<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000652</id><updated>2011-04-21T19:41:27.557-07:00</updated><title type='text'>10 Things I Hate About Retail</title><subtitle type='html'>The Only Accessory I need is a Cigarette.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Claire</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06478152384773947605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>11</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000652.post-112295342321255021</id><published>2005-08-01T20:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-01T20:30:34.323-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Back in the Game</title><content type='html'>Well, I am soon to be officially back in the retail game. After a brief stint as a secretary last year (about 6 months) I returned to my old job,  but in a new location and with a mighty pay increase. That was in March.  Now, I have been on maternity leave for six weeks, and am preparing to return to yet another location (no pay raise this time). So let the blogging begin!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I already have something to bitch about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was on the phone with my former manager, who is now the district manager and one of my best friends, earlier today. We were talking about the baby, and the store I was going to be working in, and how many hours I was going to work. I am waiting to here from my doctor on how many hours I can work per week.  My maternity leave officially ends on Sunday. So we're talking, and she casually mentions that if the doctor releases me to work, she has some hours available this Thursday and Friday. Jesus H, I'm not even actually back and work and they're already trying to take advantage of me!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said I'd think about it. I'm such a fucking pushover.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8000652-112295342321255021?l=retailblows.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/feeds/112295342321255021/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8000652&amp;postID=112295342321255021' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/112295342321255021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/112295342321255021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/2005/08/back-in-game.html' title='Back in the Game'/><author><name>Claire</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06478152384773947605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000652.post-109450357327823300</id><published>2004-09-06T13:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-06T13:46:13.276-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Kidding!</title><content type='html'>So i risked life and limb to drive to work over the bridge yesterday. I arrived at 11:20. I opened the registers, turned on the lights, did all the paperwork. I sighed because I was at work, and went outside for my customary 15 minutes before opening cigarette. It was windy, but hey, it's a fucking cigarette. So I'm sitting outside, and the security guard comes out and starts locking the doors.  "Are you locking me out?" I inquired. "The mall isn't opening today." he replied. "REALLY????" I screamed, and jumped up. "I could kiss you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ran down the mall hallway back to my store. Every retailer in the mall was seriously pissed. We all drove there, and now they weren't even opening? Fuckers. I was just happy to be going back home at noon instead on six.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, monday, i had the day off anyway. My third key calls me this morning to let me know the mall isn't opening till 2. Hmmm...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called my old manager to get some numbers so i could call the other employees. She said the mayor was on the news telling everyone to stay in their homes, there are power lines and trees down, etc. etc. But at the bottom of the screen there was a flashing message. "Mall is open!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are people insane? Who is running the flipping mall? It's a god damn hurricane!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. They ended up closing the mall completely. Sorry to everyone who went out in the hurricane to by some earrings and got screwed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8000652-109450357327823300?l=retailblows.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/feeds/109450357327823300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8000652&amp;postID=109450357327823300' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/109450357327823300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/109450357327823300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/2004/09/just-kidding.html' title='Just Kidding!'/><author><name>Claire</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06478152384773947605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000652.post-109439502689727901</id><published>2004-09-05T07:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-05T07:37:06.896-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Since when is the mall a Seven-Eleven?</title><content type='html'>Hurricane Watch Issued.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Flood Warning Issued.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wind Gusts up to 70mph.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dames Point Bridge closed to high profile traffic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most church services cancelled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Publix and Winn Dixie Grocery Stores closed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The mall? Fucking open.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can't worship God or buy groceries, but hey, come buy some fucking earrings!&lt;br /&gt;I hope I don't blow off the bridge on the way to work.  Wish me luck!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8000652-109439502689727901?l=retailblows.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/feeds/109439502689727901/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8000652&amp;postID=109439502689727901' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/109439502689727901'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/109439502689727901'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/2004/09/since-when-is-mall-seven-eleven.html' title='Since when is the mall a Seven-Eleven?'/><author><name>Claire</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06478152384773947605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000652.post-109435343854489950</id><published>2004-09-04T19:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-04T20:03:58.543-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Another one bites the dust</title><content type='html'>Finally... we haven't caught a shoplifter since our old manager transferred. We've all been chomping at the bit, and I think our eagerness to catch people has been tipping them off. But today, finally, we got one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It wasn't a very exciting one or anything, no running away or denials. She put two pairs of earrings in a shopping bag and walked out. My third key, who had seen her take the earrings, ran out of the store to stop her while I called security.  When the stealer and and friend came back in the store, I told the friend she needed to leave. "but she's my ride!" The friend cried. "Well, you better find another one," I replied, "cause her ride is the police."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The friend exited the store, and my third key started filling out the shoplifting report while we waited for security and the police.  I noticed the friend lingering outside the store, so I sent another one of my associates out to tell her she really needed to find another ride. Apparently, the friend was pleading the stealer's innocence. And I quote - &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't think she did it intentionally. I've been knowing her a long time and she would never steal. She just wanted some earrings for her boyfriend."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wait what? Does that make sense to anyone?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, she went to jail. In a hurricane. Boo freaking hoo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bring it on bitches! We are back in the game!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8000652-109435343854489950?l=retailblows.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/feeds/109435343854489950/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8000652&amp;postID=109435343854489950' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/109435343854489950'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/109435343854489950'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/2004/09/another-one-bites-dust.html' title='Another one bites the dust'/><author><name>Claire</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06478152384773947605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000652.post-109427120159810414</id><published>2004-09-03T21:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-03T21:15:46.393-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What is wrong with parents?</title><content type='html'>Don't parents teach their children any manners anymore? Don't they even watch out for their well being anymore?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exhibit A - A little girl in the store today with her mom. Her shoes were on the wrong feet. I noticed, why didn't her own mother?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exhibit B - Wednesday, a mom was in with a double stroller. The older daughter, in the front seat, kept grabbing things off the towers and walls. The mom kept saying "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!" That's working out real well for you isn't it? Then the younger daughter put her feet up on the older one's seat and started pushing. How did the older daughter respond? How do you think? She began yelling "Stop it! Stop it!" And the mom actually yelled at her for saying it. Hello???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exhibit C - A little girl came in to the store with her mother. She was probably about three. The mother was so engrossed in her shopping she didn't notice her daughter meticulously taking all of our stuffed animals off the display table and putting them on the floor. Not to play with them, just for the heck of it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exhibit D - A mother brings her daughter in and asks if we do double ear piercings. No way. Mom says "I don't think she'll sit through it twice." The little girl looks ready to bust into tears any minute. Hey mom! Maybe you shouldn't get her ears pierced then?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exhibit E - A mother brings in her little girl who got her ears pierced a few months ago. One of the earrings had fallen out, and she wanted a new pair. However, after purchasing the earrings she realizes the hole has closed. So she is in the middle of the store, trying to force the earring in. The poor little girl is hysterical (she didn't even want the mom to put the earring in in the first place) and the mother is, i kid you not, &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;laughing&lt;/span&gt; at her. I'm speechless. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take some parenting classes people! I know I don't have children yet, but I hope to God if I treat my children the way some of my customers do, that someone takes them away from me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8000652-109427120159810414?l=retailblows.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/feeds/109427120159810414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8000652&amp;postID=109427120159810414' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/109427120159810414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/109427120159810414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/2004/09/what-is-wrong-with-parents.html' title='What is wrong with parents?'/><author><name>Claire</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06478152384773947605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000652.post-109348294988058908</id><published>2004-08-25T18:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-08-25T18:16:01.023-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Big Day</title><content type='html'>Well, the store was detailed, the lights were replaced, the toliet was cleaned, the pegs were full. Today was our big visit from the regional manager. I was supposed to have the day off today, but I went into work &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;again &lt;/span&gt;on my day off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we're all keyed up, me and my assistant, standing around waiting for them to come. My assistant was on the phone with our old manager when we spotted them coming down the hall.&lt;br /&gt;She hung up quickly and we both began straightning our clothes and glancing around the store to see if everything was in place, and that everyone had a basket. Check, check, check. We were ready.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The "boys" as i will refer to them from now on, stopped outside the store and appeared to be discussing our sign for about 10 minutes. Meanwhile, I was trying to decide whether I should go outside and greet them or wait for them to come in. I waited.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally they come in. Peter shakes my hand as usual, and refrains from calling me his usual nickname, "jodelicious". Guess he didn't want to seem unprofessional with &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;his&lt;/span&gt; manager present. He then excuses himself to go interview someone. So it's me and Tom. He is so goofy. We started talking about how people try to walk through the glass windows. He barely even looked around the store.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peter returns, and Tom tells me where to put our new earring tree. Peter then says he feels bad I'm there on my day off, and that they are going to leave so I can. More hand shaking, and then they are gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WHAT?? I just spend 3 days stressing and worried and yelling and screaming trying to get this store ready for that?! Argggghh!!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8000652-109348294988058908?l=retailblows.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/feeds/109348294988058908/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8000652&amp;postID=109348294988058908' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/109348294988058908'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/109348294988058908'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/2004/08/big-day.html' title='The Big Day'/><author><name>Claire</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06478152384773947605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000652.post-109337319465496856</id><published>2004-08-24T11:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-08-24T11:46:34.653-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Work on my birthday? You've got to be kidding.</title><content type='html'>I just got home from work. On my 21st birthday. And if that doesn't suck enough, here's the worst part.... I didn't even get paid!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay let me explain. I didn't &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;have&lt;/span&gt; to go to work today. I went voluntarily.  Remind me again why I work so hard at a job I hate? Oh that's right, I was cursed with an excellent work ethic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our regional manager is coming on Wednesday. So our district manager came last week and gave us this huge list of shit to change in the store.  He came on Friday. The day before a weekend. Which means basically we had Monday and today to get all the shit done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had already added a bunch of hours to the schedule for this week so we could get everything done. For instance, I had everyone come in last night and stay till eleven. Did we get everything done? Fuck no! Because of course, my third key called in sick. Bitch.  So I had to go in this morning and finish stuff up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now you may be asking, why didn't I get paid? I had extra hours from the third key not coming in last night. Yesterday morning on "monday notes", my district manager warned me I was using too many hours this week, but told me not to cut any before the visit, to cut them after. This is retarded. Obviously the extra hours are before the visit, you idiot! So basically he told me this just so that when the regional manager gets on &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;his&lt;/span&gt; ass for using to many hours, he can blame it on me. Asshole.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our store does look pretty fucking good though, so that makes me happy. Bring on the big dogs!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8000652-109337319465496856?l=retailblows.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/feeds/109337319465496856/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8000652&amp;postID=109337319465496856' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/109337319465496856'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/109337319465496856'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/2004/08/work-on-my-birthday-youve-got-to-be.html' title='Work on my birthday? You&apos;ve got to be kidding.'/><author><name>Claire</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06478152384773947605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000652.post-109323668260613675</id><published>2004-08-22T21:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-08-22T21:51:22.606-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stupid Little Stealers</title><content type='html'>Attention all 9-16 year old little punks!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stop trying to steal from my store! You will be caught! Security will be called! The police will come! You will go to jail IN HANDCUFFS!! No amount of begging, pleading, or crying will get you out of this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You say you have the money to pay? You should have paid then and not shoved the ring in your pocket instead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You say you've never done this before? Too Bad! You'll never do it again now will you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are trying to tell me you didn't take it?? Bullshit you little bitch. I watched you rip those earrings of that card and put them in your bag. Yes, the pink ones. There are mirrors all over this store. You think just because you can't see me I can't see you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh you forgot you tried those bracelets on? Why'd you take the tag off and cover them up with your sleve then? Huh? Huh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't try to run away either. We WILL chase you. Through the mall. Through the parking lot. All the way to Home Depot. And if you have to pee, think about that before you put yourself in a situation where being tackled by a policeman is possible. You WILL pee your pants, and go to jail in pee pants. (This happened, I swear.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is no escaping us. We spend all day waiting for you little jerks to steal so we can watch you go down in flames.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You just have to ask yourself one question. Do you feel lucky punk?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DO YA!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8000652-109323668260613675?l=retailblows.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/feeds/109323668260613675/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8000652&amp;postID=109323668260613675' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/109323668260613675'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/109323668260613675'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/2004/08/stupid-little-stealers.html' title='Stupid Little Stealers'/><author><name>Claire</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06478152384773947605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000652.post-109323628639537817</id><published>2004-08-22T21:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-08-22T21:44:46.396-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Quick Note</title><content type='html'>If my sales associate does not start doing what I tell her to do when I tell her to do it, I will kill her. End of disscussion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8000652-109323628639537817?l=retailblows.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/feeds/109323628639537817/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8000652&amp;postID=109323628639537817' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/109323628639537817'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/109323628639537817'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/2004/08/quick-note.html' title='Quick Note'/><author><name>Claire</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06478152384773947605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000652.post-109304568336514823</id><published>2004-08-20T16:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-08-20T16:50:11.936-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Today's Rant</title><content type='html'>Not much happening at the store today... well, actually lots of stuff is going on because our regional manager is coming to see the store on Wednesday. He's checking up on me, since I've been "acting manager" for 3 weeks now. But I didn't have to deal with a lot of stupid customers today because i spent half my shift drving to a mall across town to pick up stuff from my old manager's new store.&lt;br /&gt;My first customer of the morning was a woman pushing, as usual, a ginormous stroller. Why can't people just buy regular sized strollers anymore?? But I digress. I knew she wanted her baby's ears pierced before she even got all the way in the store. You can always tell. It's the look on their face, their determination to cause extreme pain to their own offspring, under the guise of "It'll save them the pain later." Not so much. I don't know anyone who had their ears pierced as an infant and didn't have to eventually get them repierced. Either they close up, get infected, get ripped out, or they're uneven.&lt;br /&gt;I hate piercing babies. First of all, it's almost impossible to get the dots even. And then the parents start freaking out and making you re-dot them eight times, which just makes the baby more fussy and makes it harder to make them even. I try to find any excuse to get these people out of my store. I tell them every bad thing that could possibly happen, I quote them the most expensive price possible, and sometimes I even tell them it's cheaper elsewhere. If none of that works, I pray the parent doesn't have an i.d. If they do, I'm committed. Unless....... The baby's ears are too small!!&lt;br /&gt;This is a fact, some baby's ears just aren't big enough to be pierced yet. And you think parents would be aware of this fact, but apparently they could care less. So the baby this morning was twelve weeks old, and had NO lobes to speak of. Nothing. So I told the woman I couldn't pierce them, and she got all huffy with me! Sorry I don't want to disfigure your child ma'am. Grrr....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8000652-109304568336514823?l=retailblows.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/feeds/109304568336514823/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8000652&amp;postID=109304568336514823' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/109304568336514823'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/109304568336514823'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/2004/08/todays-rant.html' title='Today&apos;s Rant'/><author><name>Claire</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06478152384773947605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000652.post-109288636515096564</id><published>2004-08-18T20:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-08-18T20:32:56.993-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Note To Customers</title><content type='html'>Just a few notes to the customers entering my store:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Note #1 - I don't give a shit what you are buying. I don't want to hear about how it's your granddaughter's best friend's nieces's godmother's birthday, and how she will just love those $3.25 earrings you are buying. Just buy them and get the fuck out so I can get back to what I was doing. Oh, and by the way, earrings are buy 2 get one free you cheap bastard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Note #2 - I don't want to hear about how your day has gone. I don't care if they changed the bus schedule and you were 20 minutes late to work and you just had surgery and blah blah blah. Hey, I'm at work and you're shopping. Who's having a bad day?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Note #3a - No, you may not use my ladder to &lt;em&gt;browse&lt;/em&gt; the items out of your reach. Not only will your dumbass probably fall off the ladder and crack your skull, causing me to be fired, but I'll have to pick up all the shit you knocked off the wall before they fire me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Note #3b - No, you may not use my stick to reach the items out of your reach, for the simple reason that it's my fucking stick and you can't have it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Note #4 - If you are under 17, you cannot get your ears pierced unless your mother, father or legal guardian is &lt;strong&gt;in the store, &lt;/strong&gt;and has a valid i.d. You can't call her, you can't take the form for her to fill out, and you can't bring me any notorized paper saying she says you can get your ears pierced. NO ONE ELSE is authorized to sign for you. Not your grandma, auntie, sister, cousin, husband, best friend's mom, godmother, nobody. And don't try to go to the other store after I tell you no. They know you're coming, I've already called them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Note #5 - Parents - please supervise your children. People don't want to buy wallets that your baby has been sucking on. People also don't want to buy the things your three year old threw on the floor and then you ran over with your ginormous stroller and smashed to bits.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's all for now. Much much much more to come. I haven't even scratched the surface.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8000652-109288636515096564?l=retailblows.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/feeds/109288636515096564/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8000652&amp;postID=109288636515096564' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/109288636515096564'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8000652/posts/default/109288636515096564'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://retailblows.blogspot.com/2004/08/note-to-customers.html' title='Note To Customers'/><author><name>Claire</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06478152384773947605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
