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Two of my "hot buttons" observed this day.
Check Writing
I am regrettably coming to the conclusion that writing a check to pay for stuff you buy in a store makes you sucky.
Yesterday, while out running errands out of town, I was in the checkout line at Target and two people ahead of me was this lady writing a check, and I swear for close to a full minute, if not more, she just stood there with the tip of her pen poised precariously just over some line on her check, always threatening to come down and make some kind of mark on the check, like a signature or a number, or even an X, but she just couldn't bring herself to touch pen to check. Because her check was actually a cleverly-disguised Destroy The World Now button and it didn't dawn her until she opened her checkbook. Or something.
Oh, and she didn't bother to dig the checkbook out of her Bag of Infinite Holding of a purse. A lot of these check-writers don't have the brains or the decency to do this.
Meanwhile, a lady behind me was grumbling for check lady to get the show on the road already, and I moved to an adjacent line, and when I got checked out check lady still hadn't finished up.
Then today at work I got called to carry out a couple bookcases for a lady. When I got them up there, the service desk people were having some kind of kerfuffle with their check reader. Somehow it wasn't picking up the little numbers on her check. Or something. Anyhow, while they were trying figure out the problem and get her check run through the register, check lady started barking at the service desk people.
"What's the holdup?" Your check isn't going through, ma'am, and I use the term "ma'am" loosely.
"Can't you just punch those numbers in manually?" No, no they can't.
"I've never had a problem with these checks before!" Big whoop. Things break or go screwy sometimes.
"How am I supposed to pay for these if you can't take my check?" Debit card. Join the 21st century already.
Broken Furniture
I am shit fucking goddamn motherfucking sick of saying this, but here it is again.
SEX
Okay, now that I have your attention:
If your piece of furniture has a broken part, don't come back to the store. Call the 800-number for the manufacturer in your instruction booklet.
You do have your instruction booklet handy right? Right? You threw the bastard away, didn't you? You just thumbed through it, or looked at the pretty pictures, and avoided all the bold-face type and exclamation marks and warnings advising you "Danger! Do not throw these instructions away because you will assemble your furniture incorrectly and it will break and the baby Jesus will cry and the fleas of a thousand camels will take up residence between your toes and floods, fires and famines will ravage the Earth and many many people will die" and you hucked the whole shit in the trash.
And then you came and visited me 5 minutes before I was to leave for the day, so I had to haul a crib out of the backroom and open it up, and of course the part you needed was at the very bottom of the box.
And then you couldn't even decide which part it was you actually needed.
It was part D that was broken, you say? Or maybe part E? Come to think of it, it could have been The Part Formerly Known as 3? By now it was time for me to go, so I handed you folks off to a co-worker so I wouldn't be staying late 2 days in a row.
And then I will find the crib we opened up Just For You in a pile o' pieces and parts in the backroom, because my coworker probably won't be bothered to try and re-box everything and tape it up so it can be defected out. I will get to do that tomorrow.
I swear, our extended protection plans for furniture should be required for us to go ripping open boxes. If you don't buy the EPP, you get the 800-number and that's it. If you want me to sell the damn things and don't want to pay me for selling them like you'd pay anybody else, at least make it worth my while somehow.
Check Writing
I am regrettably coming to the conclusion that writing a check to pay for stuff you buy in a store makes you sucky.
Yesterday, while out running errands out of town, I was in the checkout line at Target and two people ahead of me was this lady writing a check, and I swear for close to a full minute, if not more, she just stood there with the tip of her pen poised precariously just over some line on her check, always threatening to come down and make some kind of mark on the check, like a signature or a number, or even an X, but she just couldn't bring herself to touch pen to check. Because her check was actually a cleverly-disguised Destroy The World Now button and it didn't dawn her until she opened her checkbook. Or something.
Oh, and she didn't bother to dig the checkbook out of her Bag of Infinite Holding of a purse. A lot of these check-writers don't have the brains or the decency to do this.
Meanwhile, a lady behind me was grumbling for check lady to get the show on the road already, and I moved to an adjacent line, and when I got checked out check lady still hadn't finished up.
Then today at work I got called to carry out a couple bookcases for a lady. When I got them up there, the service desk people were having some kind of kerfuffle with their check reader. Somehow it wasn't picking up the little numbers on her check. Or something. Anyhow, while they were trying figure out the problem and get her check run through the register, check lady started barking at the service desk people.
"What's the holdup?" Your check isn't going through, ma'am, and I use the term "ma'am" loosely.
"Can't you just punch those numbers in manually?" No, no they can't.
"I've never had a problem with these checks before!" Big whoop. Things break or go screwy sometimes.
"How am I supposed to pay for these if you can't take my check?" Debit card. Join the 21st century already.
Broken Furniture
I am shit fucking goddamn motherfucking sick of saying this, but here it is again.
SEX
Okay, now that I have your attention:
If your piece of furniture has a broken part, don't come back to the store. Call the 800-number for the manufacturer in your instruction booklet.
You do have your instruction booklet handy right? Right? You threw the bastard away, didn't you? You just thumbed through it, or looked at the pretty pictures, and avoided all the bold-face type and exclamation marks and warnings advising you "Danger! Do not throw these instructions away because you will assemble your furniture incorrectly and it will break and the baby Jesus will cry and the fleas of a thousand camels will take up residence between your toes and floods, fires and famines will ravage the Earth and many many people will die" and you hucked the whole shit in the trash.
And then you came and visited me 5 minutes before I was to leave for the day, so I had to haul a crib out of the backroom and open it up, and of course the part you needed was at the very bottom of the box.
And then you couldn't even decide which part it was you actually needed.
It was part D that was broken, you say? Or maybe part E? Come to think of it, it could have been The Part Formerly Known as 3? By now it was time for me to go, so I handed you folks off to a co-worker so I wouldn't be staying late 2 days in a row.And then I will find the crib we opened up Just For You in a pile o' pieces and parts in the backroom, because my coworker probably won't be bothered to try and re-box everything and tape it up so it can be defected out. I will get to do that tomorrow.
I swear, our extended protection plans for furniture should be required for us to go ripping open boxes. If you don't buy the EPP, you get the 800-number and that's it. If you want me to sell the damn things and don't want to pay me for selling them like you'd pay anybody else, at least make it worth my while somehow.
--- Sheldonrs
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