Take What You Are Handed

So this week we had a little "goodie" bag of stuff that we had to hand out for work. (I put goodie in quotes, because as someone pointed out to me, if it doesn't have candy can you really call it a goodie bag?) I thought that this would be easy and maybe even a little fun. Well giving them to customers was taking to long so we decided to walk the store around and hand them out to random people.

I thought this would go quickly and smoothly because the bags had a good size sample of sunblock. Now I am talking nice sun block, the fancy name brand kind that doesn't even smell like sunblock. Who wouldn't want that? Well the answer is pretty much everyone.

This very sample.

I was falbbergasted for two reasons. One, who doesn't want a free sample? I mean it is free and you get something? In this case something useful!, after all it is summer and UV safety month. I seriously go out of my way for free samples. I take them from stores, sign up for them online, and buy products that come with extra mini items. I even try things I know that I won't like and take things I won't use, and end up giving a ton of tiny samples to the thrift shop like once a year. It may appear to be a waste, but what if I find something life changing in a sample that I never would have bought otherwise??? Anyway, these people kept turing me down even with the incentive of my nice sunblock sample.

The second reason why I was shocked was that I was actively trying to get people take these stupid bags. I was making eye contact and smiling and and talking up a storm, but still I was shut down. Again I am not sure why people were putting up with all of my talking and listening to my whole speech before saying no. Why not just take my little bag and keep on your way? When someone hands me something, I just accept it and keep walking. Why listen when you can just grab and go? You can always toss it later.

I think by the end of four years at the U, I had about 17 little green New Testaments, 9,000 Amnestiy International flyers, and more band promos then I could count. (Vegas was even worse with the "hot nude girls" flyers. I think I had an entire rain forest of them by the end of my trip)



But these folks I was attempting to give to are not like me at all. . Either I take more crap than most people or those hander-outers at the U are true professionals and I have a thing or two to learn.



Space Jam Does Not Equal Van Halen

So I feel like once a week I am caught doing something embarrassing by a stranger. This always leads to me gushing out an explanation which probably only makes me seem crazy. This happened to me at work last Tuesday.

So there I was trying to sell some glasses, but it was a slow day. I decided to crank up the Pandora jams and do some cleaning. For the last three weeks we have only been listening to the Bruno Mars station because we have configured it to only play 80's tunes, Blurred Lines, and Happy from Despicable Me 2. Needless to say it is a rocking good time.

One of the songs it likes to play about every twenty minutes is Van Halen's Jump! Now normally I am a fan of this song. I mean it is pretty solid while you want to dance around and dust shelves. However, for whatever reason when I heard the opening of the song on Tuesday, I got really excited because I thought it was the theme song to the 1996 film Space Jam(staring Michael Jordan and Bugs Bunny).

Now I am not sure why I thought it was Space Jam or why I thought that Pandora would play the theme song to a 90's animated film. To be honest, I don't even know what the theme song sounds like, I just have vague recollections of saying "Welcome to the space jam, SPACE JAM" over and over again. Regardless, every time I heard Jump! that night I would get super excited and dash back there. Time and time again my hopes were dashed when it turned out to be Jump!

This is Space Jam

This is Jump!

Not the same thing.

Now after about the fifth time this occurred I was sick of getting my heart broken, so I wrote myself a little note to remind me that Space Jam would not be playing. Why I ever thought it would be playing is still questionable, but I needed this note to remind me anyway.

This is my Post-It. Yes I did start to spell remember wrong, but that is a hard word.

So I stuck my post it on the computer and went about my business. About an hour later, a customer comes in to get some contacts and I am talking to them by the computer. Mid conversation they turn their head and get a weird look on their face. I follow the direction of their eyes, and realize that they can see my little note. I immediately turn beet red.

Customer: Does that say Space Jam?

Me: Yes...

Customer: Did you write that?

Me: Yes.BeacusePandorakeptplayingJump!andIkeptthinkingitwasSpaceJamandIwouldgetexcitedbutthenitwasneverSpaceJamsoIwrotethatnote,butIalsospelledrememberwrong.

Of course they didn't understand what I was talking about and the fact that I said all of that in the space of five seconds probably didn't help. I tried to explain myself again a little slower and a little more thoroughly hoping that it would come off as humorous, but by that time they seemed pretty convinced I was nuts.

I guess the moral of this story is that Space Jam does not equal Van Halen and that I should not leave my notes to myself anywhere that other people can see them.

I feel like this only happens to me.

Rant About the Bus...There is No Hiding What This is

So at 23, I probably should know how to drive. Whenever I tell people that I don't drive, they assume I just do not have a car... not the case. Some how I just managed to skip that crucial stepping stone for American teenagers at age 16.

I spent some of this past summer practicing my skillz, but I still am not legal behind a wheel, so I am stuck to my old ways. Now there are a few options for those of use who are vehicularly challenged, they include and are almost limited to:
1) Walking (which was wonderful in college, but it is as handy as a match under water in the 'burbs)
2) Public transit (This is me)
3) Beings that annoying person who always uses friends for rides (I try not to be this person, but sometimes still am. Sorry)
4) Biking.  (Nope. Never again. When I was about 14 I ended up doing a 40 mile ride for charity. I swore that day I would never again get on a bike and so far I have kept pretty good on my promise.)

Good old Bussy 

About 98% I ride the bus and the train without incident, but that leaves the two percent of the time where shit hits the fan. It's these moments that make me contemplate becoming an agoraphobic or, you know getting my license. Since high school I have been riding around the Minneapolis area. The following are a few of the many encounters that have happened to me in the last 4 years.

 I remember the first time I ever had an incident on the bus. I was 18, and waiting in the Midway Center in St. Paul trying to catch the 21 downtown to go to a Roller Derby match. It was January and cold enough that you didn't want to spit for fear it would freeze on your lips. When the 21 finally approached my stop, my friend and climbed on and took the first seats available.

Unfortunately, not everyone wanted to get out of the cold for a peaceful ride. Four teenagers ran to the back of bus and kicked the everliving shit out of some guy sitting there. At first I couldn't believe it was happening, but what was more shocking than the actual attack was the lack of empathy from the other riders and the driver. Most didn't bother to look up or when they did, they quickly went back to whatever they were doing. The driver didn't say anything until the guy was bleeding everywhere.

Finally, someone called the cops. The kids ran out of the back door of the bus, hopped in a car and quickly drove away. The rest of us had to get back out of the bus and wait for the cops to take our statements. This should have been my first clue that the bus was not for me...

Luckily it seemed like an isolated incident of violence. The only other physical fight I have witnessed on public transit, was years later on the light rail.It would have been scary, except it felt a little like a B movie copy of West Side Story.

I had just gotten off of work at the Mall of America and was taking the train home. I was running late and just managed to slide into the last car before it pulled out. It was a little like the fucking Twilight Zone.

Some how I had walked in to party in full swing. The people all knew each other and were drunk, even though they appeared to be about 13. I knew that this was not going to be fun. The asshole in front of me had his free flip phone from Verizon cranked up to full blast. Some sort of shity beat was being played, and it sounded as if he had recorded it by holding the phone near a boombox rather than actually put an mp3 or even a ringtone on there... Either way he played this same looping beat (though to be honest, it may have been more than one, but between the crackles it was hard to tell) the entire 45 minute train ride.

To add to the festivities there were $.99 bags of chips and Gatorade being passed around. The air was pungent with the scent of Hot Cheetos and Lay's BBQ chips. The kids yelled, swung from bars, and ate chips like there was no tomorrow. It was loud, but I tried to read my book and ignore it.  But then one of the guys must have dissed a girl.

Before I knew it, they were screaming and screeching, puffing up chests, and shoving each other. Then one of them, who I wall call Gorilla, whipped out a knife.

Gorilla: How are you going to say that bro?

Small Guy: What? You a bitch.

Girl One to Gorilla : Forget him!

Gorilla: Ho shut up!

From the best I could decipher, the small guy had insinuated that the girl was sleeping with everyone. This pissed off the giant gorilla looking guy, who whipped out a knife. The friends of each guy respectively lined up behind them and stood there jeering. No one got stabbed, but I did get to hear a lot of shit talking for the next ten minutes before they all got off. The entire time I sat there, I contemplated snapping my fingers, but it seemed like overkill.

Picture this will less choreography and more Hot Cheetos.

Beyond the scuffles, there have been a number of weirdos that I ran into on an almost daily basis. Here are a few of the most memorable.

If you look closely you will see that this fine gentleman of the Metrotransit, is cutting his fingernails. I snapped this picture on the Light Rail. He started with just his fingers. Clipping each one and tossing it on to the floor as if it were his own disgusting house, but then he moved on to his TOENAILS! Yep!! He popped up his mandles to clip of each toe nail after carefully inspecting it. The best part is that no one besides myself seem to think this was strange.

This fine drunk feller decided that he wanted to hit on every girl that was on the train. By the time he reached this batch, he has perfected his moves, well almost. His plan of attack was to yell at them, "If I can do ten pull ups and one back flip, you have to buy me a beer!". For a moment it seemed like he might make it, but alas the train turned and he landed flat on his face. No free beer for you tonight good sir.

This bro is wearing an equalizer shirt. You know, that shirt that you can buy at a mall kiosk for about $10 after you attempt to walk a way a few times to work the guy down form his initial price of  $50. Well in the picture it seems like he is talking on the phone, but it reality he is playing music near his shirt so that everyone else on the train can be jealous of his sweet new tee. Dream on loser.

Sadly the last patron of the bus I want to talk about, I do not have a photo of, but he was the most memorable. Last spring as I was heading home from work it had been a shit day, but my train ride went without incident. All I had to do was take a 7 minute ride on the 3 and I was home free. The bus was packed but I found a seat near the front. It was one of those seats that face the aisle rather than forward, this is key.

Just like these ones

I noticed that across from me there was a college kid like myself, and what appeared to be a sleeping hobo. Eventually  the hobo's head slipped down so that he was sleeping on the kid. The kid looked freaked out. He was trying to move the guy off of his shoulder, but to no avail. Eventually he took to shaking him. At this moment the guy woke up, jerked forward and threw up all over my legs. Yes I was covered in hobo vomit, and the worse part of it was the guy just wiped his mouth and then went right back to sleep. 

I hate the bus sometimes.

I Should Have My Shopping Privileges Revoked

Have you ever caught yourself buying something crazy?  You realize it is crazy, but you can't stop yourself... Well that happens to me.... All the fucking time.

Most of the time this sequence of events happens when I get nostalgic. This morning I was on campus just waiting for the bus, when all of the sudden a herd of students riding Razor scooters zoomed by me. They were going so fast! ... Well I mean they were moving slightly faster than the people meandering around them, and boy did they look cool. As I stood there like a loser waiting for my bus, I whipped out my phone and started to look for a pink one one Ebay.

Wouldn't I look awesome jetting around on this bad boy?

But then just as I was about to bid on one, I remembered that I had a Razor scooter circa 2002 when they were shit. Guess what? Razor's fucking blow. The wheels get stuck on every crack or tiny pebble, when you lift them they swing about and smack you in the ankle, and they don't go fast at all... in fact they may actually be more work than walking. 

Now I know all of these things, but because other people had one and I used to have one, there I was online about to make a bid of $26 to have my very own ankle breaker. Lucky for me the bus came at the moment so I got on and did not buy my pink scooter.

What is terrible is that a Razor scooter is not the weirdest thing I have tried to by online... food is. I have tried to buy in the last five years, 3D Doritos, Orbitz Soda, those tiny Mario Bros. cans of soda, Japanese Green Tea Kit Kats, bread in a can, unicorn meat, ect...

I do things like this all of the time. I have many things that I have bought because I thought it was humorous. Here is a few of the things I own that no person really needs.

Peter Pan on laserdisc

A medium sized Jesus piggy bank made of purple glitter

A wooden dildo shaped like a gnome

A LFO Doll

A ton of random costumes including but not limited to a full unicorn suit

And a $600 Sailor Moon costume.

Glow in the dark dinosaur toys

costumes for my dog

Like 8 Ikea Lack tables (They are just so cheap!)

Ect...

I also stock pile supplies for crafts I want to start (but never do). I have sheets to tie dye, thread to cross stitch naughty words onto throw pillows, glitter, puff paint, a Bedazzler, glass beads, feathers and glue, and about 8 million other little things.

Someone really should take away my access to the internet, thrift stores, and my bank account.

The Woes of Retail

I have worked in retail since I was 17 years old. About 90% of the time, I really like working retail, which is good because I am going to pay off my I'm-going-to-poor-forever-because-I-have-a-totally-useless-but-still-cost-forty-grand-English Lit degree (coming in May!) some how. But there is that ten precent of the time that I hate it so much I want to curb stomp the next motherfucker who so much as looks at me. Before I tell you about why I hate retail sometimes, maybe it is better to explain why I like it.

Check out this truly unattractive picture of me. Working at my first retail job circa 2008.

So why do I like retail? Who likes working crappy hours for little pay? Who likes being treated like crap by customers and superiors? Well apparently I do. I like meeting new people. I like small talk. I like doing something different every day. I also like excuses to buy cute dresses.

 I have had three retail jobs in my short work history. First I worked at a chain store that sells new and used clothing. I was there from age 16 to 20. It was pretty sweet. I got to pick the music, do almost anything I wanted, and I got first dibs on all of the funky clothes and used Halloween costumes. 

Not even sure what is going here, but I know it was taken at work.

Next was probably the worst job I have ever had. I worked in the retail section of a well known family wild life themed restaurant. I have very few fond memories of working here.

After about a year, I left for my current job. I love my job (most days). I do not have to fold shirts, and all I do is help people look like rockstars. 

So anyway, here are some of the days in retail that made me want to rip my face off. 

So my first year at what I am going to call "Re-Wear", I found out one of the worst things about selling used clothing. Sure gross things happened once in a while, like finding dirty panties in pants pockets, a musty shirt, or the occasional unidentifiable white stain.... But nothing quite like this. 

We had this regular customer. He was a weird looking guy, a little older than our normal mall tween demographic. He would come into the store about once a week. He would do the same thing every time. 

First came the super awkward small talk:

Creepy guy: Heeeeey ladies. 

Us: Hi.

CG: (super long awkward pause) fitting rooms open?

Us: Yup.

Then at this point he would proceed to take about 15 pairs of used jeans into fitting rooms (Note, at this time we only sold women's jeans) He would spend maybe half an hour in there, but then never buy anything.  This went on for months till one day he came out after "trying" on his jeans. He walked up the counter and asked if we sold tights. We showed him the packaged ones, to which he explained that he wanted used ones. 

We told him that we only sold new. At this point he asks my co-worked if she would sell him her personal used tights. Now things were getting a little what the fuck at this point... I mean who asks someone to buy their used tights?

Now here is where things take a turn for the worst. As he is inquiring about buying some tights, we notice that he has something balled up in his hand. He keeps bring the item up near his face and smelling it. It is a light pink fabric....

It dawns on us one by one that this man is standing here talking to us and smelling used women's underwear... Meaning that all of those times he had spent alone in our dressing rooms with used women's pants he was smelling them and doing god knows what....

With that we poilelty asked him to leave.... but before he is out the door he asks just one last time about buying her tights, this time offering to pay for the tights and then paying here to wear them... Who does that. It's one thing if you are into smelling undies, if that is what gets you going good on you. However you hit level creepy as fuck when you are asking 16 year old girls to buy their used tights.


 I mean this is not Japan, we do not have vending machines here for that kind of thing....

Yes this is a used panty machine. Thanks Land of the Rising Sun

So the incident that inspired me to write this post happened at my current job about a month ago. I was working alone as I often do. I should note that it is actually in the description of my job to be in fashion and sexy. So when I go to work, I always wear make up and flattering and perhaps short dresses. 

Okay so clearly this is not me at work, but it is an outfit that I wear to work

So there I am hanging out, selling some sunglasses, pretty much just minding my own business. I had a guy come in and I greeted him like normally. 

Guy: Are you bisexual?

Me: Excuse me?

Guy: Bisexual, like do you fuck chicks? You look bisexual

Okay, first of all.... WHAT THE FUCK. Is this supposed be pick up line? If so it is pretty much the worst one ever. Also how does one look bisexual? But I am at work so I attempt to be polite. 

Me: Is there anything I can help you find?

Guy: Shades.

Me: Well we have those.

Guy: I like your piercings. How many do you have?

Me: Thanks, maybe ten? I am not sure. So what kind of glasses are you thinking about?

Guy: I am going to get something pierced tomorrow.

Me: That's cool.

Guy: I am thinking about getting my dick done. What do you think?

Me: Uhhh?

Guy: You look like you'd have your nipples done. Can I see?

Seriously? What is going through someone's mind that they think this is an appropriate way to talk to anyone? Also what kind of girl would these lines work on???? Hint the answer is not me.

Guy: How many dudes have you fucked?

Me: *jaw dropped can't not form words*

Guy: I have to piss, I will be right back.

Yup. Working in retail rocks. I can not wait for some more awesome adventures. 

I am Not Sure I Will Ever Really be an Adult

So most days I like to pretend that I am a put together adult... However if you have ever met me, you would know that is not even a little true. Yes, technically I am legally an adult, and I am in college and I work, but the rest of my life is a mess. Most days I am one auto-tune and hipster outfit away from being Ke$ha. I could probably deal with how awful I am about being responsible if I did not have real adults rubbing their successful put-together lives in my face.

So I work in retail in the Mall of America. I get to see tons of people every day, and many of the people who shop in the store I work in are these put together adults I am talking about. Women come in with perfect outfits. They have nice black pea coats that are spotless, they wear high heels and walk without looking like their feet are going to fall off, and worst of all they have nice manicures that are not chipped and there is never a single speck of dirt under their nails.

Then there is me. I am always covered in pet hair. It does not matter if I use that little lint rolly thing or not, there is always hair all over me. My jacket is missing two buttons even though I just had them put back on like three weeks ago. Did I sew the buttons back on right after they fell off? Hell no, I am way to lazy for that, instead I just tighten the belt on my coat and hope for the best. The worst part of me on any given day though is my nails. Because I have to peel stickers off of pricey sunglasses I cannot wear acrylic nails for fear of gouging lens, so instead I just paint my nails. No matter how nice of nail polish I use, the number of coats, or how careful I am about ten minutes after painting them they are chipped to shit. If I don't paint them, there is constantly dirt underneath my nails. I am not sure how the dirt gets there, but it always does.

Notice that every single one of my fingers has chipped polish.

Oh yeah and I am always the queen of wardrobe malfunctions. I am lucky if it only happens once a week, but it seems like every day I have my skirt tucked in to my tights or have my bra sticking out of my shirt. As someone who wears a skirt or dress every single day, you would think I 'd have enough skill to at least keep my ass covered. Nope (Chuck Testa). I remember the first day I started working at the doctors office. I was really nervous about what to wear. I had never had to dress in business causal before that and spent like two hours picking something out. I remember wearing a knee length black skirt and stockings. I walked to work that morning, feeling pretty confident that I looked good. As I got to the building, someone tapped on me on the shoulder to tell me that my skirt had twisted into itself. My entire ass was exposed. So as if it was not bad enough that I had walked HALF A MILE (yes half a fucking mile) without anyone telling me that they could see my Hello Kitty undies. What makes it worse is the fact that the person who finally did point it out happened to be the first patient I checked in to the clinic on my first day. Let me tell you, it was an awesome way to start a job... (I ended up hiding behind a rack of files every single time that patient came in, because I was too embarrassed to look them in the eye. )

Check out my bra sticking out. I am one classy mother fucker. 

My hot mess of a lifestyle extends further than just my sense of style. I make terrible life decisions.  For example, last week I had a final paper due, which was 100% of my grade for the class. It was a 12 page paper, on four books and needed about ten sources. I had not read any of the books and did not eve have a topic till one week before the paper was due. 

A week sounds like plenty of time to write a paper, right? I am sure if would have been, but that is not what I did. Here are the things I did with that seven days.

I watched the first two seasons of Sons of Anarchy, reorganized my bookshelves, played Batman Arkham City, started Phantasy Star Zero, watched 3 movies, went to the bar, read 2 books that were not related to my paper, went to work, and browsed the internet for hours. (Fuck you Reddit). So instead of having a week for my paper, I had 18 hours..... (I ended up getting a B-. Go me.)

I think I need to get a life coach or something to shape me into an adult. Maybe MTV will let me be on that show Made.... They can make me into a real grown up. 

Who knows, maybe next year I will get my shit together. 

This Might Be TMI: How a Doctor Made Me Feel Like a Giant Whore

So if you actually know me, you have probably have heard me bitch about how I always get the weirdest illnesses.  I don't really get common colds or the flu... but I do get things likes inflamed lung tissue and upper respiratory infections. My current affliction is no different...

I have a staff infection on my skin.... everywhere that I shave. I am not contagious, it is not deadly, just ugly and itchy.

 Well the first time I went to the doctor, they gave me antibiotics and told me not to shave for a week. The pills did not work. Perhaps it was my fault, maybe because I sucked at taking them on time or maybe because I did not stop drinking, who knows. I do know this, one week later I was still itchy, the only difference was that I was hairy and annoyed.

So Tuesday I went back to the doctor to finally get this ugly rash off my knees. I get into the office and they ask me the normal whirlwind of questions. 

"Do you smoke?"

"No"

"Are you pregnant?"

"No"

"Is anyone hurting you?"

"No"

"Do you drink?"

"Yes"

"How much?"

"I don't know? A couple of drinks a week?"

"More than 3 on any given night?"

"Uhhh...I guess sometimes?"

"Are you aware of binge drinking?"

"Yes...."

Well that goes on for a while...  After the questions are done, I feel like a grade A shit bag and an alcoholic. Anyway the next step is me stripping down to my undies so that the doctor can look at my gross ass rash first hand. 

What happens next requires some back story. I look like a walking abuse case right now. I am one clumsy motherfucker. I can barely walk around my apartment with out running into a wall, or my couch, or a table, or anything else that it is physically possible to crash into.... So between how often I run into things, fall down drunk (currently I have little skin on my left knee because I feel off the stripper pole at Sneaky Pete's), and have my cat walk over my chest I am covered head to toe in bruises. 

This is the pole that stole all of my skin

So anyway, I stripped down. Because the rash is on both my knee and my underarms, I had to see the doctor in just my panties and bra. With that much skin showing, it was pretty apparent that I am covered in bruises.  The doctor took one look at me, and quickly asked once more, "Are you sure no one is hurting you sexually? Do you feel safe?"

I tried my hardest to express that I am great and that my only problem is that I covered in itchy bumps. So finally we move on to my nasty ass rash. I was just expecting a visual exam or maybe a swab, but I was not that lucky. Suddenly my doctor whips out a black light, and tells me that it will some how help that her figure out what to do.... I can not remember what her reasons why it would help because all I could think was oh shit, this is going to be just like an episode of Room Raiders, only I was going to be the bed....

There are only three times in life that involve black lights. One, you are like 13 and own a black light poster from Spencer's Gifts.

Two, a forensics team is searching for blood.

And three someone is looking for semen. 

As I am not a black light poster or a corpse, this black light test made feel like I was being searched for semen. I knew that there was nothing on me, but still I started to panic....

Let me tell you this, there is nothing in the world that makes you feel more like a dirty whore than standing on a medical examination table while someone runs a black light over your body after being called a lush to your face....

This is my life.