It's an Amish thing...

Hey everyone. As I sit here at Denny's because my internet is dead at my apartment, I figured I should enlighten everyone with updates about America's favorite little Amish boy.

So, it didn't take long after his first few texts for him to inform me that he had an "exciting job opportunity" for me. Oh shit, the moment I've been waiting for! I had several hunches about what it could be... a missionary, perhaps? A well-paid sex slave? However, he wasn't planning to divulge this information without a fight.

"What kind of work is it?" I asked, legitimately curious.
"Umm...it's hard to explain in a text. It might confuse you. Can we meet up for dinner sometime and I'll just show you?"
Is this kid serious? I mean, I'm sure he's lived a sheltered life, but are you fucking kidding me? There have been three murders and cases of missing persons in Bloomington this week alone. Hell. No.
"Why don't you just tell me?" I ask. "I mean, I have a near-genius IQ. I think I can handle whatever you're trying to explain."

Well, as I'm sure you can imagine, that got me nowhere. I finally got him to divulge a little bit of what he does - he gets paid to recruit people to his "team" and sell things for companies. After telling my tale to a coworker, they approached what is probably the most likely story: he works for Amway.

Amway, which is notorious for scandals and utilizing "cult-like" techniques to recruit and maintain its distributors. Oh hot damn. Flypaper for freaks strikes again.

We actually had a reasonably pleasant conversation, until he would continue bringing up the fact that this cult of his changed his life and that I should join him in his revelries.
At this point, I felt obligated to tell him that I'm about a hundred and fifty percent sure that I'm not his type. I told him, in not quite so many words, that cults aren't my thing, and that I'm a filthy sinner: I have eight piercings, two tattoos, I curse like a sailor, I'm all for premarital sex...

But that's ok, he says. We can still be friends.
Praise the lord.

Take me to your leader...

Tonight, a hot Amish guy asked me for my number so he could "shoot me a text".

Wow. There are so many things that don't fit in that sentence, I don't even know which one to address first.

What fits even less than that sentence is that I actually gave it to him. He was lacking those god-awful mutton chops, which definitely gave him points in my book. I was honestly so shocked that some Amish motherfucker was requesting to "shoot me a text" that how could I not give him my number, at least for the sake of research and entertaining blog stories. Keeping in mind, of course, that the last time one of my coworkers conversed with Mennonites, the men basically asked her to be their sex slave while the women hid merchandise in their skirts.

He's been "shooting" me texts all night, and I haven't quite figured out whether he wants me to become his sex slave or not. He seems pleasant, although I don't know what we'll have to talk about, seeing as I'm an Atheist who's not into the whole "sex slave for God" thing . Only time will tell, and I will definitely warn you all if my blog must be discontinued due to a forced change in occupation.

Pet Peeves of Customer Service: Part 1

Hello again! It's been a long day and I am feeling particularly ranty, so I figured now was an excellent time to begin my list of my biggest customer service pet peeves. I haven't been posting much lately anyway, so it's high time I caught up.

Trust me , I have collected an exorbitant amount of these over the years, so I'll break my list down into different segments of 5 peeves per post. They aren't in any particular order - I tried, but attempting to rank these into a list of which ones irritate me the most has proven to be too difficult a challenge. So sit back and enjoy - if you've ever worked customer service, I'm sure you'll commiserate. If you haven't, NEVER act like this, because if you do, I'll probably blog about you, and it probably won't be pretty.
But anyway, without further ado, the first portion of my list:

1. Customers who come up to me on their cell phones, broadcasting to the world about how Bubby got a new tractor, or how Papaw's hemorrhoids are healing. That's fantastic - tell Bubby I said congratulations, and give Papaw my condolences - but seriously, there are few things more rude than this. I will blatantly refuse to speak to anyone who comes up to me on a cell phone - if you can't give me the courtesy of hanging up your phone, I can't give you the courtesy of speaking to you. Bubby and Papaw can wait five minutes until you're done at the register. 

2. "Mart Karts" and the destruction they cause. It's not mother-fucking bumper cars, so the point is NOT to crash into as many displays as you can. Also, nine times out ten they're not disabled, they're just fat. Get out of the damn scooter and walk - trust me, you need it.

3. Those people who pull their food stamp card out of their ridiculously huge Prada bag, then proceed to drive away in their even more ridiculously huge Hummer.

4. Those people who stand there and watch me painstakingly bag their entire order of cumbersome, difficult objects, only to say at the end, "Oh, that's okay, I don't need a bag." Well, you know what? You're going to take the bag, and you're going to like it. Also, you know those people who put everything in a plastic bag, which is then put inside their "green" cloth grocery bag, thus defeating the purpose of said "green" bag? Yeah, I don't like them either.

5. Wet money, sock money, bra money, jock strap money... you get the picture. Many perfectly lovely cows have sacrificed their lives to provide leather to make wallets. We sell plenty here in our store at a reasonable price, so there is no reason in the world why one should use their sweaty sock, bra, or crotch as a currency holder. You're at a department store, not a strip club.

That's all for now - I've gotten it out of my system for the moment - but there are plenty more where those came from, so stay tuned. :)