether he wants the extended warranty, he says, "You've got to be kidding me about that stupid marketing bullshit."
I said, very politely, that I saw no problems with extended warranties and that I actually do take them out myself. Which is absolutely true- they're brilliant for iPods, and I bought one for my Xbox 360. They are a total waste of money on stuff like small radios and printers, and if you get one on a television that doesn't cover dead pixels you're practically throwing your money away...but they come in handy for other things. The XBox warranty was actually a tactical decision- I figured that if anything went wrong, the replacement might end up being an XBox Elite. Tee hee hee.
Anyway, the old guy's response was something along the lines of, "Well, then you're a gullible idiot for falling for that marketing crap."
This made me a little pissed off.
I take very, VERY badly to people insulting my intelligence. I also take very badly to people who address me in an extremely rude fashion. And I can make my own damn decisions, thank you very much. Especially when it comes to the electronics industry, which I have worked in for the past two years.
Except that I work in the retail part of this industry. And you have to be nice. So I pointed out, POLITELY, that I have a sharper marketing sense than that. What I wanted to say was something along the lines of I'M DOING A FUCKING LAW DEGREE YOU ASSHOLE, D'YOU RECKON I CAN FORM MY OWN BLOODY LINE OF REASONING?!
He also read my name badge and said, not in a particularly polite way, "You don't look like a Daphne."
Which coming from him, sounded fairly perjorative, with possibly racist undertones. In my old branch, I used to have to put up with moronic dialogue like:
"Daphne...is that your real name?"
"Yes."
"No, is it your REAL name?"
"YES." (Are you an idiot, woman?)
"No, but is it the name you were born with?"
"YES. IT'S ON MY BIRTH CERTIFICATE, I'D SAY IT'S MY NAME." (Politely.)
"Because sometimes Chinese people come over and take a different name..."
AAAARGGGGHHH.
Born. Here. In. Australia. Get. Over. It.
Do I SOUND like I'm fresh off the boat? Nooooooo.
Except I bit my tongue and said, "Well...that's the first time anyone's ever said that."
(YOU MORON.)
I don't care what race you are, how old you are, what religion you are...a jerk is still a jerk.
On the other hand, towards the end of my shift, six hours later, a Chinese man came in with his little three year old girl, clinging to his leg. When it was time to leave the counter, I waved down at her. She stopped, then smiled, and waved back. (My heart melted. Right then and there.) But she didn't stop there- after another moment of deliberation, she smiled shyly and blew me a kiss. I blew her a kiss back, in front of the entire waiting queue- because if a gorgeous little child like that can show such affection for a complete stranger, the dickwads and jerks of this world have a lot to learn.
And you know what? I don't have to even think about work for the next week. As of tomorrow, I'm on ANNUAL LEAVE.
No customers for an entire eleven days.
Off to sunny New South Wales, then four glorious days off for sleeping in, coffee-drinking and relaxing.
Current mood? Happy :)
Today, I was forced to serve a pompous jerk of a customer.
Firstly, let me just say this- I have a lot of respect for the elderly. Really, I do. And yes, calling an elderly person a pompous dickwad really does not sit right with me, but in this case I think I was somewhat justified.
So this man comes up to the counter, and wants to get a personal digital recorder. Fair enough (except I hate digital recorders with a passion. For some reason, that sale category just seems to attract morons and incompetent people who CANNOT READ INSTRUCTIONS. Even when the manual comes in seven different languages.)
Anyway, I try to open the cabinet- but the work cabinets often stick and they're difficult to get open. The old pompous guy stands behind me and says something like, "You shouldn't force it, you're young, you should know better."
Meantime, I'm pushing at the glass door thinking, "What the fuck is he on about?"
(Had this been spoken by my 3IC, it would have probably devolved into an extremely immature conversation about sticking things into slots.)
Then later on, as I'm asking him whether he wants the extended warranty, he says, "You've got to be kidding me about that stupid marketing bullshit."
I said, very politely, that I saw no problems with extended warranties and that I actually do take them out myself. Which is absolutely true- they're brilliant for iPods, and I bought one for my Xbox 360. They are a total waste of money on stuff like small radios and printers, and if you get one on a television that doesn't cover dead pixels you're practically throwing your money away...but they come in handy for other things. The XBox warranty was actually a tactical decision- I figured that if anything went wrong, the replacement might end up being an XBox Elite. Tee hee hee.
Anyway, the old guy's response was something along the lines of, "Well, then you're a gullible idiot for falling for that marketing crap."
This made me a little pissed off.
I take very, VERY badly to people insulting my intelligence. I also take very badly to people who address me in an extremely rude fashion. And I can make my own damn decisions, thank you very much. Especially when it comes to the electronics industry, which I have worked in for the past two years.
Except that I work in the retail part of this industry. And you have to be nice. So I pointed out, POLITELY, that I have a sharper marketing sense than that. What I wanted to say was something along the lines of I'M DOING A FUCKING LAW DEGREE YOU ASSHOLE, D'YOU RECKON I CAN FORM MY OWN BLOODY LINE OF REASONING?!
He also read my name badge and said, not in a particularly polite way, "You don't look like a Daphne."
Which coming from him, sounded fairly perjorative, with possibly racist undertones. In my old branch, I used to have to put up with moronic dialogue like:
"Daphne...is that your real name?"
"Yes."
"No, is it your REAL name?"
"YES." (Are you an idiot, woman?)
"No, but is it the name you were born with?"
"YES. IT'S ON MY BIRTH CERTIFICATE, I'D SAY IT'S MY NAME." (Politely.)
"Because sometimes Chinese people come over and take a different name..."
AAAARGGGGHHH.
Born. Here. In. Australia. Get. Over. It.
Do I SOUND like I'm fresh off the boat? Nooooooo.
Except I bit my tongue and said, "Well...that's the first time anyone's ever said that."
(YOU MORON.)
I don't care what race you are, how old you are, what religion you are...a jerk is still a jerk.
On the other hand, towards the end of my shift, six hours later, a Chinese man came in with his little three year old girl, clinging to his leg. When it was time to leave the counter, I waved down at her. She stopped, then smiled, and waved back. (My heart melted. Right then and there.) But she didn't stop there- after another moment of deliberation, she smiled shyly and blew me a kiss. I blew her a kiss back, in front of the entire waiting queue- because if a gorgeous little child like that can show such affection for a complete stranger, the dickwads and jerks of this world have a lot to learn.
And you know what? I don't have to even think about work for the next week. As of tomorrow, I'm on ANNUAL LEAVE.
No customers for an entire eleven days.
Off to sunny New South Wales, then four glorious days off for sleeping in, coffee-drinking and relaxing.
Current mood? Happy :)
Sunday, June 8, 2008
SWOTVAC HAIKU!
I think the multiple coffees I had at work have KICKED IN!!!
An ode to Victorian legislation everywhere!!!
Printing you destroys good trees
This is ironic.
The Sale of Land Act
Is irrelevant to me-
I'll live in a tent.
New laser printer
Sounds like a TARDIS humming
(No sexy doctor.)
An ode to Victorian legislation everywhere!!!
Domestic stapler
Has met unstapleable foe-
Transfer of Land Act.
Printing you destroys good trees
This is ironic.
The Sale of Land Act
Is irrelevant to me-
I'll live in a tent.
New laser printer
Sounds like a TARDIS humming
(No sexy doctor.)
Saturday, June 7, 2008
The Mysterious Allure of André Rieu
A funny thing happened at work today.
An elderly man came in wanting to swap his faulty DVD player for a better one. "No worries," says I, "Try this LG one if you want to play DVD-R discs."
Elderly customer would like to test out his DVD-Rs (which he has conveniently brought into the store). The LG player was set up next to this massive 50" Samsung LCD in the front window. It's a beast of a screen...and he tested out a burned copy of André Rieu in concert.
Yes. André Rieu.
André Rieu is a concert violinist. I'm not sure how or why he is so popular, but every woman above 65 seems to think he is sex on legs...sex on legs with a fiddle. (I use the word 'fiddle' in the most literal sense.)
As soon as I popped in the disc of André Rieu, every elderly person in a 10m radius GRAVITATED towards the screen like moths to a flame. Flies to a honey pot. Me to a stocktake sale.
And they just stared.
Stared at André Rieu waving as he wandered his way up to the stage. Stared as he flashed his pearly whites and waved once more. Stared as he started to play.
It was really odd, watching all these elderly people standing transfixed in front of the screen.
Especially because André Rieu is just. not. attractive. (dodges barrage of flying handbags and walking canes)
Especially not when his image has been upscaled in a most unflattering way on a large television.
Strange. Very, very strange.
An elderly man came in wanting to swap his faulty DVD player for a better one. "No worries," says I, "Try this LG one if you want to play DVD-R discs."
Elderly customer would like to test out his DVD-Rs (which he has conveniently brought into the store). The LG player was set up next to this massive 50" Samsung LCD in the front window. It's a beast of a screen...and he tested out a burned copy of André Rieu in concert.
Yes. André Rieu.
André Rieu is a concert violinist. I'm not sure how or why he is so popular, but every woman above 65 seems to think he is sex on legs...sex on legs with a fiddle. (I use the word 'fiddle' in the most literal sense.)
As soon as I popped in the disc of André Rieu, every elderly person in a 10m radius GRAVITATED towards the screen like moths to a flame. Flies to a honey pot. Me to a stocktake sale.
And they just stared.
Stared at André Rieu waving as he wandered his way up to the stage. Stared as he flashed his pearly whites and waved once more. Stared as he started to play.
It was really odd, watching all these elderly people standing transfixed in front of the screen.
Especially because André Rieu is just. not. attractive. (dodges barrage of flying handbags and walking canes)
Especially not when his image has been upscaled in a most unflattering way on a large television.
Strange. Very, very strange.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Little Mucus Update
I just thought I'd give you a little update on my Week-Of-Unwanted-Contact-With-Other-People's-Bodily-Fluids.
Because one of my colleagues SNEEZED on me today.
And not just a general sneeze in my direction, I felt a disgusting splattering of wet droplets on my left cheek.
Did I freak out?
Of course.
I also might have shrieked something along the lines of, "I hate you!" but y'know, I didn't really mean it.
After he'd sneezed on me, after I'd recoiled in absolute horror, my assistant manager told me he'd take over my customer and to go and wash my face.
But I couldn't, because I had carefully-applied foundation on my left cheek that was also concealing a spot, so it was really a toss-up between vanity and hygiene.
So I dabbed water (oh so carefully) on my left cheek, hoping that it wouldn't make the foundation go all weird, and patted it dry with a paper towel, mentally reminding myself to disinfect my face in the shower when I got home.
(Be assured that cleanser and exfoliater was duly applied later that evening.)
First blood, then two days later, nose mucus in droplet form. And these things come in threes...
Why are people so disgusting?!
Because one of my colleagues SNEEZED on me today.
And not just a general sneeze in my direction, I felt a disgusting splattering of wet droplets on my left cheek.
Did I freak out?
Of course.
I also might have shrieked something along the lines of, "I hate you!" but y'know, I didn't really mean it.
After he'd sneezed on me, after I'd recoiled in absolute horror, my assistant manager told me he'd take over my customer and to go and wash my face.
But I couldn't, because I had carefully-applied foundation on my left cheek that was also concealing a spot, so it was really a toss-up between vanity and hygiene.
So I dabbed water (oh so carefully) on my left cheek, hoping that it wouldn't make the foundation go all weird, and patted it dry with a paper towel, mentally reminding myself to disinfect my face in the shower when I got home.
(Be assured that cleanser and exfoliater was duly applied later that evening.)
First blood, then two days later, nose mucus in droplet form. And these things come in threes...
Why are people so disgusting?!
Friday, April 25, 2008
Bloody Hell
Customers are disgusting.
An Asian woman came in to buy a phone cable today. At the counter, I picked up the item and thought "Huh, why is this wet?"
And then the customer brushed some hair out of her eyes, and left blood on her forehead. And on her chin.
And I was about to say something, but then I looked down at my hands and realised that the wet stuff was in actual fact, her blood.
Her blood.
On my HANDS.
AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH.
Then she realised she was bleeding. While I was mentally hyperventilating. At her blood. Smeared on MY HANDS.
AAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHHH.
So the stupid twit had cut herself while cooking. And she hadn't realised it. And despite the fact that it was bleeding quite happily, and it must have hurt, she still hadn't realised it. And so not only did she get to smear some on her face, but also when she picked up the phone cable, thus transferring the blood to my hands. Oh, and the EFTPOS machine. And the pen she used to sign.
I said to her, quite calmly, "I'll go get you a Band-Aid from the First-Aid kit."
And then I ran to the staff room and did a Lady Macbeth, running to the sink and scrubbing furiously at my hands with antibacterial gel, because who knows what kinds of things people harbour in their haemoglobin?!
Plus, I was seriously, seriously grossed out.
Bodily fluids just do not belong on a store counter.
I got her a Band-Aid, then scampered away to the storeroom to have a hysterical bitch to my assistant manager, who kindly provided me with several strips of 70% isopropyl wipes so I could disinfect the counter.
I cleaned the EFTPOS machine, the counter, and the keyboards with that wonderful wonderful cleaning alcohol.
You probably think I'm being paranoid, but it was just feeling that wetness and then realising what it was that made it all the worse.
And the moral of the story today is: Beware customers with open wounds.
Also, some people are twits. But count that as obiter.
An Asian woman came in to buy a phone cable today. At the counter, I picked up the item and thought "Huh, why is this wet?"
And then the customer brushed some hair out of her eyes, and left blood on her forehead. And on her chin.
And I was about to say something, but then I looked down at my hands and realised that the wet stuff was in actual fact, her blood.
Her blood.
On my HANDS.
AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH.
Then she realised she was bleeding. While I was mentally hyperventilating. At her blood. Smeared on MY HANDS.
AAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHHH.
So the stupid twit had cut herself while cooking. And she hadn't realised it. And despite the fact that it was bleeding quite happily, and it must have hurt, she still hadn't realised it. And so not only did she get to smear some on her face, but also when she picked up the phone cable, thus transferring the blood to my hands. Oh, and the EFTPOS machine. And the pen she used to sign.
I said to her, quite calmly, "I'll go get you a Band-Aid from the First-Aid kit."
And then I ran to the staff room and did a Lady Macbeth, running to the sink and scrubbing furiously at my hands with antibacterial gel, because who knows what kinds of things people harbour in their haemoglobin?!
Plus, I was seriously, seriously grossed out.
Bodily fluids just do not belong on a store counter.
I got her a Band-Aid, then scampered away to the storeroom to have a hysterical bitch to my assistant manager, who kindly provided me with several strips of 70% isopropyl wipes so I could disinfect the counter.
I cleaned the EFTPOS machine, the counter, and the keyboards with that wonderful wonderful cleaning alcohol.
You probably think I'm being paranoid, but it was just feeling that wetness and then realising what it was that made it all the worse.
And the moral of the story today is: Beware customers with open wounds.
Also, some people are twits. But count that as obiter.
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