The winds of change...
Yep, they're blowing alright, blowing harder than...well...nevermind.
Its pretty amusing to watch what happens when one well placed rumour about work can ripple through the staff like a wild, panicky, stupid fire. Basically management is reorganizing to compensate for stupid employees. I guess the driving logic here is that bad employees are bad because they "aren't right" for their intended task, not because they're brain-dead sacks of genetic refuse. Oh well, everyone is going to find out eventually anyways. Well, you'd think so, but not the way thing work here. One of our sales-folk has been here for a large number of years, and, now I'm just speculating here, has an IQ that I would equate to...oh roughly...a week old bran muffin. Things like looking at a customer square in the eye and then ignoring them and continuing to put sticker on your valentines junk while they wait at the till. If I didn't despise customers so much I'd almost be indignant.
All I can say is "Thank heaven I don't work on the sales floor. Thank you, thank you, thank you."
You probably don't understand my absolute elation at that fact, so let me elaborate. The sales floor here is not so much of a floor where sales happens as much as it is a hideous nexus of commercial idiocy, where the impotent ideologies of customer service and business combine to form a black hole of intelligence with a gravi-stupitational force so strong even a metaphysical concept like sanity cannot escape its awful clutch.
The sad thing here is you think I'm kidding.
Consider, si vou plais, that all retail products, for the most part, have a barcode on them. Now, unless you've been living in a big dank pit with a large hairy Swedish man named Sven, you know that a barcode is a little thing a computer can read to instantly tell your retail software what the product is, how much it costs and so forth. The whole point this thing was invented was to increase commercial efficiency and help more customers, more quickly.
But no. Oh, sin of sins, no. This is a convenience fate doesn't afford to our store. Not only do some barcodes not scan, AT ALL, but then the actual code for the product is not a number or identifying sequence on the box at all. Its as though someone took Jessica Simpson and told her, for a big shiny nickel, to imagine the dumbest code possible for a particular item. And then she, in all her gloriously ignorant enthusiasm, takes a deep breath and smashes her head face first into the keyboard, thus producing the identifying code for said retail item. This is why when a stapler, for instance, has the code STP11234-67 or something, the code might as well be"sw0113n-M0nk3y-B411s". And believe me here people, I don't bander about 1337 like girl-guides do their awful cookies.
I don't work the salefloor, no, for this I give thanks every waking hour. Now, physically I am still on it, but there is a small chip board desk and cubicle wall keeping the residual fumes of dumb wafting in my direction. I can hide behind my computer and only venture out on to the floor to smile devilishly as I stroll by those less fortunate and head for lunch.
Mind you, my work brings its own brand of stupid with it, but thankfully it comes for the most part from painfully dim clients. Like people who really haven't figured out that you don't need to push the space bar thirty times to centre a word. Or people who think Microsoft Word is a good tool for graphic design. Yes, you read that correctly. This town is literally FULL of them. I'd say 7 / 10 files I get for a design job have been built in MSWord. If I could be any superhero, I would be one who at night, dressed in a slick leather jacket and big ol' rear-kicking boots, would fly about town dispelling the demons of assinine application use. In my utopia MSword and Publisher would be roughly equivalent to our degenerate terms for intercourse or anatomy.
I wrote most of this post two days ago, saved the draft and just came back to it. I think I may have been entirely too harsh. Maybe its more like a five day old muffin. Seriously though, the people aren't that dumb. Everyone knows how much I like hyperbole.
Much more than the stupid superbole.
Its pretty amusing to watch what happens when one well placed rumour about work can ripple through the staff like a wild, panicky, stupid fire. Basically management is reorganizing to compensate for stupid employees. I guess the driving logic here is that bad employees are bad because they "aren't right" for their intended task, not because they're brain-dead sacks of genetic refuse. Oh well, everyone is going to find out eventually anyways. Well, you'd think so, but not the way thing work here. One of our sales-folk has been here for a large number of years, and, now I'm just speculating here, has an IQ that I would equate to...oh roughly...a week old bran muffin. Things like looking at a customer square in the eye and then ignoring them and continuing to put sticker on your valentines junk while they wait at the till. If I didn't despise customers so much I'd almost be indignant.
All I can say is "Thank heaven I don't work on the sales floor. Thank you, thank you, thank you."
You probably don't understand my absolute elation at that fact, so let me elaborate. The sales floor here is not so much of a floor where sales happens as much as it is a hideous nexus of commercial idiocy, where the impotent ideologies of customer service and business combine to form a black hole of intelligence with a gravi-stupitational force so strong even a metaphysical concept like sanity cannot escape its awful clutch.
The sad thing here is you think I'm kidding.
Consider, si vou plais, that all retail products, for the most part, have a barcode on them. Now, unless you've been living in a big dank pit with a large hairy Swedish man named Sven, you know that a barcode is a little thing a computer can read to instantly tell your retail software what the product is, how much it costs and so forth. The whole point this thing was invented was to increase commercial efficiency and help more customers, more quickly.
But no. Oh, sin of sins, no. This is a convenience fate doesn't afford to our store. Not only do some barcodes not scan, AT ALL, but then the actual code for the product is not a number or identifying sequence on the box at all. Its as though someone took Jessica Simpson and told her, for a big shiny nickel, to imagine the dumbest code possible for a particular item. And then she, in all her gloriously ignorant enthusiasm, takes a deep breath and smashes her head face first into the keyboard, thus producing the identifying code for said retail item. This is why when a stapler, for instance, has the code STP11234-67 or something, the code might as well be"sw0113n-M0nk3y-B411s". And believe me here people, I don't bander about 1337 like girl-guides do their awful cookies.
I don't work the salefloor, no, for this I give thanks every waking hour. Now, physically I am still on it, but there is a small chip board desk and cubicle wall keeping the residual fumes of dumb wafting in my direction. I can hide behind my computer and only venture out on to the floor to smile devilishly as I stroll by those less fortunate and head for lunch.
Mind you, my work brings its own brand of stupid with it, but thankfully it comes for the most part from painfully dim clients. Like people who really haven't figured out that you don't need to push the space bar thirty times to centre a word. Or people who think Microsoft Word is a good tool for graphic design. Yes, you read that correctly. This town is literally FULL of them. I'd say 7 / 10 files I get for a design job have been built in MSWord. If I could be any superhero, I would be one who at night, dressed in a slick leather jacket and big ol' rear-kicking boots, would fly about town dispelling the demons of assinine application use. In my utopia MSword and Publisher would be roughly equivalent to our degenerate terms for intercourse or anatomy.
I wrote most of this post two days ago, saved the draft and just came back to it. I think I may have been entirely too harsh. Maybe its more like a five day old muffin. Seriously though, the people aren't that dumb. Everyone knows how much I like hyperbole.
Much more than the stupid superbole.
posted by Bray at 5:01 PM
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