I didn’t think Hell existed until those two hours…

I had a rather frustrating day, and this was the very last thing I did.  This is what happens when you just throw someone into a place they know nothing about.

So a deaf and half blind lady walks into the store at about 11:45.  She has a $5 Bingo card.  You know, the new yellow ones with the extra bingo lines on top? That one.  She lets me know she’s deaf, hands me the ticket, and I validate it (scanned it into the machine and typed in the special numbers).  I tell her it’s $5 and ask if she wants another ticket.  She makes some strange-non-sign-language gestures and I think, “oh, she just wants cash,” and proceed to do the $5 lottery win on the register. As I try to hand her the $5 and ask her if she needs anything else she slams her hand on the counter, makes some noises, snatches the ticket from me, points rather vehemently at it, and throws it back at me. I make the confused face and hand her some paper and a pen. She picks them up and slams them back down and somehow managed to non verbally tell me it should be more than that.  So I try to validate it again and, low-and-behold, “previously paid by you”. So I show her the validation slips and the one that said it was the right thing, and she, again, starts gesticulating wildly and making noses. So I try to explain to her that the computer
is right and she is wrong.  She won’t have it.  So I try to get her to use the self-check-thingy, and she refuses.  So I actually go over the call numbers with her to show her why it’s only $5, and she refuses to believe me.  So now I have a line of 10 people and a rather upset deaf and half blind woman and everyone is extremely frustrated when she grabs the ticket out of my hand and tries to leave.  I start gesticulating wildly and yelling that she can’t do that and to let me call and see what I can do.

So I get out my cell phone (because god forbid we actually have a phone in this piece of shit store that’s actually hearing impaired friendly) and call the G-TECH hotline and start running the only other register we have to knock down the line. So now I’m trying to explain to a half deaf blind woman that her ticket is only worth $5, wait on ten to fifteen people, and explain the situation to the lottery Helpdesk people, all at the same time.  I finally get the line down and the lady transfers me to the local claim center, and I’m trying to explain the situation to the lady on the phone and she’s just not understanding.  She keeps saying, “I don’t understand what the problem is.  The computer says it’s a $5 winner, it’s a $5 winner.”

“Well, ma’am, the customer is saying it should be more than that.”

“How much does the player think it should be?”

“Ma’am, how much do you think it should be?”

So she starts making weird noises and using her not-sign-language-signing to tell me twelve.  No, wait, not twelve, $120. No, wait, not $120 but $130.

“Sir, what game is this?”

“$5 bingo”

“There isn’t a $130 on the $5 bingo.  Flip the card over and show her the winning increments and explain those are the only denominations this game plays out.”

Somehow in the midst of this conversation and being transferred, etc., I went from having no one else in the store to having  a store filled with people! And I’m not talking a line of 20, I’m talking boulder to shoulder, tits to back, all three aisles and the back wall,
people waiting to get in, more than 50 people, above my fire Marshall regulated capacity filled with people. THERE WAS A TEN MINUTE
WAIT!!!

So the player says to go ahead and wait on the customers and the lady on the phone lets me take up her time while I try to knock out this insane line BY MYSELF.  So I’m explaining, while waiting on customers, exactly what’s transpired so this woman knows exactly what’s been going on and why I had to call the claim center in order to have someone explain to me to explain to this player why she only won $5.

So now the line is gone, it’s just us again, and I flip the card over and show her that there is no $130 or $120 winning increments in this game and she starts making noises again and gesticulating and pointing and is almost on the verge of tears and the lady on the phone, in her thick Jersey accent, goes, “oh, you’ve got a real problem there, sir, a real problem.  I can see that now.  Let me call lotto and see if we can’t find a rep in your area to come and help you.  Just give me a couple of minutes.  I need your retailer number and your phone number.”

So I give her all this information while I’m writing down what she told me so this half blind deaf lady understands what’s going on.  It’s now 12:30 and the lunch crowd is there and I, once again, have three lines of about 10-15 people each and can only use the one register. Yay.

So the player is happy and content to wait, and starts going over the ticket again to see if she’s wrong and I start running THE ONLY REGISTER LEFT BECAUSE SHE WON’T LEAVE THE COUNTER AY THE OTHER REGISTER to try to get the lines down. Alone.

So my phone rings with an Austin area code and they tell me they didn’t get my retailer number and that they’re trying to find ANYONE in the area who can come help me.  FINALLY a lady calls me (some district manager) and we go over everything that’s happened and she tells me the woman HAS to take the money because no one else can pay it.  I explain that the woman will not take the money.  She wants what she thinks she won or the ticket.  So she tells me to take her to the self-check-thingy and show her that it’s only $5.  So I do this (walking between my line of thankfully only 10 people) and she is again vehement that it’s more than $5 and the machine is wrong.

So the woman tells me the player can go to the claim center and contest it, to give her the player copy of the validation and keep mine, separate, because she will eventually have to come back and get her money from us because NO ONE ELSE CAN PAY HER.  She goes, “I can explain it to her, of you’d like.”

“Well, ma’am, you see, the problem comes on with the fact she’s deaf.”

“Oh. No wonder this has been so difficult.  Ok, I’ll wait while you explain.”  (Note: I don’t think she meant that deaf people are stupid, just that there was a severe lack of communication.  I’m half deaf and wholly intelligent.)

So I write down all of this information and she starts using another pen and paper to already start arguing with me (I almost laughed about arguing on brown paper bags) and I tell her to hang on and let me finish writing it out.

“You can take the $5 and contest it at the claim center (this is where she started slamming and arguing again and I told her to wait and let me finish). You can also take the ticket to the claim center, however, NO ONE ELSE will be able to pay you. You would have to come back here to get your money.”

So that’s what she wants to do. So I get the address for her, give the retailer number, game number, pack number, and
ticket number to the lady on the phone, and then have to give my name, the store manager’s name, the corporate customer service number (because god forbid we actually have the store’s phone number posted by the registers where it belongs), explain that I’m not from that store, the store manager is on vacation, give her MY store number and my stores phone number.

And then it was almost 1:30.

The world and all it’s wonder

So I’ve been pretty tired lately. Why? Well, as bad as my year has been thus far, at least I haven’t had to attend a funeral for a close friend or family member, unlike my boss, who did just that last week. I can’t imagine what it must be like to have to bury a sister. My heart goes out to him. But it also meant I worked almost 60 hours this past week and am going to be working another 60 hours this week due to training and other things. As much as I’ve been wanting to write, sometimes life just gets in the way.

And it always makes me sad when people don’t realize that life can do that.  Like with my conversion.  How can I finish it when I can’t partake in my community?

But at least I got to have an interesting conversation with a guy at Ihop about “Project Paperclip” and just about anything else in the world.  I still wonder what he’s doing at Ihop.  This guy should be working in research somewhere.  He’s super smart.  But he’s going to school and I’m fairly certain it’s easier to work a class schedule around a service job than just about anything else.

And I don’t know what I did to my arms but  I think they’re angry and want to run away from me.  Also, I’ve slept for all of 4 hours and am wide awake.  This makes no sense.  ARGH!

Its Dating History Wednesday

Hey, look, I came up with a gimmick!  Go me!

So I was thinking today about some of the crazy “dates” I’ve been on.  Some of these memories are comical, some are tragic, and some are downright embarrassing.  What perfect fodder for me to give to you!

Note:  For those challenged at reading between the lines, implied meaning is conveniently placed between parentheses.  That’s () for those who don’t know that already.

Let’s start this story with a little bit of history:  Recently out of a horrible relationship filled with fireworks (which means we fought like cats and dogs, so of course the sex was fantastic) and wanting to explore my sexuality (which means I finally decided to do something about seeing all these crazy sexy guys and get some cock) I joined this online “dating” site (dating is in quotes because it’s a site that was designed to help men find other men who were currently horny so they could fuck without having to end up being arrested like George Michael’s and the whole Bathroomgate thing), because, let’s face it, Craigslist is great for finding a used couch/refrigerator/drug dealer, but trying to find a disease free guy…good luck.

A large chunk of the guys were strictly looking for hookups (which are stories for a completely different post)(the prior set of parentheses were not for those challenged at reading between the lines, but strictly for clarifying that this post is not about some fling filled with crazy sex had with an amazing Latin lover…not that it ever happened…and not that it couldn’t…it very well could…and might have…carry on), but some of the guys were actually looking for something a little more long-term than a one hour meet & fuck.  That’s where I met this guy…let’s call him Fuzz.  Now Fuzz, on paper, seemed like a great guy.  He had a personality, the same dry sense of humor, and was intelligent.  The fact we were both in food service was also a plus.

He invited me out one night with a group of his friends to play pool, and we wound up hanging out and talking for hours.  It seemed like things were going swell.

And then we went on a REAL date…

Firstly, having spent years in management, if I’m going to go on a date with a manager, I completely expect there to be a phone call and/or tardiness.  So the fact our 7pm dinner was pushed back to almost 9pm didn’t faze me.  I was actually prepared and waited at the coffee shop we were to meet at with a magazine and a book.  Shit happens, especially for managers of restaurants.  I didn’t expect, however, for our plans to be completely changed and for me to have to find my way into some neighborhood I’d never been to, nor even knew existed, with only a five minute time frame in order to pick him up instead of meeting at said coffee shop.  I agreed to a date, not to be a coffee delivery man.

I had planned on taking him to a great Thai place I’d scoped out with a “friend” (it’s in quotes because we had dated and had great sex and still occasionally hung out and watched porn together so, basically, she was kind of a special friend without having any benefits other than getting to listen to her moan and the like, as that would have been written “FRIEND” instead of merely “friend”) which it turns out closed at 9pm.  Apparently Fuzz didn’t like the idea of having a romantic dinner under the stars in the bed of a pickup.  Strike one, Fuzz.

So we wound up at Buffalo Wild Wings, sipping drinks, and neither of us enjoying ourselves because we couldn’t hear no matter how loud we were and we kept getting horrible looks and threatening glares from the other drunken male patrons.  Then his phone goes off.  It was a friend, “Hey, come help me fix my car!”

The date then devolved into him stripping into a wife beater (which I thought would be sexy but HOLY SHIT he had more back hair than a chimp!) and crawling around underneath a car (ok, that was kind of sexy) while I sat and chatted with his friend, who, it turns out, was a friend of mine from high school’s completely annoying little brother.

We then wound up at Jim’s (think Denny’s with better food and worse service) with his friend and his friend for four hours.  Then I took him home and got an, “I’d invite you in, but my mom’s asleep on the couch, but maybe we could…you know…park in the driveway…”  Yeah, sure, Fuzz, let’s just park in the driveway and have wild, crazy butt sex in front of the livingroom window RIGHT WHERE YOUR MOTHER CAN WATCH US FUCK!

“Sounds great, but I’ve got to be at work in an hour.”

“Oh…ok…next time, then. It was…nice…”

Cue awkward hug with a 6′ plus guy in a tiny truck and me driving away thinking “holy shit I’ve met someone worse at dating than me!”

So, why did Fuzz strike out? I mean, sure, talking about your ex who’s obsessed with you to the point of carving your name into his chest while institutionalised and the other ex of yours you set him up with but the guy really only agreed because he thought the guy was kind of hot and was hoping for some super crazy porn style three-way action was bad enough, but, seriously, there are razors for a reason. Watching that guy propose to his chick through a message shaved into his back hair was funny, but, ultimately, not something I wish to experience.

Plus, I don’t enjoy having sex with a laptop sharing bed space. I enjoy using every bit of bed space there is to use during sex, thank you very much and, unfortunately, Fuzz had this obsession with technology and had to have a gadget touching him constantly.  I asked about showering but, honestly, I was too terrified to ask about how that worked while having sex.  The laptop-on-the-bed-thing is the best case scenario.  Worst case involves a corded mouse and strange gyrations in order to play Minesweeper.

Anyone else got any crazy horrid dates they’ve been on? Care to share?

New car, fresh cash, gotta steal!

So, if you follow me on Twitter you might have heard me complaining over the weekend about the jackass who stole the beer.  He was driving a pretty new Chevy Malibu, had his whole family in the car, and stole an 18 pack of Coors Light.  That pissed me off.  I mean, it pisses me off when people steal bear, anyway, but the sheer audacity to steal it with your whole family present, kid and everything, and put it into your SHINY NEW CAR pissed me off to no end.  If you wanna steal a loaf of bread or milk or some such, cool, go for it.  I’d probably applaud you for your survival skills.  You steal a candy bar, I’ll tell you to choke on it and have a nice day.  But you wanna steal beer in front of your family and drive away in your new car…motherfucker, just stay two feet away from me and you might get lucky and I’ll just spit on you.

In other news, life at that store is boring.  The crew is quite the cast of characters, however.  Like the chick with the pink hair.  Pink hair is awesome, I’m not gonna lie.  I just wanna know why I can’t have blue hair and still have a job.  I mean, hell, I get harassed and threatened and get sent to Hell, where we have to bag ice with a fucking scoop and bucket.  I feel like the coal shoveler on the steam engines, which is, of course, the job I always wanted.*

One of these days, though, I’m probably gonna snap and kill somebody, or at the very least cuss them out but good.

Like the bitch that decided I’m not good enough to ring her up because, G-d forbid, I asked her a question.  Apparently no one really likes her, though, so I don’t feel bad.  And I’m sure as fuck not gonna feel guilty when I tell her, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m not allowed to turn the pump on for anyone unless they prepay as it’s our corporate policy to help maintain low gas prices and defeat the felony of drive-off’s, whether they be accidental or otherwise.  Will that be cash or charge?”

This bitch is so anal she makes us check the dates on her cigarettes before she buys them.  Apparently she even had the audacity to open a pack before checking the date and then, upon realizing they weren’t the freshest possible cigarettes she could have purchased, had the gall to demand she be allowed to exchange them.  Um, sorry, how about NO, YOU STUPID, FAT, CUMGUZZLING CUNT!

Whew, sorry, she just really irks me, and I really wish I could say that to her.  Oh, wait, if I’m outside, off camera, and there’s no witnesses, it never happened.  I’m such a bad boy.

*Note:  This is, in fact, a true fact.  That has been my dream job since childhood.  Do not judge me.

Holy shit I MUST meat these people!

So I had this insane craving for a great burger on Wednesday. The only place I know that’s still open and has great burgers and isn’t some corporate shittrap closed before I could get there and I got stuck eating at McDeath’s. The good part of this story is that, through my amazing powers of Google Fu I discovered AN ENTIRE BLOG DEDICATED TO BURGERS IN SAN ANTONIO! I MUST meet this cult of meat worshippers and partake in their activities of meat worship! It is now my newest life’s goal!

My prior life’s goal was to successfully become vegan. Yes, I realize that does not make sense, but what about me actually does make sense?

And, whoa, I finally met this guy I’ve been talking to for almost two years, yet hadn’t actually met in person. It totally sucks how life gets in the way of things sometimes, but it finally happened. The really odd part is it turns out he lives on the street behind me.

It was kind of like that time I met a chick in Savannah, Ga after living there for only a few months who was from Texas. The entire conversation went something like this:

Me:  So you don’t sound like you’re from around here.

Her:  I’m not, I’m staying at the hotel next door for the time being.

Me:  So where are you from?

Her:  Texas.

Me:  Heh, how tired are you of people asking about your pet horse and why you’re not wearing your hat and spurs?

Her:  OMG!  I can’t stand you people with that!  Texas isn’t like that at all!

Me:  I know, I grew up in San Antonio.

Her:  No way, so did I!  I’m from the North West side.

Me:  Really?  So am I!  I lived in [insert name of neighborhood here]

Her:  Really?!?  I lived on [insert street name in aforementioned neighborhood here]

Me:  No shit!  I lived on [insert name of street behind aforementioned street in aforementioned neighborhood here]

Her:  I was [imaginary house number]

Me:  Holy crap, you lived behind me!  What’s your name?

Her: I’m [insert name of childhood friend’s sister]

Me:  Holy crap, I was friends with your brother!

Then I met a whole slew of people over the next couple of years who all lived around me and/or went to school with me.  I always thought the idea behind moving far away from where you grew up was to escape the people you knew before.  And now that I’m back in SATown, I’ve run in to bunches of people I was in extremely close proximity to in Savannah, one lady even shopped in the grocery store where I worked and we HAD AN ENTIRE CONVERSATION YEARS AGO!  How creepy is that?

So I guess it really is a small world after all!

It’s pouring ass rain and I don’t like it

I used to love rain when I was a kid.  I’d sit and watch it for hours, wishing I could go out and play in it.  Now it’s just an excuse not to go anywhere.  Then again, I lived in Florida as a kid and it rained there everyday, so everyone could drive in it, versus living in Texas where it rains and people think it’s a sign of the apocalypse.

I decided to cook today.  So I made soup.  It’s rather bland, but, meh, I could probably use some bland in my life.  There’s been way too much excitement lately.  But it gives me an excuse to make biscuits.  I had an entire conversation with an insanely hot guy in Austin about biscuits.  It was awesome.

Now I’m trying to figure out what to do with this fake crab.  Why it’s called fake crab I don’t know since it doesn’t have crab in it nor does it even taste like crab.  Meh.

Sorry, Daddy isn’t here right now

So I’m a single 20 something who lives with my folks.  Not a great thing when you don’t necessarily want to be single, but I’d rather be single and know my parents aren’t burning the house down than get that phone call at 3pm.  No, wait, I totally DID get that phone call at 3pm…while I was at work…and living with my parents…

But I don’t get that phone call as often as I did when I lived in Georgia.  Parents are like children when they’re older.  They constantly want attention, are needy, and usually wait about two weeks to let you know that, oh, yeah, we need a new washer.  Wait, why do we need a new washer, mom?  Oh, you mean you thought it would be okay to put 3 comforters in our small home washer after all the years you yelled at me that I couldn’t even put ONE comforter in it?

No, I’m not mad at you.  What are you talking about?  I’m not yelling at you.  I promise.  It’s okay.  Have some fish sticks and mac & cheese while you watch Sponge Bob before you take your nap, okay?

I don’t have any children, yet I constantly have to play “Daddy isn’t here right now” with my parents.

Like the time they thought my grandmother died but didn’t let me know for two weeks.  I thought they died and they were all “No, we’re alive, but we’re not home, we’re in Arizona” and I’m all “Yeah, I know, Aunt Betty totally called me when she heard my message on the machine about how none of the hospitals had ya’ll in there database as dead or injured.  And by hospitals, I mean every hospital between Savannah and San Antonio on I-10” and they were all “oh, sorry, we forgot to call” and I’m like “yeah, you were supposed to call 2 weeks ago.  You’re grounded.”

I still give them a hard time about it because THEY STILL DO THAT.  Like, my mom’s tire started to shred so my dad put the spare on.  That’s nice.  No one told me until the spare started to shred.  Um, hello, how can I fix it if you don’t tell me?  “We wanted to do it on our own.”  I can’t fault them for that.  They’ve been independent since the ’50’s (my dad) and ’60’s (my mom) so it’s completely understandable that they feel awkward and insecure about having they’re youngest son take care of them.

But when my mom fell and broke her arm at work, I should have gotten a phone call.  Instead I get a text message saying she got out of work early, not to worry.  And then a month later I find out she slipped and fell, chipped her hip, tore her rotator cuff, and broke her elbow.  How did I find out?  She slipped and fell at her new job and they made her go to the hospital.

Um, yeah, you are so grounded.  You are only now allowed to leave the house to go to work.  No phone.  No tv.  Understand?

My parents are going to totally make go insane.