Archive for the 'Stupid should hurt' Category
November 8th, 2007 by Alicia
I’ve been neglecting you, bloggy friends! I apologize. DH and I have both been making a conscious effort to spend less time on the computer and more time together. We’ve had a relapse already. Shocking, right? So while it’s been nice to take a break, I’ve been missing the blog world. My Bloglines is lit up with hundreds of unread posts that I’ll probably never catch up on, but someone gave me a nudge to update so here I am.
Yesterday, a friend from high school that I hadn’t seen in about two years stopped by for a visit. Yes, that’s right, contact with the outside world! Go me. Anyway, it was nice. We got caught up on the latest happenings and then decided to take the boys to lunch at Bob Evans. Had I known in advance the idiocy that would ensue, we would have just stuck with the Mickey D’s drive-thru.
We got there and were seated and the waitress came by to take our drink order. I put Sawyer’s food in right away because he raises hell if he has to sit still for too long without stuffing his face. Chicken strips and smiley face potatoes. Easy enough, right? A few minutes later she came back by and took our orders, which we had to repeat three times while she stared at us and slowly nodded her head, looking completely confused. Ohhhh boy.
Fast forward about twenty minutes. Sawyer’s food finally came, just in the nick of time as he’d been rolling around under the table and trying to dump out the salt and pepper. Chicken strips and fries. Yes, fries, not smiley face potatoes. I told her it was wrong and she again stared at me dumbfoundedly. I pointed to the picture in the kid’s menu of the potatoes and she acted like she’d never seen them before in her life. You know, these things? Right here on the menu? Yeah, that’s what I ordered.
So back to the kitchen she went, and at this point we had been there over half an hour and I’d still not received a single refill. We waited another good fifteen minutes and then she finally brought the potatoes (which at this point he had no interest in eating since he’d already devoured the fries). Still no sign of the rest of our food. By this time, Beckett was pretty much over the whole experience and no amount of Puffs was keeping him quiet. I paced with him and tried to keep Sawyer from tearing across the restaurant while my friend asked her for the check and to just box up our meals and we’d take it home.
MORE awkward staring, stuttering, and flipping through her order pad. Then back to the kitchen again, where we watched her tap away at the computer trying to get together our check for ANOTHER ten minutes. She finally brought it to us, along with one box.
“We will need more than one box.”
“More than one?”
“Um.. yes? We each had a meal, plus his that he didn’t finish? Did they already box ours up?”
Frantic flipping through the order book again. And then she said, “Umm, be right back, something isn’t right here.”
GEE, ya think?!
We watched her bustle back behind the counter and scramble with some boxes, shouting at the cooks that she needed our orders. We waited some more. And waited. And waited. And watched the manager walk around apologizing to other tables, but never stopping by ours. Finally, I was sick of it and we packed the now screaming kids up and went to the register, where the manager checked us out. I told him we only ever received the kids meal, and got an annoyed “Sorry about that” and nothing else.
So I paid a whole $3.20 for the chicken meal, plus a dollar tip, which I’m not even sure why I left. See, I’m not a sympathetic tipper. You have to earn your tip from me. The husband has worked as a server before and always leaves a tip, no matter what. Not I. Your tip starts at 20% and goes downhill from there the crappier your service gets. I never got a refill, Sawyer’s order was wrong, and we never even got our food after being there for an hour. So she’s lucky I even gave her that dollar. I think I only wrote it in because the manager was breathing down my neck watching me sign the receipt, and I had a twinge of guilt as I signed.
And yes, you can bet on it that I’ll be emailing corporate with a copy of this blog post. I wouldn’t go back there and pay, but I’ll try again on their dime. Not that I even needed to be eating the caramel banana pecan pancakes I ordered, not in the slightest, so maybe the pancake gods were trying to tell me something?
September 19th, 2007 by Alicia
DH’s grandparents left this morning. I was sad to see them go, because this was probably the only time they will ever make it out here. Papa Sam is 80 and Nese is just a few years younger. I am in awe that he managed to drive over a thousand miles one-way just to see us. And we weren’t even their only stop! From here they were on their way to Jonesboro, Arkansas to visit more family before heading back to Texas. Amazing.
Oh, and Papa Sam also mowed the lawn for DH on Monday. Wouldn’t it have been nice if that energy had been passed down a couple generations?
I felt bad because Sawyer wouldn’t give them hugs goodbye. He was ranting about wanting the ‘CROWNS’ and was completely fixated on it. He did wave and blow kisses when they drove away, which made my eyes well up.
Shortly after they left, the Comcast repairman showed up. We’ve been having problems with channels going out the past few days. And I shouldn’t say repairman, because there were actually three repairmen. The best part? They brought three men in just to tell me the cable going into the back of the box was loose. A couple righty-tighties and it was fixed. Yeah, I felt stupid.
As they were leaving, Sawyer ran to the door and bellowed out, “I’ll miss you!” and started blowing kisses. Only 10am and already the boy ain’t right.
Tonight, I got the bright idea to run to Wal-Mart for some cording to finish a drawstring backpack I made for Sawyer. I made it for him to use as a Halloween goodie bag, so the fabric matches his grizzly bear costume. It is adorable and all I needed to finish it was three yards of this stupid cording.
Normally I avoid Wal-Mart at all costs, but it’s closer and cheaper than JoAnn’s if I’m not buying fabric. Although tonight I’m sure I would have actually gotten home sooner if I’d just driven the extra distance to JoAnn’s.
It’s always a given that I’ll have to stand around awhile waiting for an employee to come cut. Tonight was no different, and there was a woman ahead of me so I got to wait even longer. She and the employee bickered about whether the collegiate fleece she was buying was to be sold by the yard or by the panel. After what seemed like hours of scrutinizing the end of the bolt, she declared that the price was per panel (which I could have told her because, duh, if it comes in a panel, it is sold by the panel).
After that ordeal, she spent quite a bit of time making sure the fleece was rolled up just so, secured with multiple rubber bands and back on the shelf before assisting me. Apparently it would have been out of the question to help customers first. Whatever. She meticulously measured out three yards of my cord in slow motion. Every single employee I have ever encountered in their fabric department does this so severely that I’m beginning to wonder if they are trained in being so damn slow. I could have cut it myself, printed out the ticket and been to the checkout in the time it took her to cut a single piece.
The next 20 minutes (and no, I’m not exaggerating) consisted of her leaving to hunt for Scotch tape to secure the ends of the cording, rolling each color back up and securing it on the roll before moving to the next piece, realizing the printer was out of paper and calling for back-up. The manager that came then spent another 20 minutes putting the paper in upside down, stabbing at the machine with scissors trying to open the lid, watching me pop it open easily in two seconds, printing the receipt out on half a sticker and ringing my order up three more times trying to get it to print correctly before I just grabbed my stuff and stormed off, telling them I’d figure the rest out myself. In Slow Motion, because that is the Wal-Mart mission statement.
Now, I consider myself to be of average intelligence. I have never worked at Wal-Mart, or anything similar, in my life. And yet, I was doing their job better than they were. You know, I try not to perpetuate stereotypes but this one is like shooting fish in a barrel.
And of course, as I always do, I chose the check-out lane that seemed short with only one cart ahead of me but was actually four guys with their things all in one cart. Meaning four separate orders and payments. By the time I left, I had been there over an hour just to purchase some cording and nursing pads.
We had been intending to put Beckett to bed at 8pm and by this time it was 8:20. As I sped home I envisioned myself getting pulled over for speeding and explaining to the officer that it wasn’t my fault because I had just been assaulting by a handful of lobotomy patients at Wal-Mart. And he totally would have understood and let me go with a warning.
September 5th, 2007 by Alicia
It’s becoming increasingly apparent that I have a knack for choosing the worst possible check-out lane in the grocery store. You would think that after 22 years of grocery store experience, I would have learned how to scope out the lightning scanners and master sackers. But no.
You guys know what I’m talking about. I can’t be the only one that is this unfortunate, right? It’s always when I’m in a hurry because DH is in the car with a crying baby, or my kids are swinging like chimpanzees on the handle of the shopping cart, or I’m late for something or I just really really really need to pee. I have debit card in one hand and the other is poised to stack my purchases on the conveyor belt in order of location my pantry.
But of course, the cashier forgets to turn on the conveyor belt. The person in front of me is taking up the whole thing. So I’m stuck waiting as she digs out her glasses so she can squint at the numbers on the customer’s 53 coupons and peck them onto the number pad one by one. Then proceeds to scan so slowly that it seems she’s reading the nutritional facts on every cup of yogurt.
I finally get my loot stacked onto the belt, in perfect order of course. And now the person in front of me starts digging in her wallet. “I know I saw a nickel in here yesterday. Where did it go?” Apparently I am the only person in Indiana who knows what a debit card is. Because if it’s not someone trying to count out $54.73 in dimes and pennies, it’s someone wanting to write a check. And the check machine keeps spitting it out, which of course means that the cashier has to call for back-up.
And you know, they never dig their wallet out until the cashier gives them a total. Has anyone else noticed that? Do they realize how well grocery scanning time can be utilized? You can have your method of payment ready and also pile your bags back into the cart as fast and the cashier fills them. It’s a simple concept, really.
And if the person wants to pay with a fifty dollar bill? My cashier will never have correct change in the drawer. Once again, back-up is called.
After payment is made (I’ve been in line 22 minutes now), I get to wait in silent fury patiently while the person perfectly aligns the entire contents of their wallet before moving out of the way. Walking and folding a receipt at the same time is too difficult, you know.
Miraculously, now it’s my turn. But wait! The fun isn’t over. Now I get to watch as the bagger throws canned green beans on top of my bread and a can of Raid in with my fresh fruit. Exactly thirteen of my items won’t scan and have to be entered in manually. (Yes, she needs the glasses again.) She gets to the beer I’m buying for my husband and hesitates for a minute and then asks for ID. The only time I have ever gotten carded and it’s when I’ve already been in line for an ungodly amount of time.
And my ID is in the car.
So yes, I get to go out and get it while my stuff is shoved aside and she helps the next person in line. I come back inside with it and wait another ten minutes for another Coin Counter and Wallet Organizer. Finally, it’s my turn again, my bags are tossed into my cart and my order is paid for in one fell swoop of my debit card.
Total time checking out: 47 minutes.
Sometimes, I get really lucky and get behind some wise ass at 11 o’clock at night who tries to write a fake check. The teenage cashier tries no less than twenty times to shove it through the check reader before calling a manager over, who tries twenty more times before telling the guy sorry and he leaves his bags and walks off. I have a total of three items and could have paid by now. However, it’s still not over! No, now something won’t scan. Again.
“Do you know how much this was?”
“No.”
“You don’t have any idea?”
“No. … Do you want me to guess?”
“Uh.. sure.”
So that night I’m kicking myself for most likely paying way too much for a magnetic dry erase board. Why I didn’t say 99 cents, I will never figure out.
I will say that I am extremely glad that my kids aren’t old enough to beg for cake and pie or run around knocking stuff off the shelves. When that happens is when I start carrying a cattle prod. Or, you know, become a millionaire because I’ll have good stories for my eBay auctions.
