And the Moral of the Story Is...

I hate being home.

I hate, hate, hate, hate, hate it.

I mean I really, really fucking hate it.

The reasons are completely selfish, I know, but this is my blog and if I want one night to bitch then god dammit I will have that night.

Let's start with the obvious: work. Work sucks. We all know that. Anyone that says that actually, 100% loves their job is either full of shit or should be shot for being so lucky. Right before they are shot I must inject them with sodium pentathol so that I can find out what, exactly, makes them capable of loving their job.

Whatever that may be, it is obviously not related to retail. In retail you constantly have to deal with people, keeping their complaints in check while also keeping your own temper/ego in check. Thus, when someone directly insults you, you cannot just go off on them. No, no, no. You must maintain your composure. You have to make sure that you do not let them get to you, resolve the situation, and then talk loads of shit about them behind their backs. That is the only way to handle it...or be fired.

So, today, when a foreigner of unknown (Western European) descent called me a retard and an idiot, the upholder of a stupid, ignorant system, I had to sit there and let them insult me. Then I had to explain to them, once again, that without an original receipt I cannot, under any circumstance (to include threats of violence) give them cash back. It is that way in every single retail store IN THE COUNTRY! I don't give a shit if it is not that way in Slovakia or wherever, but that is the way it fucking works here. GET OVER IT!

Whew...I feel no better.

I guess the reason that I feel no better is because I feel I am lacking a support system. Most of my friends are either back at school, too busy with their own new lives, or not at all interested in hanging out with me. Maybe it is withdrawal from the pot-smoking life I so enjoyed at school, a life that has been forcefully ripped from me by an inability to find any fucking weed, or maybe it is the constant nagging of the people I work with. I really have no idea.

However, I do have my suspicions as to what may have caused my recent, violent mood shift. I think it is that the friends I had, who I had made my life for the past 11 years of living in this shit-hole town, no longer seem interested in hanging out.

No one calls...I call them. That is exhausting and unfair. It should be reciprocal. Now, I don't want everyone to think this is about them. I can tell you who it isn't about, and they live in MD. I am talking about my good ol' southern friends who no longer seem to exist. When I call, they don't answer. When they do answer and we make plans, they flake out (you, especially) know who you are.

Yet, for these friends, I have covered shifts, kept them informed as to their job status (thus violating certain confidences, but hey, it's for a friend), and gone out of my way to make their lives better in any way I possibly can. Hell, the friends who have had to put up with the most, by far, still call.

So I am here to say I feel like I have been walked all over, and I am done. This is really about maturity. I have no problem clarifying my feelings for people, should the need arise, and I feel that the same courtesy should be done for me. I deserve at least that.

I know I am not always the easiest person to get along with. That is fine. I get it. But at least fucking tell me that you aren't going to answer my calls, return my messages, or meet me at the previously scheduled time after I have driven 30 minutes (once again, you, especially, know who you are).

Overall, I am really lonely. Hanging out with friends once a week is not enough. Coming home to the dog and my football-watching father every night after work is not enough. I can't take much more. It makes me feel like shit. It makes me feel like the life I once had will never, ever come back. It really makes me feel like I have wasted years of my life building these relationships that no one else seems interested in maintaining.

Of course, I have done the same thing to other people, and I know it. Yet, I think this break, especially, I have done my best to repair the damage done. With a few people, this has proved very fruitful and with several others, fruitless. I get that. I had my chance and I blew it (not that it is one-sided, mind you). I guess that is what happens.

Now I am begging. If you say you are going to call, call. If you say you are going to meet me somewhere, meet me somewhere. If you say you want to hang out that night but then make other plans (WHILE I AM STANDING RIGHT THERE) then cancel those other plans. If you don't want to hang out, say so. If you do, call. Just don't, please, lead me on. I am not that fragile but at this point it is breaking my heart. At least if I know that I am going to be coming home to the dog and my football-watching father then I can resign myself to it, instead of looking forward to something all day, only to have that dream ripped out from under me because someone won't answer their fucking phone.

I am no flower...I can take it.

You Wanna Be On Top?

So last night involved a bit too much drinking. It came out of nowhere. I really didn't think that it would happen. But it did.

Of course, when do I ever know that it will happen. Sure, there are some nights where I absolutely plan on drinking myself in to oblivion. Last night, however, it was an accident. God damn Carlo Rossi and his reasonably priced selection of 12% by volume red wines. Bastard!

All that drinking led to another one of the oh-so-fun sociopolitical arguments that I can't help but get involved with. Sadly, however, I was very drunk so I was not so receptive to some of the ideas that were put forth in the conversation. Anyone that knows me knows that the drunk, argumentative side of Andrew is not necessarily that fun. Or any fun, really. I'm kind of an asshole when I get in to an argument and feel like I am being cornered. For some reason I feel like if it's 3 vs 1 then I have to make up for being on the short side.

And it makes me a complete dick.

So, with that, I'm really sorry, guys. I know I can't be like that all the time, and I don't know why I always seem to be the oddball out when it comes to an argument, but it is definitely something that I need to work on. After all, I can't just go alienating all of my friends with my hyper-condescending, crazy views. Again, sorry. I'll try to be better.

As crazy as the night was, today has been deliriously crazy. I have spent almost all day watching girls who want nothing more than to be on top. On top of what, you ask. Well, on top of the modeling world. That's right. I have been watching the weeklong marathon of America's Next Top Model for hours and hours and hours. First, I spent three hours hating Monique. Then I spent the rest of my day hating Melrose. Now, Michelle has just told the people in the house that she is gay and she just told her mom on the phone, following it up with a, "happy mother's day!" Oh lesbians and your lack of tact.

YES! I managed to sneak in a stereotype! Not just any stereotype, but one I just made up! I know I had promised that this time around my racist rant would be about the hispanics but nothing has really happened of note to inspire offensive commentary. Lesbian friends...sorry.

Now, I know it sounds strange that I have done nothing all day but watch such a shitty (read: fantastic, and there is nothing you can say about it to make me change my mind) show, but I have an excuse: I'm sick. That's right. I'm fucking sick. I know, I know. "You drank too much last night blah blah." Nope, sorry. That really doesn't have anything to do with it. I wasn't so drunk that I would still be throwing up at 7 at night. That, and drinking is not a fever inducer. This is a bonafide flu, and not just any flu. This is that awful flu that has been going around, infecting the world, causing mass call-outs to Banana Republic, forcing others (cough, cough...me....cough, cough) to work twice as hard. At least I got sick on my day off.

God, I can't believe I just said that.

All of this sickness had nothing to do but lead to a blog. At a certain point, ANTM just doesn't provide the necessary entertainment when puking. I guess now all that is left to do is go attempt to keep something down and eat some crackers or something.

Have a great night, all you non-sickies!

But I AM Trying...and That I Know

It is hard to blog frequently, dear friends. That is not to say that I find myself at a loss for words or have writer's block or anything of the sort. There are times that blogging is just not an option. Formulating the thoughts required to craft something that I have to be entertained by, at least in some small part, would be way too much of a chore and tedium+blogging=not fun.

Then again, Banana Republic+nine hour shifts+a store whose full-time management team can't seem to get along or complete their tasks=not fun as well. Now, mutiply that 9 hour shift by 7 and you have how many hours I have worked since Christmas. SUPER NOT FUN!

Still, the Banana does afford me much entertainment. Take today, for instance. This annoying customer who we all avoid every time he comes in waltzes in and demands several things from me. Included in that list were the items he put on hold before Christmas (expecting us to still have them, despite the 24 hour hold policy which, according to him, I wrote), black pants for his asian girlfriend whose size he doesn't know (she is kinda short with no hips...thanks), and the price of a pair of pants hanging in the sale section (clearly marked with their sale price). Now, I am more than willing to help any customer out with whatever they need. Hell, I put up with languages I have no hope of or desire to understand day in and day out, but I remain unphased. He, however, is better than all of those other people. He is God, an Adonis, an avatar...truly.

Upon entering the store he cuts in front of everyone in the line and demands service. After telling him he would have to wait just a moment he snaps, "I thought Banana was known for customer service. Guess I was wrong."

Yep, ya were. Fucking asshole.

Then he demands I leave the cashwrap to help him and, in an effort to avoid a scene and with the permission of the women in the line I went to help him find prices. When I tell him that I don't know how much the brown pants in the back are off the top of my head, given I have no idea what he is describing and he won't check himself, he demands to see my manager. Well, shit outta luck there, bud. Still, he goes up to Maggie and tells her that my service ethic is horrible (which is odd given my exemplary record with the company) and that I should never say I don't know how much something is or I don't know this or that or blah blah.

He then tells me to find him the pants (which are "too freakin' expensive," which is what you would have to pay for the service he expects) at another store since I had not held them for him. I had not held the pants he put on hold a week before I came back to VA. Silly me.

So, I go on the computer, my head hanging heavy from the barrage of insults, and attempt to find him these oh-so-expensive $30 pants (eat it, fucker).

"They have them at Tysons...and that I know. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going home."

It felt so good. He started ranting to the other cashiers about how rude I was and asking what my name was (thankfully they responded that I was named "Matt") because he was gonna have me written up, tried, then hanged.

Of course, I will admit that a big part of my job is filtering the barrage of sarcastic comments that make their way in to my head. I do it pretty well, but today there were mitigating circumstances. After all, last night was New Years and I had work at 9AM. He came in at 5:50 PM, ten minutes until close and the end of my shift. Not only that, but I was hammered last night (I mean drunk off my ass) and had taken to the task of starting this new year with my head resting on the Banana Republic staff toilet, puking my brains out. That was my day. Puking in a public toilet while dealing with irate morons who think that getting an addition 10 fucking percent off of pants that are already on sale is a good use of time. What a dumbass.

Whew, it feels good to get that off my chest. The onslaught continues tomorrow from 130-1030. It will be like that another three days before I finally get a day off. Ten days in a row at the place...not good.

At least I do have something to look forward to: I'M GOING SKIING IN VT IN TWO WEEKS! WOOOOO!

Ok, enough excitement. However, before I toddle off to bed, heed my advice: never let the black man getcha down.

G'night (and no, I'm not a complete racist, but he was black. The two have nothing to do with each other, I know, but one of the cashiers tonight was black and she said I could chalk it up to that...so nah).

I did just realize that my last blog was not so friendly towards the Asians so I think that my next entry will involve the degradation of hispanic peoples...not that they can afford to shop at Banana Republic. Oh wait, there's a sale on now! YES! Fodder!