I just wikipedia’d pringles. That’s something that I just did. Nobody in the history of the world has ever wanted to know about the history of pringles. It remains a mystery as to who actually wrote the wikipedia page. But I just read it. Halfway through the article I realized that I had already wikipedia’d pringles earlier in my lifetime. That’s how bored I am right now, and what scares me more is that I’ve been this bored before. And now, because of my utter boredom I am writing a blog about it. If someone had a camera on me all day at work it would be the best/worst thing ever made. I think people would be mesmerized by what I do out of sheer boredom on a day-to-day basis. One time, a coworker told me to stop using post-its because it was hurting the environment. So now I use post-its for almost anything that pops into my head. And then I stick them everywhere around my desk. One of them reads, “Twelve Bagels”, because I was simply thinking to myself one day about what the maximum amount of bagels I could consume without vomiting everywhere was. I do this not to spite her, but out of complete boredom. And this, in some way, brings joy to my day.
My job isn’t the worst place I’ve ever worked. It’s just really really boring. When I was fifteen I worked at a Chik-Fil-A as a cashier. That was where I learned that the world is full of terrible, stupid people. Or terribly stupid people. Or both. It is shocking how stupid people are. Once, a lady came up to me. This was a normal looking lady. She was not insane. She did not have a pack of sixteen cats following her around. She was not wearing a garbage bag and a tinfoil hat. She was just a normal, middle-aged woman. She came up to me and in all seriousness asked, “What’s the difference between the chicken strips, and the chicken nuggets?”
I blinked a few times and responded, “Uhhh, the strips are these long...Strips,” Motioning with my hand, as if I was holding a large chicken strip, “And the nuggets are...little round nuggets of chicken,” I made a little circle with my thumb and index finger.
She got very angry at my response and demanded to speak with my manager. Later, he came up to me and scolded me for talking down to a customer. I facepalmed so hard my hand went through my face and out the back of my head towards the edge of the universe.
That job was pretty terrible. I eventually just quit coming to work because I didn’t feel like it. Little did I know, that would be pretty much how I quit every single job I’d ever have.
Soon after, I moved to the wonderful world of retail. Just kidding, it wasn’t wonderful at all. It was just as terrible as one would think. People yelling at you because the store is sold out of something. Or sneaky customers trying to slap a $0.99 sticker on a $50 dollar item.
I used to work at a large toy-store chain. My particular store was a sort of mega-store. We cut children’s hair, had our own little candy store, and we also threw birthday parties on the weekends. Parents would leave their children with one of our party leaders and they would run around the store, dancing and singing. Afterwards, they would end up in one of the party rooms where they would indulge in pizza and sodas.
It was kind of cute seeing all these happy children running around the store. The only bad part was that during the party, our mascot, Geoffrey the Giraffe would make an appearance. It was this huge giraffe costume, probably 8 feet tall. Whichever poor soul got chosen that day to go to the party had to dress up in this really stinky costume. The bottom portion was really wide, complete with hoof slippers. This made it difficult to walk. The upper-half was this giant giraffe head that had to be worn. There was a little mesh grate in the neck portion that one was supposed to be able to see out of, but it was pretty difficult. So usually the person in the suit would be stumbling all around the store and knocking everything over.
One saturday I’m told to go put the suit on and head over to the party room.
“Great,” I thought. I changed and made my way to the front of the store and entered the room. The kids all gasped and started screaming in delight. I waved my hands and danced around in a circle. They all laughed. Everything was going great.
A few minutes in, this little girl, maybe 8 or 9 walked up to me holding her little baby sister was only a few months old. She walked up to me, arms outstretched, and offered me the kid. I instinctively took the child from her. She then turned around and walked away.
Now, the giraffe costume also had these hoof mitten things that I had to wear. They were huge and bulky and made it difficult to grasp anything.. So I was standing there, arms outstretched holding this little baby. I had no idea what to do. And worse, the child was starting to slip from my hold. I frantically looked around, trying to get one of my coworkers attention, but they were all busy dealing with the party. It kept slipping.
At thas point, I had two choices:
A) let the baby slip from my grasp, thus, ruining the party.
or B) yell for help, breaking the illusion that there was, in fact, a giant dancing giraffe in the party with them.
I chose option B, and yelled, “Can someone take this baby?!”
The room fell silent. All the children were looking at me. Me, with this baby in my awkward hooves. My coworker ran over to me and took the child. Kids began to cry. I try dancing but it did wasn’t doing any good.
I quickly turned and exited the room. I stumbled my way to the break room at the back of the store, ignoring customers and their children as they tried to get my attention. After I undress and put back on my work uniform, my manager came in and told me that I was NEVER to handle a child. Needles to say I was never asked to dress up as a giraffe ever again.
I left that job after my manager accused me of stealing from the register, which wasn’t true. I secretly believe she was the one stealing from it, and pinning it on me.
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