Lance Bass Ruined My Life

I Should Feel Bad, I Just Can't

I know it’s wrong to take pleasure at other people’s misfortune, but that has never stopped me in the past. In fact, it’s not stopping you right now. Admit it, you showed up here today in hopes that something completely terrible would happen so I would get on here and completely bitch about it just to give you a smile. Well nothing terrible happened to me, but it did happen to someone that I hate, which is totally awesome.

 

My hatred is usually reserved for people. But some places, like the evil hotel that fired me, deserve a special place of hatred in my heart. One of these places is the bookstore. That is one place that can sink into the ocean and I would just pop some popcorn and enjoy the show.

 

Well, I am sure it’s wrong of me seeing as how they were such wonderful employers (excuse me while I vomit) but since they “let me go” I have been not so secretly wishing for them to crash and burn. It seems that my evil wishing has paid off.

 

I still talk to some of my old managers there, who have since left the place. One who pretended to still work there for a month before they caught on that she had quit. From what I can tell, it’s becoming clear that the store could be run better by gerbils. They have already gone through two managers who both quit by email, one saying that if she wanted to work for children she would have applied at a daycare.

 

They’ve also gone through five cashiers, three who quit after two days saying that they refused to work with the bible thumping manager. The same one who I hated so much that pretended to cry when they fired me. As for her, they have finally realized that she is about as useful as a tooth infection and not nearly as pleasant. Just scanning through the emails from in the accounts that I have broken into make me want to die of laughter. One of them actually starts, “I was under the impression you were standing right in front of me when I gave out this information, but I must have been mistaken.” I like this new manager. I wish she hadn’t quit.

 

Also looking at their sales I good for a laugh. When I was working there, our sales were down but we were still pulling 4 grand a day. Now they are lucky if they make over a thousand. This might have something to do with the fact that they aren’t paying their bills so they aren’t receiving any new stock to put on the shelves. Yes, apparently, when you owe your supplier $30,000, they don’t like to send you stuff so much.

 

What is a bookstore that doesn’t have any books? Doesn’t that sound like some deep philosophical question?

 

If I had the money, I would totally buy the place, get a couple of monkey, and let them loose in the store. I would so get run better and would probably be a lot more profitable.

 

The worst part is that I heard they offered the store manager job to my old straight boy manager who I had an unhealthy crush on. Then after he accepted the job, I found that they posted the job on craigslist for more money than they were willing to pay him. No, I don’t feel the least bit bad about forwarding him them job posting. Or the fact that he told them to suck it.

The End Of Bookstore Bitchy

I’ve been debating on how to write this entry for a little while now because I can’t decide how I actually feel about it. There are times when I am kind of freaking the fuck out. There are other times when I am extremely pissed off about it. And then there are other times when I feel like it is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

 

What is this thing that has the ability to pull out so many emotions that I was probably going to be feeling anyway? Well I went and got myself fired from the bookstore. That’s right, fired. As this blog is a testament to, I am no stranger to getting fired. Though I have to admit, unlike less time this wasn’t so much of a surprise. Though it did feel sort of like an ambush.

 

It’s absolutely no secret that the corporate office people (who are located in Denver if anyone is interested in Googling them and if some hate mail happens to get sent…oops.) do not like me one little bit. This might have something to do with the fact that I called them a bunch of petty thieves. Sorry about that, but I stand by my statement. If you know enjoy being called a thief, then don’t be one.

 

Though that is not the only reason I got fired. It was like a perfect storm brewing at the airport. First there was that. Then there was the customer who said I called him a jackass (Which I didn’t.) who came in the next day to complain. (Though I found out later that he didn’t come back in at all, one of the managers made it up to get me in trouble.) And on top of that, I had the nerve to clock in on the day that I they closed the store when that same bitchy ass manager claims she told me not to. (Which the bitch totally say that.) But she made a big deal about it and since her head is shoved high up corporate’s collective ass, they took her word for it. The official reason for my termination is that my behavior didn’t show adequate faith in the company because I refused to sign the write up they trued to give me about the whole clocking in fiasco that I didn’t feel that I deserved because the manager was being a honking bitch about it.

 

And this was all a nice big cover up for the fact that the shitty manager has wanted me gone forever because I am a homo and that unsettled her delicate religious sensibilities. (But I was supposed to be okay with having to listen to Our God is an Awesome God every day even though it clashes with my belief that the Popeye’s Biscuit is the one true lord.)

 

After they fired me they apparently expected me to put up a fight. I don’t they quite expected me to grab my bag (which had a lovely new book I checked out from the store that they are never getting back now) and walked out the store. This only caused mega bitch manager to chase after me because she was supposed to escort me out the airport. She doesn’t like to run, so naturally I made her run as much as possible. My favorite was when they bitch started to tear up because she was so sad while I pulled out my phone and talked about what a cunt she was.

 

And the best part as when the bitch left (usually a cause for celebration) even though she knew that my badge had been taken away and I had absolutely no way of getting out the garage without her. So I got to sit in the parking garage for an hour yelling at anyone who came near me to let me the fuck out.

 

Finally when I got a manager that I actually didn’t despise to come help me we had to wait for a security guard, which took approximately forever. One finally showed up and it’s like Barney Fife jumped off the screen. “What seems to be the trouble?” He did not particularly enjoy when I yelled “I no longer work here and I want to go home!” So he looks at my boss and he says, “Um…he no longer works here and he wants to go home.” Yeah it was that difficult. So I finally got to leave.

 

I was more pissed off about being made to wait in the garage for an hour than I was about getting fired. Because really I may not have the job anymore, but at least I know that they aren’t stealing from me anymore. And I’m all about the time I get to spend with my bed. Not to mention the book that now belongs to me that used to belong to the store. Hell, it’s just my way of getting $30 of the money they stoke from me back.

 

And you know what, now that I didn’t work there anymore, I just have to say, Rhonda (the bitchy ass manager) you fucking walking urinary tract infection, you are going straight to hell, to the special are where all the people who justify being a bitch behind God go. It will be a pleasure to make your afterlife miserable.

Just Another Person Who I Have To Throw Rocks At When I'm In Hell

You know how every once in a while you get one of those customers that just makes it joy to go to work. They are so gracious and polite that it makes you want to be a little bit less of a horrible person. Well this guy came in the store the other day and he was so not that kind of customer.

 

So he comes up the register and starts throwing his book and credit card down on the register because obviously I am so beneath him that there is no possible way he could actually put them in my outstretched hand or anything. Then he’s rushing me because apparently I am the one who built our computer system therefore completely responsible for the fact that it runs slow as shit. He keeps walking away from the counter after I tell him three times that I need him to wait for the transaction to finish processing so he can sign his receipt. Obviously this is just way more than he is willing to do.

 

Finally the credit card receipt spits out and I am ready for this man to be gone from my presence. He’s leaving when all of a sudden he stops and turns back to me.

 

“Why did you just call me that?”

 

I am very confused at this point because not one single word came out of my mouth, so I have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.

 

“You just called me a fucking jackass.”

 

“Um..no I didn’t.”

 

“You most certainly did. I heard you.”

 

“I don’t know what you heard, but I didn’t say anything.”

 

“Are you going to sit there and lie to me and tell me that you didn’t just call me a fucking jackass?”

 

“I don’t have to lie because I didn’t say anything. If you are that paranoid about people calling you a jackass then perhaps that says more about you than it does me.”

 

“Fuck you, you fat, miserable piece of shit.”

 

Later, I was told it was this point where my face got so red my coworker was afraid for the man’s life. “Is that really the best you have? Calling me fat. Like I haven’t heard that before. Like it’s really that big of an insult anyway. Wow you can state the obvious. How wonderful for you. Get back to me when you have an above 5^th grade education and then I might be insulted.” (I love how verbose I become when I am all kinds of pissed off.)

 

Well Dickhead just sat there stunned for a minute, not sure what to say. Then he racks his little brain and comes up with this gem. “Yeah, well you’re still fat.” Oh, burn.

 

“And you’re still inbred. I’m glad we had this little meeting. Now get out of this fucking store before I call security and have you detained.” There may have also been a threat of a full cavity search.

 

“Yeah well you call fucking security.” He says this as he is hauling ass out of the store like the little bitch that he was.

 

Here’s the thing. I have a big mouth. It gets me into a lot of trouble. I most certainly say a great deal of things that I shouldn’t. But this time, I didn’t say anything to provoke this man. Now if I had said something then by all means confront me. But if it is one of the very few times that I have kept my tongue to myself, do not get it my face. Because I will go to jail just for the joy of beating the shit out of you.

 

Oh and also, don’t think you’re being funny and calling me fat. That’s just a fucking invitation for me to sit on you.

The Truth Is Ugly

Okay so things aren't going so well at the bookstore. In part because the company that owns the store is run by agents of the devil and partly because I have a big mouth that I have never quite figured out how to keep shut.

 

So a couple weeks ago we discovered that our insurance had been canceled because corporate office decided paying the bill just wasn't that important. But at the same time they didn't see a problem with continuing to take the money out of our paychecks. So since November I have been paying for insurance that I didn't have. I don't know about you but I thoroughly enjoy paying for stuff that I don't actually have. It's one of my favorite things.

 

So after a huge hissy fit the company was gracious enough to have our insurance reinstated. It was really nice of them. At least to hear them tell it, it was incredibly generous of them.

 

Now that just leaves the two months worth of money that they took out of our checks. When asked when we would be receiving our money back they told us that we wouldn't be getting a refund. So we of course called bullshit. And then they told us that it didn't really matter anyway since we didn't use the insurance for two months we wouldn't be getting a refund anyway.

 

I just didn't think that was a good reason.

 

So this week the devil company tried to be sneaky and send a secret shopper in the store. The problem is to be sneaky you sort of have to be smart. And sending your relatives in as secret shoppers isn't smart. At least make sure they don't the same last name so we don't know exactly who they are.

 

The "secret" shopper started asking a zillion questions that only made it more obvious who he was. Then he started asking me all sorts of personal questions about me and if I like working here. So I told him I would probably like working here a little more if the people in corporate weren't a bunch of petty thieves.

 

Huge shocker. An hour later I get a phone call telling me how unprofessional I am. To which I told them a bunch of petty thieves have absolutely no room to talk about being professional.

 

So what's the lesson here besides that I'm probably getting fired this weekend. Number one if you are going to complain about unprofessional answers tell your "secret" shoppers to ask only professional questions. Number two if you don't like being called a thief how about trying not stealing from your employees. It will go a long way. But since that seems to be too hard for the company to do I hope they enjoy hell.

Just Put Lance Bass On The Cover Of Every Magazine And This Kind Of Shit Won't Happen

As I am sure everyone is aware of now, Octomom is on the cover of Star magazine. If you didn’t know this already, you must be some form of Mormon and therefore probably aren’t reading this website right now, so I’m pretty safe in my assumption. I think it is pretty clear that I hate this woman. It is hard to pin down exactly why it is I hate her, but there are so many reasons to what does it really matter. Let’s just say I don’t particularly enjoy seeing her on the cover of the magazine in a bikini every day that I go to work. (Also, it’s not cool that she is saying she got that way without the help of plastic surgery. The Almighty Popeye’s Biscuit will smite her ass with some lightning for that kind of lie and she has a gaggle of kids to support.)

 

Anyway. So this magazine has been on sale for like a week in our store and I am desperately awaiting our delivery date so we can get something else on the shelf. I never thought I would be begging for a creepy shot of Kate Gosselin, but I am. Because then maybe I won’t have to talk to certain customers who take offence to the Octomom.

 

See, I was just standing at the register minding my own business and starting a fight in one of the Amazon forums because that is how I get the vast majority of my entertainment. (Don’t knock it until you try it.) Then this woman walks up. I really don’t pay that much attention to her because that would involve caring and I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

 

“Oh shit, what is she doing on the cover?” I finally do look up to see this woman staring at Octomom’s creepy new belly button.

 

“Apparently she spent a year ignoring her 72 children to spend it in the gym losing weight and is now lying about not having plastic surgery so that is what passes as cover story material these days.”

 

“Well, you probably shouldn’t be selling it. You should be kind of ashamed. The more you sell this kind of trash, the more it promotes this kind of behavior.”

 

Yes, because I keep forgetting about my side job as the editor of Star magazine. Clearly it was my choice to put her on the cover. This bookstore thing is just for chump change. You know my way of getting close to the little people. Finding out what they really want and then completely ignoring it.

 

I’m just really sick of being blamed for everything. Just because I work in a store that sells the damn magazine, doesn’t mean that I am responsible in any way for its production. If that was at all true, don’t you think I would have said something when Playgirl magazine was discontinued? See, no say at all.

 

But while we are on the subject of being ashamed, let’s talk about this woman. Black and white stripes is never a good idea unless you are in prison or a zebra. So maybe if this woman was a little less worried about what I “should” be ashamed of and a little more concerned with finding an outfit that doesn’t make her look like the fucking Hamburglar we would both have better lives.

Find Out What It Means To Me

Respect. It’s something that everyone human being wants. Not a lot of people deserve it but since when has that stopped people from wanting something. Chief among these people are the people who run the corporate office that controls the bookstore. And I just don’t know how to tell them this, but that’s just not going to happen. Here’s the thing. I don’t really even like them and not a whole lot could make me, so the chances of me respecting them are pretty much zero.

 

Let’s see, these are the same people who decided two months ago to cancel our insurance benefits without telling us. They also made the decision to keep charging us for the insurance, so basically I have just been paying them for the honor of working in their crappy store. Joyous me.

 

These are also the same people who decided that 8.50 an hour was way to much to be paying me, so they have cancelled my .50 an hour raise that I was supposed to get 4 months ago. But it all balances out because they have managed to chase away all the other employees we had in the store, so now we are down to 7 from a starting total of 21. So that means that I am doing three times the work that I used to but still getting paid the same. That’s swell.

 

These are also the same people that when they come to the store and decide to do an inventory check, I have to help them with the alphabet. “Why you’re looking for a book written by David Baldacci? Then yes, you would look in the R’s because that’s where we keep it. I mean B and R look so similar, why not just go with it.” Super.

 

So the corporate people have decided that us lowly cashiers need to start respecting the chain of authority in the company. So they have demanded, not asked demanded, that we start calling everyone who is above us as Mr. or Mrs. or Ms.

 

Yeah that’s just not going to happen. Like at all. The thing is calling them that would imply that I respect them and I think we’ve already established that I do not. The corporate office people can demand that all they want but two can play at that game. From this moment onward I demand to be addressed as He Who Shall Not Be Named. (Let it be written.) How’s that? See, that’s probably not going to happen either.

 

And really, I am not going to refer to my 22 year old baseball playing jock manager as mister. So if that chances are none that I am going to address a manager that I actually do like that way, then what are the chances that I am going to address those douchebags like that.

 

Also, it’s not just a matter of I won’t. It’s that it is physically impossible for me to do so. I haven’t been able to stop calling my coworker Snookie since I found out that she sort of resembles the Jersey Shore whore without the Bump It on her head. It’s beyond my control.

This Is Why I Would Rather Just Watch Wendy Williams, But Not Really Because She Scares Me A Little

I am getting so sick of Oprah. Like seriously, she is like forging her way into every aspect of my life. Well, not really every aspect, but my work at the bookstore. And seeing as all I do is work, then it’s pretty safe to say that it is every aspect of my life.

 

I have a guiding rule in my life. I refuse to read anything that has ever been recommended by Oprah. For the simple fact that I am sick and tired of her acting like she single handedly brought reading back to the world through the power of her talk show and talking very loudly. You know what, O, reading has been around a lot longer than you have.

 

You know what else I’m sick of, people telling me that I should read a book because Oprah recommended it. You know, if I didn’t take Oprah’s recommendation, what the fuck makes you think I am going to take yours. You ain’t Oprah. I’ll read what I want to read.

 

So when people come up to me in the bookstore and ask for recommendations, I try to give them a varied selection of reading material. This is the point in the conversation when they say, “Oh I really wanted to read this book because I heard Oprah talking about it.” I usually follow this up by telling them my personal policy on Oprah and her stupid book club.

 

I will tell you this. The only thing that will get you the death stare faster than making fun of Bella Swan, is dissing Oprah. Apparently many of the women that I speak to on a daily basis feel that they have a personal relationship with Oprah and I have just said evil things about their best friend. “Well Oprah is a great person. She is the reason more people are reading these days. And you are going to miss out on a lot of great books if you think like that.”

 

Yeah and you are going to miss out on a lot of great books because your leader didn’t tell you to read them. Now go back to the mothership that is Oprah’s vajayjay.

 

And let’s face facts, my book club is sooo much better that Oprah’s. Number one, my club is all about helping you out. And number two, I actually have time to read all of the books I put in my book club because I do not have to spend all of my time beating Tyra Banks off with a stick because she is try to take my place.

 

Suck on that, O.

Today I Am Sad

So today my boss quit. Usually when this happens it is a time for massive celebration. Cake. Ice cream. And sing alongs of Ding Dong The Witch Is Gone. I mean we’ve all had that boss right. But this is not the case today. Namely because this boss is the only one of my many many bosses throughout my life that I have actually liked working for.

 

It was really sad to go to work today knowing that it would be her last day. The thing about this boss is that not only is she like completely adorable, it’s like she’s the glue that holds all the crazy together in that bookstore. Quite frankly I think we are pretty much screwed without her. I really foresee something happening the store and all us reverting to some animalistic culture where we just hunt each other to death. And of course sales will suffer because who wants to shop in a store full of jungle animals trying to kill each other. Though we might have a shot at getting on one of those Discovery Channel shows.

 

The only good thing that has come out of her leaving is that I can finally stop worrying about if she is going to find out about this blog and fire me for it. I can finally just tell her about it and stop shitting on myself.

 

So there’s a lot of things I would like to say about her leaving, but you know how I get when it comes to, you know, emotions that aren’t blind rage. I don’t do mushy, even though she does deserves more praise than I can actually put into words.

 

So to her I say, I will miss you. You were the buffer for all the crazy and we will surely be dead within three weeks without you.

What Kind Of Store Do You Think This Is?

I have been asked for some strange shit in my time. Like people just assume that because the store is open we have everything. I don’t know about you people but whenever I’m looking for chewing tobacco, the first place is look is a bookstore. It makes so much sense doesn’t it?

 

The people who ask for this crap are extremely annoying. Like it’s bad enough that I have to deal with people coming in to ask for books that they know we aren’t going to have. I don’t see the wisdom of coming to a small airport bookstore to see if we have a copy of a rare business book that has been out of print since 1972. Yeah we aren’t going to have that. But I put up with because at least the item was a book or book accessory. I will even let people get away with asking for newspapers, even though it is highly irritating because I was made aware that some bookstores do sell newspapers. We are not one of them, kindly show yourself to the door.

 

What I can’t get behind is people asking for completely random crap that they should know we don’t have. Like hair extensions. I have never in my life walked into a bookstore and found hair extensions. Wait no I lie. There was that one time, but I’m pretty sure that came off someone’s head and wasn’t actually merchandise.

 

Or denture adhesive. Really. Denture adhesive. I am dying to know what kind of synaptic misfire happened to make that even plausible. I mean I know this person was old and all but really? I just don’t get it. And then she got all mad when I looked at her like she was three seconds from stupid. I don’t know what bookstores were like back in the Mesozoic when this woman was growing up, but there is no Polident to be found in them these days.

 

Though the absolute worst happened today. Jalapeño jelly. I ask you, what the fuck is jalapeno jelly? I have never heard of this. But some woman came in today all distraught because she had a jar of this shit in her bag and TSA confiscated it. I know, right. It’s the end of the fucking world. And may I just say…duh. You can’t bring jelly through security. It’s in the weird half liquid half solid phase. I wouldn’t even do that on the days when I am actively trying to fuck with TSA. And I’m sure her accusation that they took the jar in their office and were snacking on it is probably untrue. Because while I am not too familiar with the concept of jalapeno jelly, I am pretty sure it’s disgusting. I just can’t see myself keeping down a peanut butter and jalapeno jelly sandwich. I mean…eww.

 

But I am glad I met this woman. The sad and dejected look on her face when she found out that we didn’t have this mutant jelly that she sought was one that I would reserve should my dog ever get run over. And that made me feel a little better about my life, like it was just a little less pathetic. I mean I might have crap going on, but at least I don’t get all emotional over jelly. Unless it’s strawberry, then that shit is on.   

Tis Not The Fucking Season Yet

I am about to bitch about something that a great many people bitch about around this time and, you know what, I don’t care. Because it’s pretty much been established that no one bitches quite like me. I say go with your strengths. So here it goes.

 

What the fuck is with the Christmas music? I have accepted a long time ago that I work in the retail industry and for a month of my life I have to give up music to listen to goddamn Christmas carols, but it’s not Christmas. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet. Every year I am being subjected to this holly jolly bullshit earlier and earlier. It’s not cool. For the simply fact that I am neither holly nor jolly.

 

And let me tell you something, I’m assuming places do this because it’s supposed to put people in a good mood and happy people spend money and continue to be happy until they get their credit card bills and then they are not happy anymore. But guess what? That doesn’t always work. If you are dealing with an asshole in the airport, no amount of Christmas music is going to make him not be an asshole. It’s just a fact of life.

 

And I am totally one of those people. Christmas music makes me hostile. (Really? What doesn’t?) All the La La Laing and spreading good cheer just makes me want to vomit. When I’ve been fighting traffic to get to the airport just to get on a shitty elevator to go down to board the Little Engine that Couldn’t, the last thing I need to hear is fucking Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer. I’m already in a foul mood and that just makes me want to break off his shiny nose.

 

And to make matters worse, every once in a while, the music gets interrupted for those lovely little announcements warning us about the terror level in the airport. What goes better with Christmas than terror?

 

And this is also the time of year when my coworkers decide they want to be funny. Since we, like the rest of the airport, are required to listen to Christmas music, they try to switch it up and play The Nightmare Before Christmas. (I must say that this is a lot better than listening Manheim Piledriver over and over and over again.) But by the sixth time that you have listened to Kidnap the Sandy Claws, you pretty much want to pop your own eardrums. It also doesn’t help when your boss is oddly fascinated with Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer.

 

I’m thinking of coming out with my own Christmas album. So that way, I can listen to it without breaking the rules because it will totally be Christmas related. It will include such classics  like Deck the Halls and that Bitch in the Face, Shut Up Bitch The Night is Supposed To Be Silent, and everyone’s favorite, I Will Shove Those Jingle Bells Right Up Your Ass.