This is an honest testimonial from an actual Wal-Mart associate (as in, myself). Yes, they’re not perfect and I get disgruntled but… do NOT be fooled by the union schemes against the company. How is demonstrating, especially on Black Friday (I mean Thursday) “helping” the workers like they claim is their goal? We all have to work harder because of it, NO THANKS TO THE UNION PROTESTORS. Not only is their aim of “helping” us a lie, but it’s just asking for someone to get hurt. Let’s add a protest to an already chaotic day. Recipe for disaster, anyone? The union aggravators are immature attention seekers, nothing more. They do NOT have our interests in mind on their hare-brained Blitz Day schemes. OUR Wal-Mart, STAY OUT of MY Wal-Mart. We can fight our own battles, thank you very much.
There are a couple of things at work that always make me smile.
The first is when manufacturers ship their products in cases that read “DO NOT OPEN WITH SHARP INSTRUMENT” but still put a protective layer of cardboard inside because they know we’re just going to slice into it with a box cutter anyway.
The second is the adorably naïve labels that managers put up on our storage shelves in the back room. Exceptions in this spot, new mod here, deleted there. Here’s aisle one merchandise, and there’s aisle two. Yeah, about that… well, we’re gonna stick the stuff wherever the heck it fits.
I'm easily amused.
Concrete evidence that time does continue to move ever faster.
Consider these facts.
Original My Little Pony line: 1982-1992
G2 My Little Pony born 1997
Years elapsed between generations: 5
Original Furbys: 1999-2001
New Furbys: 2012
Years elapsed between generations (we ignore Furby Creatures): 11!
So the people that keep track of time are trying to tell me that time without ponies is equal to less than half the time without Furbys.
Puh-leeze! FACT: I was writing letters to Hasbro about ponies for an eternity longer than Furbys have been off the shelves.
They can't fool me. I wasn't born yesterday.
(Or was I?)
I dash across the room to page maintenance for a wet spill. I can't figure out the code for the PA system and get frustrated. Since I left Chilton, I haven't been able to figure out how to operate any store telephones. They're impossible to dial out on and notoriously difficult to hang up--I've had random conversations broadcast to the entire store one too many times because the PA shut-off button didn't actually shut it off.
I find the receiving lady at her desk, which has a phone. Can I use it? Yes, but it doesn't make pages.
I flag down someone else. Maybe I can get the first phone to work. Does he know the code to dial? No, not a clue.
I run down to the opposite end of the store, where maintenance headquarters is. I find Troy, maintenance man extraordinaire, recently honored in the store newsletter for being the safest worker around for his quick work on spills. Perfect! Surely Mr.Safety himself will help. The problem is, he's first shift. He tells me to get Terri or Amelia from third. Stuck-up first shift. Curse them.
I find Amelia in the next room, mopping the management office. Perfect! She has a mop and bucket all ready! I explain my dilemma to her, and she goes off on an angry tirade in Spanish. "Um," I say. We exchange some more gestures and words, and she seems to understand. I go back to my cart, confident she will be soon following.
I should get an orange safety cone for the spill. I go back to the receiving lady, who is having an in-depth conversation about vacations with another associate. I interrupt to ask where I can find a cone. They both glare at me, and the lady points at the pole next to her where the cones are hanging. Of course. She doesn't seem to be sympathetic to the fact that it's an observable phenomena that people can't find what they're looking for when it looking them in the eye. I decide not to even try making a joke out of it, and meekly take the cone and walk away.
Ten, twenty minutes go by. Amelia hasn't shown up, and I'm pretty sure she's not going to. I'm getting pretty frustrated, and I really just want to go to break.
I finally find a manager. COREY! I shout. Corey starts talking into his headset. I'm now standing in the middle of a circle of people now who are ignoring me. HELLO! Can I please get this stupid spaghetti sauce cleaned up!
After finishing his conversation, Corey remembers that I'm standing there. I tell him what's up, he says a few words into the walkie, and BAM, Terri is there for clean-up.
This is why I don't like having to ask for help.
1. I'll have just one more.
2. If it's a sour one: Oh, I can't end on a bad note. Return to Step 1.
3. If it's a good one: Mmm, that's scrumptious! It would be a shame to stop now. Return to Step 1.
Eventually, though, the supply of cherries is exhausted; and that's just a tragedy.
I pick up empty pallets sitting under the steel that other people have just left sitting there, and add them to my pile. Managers are impressed when they walk by and see how many pallets of merchandise I've put away!
So there you have it. That's how you become awesome, like me.
Times flies... I'm still a Wal-Mart girl, probably a lifer. That's pathetic to think about it, but I'll have my writing and other hobbies to come home to. I don't want to spend all the time going back to school to maybe get a better job. I want to be free, not be a slave to college.
But here's what really cracked me up. At the end of Mass, the priest was going through the announcements, one of which was a rummage sale at the school. At the words "rummage sale," the little boy pumps his arms in the air and makes a sound of excitement. Fr. Steve is listing items available at the rummage, and when he gets to "collectibles", the boy exclaims "Yes!!" under his breath. Oh my gosh. Have we got the makings of an eBay scalper, or what? I was thoroughly endeared.