Genius Thief

I got to babysit a shoplifter. Apparently, he was a bad-ass and had done prison time (he'd recently turned 18) though he repeatedly asked if he could call his mother, and was quite concerned about whether or not he would be put under arrest.

The thing is, he was already under arrest. This was difficult for him to understand, though it was explained to him several times.

There were a lot of things he found difficult to understand.

For example, he didn't think he was a thief. When our loss prevention guy pointed out that he'd stolen stuff, and that, by definition, makes him a thief, he tried to wheedle around it saying that he's not only a thief. I didn't want to ruffle his little baby feathers, but it did sort of beg the question as far as what else he might be. Fashion model? I think not.

When asked why he stole, he replied that he wanted to go fishing. Okay, then.

When asked if he had money to pay for stuff, he said he had a dollar. (He took about twenty dollars worth of stuff.) He said he intended to pay for one of the items. It was worth more than a dollar. Hmm. He wanted to know if he could just pay for the stuff and leave. No, he couldn't, but out of curiosity, how would he pay for it? He would ask his friend for money. Did his friend have money, he was asked? He hung his head and mumbled no, his friend didn't have money either.

I realized then that I was in the presence of a mastermind criminal.

When asked what he did prison time for, he said that someone's uncle was on the property being scary and that he'd threatened him with a gun to get him to leave. When asked what kind of gun, he paused for a very long time, and finally came up with an airsoft gun. I guess it's possible that this may have actually happened. He was seventeen at the time and said he did three months. And he wasn't afraid of jail, he said, just prison.

He did look like a very, very sad kitty when the officer arrived and put him in cuffs.

So there you have it. A typical criminal, who now has an arrest and citation on his record, should he ever seek employment beyond fishing, which seems unlikely but hey, he may want some sort of job someday. Eventually. Maybe.

I felt a little bad for him, but you know, it's all about choices. Children take things that don't belong to them because they aren't socialized, and when they can't have what they want right now they kick and scream and put up a fuss or sneak it later. Adults recognize things like ownership, community, responsibility ... and these things are awesome, wonderful things. To a thief they're things that get in the way of immediate gratification, and are stupid. But an adult sees that:

With ownership, I can keep and take care of things. With no agreement of ownership, anyone can take anything and there's no point in taking care of stuff, having nice things, or even assurance of some safety within the home. In fact, the concept of home is fragile and one of the things that thieves destroy is a sense of personal space and haven. Thieves are, of course, outraged and upset when people break into their homes and take their stuff ....

Community: awesome. People looking out for each other, watching each others' backs, helping uphold rules that make things like homes and ownership work. Having a community is core to being able to have celebrations, conducting business, and finding help with jobs that are too big or complicated to do by ourselves. Thief boy doesn't get that his mode of providing for himself relies on the existence of a community. Without it, he wouldn't have a store to steal from. He can disdain law-abiding citizens all he wants, but without them he would be taking his life into his own hands to go onto private property in a non-community, isolated area where the resident is accustomed to protecting his own property by him or herself and takes care of their own business.

Responsibility. It sounds like a drag until you realize it has two sides: the stuff you need to do, and the fact that you can do it – you are able to respond. Responsibility sounds initially like slavery, but it is in fact freedom. Responsible people have options, capability, and by accepting the requirements of society, grow to become more and more able through practice of taking responsibility. By being a responsible mother, I become a better parent. By being a responsible animal owner, I can't help but become a better livestock owner and cat lover. When you take action to fulfill your to-do list, through action and practice you become better at things like your job, and fishing, and keeping house, and managing money. If you practice. If you work at it. If you learn and grow and change and adapt. These aren't easy things to do, btw. It's easier just to grab and demand and whine and spend most of your time sleeping both literally and figuratively, like a child. Thankfully, most children instinctively learn and adapt and change. But some get stuck at one stage or another and feel that they have all the resources and knowledge required to get by. I find it odd that so many of them get stuck at a stage when they have almost no resources or knowledge that can help them provide for themselves.

Thieves tend to consider themselves smarter than us idiots who pay for stuff that's so easy to take. I doubt he ever thought through the idea that if everyone stole, there would be no place to steal from because there would be no point in having things like stores and possessions and ... anyway.

So I gazed in wonder upon the genius before me, and thanked the stars that I am a fool.

Thinking Ahead More Than Two Seconds

Okay, people. You've made me cranky again. Not you, my devoted readers, but those other people who drive me crazy sometimes, despite my best efforts to be kind, understanding, compassionate, etc.

I was at the Warehouse Store Which Shall Not Be Invoked (okay, maybe I will. It's Costco) putting my stuff into the trunk of my car, minding my own business. The folks in the neighboring car seemed unable to mind theirs, however. I put stuff from the cart into reusable bags, since they didn't give me a box. Didn't even offer, but that's okay. The last thing I need is one more box to burn. He noticed that I loaded slippers, and said, "Slippers. It's ninety degree weather."

Oh.
My.
GAWD!!!!!

Can some people not think ahead for more than two seconds? Seriously. It's September. Guess what? In two months it's going to get cold, if it even takes that long. Three months and we're starting to get uncomfortably chilly. Four months and it's going to be sixty-mile-an-hour gusts, snow and ice, wind chill down below zero F and guess what? You will not find a single slipper at Costco then.

I see this at my store all the time. The intelligent people see fans in March and go oh, hmm. Is my fan still working? And they go home and dig it out and test it and lo and behold! It doesn't work. And they deal with it the following week by picking up a new fan. Meanwhile, the grasshopper people go, hey, look at the idiots buying fans in March. It's cold out there! And the first hot day in July they run to the store, looking for a fan, and complain about the lack of selection. Or worse, they show up on the first 100+F degree day, looking for a fan, and there are none to be found. What about swimming pools? Sold out. Swimming pool toys? Got some divers and squirt guns, nothing else. Goggles? Gone. Flip flops? Do you wear size 4?

They are so used to getting exactly what they want exactly when they want, they have no idea what to do with places like Costco and my store where there isn't room to store the entire universe, and even if there was, the warehouses and distributors don't have the room to have it either. Yes, they keep pushing the seasons earlier and earlier. It's supply and demand. Manufacturers produce only so much stuff. Buyers buy them as soon as manufacturers offer them for sale, before they're sold out. They don't want to hold them in their warehouses because that costs money, so they ship it out and buy the next thing available. This will never change.

This will never change.

Those who wait, be it the customer, the store, or the distributor, will not get what they need. They might get the dregs if they're lucky.

Our ancestors grew up with this concept thoroughly ingrained. InGRAINed. If they didn't store grain over the winter, they starved. They couldn't go pick it up at the store. If they needed a coat for winter, they made it during the summer because they couldn't buy it in winter. They had to make it.

Even the super-huge massive stores like Walmart often don't carry everything year-round. Sometimes, due to the manufacturing and distribution schedules, it simply isn't available. And even if it is available, who is to say that you could battle your way through the ice and snow to get to it? I wonder how many awful wrecks would be avoided if people didn't rush to the stores after the snow has already started to fall to buy necessities that they could have stocked up on in, you know, October.

Or September.

So, ignoramuses of the universe, take heed. If you have slippers, fine, don't buy them in September (which to me doesn't seem unreasonably early anyway.) But don't come crying to me if you can't get nice ones for a decent price in January. At the very least, don't make fun of me for buying mine early, when I see really nice ones for a very, very nice price.

Thanks for reading.

Update on Publishing News

Random House has responded in an open letter to critics, specifically some very well-followed folks in SFWA (Science Fiction Writers of America) including John Scalzi.  You can find some great commentary and comments here at Writer Beware, a blog every writer ought to follow.

Here is the text of the open letter:

Dear John, Victoria, Jaym and SFWA Members,

We read with interest your posts today about the new Random House digital imprints and our business model. While we respect your position, you’ll not be surprised to learn that we strongly disagree with it, and wish you had contacted us before you published your posts. We would appreciate you giving us an opportunity to share why we believe Hydra is an excellent publishing opportunity for the science fiction community by posting ours below to them.

Hydra offers a different-- but potentially lucrative--publishing model for authors: a profit share. In the more traditional advance- plus-royalty model, the publisher takes all the financial risk up front, and recoups the advance before the author earns any cash royalties. With a profit-share model, there is no advance. Instead, the author and publisher share equally in the profits from each and every sale. In effect, we partner with the author for each book. 

As with every business partnership, there are specific costs associated with bringing a book successfully to market, and we state them very straightforwardly and transparently in our author agreements. These costs could be much higher--and certainly be more stressful and labor-intensive to undertake--for an author with a self-publishing model. Profits are generated once those costs are subtracted from the sales revenue. Hydra and the author split those profits equally from the very first sale. 

When we acquire a title in the Hydra program, it is an all-encompassing collaboration. Our authors provide the storytelling, and we at Hydra support their creativity with best-in-class services throughout the publishing process: from dedicated editorial, cover design, copy editing and production, to publicity, digital marketing and social media tools, trade sales, academic and library sales, piracy protection, negotiating and selling of subsidiary rights, as well as access to Random House coop and merchandising programs. Together, we deliver the best science fiction, fantasy and horror books to the widest possible readership, thus giving authors maximum earning potential.

As a last point to the SFWA leadership, my colleagues and I would welcome the opportunity to meet with you at your earliest convenience to discuss the advantages of the Hydra business model, describe the program overall, and respond to any of your expressed concerns. Please let me know a good time for us to set up this meeting. 

Many thanks and all the best,
Allison Dobson

Allison R. Dobson
V.P., Digital Publishing Director
Random House Publishing Group

I have to beg to differ with a few things in the letter, namely, that they would give the authors maximum earning potential. Really? 

Will they market for me? I assume that if they do, I'll get charged for it. If I'm getting charged for it, why not just buy it myself? And I'm not sure I'd want to buy advertising. Since we're partners, do I get a say in how much is spent and where?

What is Hydra offering that I can't get for myself and then receive 100% of the profits? They're fronting the money for production? Yes, they are. Are they spending more than I can afford, which I have to pay back with all of my side of the profits from the book (while they pocket their half--do they spend their half of the profits to help pay down some of those production costs or is it all on me?) or are they spending something I can afford, which couldn't I just spend that money myself and keep all the profits instead of paying them back and then only getting 50% of the profits until they cut me loose?

Am I reading this right?

Publishing News

To all the writers out there:

Contract terms seem to be getting worse and worse. I think publishers are test marketing bad contracts to see who will sign. The backlash in one particular case--Hydra, an imprint of Random House, offered a particularly bad contract the terms of which have gone viral--has the potential to send a big message not just to Random House but a great many other publishers who are toying with the idea of abusing writers.

John Scalzi makes far more educated and insightful comments than I can.

And then, it seems, Alibi gives John Scalzi more fodder for commentary. Really, guys? Some writers are in fact desperate to be read, even if they make no money but I think the bandwidth on this scandal--and it's a scandal--may make even them run away.

Kate Wilhelm bails on traditional publishing after withdrawing a book due to an insulting contract offer.

Distribution has been bottlenecked for a long time. Suddenly, the dam burst and literary rivers are running wild. I'm a little confused as to why publishers think that they can misbehave now of all times, when writers have such amazing alternatives.

Maybe from their perspective it makes sense. From their perspective there are so many free and cheap books out there that they may think that writers who have professional aspirations might feel like they can't compete or make money on their writing. (And many of us do.) Such writers, the publishers may theorize while steepling their hands together and giggling maniacally, may be desperate for validation, promotion, and the stamp of approval from a real publisher that will hopefully set them apart from those gizillions of other books. So desperate, that they may accept, despite any feelings of unease or warnings from the writing community, a really, really bad contract. Besides, there are plenty of ignorant writers out there, right? Even if writerly outrage goes viral, there will always be a chance that a talented newbie without an internet connection or the wisdom to go to the library and google up some research will sign. And the Random House name will be on the letterhead. Everyone has a Random House book in their home, if not dozens or hundreds. All it takes is for one James Patterson-like newbie to sign on based on their household name, and the money will endlessly roll in forever (thanks to the contract terms.)

Well, they'd better find that sucker while the Random House name still has a good reputation. Because reputations have a way of going down the tubes fast when your indiscretions become public. And the public loves a good scandal, especially when it involves a corporate giant.

D*#% Ink!

I ran out of ink--the same ink I always run out of--and so I had to change the cartridge.  I'm already annoyed because I can't use my new laser printer because the toner cartridge ran out and the new toner cartridge is giving me error messages.  I'm additionally annoyed because I like buying ink in bulk so that I save, but the only bulk ink I can find at my favorite savings store sells one of each kind of ink jet ink cartridge instead of sensibly offering two (or three, please!) of the ink I'm always running out of.

And then!

And then I start trying to pry the ink out of the nuclear-bomb-proof packaging without damaging the cartridge, and I have to fight the impulse to tear at it with my teeth like a wild animal out of frustration.  The way the edges and the extruded parts where the ink sits interplay make scissors almost useless, knives dangerous to use, and argh!! My teeth aren't working!!

The scissors finally do it for me, after prying and some ineffectual cutting and forcing blade against seams, and I extract my cartridge.

My nerves, however, are frayed to bits.

And the worst part?

On the front, images of smiling, happy people are mocking me.

But maybe that's not the worst part after all.  You see, I only managed to open one area, which gave me access to two cartridges (one of which I don't need, of course.)  When I next run out of ink, most likely I'll have to open the other area to get to the cartridge I need.

Expletives don't cover it.  I just have to put it away and not look at it anymore, or I'll do something rash like write an angry letter.  

Argh.

I bet they're punishing me for trying to save money.

Argh times infinite.  Poopyheaded packaging designers ...

Charity

I know, I was going to post more stuff about Ireland.  Next post, maybe even later today, but first I want to talk about charities.

I got a call from Washington State Lodge Fraternal Order of Police late last month.  Since I'm a nasty, suspicious person, I didn't want to give them any credit card information over the phone, so I asked that they mail me information.  I felt uncomfortable, because the caller clearly didn't sound like a volunteer.  He used pushy jargon, didn't seem particularly grateful when I said I'd contribute $25, and then asked if I would contribute more when I got my invoice in order to help cover overhead associated with mailed contributions.  I hung up feeling iffy about the whole thing and was glad that I'd have a chance to investigate further once I got the mailed materials.  I hearts teh internets.

The letter I received looks very shiny and promises to contribute to all kinds of things I normally eagerly support:  helping out police and families in distress, developing crisis management and stress support programs,  LEO Torch Run for Special Olympics, college scholarships for children of LEO's, etc.  Seven items were listed as examples.  I thought wow, this is great!  But, being horribly suspicious, I did a web search.

I won't call them a scam like some have.  But they do appear to be a commercial, money-making venture rather than what I would call a true charity.  Their last report to Washington State's secretary of state reveals that 20% of money actually reaches the LEO community.  I've also seen an older figure of 18%, so I guess they've improved.  (Yikes.)  The BBB hasn't received any requested information from them--which isn't necessarily bad, but raises my eyebrows and makes me want to dig deeper.  I'm glad I did. 

The Charity Navigator puts some perspective on overhead and percentage of charitable contributions that actually goes to charity.  My feeling is that 20% going to charity isn't good enough, not even for government work.  $20 of my $25 would have gone to the company for their overhead.  Well.  It seems obvious that if I want to give money to police programs, there have to be better and more efficient ways to do that.  In 2008, Washington State Lodge brought in $816,882 and spent $576,131 on fund raising.  They also spent almost $40,000 on conventions, conferences and meetings.  I totally feel their pain in the convention department, but having said that, with their additional accounting expenses and what-not, have very little left for, you know, charity, the reported purpose of their organization.

I can't support this kind of inefficiency, even if it's not deliberately set up to provide jobs off of people's goodwill rather than help people (or animals) in need.

Always, always check out charities before contributing.  I'm all about feeling good for helping out a good cause, but I want that good feeling to be real and justified, not a phantom thing because I went through the motions and poured money through a phone line.

It's a shame.  I would love to support LEOs and their families, especially when they're in crisis.  I'll just have to find another route, to honor the pledge I made.  It most certainly will not be through the Washington State Lodge Fraternal Order of Police today or next year or ever unless they shape up their organizational practices. 

"Adult Content" #amazonfail

Here's an interesting article that points out the inadequacy of Amazon's explanation that the sudden disappearance of rankings on thousands of books was some sort of glitch.  Commentators and authors observe that when someone receives an email from Amazon claiming their book was removed from rankings due to adult content, and then later claims that it was a glitch, something isn't right.  

This brings us to the troubling subject of adult content.  Should adult content be restricted?  If so, is America willing to give up its Playboy magazine?  I'm thinking no, and the fact that Playboy didn't end up glitched off the ratings system is a clear sign that this is more sinister than Amazon's explanation allows for.  (It also suggests that white male power is alive and well.)  Many have noticed that male-oriented sexually explicit material didn't go away, including those that included sexual violence.  But gay titles did 'mysteriously' disappear, even if they had no sexual situations in them.

I'm interested to see what develops from this.  In the meantime, I expect Amazon to begin dodging liability.  Curiouser and curiouser.

Russet Noon: Bad Eggs and Plagiarism

Have you heard of Russet Noon yet?  I'm torn, because I'm helping the author become famous, and yet I want the world to know that copyright thievery is alive and well.  Authors beware.

From the Absolute Write Water Cooler:

Meyer's fanfic writer thinks copyright laws don't apply to HER

I know my opinion doesn't matter, but here goes.  I used to write fanfic.  I don't have time these days.  I speak from experience when I say  it is much easier to write something using someone else's world and characters.  The hard part is if you care enough to get the details right, which requires rereading the source material often.  This is necessary and important work, especially if you are working from a piece of fiction in the public domain (or you have permission) and you don't want to make a fool of yourself to the primary audience--people who love that original piece of fiction.  The new author has to know his/her stuff inside and out.

Having said that it's easier to write fanfic, that doesn't mean it's easy or worthless.  All writing is hard and sometimes that hard work pays off to produce really good fiction.  But because it's easier, it's very tempting for people like the author of Russet Noon to come into the picture and, rather than try to write an original piece and try to stand out in the slush pile, they ride on the coattails of existing success.  Again, a perfectly legitimate thing to do, though it's not usually as respected as original effort, but you must have the original author's permission.  

If you've read the Absolute Write thread or Googled around the web, you've probably become familiar with the various arguments for and against.

What, you say?  There are arguments for publishing this?

One argument that ticked me off is that some believe that because the original author has declared she won't write in the series anymore, others should continue onward in her place.  The readers are entitled to more!  The original author and publisher shouldn't deny the readers that pleasure.  Grrr ... poopyheaded entitlement poopyheads!

When I was a kid, if I finished with a series of books and I wasn't done emotionally, I would create my own stories.  I wouldn't write most of them down.  I remember I wrote one about Jana of the Jungle (so embarrassing ...) but the rest I concocted in my mind, often while running around wild with sticks and plywood (staffs, 'bows,' swords and shields) in the woods behind my mom's house.  I didn't share these stories, but if I did it wouldn't be a crime.  But if I decided I was going to write my own Lord of the Rings novel, publish it and make money off of it without going to the Tolkien estate for permission (and sending them their cut) it would be a crime.  Just as it's wrong for comics to steal material from other standup comedians, using company logos to imply that your affiliated with a group that you're not affiliated with, or using artwork or photography without compensating the artist or photographer.  

But I digress.  You know all this stuff.  It's really pretty simple.  Don't pass off someone else's hard work, whether in part or in entirety, as your own and then try to make money off of it.  The vast majority of fanfic writers don't have any illusions that what they create is something they can profit from or claim as their own in any but the loosest sense.  They write disclaimers and all share in good, honest fun.  Making money off of it without respect to copyright and trademark, is plain and blatant thievery.

Stephanie Meyer can defend herself just fine.  Everything will end up golden and grand for her, no matter how it breaks.  I think the author of Russet Noon is beyond deluded to believe that Ms. Meyer will read the book and be fine with everything and come to some sort of mutually equitable solution, but I could be wrong.  I hope that for the rest of us, Ms. Meyer won't condone this.  If she does (and believe me, it will be against the advice of her lawyers,) it'll make things that much more difficult for those writers who don't have deep pockets who then have books pop up based on their work, with no apology and no accompanying acknowledgement or compensation.  I hope Ms. Meyer makes an example of this person to warn away imitators.  Believe me, there will be those who try to pull the same stunt again and again, and if Russet Noon is legitimized in anyway, the ranks of thieves will swell to unprecedented proportions.

I also hope that the reverse doesn't happen--the yank-down of all fanfic online.  I don't read it, not interested, but it's fun and a good place for novice writers to test the waters.  Prolific pro writers sometimes play there too, taking a break from the tough job of developing their original material.  I don't want that to go away because of this bad egg.  Alas, sometimes when a bad egg is broken, it stinks it up for the whole barnyard.  (That last is a nod to Charlotte's Web.)

One final note:  if you want a compelling reason why fanfic writers ought to lay low, investigate the case of Marion Zimmer Bradley and Darkover.  If the idea of two years of work being lost because someone played in your sandbox and claimed that you stole their fair share of the sand makes you shiver, you're not alone.  The reverse is not too fun either--putting a lot of work into a fanfic (are you sensing another good reason not to do this?) and then trying to sort out what your 'cut' of that ought to be, if anything.  Or how about pissing off the person whose work you admire so much that you're fanficing all over the place with it, or making that author quit writing in that world altogether?  I don't think I could show my face in public, honestly.  Panel at a convention?  I would not want to answer pointed questions about what right I thought I had to ask for half (or whatever percentage) of another author's royalties when that author wrote the whole thing.  Writers know what ideas are worth.  Seriously.  Stephen King gives away the ones that his monster under the bed produces if you're really struggling.

I'm not sure what the 'truth' of the situation is.  I just know that should I be so lucky as to have novels published, I'll have a hard time deciding whether or not I should turn a blind eye to fanfic (I won't be allowed to read them for various legal reasons) or spend time diligently informing various fanfic sites that unfortunately I can't allow any fanfic based on my work.  How sad is that?!  I don't want that.  I want everyone to have fun and enjoy the written word.  Unfortunately, others have decided to stink things up.  Poopyheads. 

No doubt that this is muddy water.  I say, if you want to write, go swimming in clear water.  Write original work.  And don't make a stink.  If nothing else scares you, consider that you might get wanked.  

Wishing for On the Rocks Laundry

Three and a half hours.  That's how long it took me to do the laundry I brought to the laundromat.  I think I did somewhere between 12-15 home-sized loads (I have a really big washer dryer set too) in that time, which is lightning fast.  I had six of the largest washers going at one point.  Thankfully the dryers were really huge and I was able to dry things fast enough that I didn't have time to sit down and read (which translates to wasted time which translates to even more time spent at the laundromat.)  I had about ten minutes of free time and then one after another the dryers would run out of time, I'd pull out anything that was dry, restart them, and start folding.  I usually didn't get done with folding what I had before I had to fish out the dry stuff and restart another dryer.  Intense, but worth it.  The laundromat's owner was a peach of a man and kept my sense of humor going through it all, even when my back was whining about how heavy laundry is.  (Boo hoo, do you want to sleep in clean sheets and blankets or not?!)

I may go in next week and do what's left over plus anything that accumulates in the meantime so that I stay ahead of the game instead of falling behind while my dryer is non-functional.

The only disappointing part is that I was sure I'd have time to sit and write on something.  Next time I'll know just to put my driver's license in my pocket, about $25 cash in the other pocket, and forget all the writing stuff and reading material that was supposed to keep me distracted.  Oh, and an iPod shuffle, of course.  

It did make me a bit nostalgic over my old college days and the Suds N' Suds.  Beer and laundry.  I think it's a perfect combination.  Margaritas and laundry, even better.  Salt and Suds?  Blend N' Tumble?  Or, heh, On the Rocks Laundry, for those of you who remember that much laundry was done (and still is done) by beating it on rocks.

BTW, ma'am, in case you read this:  Put your entire effing load in one dryer next time, please!  You can dry more than one towel in one dryer, one pair of jeans in another, and three t-shirts in yet another.  I can't believe you had the nerve to hold the last one in the bank for your husband's soccer uniform (one tank, one pair of shorts.)  I can tell you're used to people not arguing with you.  Well, I was no different.  I used a dryer on the other bank.  Why was I smiling?  Because I know you're a poopy poopy poopyhead and having to live with yourself is its own worst punishment, not to mention you plugged in a whole lot of quarters for no reason.  You were there for two hours, too, with less than a tenth of my laundry, because you couldn't tell when the clothes felt dry.  Poopyhead.  Poopy poopyhead.  I'm way more mature than you.  So ha!

Clarion West Update

The word from Jay Lake's Livejournal and other places is that the community rallied swiftly and the victims of the thefts are back to work.  I'm so glad.

I know if I was in that position and I took my main computer with me I'd have financial information compromised, passwords revealed, and I would have lost a heckuva lot of work.  So.  Let's all be security conscious from now on.

When you're robbed in your own home there's really not much you can do to protect the sensitive information on your computer.  (Please correct me if I'm wrong.)  Some programs allow you to have passwords required and such, but by and large, I think it's okay to trust your home environment and then deal with theft when it happens.  

When you're traveling, though, that's a whole 'nother ballgame.  Thieves are taking more and more advantage of the fact that people carry laptops everywhere.  They've taken to breaking into more hotel rooms (a family member of a coworker had this happen and lost a brand new laptop--it was a nice hotel, too) and watch for people being careless at restaurants, etc.  If you're traveling with your laptop I think it's wise to backup your data much more frequently than you normally would, protect any confidential information with password roadblocks (yes, I know it's a pain to have to type a password to get into Quicken or whatever but believe me, it's worth it) and to have a non-mental list (because after you've suffered a theft you're going to be very upset!) of what might be compromised and who to call about it.  Credit cards.  Checking and savings accounts.  Passwords/auto sign-ins to forums that are the same as or similar to the sign-ins for more important things like online banking, Paypal, Amazon, ebay, medical records and/or medical insurance sites, car loans/mortgage info, etc.  (BTW, thieves *love* it when you use the same password or even just the login for everything.  If they seize control of your email, even briefly, they can snag a lot of information in a very short time.)  

Life's too short to live in a state of fear that someone might snag your private info and steal your identity or your money or destroy your credit.  But do think about security when you travel, and do make that list of numbers you'll need to call to inform folks that your laptop was stolen so they can start suspending accounts and such and help you protect yourself.

There's a lot of poopyheads stealing laptops so take care out there. 

April Fools

I woke up to sunshine this morning.  I was so inspired by spring and growing things I've decided to walk out on my job, dye my hair green, and run around naked in my garden all day.

That was supposed to be the beginning of an April Fool's entry but you know what?  It really sounds appealing.  Well, the dyeing my hair green would be a pain, with the lightening first to a lighter brown or blonde and then finding and going to a salon that carries the right green for part B, and it would probably be expensive.  Maybe food coloring would work, but if it didn't, well, I'd have to live with the lack of success for a long time, being a long-haired weirdo.  I look really terrible in short hair.  Trust me.  

But besides that, the rest sounds great.  Someday when my garden is tall and all filled in I can garden naked or mostly naked if I want, no joke.  Right now there's too much exposure (ha ha) to the road and my neighbors, though I used to work topless when I worked in sheltered areas.  Ironically, we've cleared too many blackberries for me to work in a comfortable state of dress (or undress, in this case.)  But soon, soon now, the plantings will mature to a size that we'll have privacy again, without an invasive non-native species taking over what should be gardens and pasture and wildflowers and woods.

I'm reveling in my freedom today after reading about some real hardships.  A good and wise friend pointed me to her blog (waving hi!) and I spent about an hour catching up.  It pointed me to a wonderful and yet heartbreaking article about an all-woman village that both filled me with joy and anger.  My heart wants to react with counter-violence but I figure that's a no-win.  The men will escalate if the women fight back, and probably kill them all.  I'm so filled with feminine pride after reading about their success, and enraged by the poopyheadedness of the men.  When people can't see that beating women for being raped is wrong, they are more than blind and ignorant.  A blind man can understand.  An ignorant man can learn.  I don't think that these men can see, or learn to be other than what they are--a product of a culture that places blame solidly on the shoulder of people who can't or aren't allowed to defend themselves because they're too terrified to challenge the people who are responsible--the rapist, the abuser, and too often, the religion that they twist and interpret to condone, or that outright condones the savaging of their neighbors and kinfolk because they were born with a uterus.

Blessings on the women of the world who are suffering today, not for choices they've freely made, but because a glint of self-value shone in their eyes and an asshole couldn't stand it and had to crush it.  Blessings on the victims of rape, blessings on those who stand up and embrace courage and provide hope for their sisters.  Many, many blessings on the village of women that's growing around the world, and blessings on the women who haven't heard and don't know and need a place so much and will never live to see it.  May they be touched by peace, grace, and love.  

I think I know who the real April fools are today.  

P.S.  Katherine is doing great.  She's very kittenish and playful and is healing well.

Blame the humans

Katherine's ad in the Columbian:

Found B&W cat, Washougal, call to ID, pay vet bill to claim.

At the store the day before yesterday I had a real ~gem~ of a customer.  She was all right to work with, but ... well, it went like this.

"I'd like to return this."  She sets an air soft gun and ammo on the counter.  

"Was it defective?" I ask.

"It didn't work for what I wanted it for," she says.  "The dogs didn't leave."

I pause in my scribblings.  

"I shot them in the butts and they just stood there.  They're over at our house all the time, pooping everywhere."

"Did you call animal control?"  I try to sound sympathetic.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that," she protests.  As if anything worse would happen to the dogs.  As far as I know the owner would just get a stern talking to, or maybe a fine.  But maybe she's right, they might get hauled off.  But she's shooting at them.  As long as she gets them in the body I'm sure they'll be fine but what if she gets an ear, or an eye?  And I can't get over the fact that she's shooting at her neighbor's dogs.

"There's always mediation if your neighbor won't talk to you about it," I tell her.  "There's an excellent service offered through the shelter, and I think it's free--"

"Oh, I suppose I could talk to my neighbor," she says.

My mind proceeds to boggle.  She's shooting at her neighbors dogs and she hasn't talked to them, informing them that there's a problem yet.

"I could try firecrackers," she muses.  "That worked on the goats."

I'm so done with her, but I provide excellent customer service, as always.  So she comes back and asks for my opinion on some clothes.  She compliments my hair, and I say nice things about her hair, and she decides I'm her friend.  We exchange names.

I'm so ready to not go back to work just to avoid this woman.  Argh.  And yet, she's very pleasant.  The character that springs to my mind is Umbridge from the Harry Potter series, but she doesn't wear pink sweaters.  Her favorite color is blue.  

Maybe she'll figure out that talking to her neighbors about their dogs coming over might be more helpful than using air soft or firecrackers.  She seems intelligent.  You'd think she'd figure out that the dogs (and goats) are just doing what animals do naturally and the responsibility for where they're doing it falls on the shoulders of their humans who should have some modicum of control over them via a fence, leash, etc.

Argh, I say, argh.  What is it with animals getting the worst of people these days?  I know, it's constant, but right now it's very much in my face.

Oh Dear

Meet Katherine.  When I got home today a black and white kitty went into our garage.  It's been snowing and raining and hailing all day--I thought someone let Huntress out and she was taking shelter in the garage.  I called her name, assuming she'd follow me back to the house.  When she didn't, I figured she'd gone mousing.  Thought nothing of it.

The kids were out playing.  I went inside and got a snack, settled at the computer, read my email.  The kids march in.  "Hey mom!"

"Yeah?"

"This isn't Huntress."

"What?"  I have to get up and see what the heck they're talking about.  By now the black and white kitty thing has completely left my mind and so what they're saying sounds as sensible as "Hey mom, you're not an ostrich."  

I look at the cat in Orion's arms and, hmm, it has a white spot beside its nose.  That's not Huntress, I realize.  It all comes back to me now.  Actually, not all.  I still haven't made the garage connection.   "Where ...?"

"I was walking by the garage--" Orion begins--

Aha!  Now it's all really coming together--

"And," he continues, "I saw this cat and I thought it was Huntress, so I scooped it up and it started purring.  I turned it over onto its back to tickle its belly and that's when I realized it wasn't Huntress."

My mind starts turning, beginning with Oh Dear.  I send the kids on a mission.  Go forth next door and ask our neighbor TTBD if this is one of his cats.  He has three (?) cats, all feral adoptees, the most feral being far more feral than Wiz started out to be--difficult to touch after months of work but will come inside for food.  They return.  All of TTBD's cats are inside.

The inevitable words--

"Can we keep him?"

I look under the tail.  "Her.  This is a she cat, as far as I can tell."  So I give them the usual spiel about how we have to put an ad in the paper, contact the Humane Society, take it to the vet to see if it has a chip (and for a health checkup, of course) but we all know this is useless.  It would take a miracle to get rid of this cat.  I mean, it's in the house.  No one is going to claim a beat up, neglected little thing that was very likely dumped on the side of the road by a Super Poopyhead within the past day or two and washed up in our garage because the weather was so bad.  It has been owned at some point.  Its unstoppable friendliness and complete lack of alarm at being locked in the boy's room is evidence of that.

Please, please help us!  Surely someone knows this cat, and loves it, and will take it away.  It's a tuxedo kitty.  Argh!  As soon as it becomes comfortable it's going to turn into a yowler, I know it.  A 2am yowler no less.  And it's going to be a barfy yowler too.  With health problems.  

Sigh.

Hey kids, want to just take it to the shelter?  I'm sure someone will adopt it.

Noooooooooooooo!

People are such poopyheads.  But maybe I'm jumping to conclusions.  Maybe this is a poor, lost kitty and we'll see her posted on a sign somewhere--Lost, Kitty, Reward, Please Bring Our Beloved Muffin Home to Us, Children Crying Nightly ...

We've named it.  We're so doomed.

Sigh again, I say, and Sigh.

March of the Acronym People

Collectively at the store we had an interesting day yesterday.

The Barbie lady came in.  No, she didn't buy barbies.  She bought three 25 pound bags of cat food (among other sundries.)  Is this an uh oh moment?

I haven't mentioned the OCD (Obessive Compulsive Disorder) lady before (that I remember) because she's very nice and compared to a lot of our other customers, she simply doesn't stand out as much as, say, Mr. Boston with his lovely accent, gambling habit and the wonderful way he learns and uses all our names, or Pretty Lady man who comes to BiMart because of all the "pretty ladies" and goes around the store telling us all how we're the prettiest.  

Yesterday, OCD lady really stood out.  She got one of our best checkers, thank goodness, a young lady with the patience of a saint.  I've never seen OCD expressed through another person before, so I thought I'd mention it.  After the checker rang through the entire order, the debit card didn't work due to insufficient funds.  The OCD lady was convinced there were sufficient funds, there had to be.  So she instructed the checker to void one of the items, put it back on, and then the OCD lady would try the card again.  For half an hour.  The checker's break came and went.  This caused a service snafu (effectively leaving us with only one checker) but we handled that from the sidelines.  The trouble was how to finish the transaction with a minimum of trauma.  Finally I flagged down our RVP superhero guy (Red Vest Power) and sent him over to help.  No dice the first round.  RVP guy retreated, watched for a few minutes longer, then decided to take a chance.  He broke the cycle by convincing her to go home and call the bank.  She didn't want to until he assured her that we would keep all her selections in their current bags, in her chosen shopping cart, until she returned.  So that'll be waiting for me when I go in to work today.  I'll guard it with my, well, not my life, but every customer service bone in my body.

I feel badly for her.  At least she came to our store.  I doubt other places have the patience with her.  I'm worried that she's standing out now because she's either off meds or she never was under medical care and is getting worse.  Sigh.

Finally, at the end of the day, our RVP guy came up to the front with a customer and he seemed enthusiastically agitated.  ??  We'd locked the front doors and had turned out most of the lights trying to get all the customers up front and taken care of (no paint lady, thank goodness, just regular orders so it was going quick) so I seemed puzzled by how RVP guy was apparently trying to keep this customer up front.  RVP guy wasn't taking his time so much as going way above and beyond our normal spectacular customer service.  ??  And then I caught a critical part of the conversation.

"I don't know how this could be happening.  You guys see me come in here all the time," the customer said.  "And I write checks all the time.  I haven't heard anything about bounced checks from my bank."

Bing!  It's thousand dollars of check debt guy!!  TDoCD guy was standing right there within throttling distance of my super, but my super wasn't working that day.  Lucky for him.  I could imagine her launching herself, grabbing him by the throat while her weight powers him down, and shouting "Call the police!!"  RVP guy decided that he couldn't do that, it turned out, because all the bounced checks, (did I mention there was a thousand dollars worth of them?) had already been shipped off to loss prevention only three days ago.  He was certain that if we did call the police, we'd have no proof of wrongdoing.  Denied!  TDoCD guy was trying to make it sound like he was a victim of identity theft or something--I even suggested it and he got all coy with me.  Unfortunately for him, RVP guy and every other manager at the store had seen this guy's signature quite a few times by now on checks.  It was burned into their brains.  They'd also had to initial quite a few because some of them were for over $100, and they check ID on checks over $100, so most of them had looked him in the eye, looked at his ID ...  Yep, this was him.  The checker didn't recognize him, but TDoCD guy was trying to, guess what, write another check for over $100 and RVP guy went over to initial it--and then said he wasn't going to accept the check.  That's when the games began.

But we had no proof on site for fraud, so TDoCD guy walked out a free man.  For now.  Little does he know that the phone number RVP guy gave him was for loss prevention, not customer service.  Hopefully they'll convince him to come in to 'straighten things out' where he can land solidly into waiting handcuffs.

So I was late getting home, and sore, and drained.  It was kinda fun, but sad, and exciting, but annoying, and worrisome, and I guess just one of those days.

Attack of the Black-footed Ferrets

On the I.N.K. blog, Ris wrote about a plagiarism case that recently came to light. I started to comment, and the comment grew to be too unwieldy. I guess I have a few more things to say about it than a comment box can contain.

If Cassie Edwards deliberately took another writer's work to pad her word count and used the excuse that she didn't know how else to include the information, then she really needs to be called out for this. It's the stealing to eat argument with the exception that she has demonstrated that she doesn't have to steal in order to eat. Most of the writing in her books is her own, or so I assume, so really, excluding that text wouldn't cause her to starve. It was an option, a choice, with no negative consequences to her career (or at least that are clear to me. I could be wrong.)

It also seems unlikely that Ms. Edwards is innocent, as I understood is her claim, because she didn't know it was wrong. Didn't it bother her in the least that she was cutting and pasting someone else's work and selling it to a publisher as her own? Ignorance of the law, maybe, but how about ethical standard, or even simple pride? Very young children are taught in grade school that their papers have to be written in their own words. They can't just copy. This message is reinforced through middle school, high school and beyond. Maybe she never thought about the reason behind this, that you have to actually do the work in order to get the credit. Not only did she get the credit (until she was exposed) but she got paid for it.

Sometimes people do things without thinking it through, and I can understand that. I've certainly done things I'm ashamed of, sometimes deliberately, sometimes because I was short-sighted, lacked information, or had a major blonde moment. Having said that, if she really is a writer then she sits in front of a typewriter or a computer or scribbles into a notebook for hours and hours, producing words, sentences, paragraphs, chapters. That's honest, hard labor and she very much deserves to get paid for that. If she's given the luxury of time, she revises that draft, polishes, and ships it off to her agent (or publisher.)  That also is work she should get paid for.

She stops being a writer when she starts to transcribe instead of write. I'm not sure how someone could unwittingly cross that line.

Then again, I've had times when I've been a really crappy mother. That's an unforgivable, awful thing and it haunts me. It wasn't deliberate per se, but deep down I knew I could, and should do more and better for my kids. If she had a bad mom moment with her writing, I completely understand, but that also means that she will have to at some point apologize, and try to make things better, or do things better. If she can't atone or legalities prevent her from apologizing, she has to at least stop, to not do that anymore, and not pretend that everything's all right. Considering the threats of boycott and the rising scandal, I doubt she will be able to pretend everything's all right even if she wanted to. It just depends on who she is. If she believes Signet's statement and persists in the idea that she did no wrong, maybe she can spin this as a great unfairness, a bunch of poopyheads trying to ruin her life and career. We could all be jealous, conniving people who want to tear down her success. I sure hope she doesn't feel that way. I'd feel so badly for her. That would set her up for a very miserable life and might well end her career, whereas a swift apology and some compensation might have saved it.

On the plus side, Paul Tolme, the man who wrote the ferret article, is now famous. The ferrets might do pretty well too. I also hope that any writers out there who felt the issues of rights infringement and plagiarism were unclear can now recognize that the public will not turn a blind eye if they discover that someone has placed a by-line over someone else's writing. People do care. They want writers, and musicians and artists, etc. to be compensated for their work, because it's only fair. Just because their product is public and easily obtained and easily reproduced that doesn't mean it should be free, any more than the tasks I complete at work should be done for free because any monkey can be taught to do it.

The outrage out there is in part a result from thousands of people being underpaid, laid off, underemployed and undervalued. They know what it's like to work hard and see nothing for it. So this won't go away quietly. The ferret is out of the bag, and there's no way Ms. Edwards will be able to get it back in.

Return(s) of the Barbie Lady

I was going to blog about this yesterday but I was tired, and then all day today I've been fighting a cold.  I think the cold is winning.  Grr.

Anyway, I was minding business at the front counter when in comes Barbie Lady.  She introduces herself, and I have to refrain from telling her that we all know her on sight at this point.  "I remember you," I tell her instead.

She starts loading barbies and barbie clothes onto the counter.  "I've been to Target and Walmart and Big Lots and a bunch of other stores and no one will take these.  I know some of them are yours because they have the stickers on them."

Indeed, some of them do have BiMart stickers on them.  I explain to her how the UPC codes (in theory, anyway) are unique to the stores and that's how we can tell if they're ours or not.  

"But these are BiMart's because they have the stickers on them," she says, getting immediately defensive."

"Yes, I understand.  We'll scan all these and see what's what."  So I get an RF and start in.  Fortunately some of the boxes, even though they have different styles of clothes in them, have the same UPC so I can stack them and scan just one.  It quickly becomes an exercise in frustration because the system keeps going down and I have to reboot the RF for every other scan.  

To pass the time the Barbie Lady repeats how she's been to all the stores.  She was at Walmart until 2am the day before and she's frustrated and exhausted.  Maybe I just start to have a day, but all I can think about are the poor Walmart employees dealing with a gizillion returns in the post-holiday buyer remorse days as their credit card bills come in, not to mention a healthy percentage of theft items coming back among them with no receipt or fake ones, and then this woman shows up and starts telling them her woes and piling up stuff on their counter and half or more of it isn't even theirs.  

"Big Lots would only take it back for half price," she told me, as if this was outrageous.  "They said they don't carry it and they offered to take it for half price.  And Target said that their stuff only stays in the system for six months.  Are you sure that this isn't yours?  Maybe it's out of the system."

"No, it would still be in our system," I assure her.  We had a fondue machine come back.  We didn't carry them this year.  We had them last year.  Another of our stores across the river apparently did carry it this season, but the point is that she got all these things in the fall and they'd still be on our computers.

I employ the help of a cohort and we start organizing better so that I can start writing things down, marking them off the receipt, and dumping them in the go-back bin.  She starts leaning over the counter.  "I know I paid more than that for those."  

"It's what the RF is telling me, and it matches the tag," I tell her.  "See?"

"Okay, maybe that one, but that one I definitely paid $10 for."

"It's on sale for $6.99, regular price $8.99.  It's right here on the receipt."  I circle the item on the receipt, trying not to get annoyed.  I know she needs the money desperately, but this is starting to verge into two things I don't care for--people who are not my coworkers and supervisors trying to tell me how to do my job, and people who are trying to get more than what they're due.

"I have more of those out in the car," Barbie Lady tells me.  "Should I go get them?"

No, don't get them because you can always bring them in later and we can do this all over again and maybe the RF won't be working at all that day.  "Please," I tell her.  "That would be great." So she goes out and comes back with a fresh cart of things.  A customer comes up and needs a card replaced.  "Would you like to shop around first and come back?" I suggest.  "I'm sorry but I have my hands full.  Or if you'd like I can do it now."

"No, I don't mind," he said.  "I'll come back."  

This apparently set a dangerous precedent.

So we're working and I have one return slip filled and I'm starting another.  I'm seeing the light at the end of the tunnel when the Barbie Lady looks over my shoulder and says, "She can't help you right now.  She's really busy."  Then she looks at me.  "Can we get this going?  I'm just really tired.  I've been trying to get these things returned for hours."

Whoa there!  Turning a customer away on my behalf?  My cohort and I exchange glances.  "Excuse me."  I turn my back on Barbie Lady and tell her, "I'm sorry, I'd be happy to help you.  What can I help you with today?"

It turned out she was there to pick up some furniture.  She'd come from Vancouver, where they were sold out.  All it took was a few seconds for me to page someone.  All my fond feelings for the Barbie Lady flee.  I turn back.  "I'm sorry, that was probably rude," Barbie Lady says.  "I'm just so stressed out by all this."  Mmm hmm, I'm thinking.  And this excuses you being rude to a customer on my behalf?  "It's just that I had no Christmas.  I was by myself, couldn't even get myself a present, and the bank has called me four times and I've had to go over there for hours each time, and I'm trying to straighten out my credit cards.  Starting a business is so much harder than I thought it would be.  And my doctor told me that I have a degenerative nerve disease, so I can't work, but I'm not considered disabled so I can't get unemployment."  She starts to get all teary-eyed, sniffling.  

This starts to burn me.  I know people with degenerative nerve diseases.  It's a struggle, but they work and those who can't work are formally disabled and get social security.  I know, people slip through the cracks and I don't know her life story, but there are people out there in much worse shape who are getting by.  It's the timing more than anything, like she's trying to gain my sympathy so I take pity on her and, what, feel better about what she's doing?  Work faster?  "I suppose I could work here," she adds, laughing through her almost-tears, sarcasm full on.  "At least I could make grocery money.  I don't know how I'd live."  I'm standing next to someone who's only income comes from her job here, and although this isn't technically a slam her tone is definitely of the 'I'd be crazy to try and of course it would be a snap to get a job here and keep it' kind of thing.  I'm thinking, not with your interpersonal skills, ma'am.  

She didn't hear the theme music that follows me around everywhere suddenly go dark and eerie, didn't notice the darkness that filled my eyes and turned on a little red light behind the pupil, or the fangs when I smiled.  Yes, Kami went bad, I have to admit.  "Yeah, I understand," I told her.  "The holidays are tough for me too.  My father died of brain cancer on Christmas Day."  K-slap!

She looked like a deer in the headlights.  I felt a little guilty.  That's not something I do.  Well, okay, apparently it is something I do.  But she got herself into this mess, buying dolls and doll clothes from retail outlets at prices that everyone else has to pay.  Everyone who is into these dolls knows where to get them and their prices.  Reselling them, she's going to make money how exactly?  And now she's trying to make me feel sorry for her so that I excuse her rudeness?

And I'm trying to excuse myself, I know.  I lost it.

"Well, don't you have the story to tell!" she said.

I do, but it's not for her and I shouldn't have mentioned it.  But she did stop with the poor me stuff, which was a happy relief.  I finished her return and sent her on her way.  She'd been in at least once since I did her first return, so there are only a scant handful of items left on the large receipt she has.  She didn't bring the copy of the receipt my boss printed off the computer when she couldn't find it.  It wouldn't help her anyway.  If she didn't buy it here, we'll know.  She won't be able to double up on returns.

I'm sure I'll see Barbie Lady again.  Until then, to all my fellow retail employees out there:  Never give up, never surrender.

Maybe He Needed Coffee First

People come up with the dumbest excuses to return things.  Either that, or they are just too stupid to own certain things.  Or both.

So yesterday I got a return for a coffee press, aka French press.  I always ask if there's anything wrong with the return.

"I brought this back before," he tells me.  "The inner part was defective, so they opened another one and gave the inside of that one to me.  It didn't work either.  It's dangerous."

"Dangerous?"  Now I'm intrigued.

"When I plunge it, it squirts hot coffee out."

I stare at the return slip as I write it, trying not to change my expression.  I have to fight not to continue the conversation, because I desperately want to ask.  Did you plunge it very, very slowly?  Because there is no coffee press in the world where you can get good filtration and also have the capability to plunge with any amount of speed.  A coffee press requires patience.  So don't bother getting another one if you don't understand how this works.  While you're at it, try not to purchase any other multi-part tools that require some forethought, say, for example, a pitcher with a locking lid.

Okay, that was particularly snarky, but dang!  Can't he just admit that he brought it back because he doesn't want it anymore?  Or did he really not know how to use it?

Maybe he filled it up too high, but I'm not even going to get into this, because even an especially simple person should be able to figure out if they've filled something too much to operate it.

Or, hey, most likely scenario--in order to figure out how to properly use a coffee press, he needed a cup of coffee first.  Darn those catch-22s.

The Inconvenienced Poopyhead

Tis the season for poopyheads.  

I have an ongoing conversation with the customers about the holidays.  It's a strange conversation, because for me it's all the same, long discussion but they only participate in thirty second to one minute snippets.  A particularly brilliant customer pointed out that she far, far preferred Thanksgiving to Christmas.  No pressure to get the right presents or feel a need to overspend to make others feel loved, no overcommercialization outside of the constant push to buy your entire meal pre-prepped at your local grocery store, etc.  Just family and friends getting together to feast, and maybe watch a parade or football or a holiday classic.

I really like that observation.

Contrast this to my poopyhead customer yesterday.  She wheels up an overflowing cart full of Stuff and Things and starts unloading it, scowling.  Why she came to my counter I'll never know--my station that day is the smallest and is meant for fast transactions and tobacco and razor sales, though we don't have a sign up or anything.  I'm completely unable to help unload, or reload, bags.  She doesn't wait for me to ring things through but keeps loading until it starts to fall over, and then she barks at me to help catch it so it doesn't all tumble to the ground.  Then she scoots over and tells me she wants all her stocking stuffers in one bag.  That would really help.

Eager to improve her mood and keep myself in the running for queen of customer service, I do my best to obey.  Problem is that she has things like sample sizes of baby powder, toothpaste and such included as stocking stuffers along with the traditional chocolates and beanie babies.  Rather than sort them into piles or something she just waits for me to ring them through and impatiently rearranges things from one bag into another when I guess wrong. 

I'm almost done when she says she wants me to call someone to help her out.

"Sure!"  I tell her.

"Call them now."

"I'm not supposed to do that until I'm done ringing the purchase through."

"Well I don't want to wait here for ten minutes while they get around to coming up here.  I know how this works."  Okay, now I'm steamed, so I smile at her and page housewares.  Carrie, bless her heart, is there in ten seconds.

And this isn't even the beauty part.

She tells me "I have two of those and two of those, and I want them rung at the end."  She hands me an organizer of plastic drawers such as a crafter might use.  I obediently follow her command, only to find while I'm bagging them up that the two organizer drawers are *not* the same.  They're about the same size, but one is three drawers with a flip top and the other is five smaller drawers.  I rang up two of the five smaller drawers.  Worse yet, I've already totalled (over $300 of stuff) and the machine is printing off the receipts in hopes of getting Carrie out of here so she can get back to the floor and waiting on customers at the photo-electronics counter.

Naturally, since these were the last items rung, by her request, I've already hit the total key, ran her card, and it authorized.  We're at the point of no return.  Good.  Ness.

"I'm sorry, I just realized these aren't the same," I tell her.  I put them on the counter and she looks them over.

"I don't want this one," she says, shoving the five drawer organizer at me.  "I want two of this one."  She jiggles the flip top.

I'm tempted to tell her just get another flip top and we'll call it square, but I have a sinking feeling I rang up the more expensive one.

"How much does this cost?" she asks, jiggling the flip top one.

"Um, the five drawer is $7.49.  I don't know how much the other one is."  

"Well can't you just check?"

"The receipt is still printing out.  I have to wait until it finishes printing out."

"Just take this one off, then."

"I'm sorry, that has to be taken care of at the customer service desk," I tell her.  "Just sign here on your receipt and take everything over there."

"Can't you just refund my money for the organizer?" she asks.

"Sorry, I'm not authorized to do that.  If you just sign here they'll be able to write you a refund--"

"Well that's inconvenient," she snaps.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience.  If you would please sign here--"

"I'm not signing anything until this is fixed."

I do a price verify on the flip top and my heart sinks.  $6.99.  I'm not even going to offer.  She's going to blow her top if I suggest we get her another flip top when it costs less.  She'll want her dollar.  Gah!  Darn you flip top organizer, why did you have to cost less?  If only you cost more!  I know my boss would be all over getting her out of the store at any cost, and this would be minor.  But no ...

"I'm sorry, I can't fix this," I tell her.

The customer behind her says, "The customer service desk is right over there.  They'll be able to help you."

She storms off, leaving Carrie to mind her cart.  Carrie doesn't dare leave, in case the woman might come back and feel like she was abandoned.  I can hear her chewing apart the lobby person from where I'm checking about how horrible I was to her.

Merry Christmas, ma'am.  I'm sure everyone will be delighted that you went through so much effort and trouble to get them sample-sized deodorant, weathering the horrible inconvenience of a self-created problem.  Yes, it was partly my fault.  I should have been doing my job instead of doing what she was telling me to do.  Yes, pleasing the customer is the bulk of my job but if I had rung through her order accurately using my own eyes instead of doing what she asked me to do, there would have been no error, and no fuss, and Carrie would have only have had to wait on her majesty for a few minutes.  I'm sure this makes her feel powerful, to prove how incompetent retail workers really are, and how much a trial it is to shop for presents.

Where is the excitement?  The pleasure found in generosity?  Was there ever a time in our own generation's history when people bought beautiful but modestly-priced, thoughtful gifts and enjoyed the spirit of giving?  I thought I used to do that, but I have to admit I've been getting stressed about it the past few years.

Well, the incovenienced poopyhead had cinched it for me this year.  I'm not going to be that.  If I can't find something nice and sweet and modest I'm going to give a card and gift card with my most heartfelt wishes.  I refuse to succumb to deodorant stocking stuffers and Easter-basket-style packaged over-priced gift sets of bath products just because I can't find anything on a store shelf that will bring real pleasure to the person I'm shopping for.  If I get a bath product, it's going to be Burt's Bees or that wonderful company that produced the glorious bath salts I got for my birthday and it's going to be something they'll want and use.  If I get deodorant it'll be because my son asked could he please have that darling deodorant in the window, please or please!  

So shall it be!

Poopyhead shopper.  :raspberry:  Take that, commercial Christmas!  

Blog Action Day, plus Poopyhead virus epidemic

I guess someone decided that it was blog action day, and not just any action but green action. (Not greeeeeeeeeen!?) All I can say is that here in the Pac NW it's better than most places in that awareness is high. Apparently on the east coast, things like water efficiency, sustainable flooring and alternative insulation aren't even on the radar. One article I read in "This Old House Magazine" related that one couple hired a contractor purely for his willingness to learn how to work with green and sustainable materials because not a single contractor in their area had actually worked with the stuff. They wanted it because they'd come from California and they'd been educated to value it. Apparently in Florida, there just isn't a market for green buildings, not enough to attract a single contractor anyway. Such is the gist of the article, anyway.

Despite the constant barrage of eco-friendliness around here, however, at work I still see people ask for a plastic bag for something they could easily stick in their pocket or purse. Examples I had just in the last week:
A pack of gum (she got a dirty look from the person in line behind her but missed it)
Two small packages of cat toys (already in plastic)
A vacuum cleaner belt (which was already in its own bag too)
Two rolls of lifesavers
A lipstick and a small bottle of soap
A bottle of pop (the single serving size)
A single DVD

Then there's the bag for the bagged or luggable items. People want bags for diapers and/or adult protection undergarments despite the fact that they have a handle on them. Also, they want bags for pillows even if they have a plastic cover on them, outdoor rugs and doormats, wine boxes, the 12 packs of pop (the kind with handles,) large bomb-proof packaged toys (the kind where you require power tools to get into,) appliances, camping stuff (you really want a bag for your foldable chair in a bag? Okaaay ...) bedding in plastic carrying cases with a handle, and so forth. Many of these require our gigantic plastic bags of doom to contain. These giant bags have no handles--you end up looking like Santa Claus. BTW, if you want a free plastic bag for something else just ask. I don't have to put an item in it to give it to you, and I try to make that clear. Let's not do the ridiculous packing of the auto floor mats into a 30 gallon bag. I understand that some of these things, like the wine and the undergarments, are something you might want to hide from other customers, but on the other hand, you've just lugged them around in your shopping cart, and now all you have to do is get it to your car.

I remember these because they fill me with little Kami outrage, or at minimum, little Kami eye roll impulses. Of course, being a model employee (but a model of what?) I smile and say thank you for coming in. On the reverse side, I've had people carry an armload of stuff and say they don't need a bag. I also have regular customers who come in either with their own paper or plastic bags or a permanent canvas bag. Yay them!

On to poopyheadedness.

There must be a poopyhead virus going around. This particular strain is making people obstinant with folks that they should be nice to. In a writer's workshop I'm running I set out in the guidelines (okay, they're not laws, I freely admit that--and the workshop is being held at a pirate-themed event) that writers need to include a 500 word or less synopsis with their novel portion. Everyone understood this, except Her. Her didn't submit a synopsis, and I didn't catch it until I started organizing the sessions. So I emailed her. Where is thine synopsis? Her response (paraphrased)? I don't see why I have to submit a synopsis. What are they used for?

I assume she doesn't treat editors that she submits to in this manner, or if she does, she'll never get published. Reading and conforming to submission guidelines is part of the test that publishers and editors use to determine poopyheadedness. If you appear to follow their guidelines in good faith (or at least have your ms in industry standard format) that is a signal to them that you have spent time researching, formatting and making things in all ways easy for them, and that therefore you are unlikely to be a poopyhead to work with. No matter how brilliant your writing is, it's unlikely that a publisher will put up with poopyheadedness in today's market. There's always another writer around the corner, just as promising, who is not a poopyhead.

Even if she felt like she didn't have to follow the submission guidelines because she knows more than me, which I guess is fine (who am I after all? Well, I know a lot of the pro writers and an editor or two and I do talk to them, but never mind that she couldn't guess that) there's the fact that she can safely assume that everyone else has a synopsis and that the pros who are reviewing her work will be expecting a synopsis. When they don't get one, what will be her answer? Um, I forgot? I didn't know? Or I didn't think it was worth my time? The excuse I like best is, I wasn't interested in your opinion on my synopsis.

Also had a request to be grouped with a particular writer, and when I said I couldn't guarantee placement with anyone and promptly went on vacation, the same person asked my good friend who graciously served as stand-in for me the same question. As if we wouldn't talk. Ha! Another writer asked to be in a one-on-one. Sometimes I wish I didn't have to be all nice and PR-y to these people. Out of my workshop, so there! And if you're one of these people and reading this, I hope you're blushing with embarrassment. You should. Grow up a little. You shouldn't expect special treatment. The "I paid good money" argument doesn't fly. So did everyone else, and btw $5 for a workshop with luminaries like Ursula LeGuin is not good money, it's a token fee to barely cover expenses for the workshop.

I thought the virus must be making the rounds in just the workshop, but yesterday I had a woman come in with her completed application. I inspected it and found that one of the job description packets was missing. There are two, and when I (and presumably everyone in the lobby) hand the applications out we let folks know that they need to be read, signed and returned with the application. (There is a small group of people who think we hand out those packets for their own records, which sort of makes sense but if you spend thirty seconds thinking about it you'd realize there's no reason for you to have something like that for your own records when you haven't even been hired yet.)

"Did you get both packets?" I asked, holding up the one for sales clerk.
"Yes."
"Well one is missing. Here, I'll get you an extra copy and you can sign it."
I've just turned aside when she says, "Do I have to have it in there?"
"Yes," I say, opening and disemboweling another application, removing the cashier packet and setting it on the counter. "They're not as likely to accept your application without it."
"But I don't know anything about cashiering." This is not mere protest--she has an edge to her voice that says I don't want to cashier.
I resist the urge to tell her goodbye, but that's not my job. I then resist the urge to go into sarcasm mode and say 'there's this thing called training ... Instead I nicely say, trying not to grit my teeth, "Well, they train you to do the job. Everyone starts out as a cashier here." Even the people who hate it. Yes, poopyhead woman, even you shall be forced to cashier even if you don't want to cashier, assuming you want a job.
She whips open the packet and signs it, giving me a dirty look.

Is she not applying for a job here? Does she not know that I got someone a quicker interview by letting our assistant manager know that the applicant who just handed this to me was dressed very nicely and was very friendly? If she doesn't recognize that we all have to work together and the only folks who have any say as to what duties they'll perform on a given day worked hard for that right, and they still have to have to do things they'd rather not do, she's not going to be a, ahem, good fit for the team, to put it in bureau-speak. So I hand over the application to the asst. manager when she's left and said, "she was very resistant to filling out the cashier packet and was pretty snippy." He didn't round file it right there, but he made the mental note.

Poopyhead virus. I've been around enough people with it, I might catch it, so I'll be sure to take extra vitamin C and get plenty of rest on my day off.

Happy Blog Action Day!

Boy, that sounded dumb. If it takes off I guess I'll just have to learn to appreciate the sincerity and proaction of the green movement.

But couldn't they have come up with a better name?

Maybe I should cast a spell

It turned out that the store was hopping on Monday as well. Apparently not quite everyone had made it into the store on Saturday, plus, many needed something more on Monday. We didn't have as many customers, but to make up for it, several came in quite a few times on Monday because they forgot something or something wasn't the right size or what they bought turned out to be defective and had to be swapped out for a different one. We ran out of defective slips. The door went ding dong solid all day. The boss had to close off my lane when my drawer got full because there was no 'quiet time' when he could just wander over and do the pick up between customers.

Among the customers I had Belligerent Man. It's quite possible that Belligerent Man has shopped at BiMart many times before, and I hadn't noticed him. He certainly hadn't noticed my ring before.

"Your ring. What's that mean?" he demanded.
"My husband is Irish," I told him. "He gave me this ring."
"Oh come on," he said, turning red. "I mean really."
At that point I started to feel really uncomfortable. I don't like lying, and I felt like he was calling me a liar. Later on, of course, I came up with all kinds of comebacks. "I'm sorry, but that's a bit personal," headed the list. "Would you like my supervisor to explain my ring to you?" "It means I worship God. And Goddess." And possibly my favorite, "Do you want someone else to complete your transaction today?"

Instead (sigh) I said "it means I'm Wiccan."
"Wicked?" he and his friend say in unison.
"Wic-can," I say slowly, trying not to sound defensive while still being loud enough to be overheard over the constant ding of the registers. And remember, too, I'm trying to do my job here. Efficient and accurate. Stop distracting me angry man!
"What's that mean?" he blustered.
Look it up on the internet, geep, unless you think the internet is evil, in which case, rot in ignorance. "It means I respect and honor nature," I say.
"Do you cast spells?"
Okay, now I have to laugh. "No. We honor the seasonal festivals, you know, solstices and equinoxes."
"Would you tell me if you did?"
Wow, he's really into trying to catch me at being evil. Later, boss man had to admit that when he first started working at our store, he recognized that of all the employees I was the one to fear. Yep, I told him. I'm evil.
And I hesitated because for a moment I wasn't sure that I would tell him if I cast spells, which I don't. But that wasn't what he'd asked about. He wanted to know if I'd admit I'm a liar. Huh? Wait a second. This makes no sense.
"Spells don't work," I told him.
"Do you cast spells?" he demanded.
"No."
He started to walk away. I don't know what possessed me, but I added, "and my husband really is Irish."

It made me realize that I wanted him to feel okay about me, but I'd never change his mind. And why would I really care what he thought? In order to not make waves in his part of the world? What a wuss I'd been. And now he probably thinks I cast spells and I'm a liar. But honestly, I don't cast spells. You can't get something for nothing. The trouble with 'spells' is that saying things in latin and dancing in a circle three times singing woogy woogy woogy doesn't work, especially if you read it out of a book and try it without having any understanding of why the author put those elements together (which unfortunately is all too often because it sounded like a good idea or s/he thought it looked awesome.) What works is will. What works is pure intent, knowledge of how things operate, skill to operate those things and enough understanding, communion if you will, to direct the energy the way you want it to go. It doesn't really matter whether it's a goverment, someone operating a machine, or a circle focusing their living energy to heal someone. Now if 'spells' worked, witches would rule the Earth and Christians would have to practice in secrecy. But I may just be mincing words when I separate spells from rituals. To me it's always been like the joke of the kid who watches the woman rubbing her naked body in front of the mirror for three nights in a row saying "I want a man, I want a man, I want a man" and then the fourth night she's in bed with a man and they're having raucous sex. So of course the next night the kid is in front of his mirror rubbing his body all over moaning "I want a bicycle, I want a bicycle, I want a bicycle."

It does occur to me that I might be doing it wrong. It may be that all the lottery winners *and* everyone who's made it big in Hollywood is into witchcraft and cast spells for their fame and fortune. Dangit, I knew I should have gotten a real raven's wing to fan my incense. Doh!

So as I left that night I looked out at the parking lot, wondering if he might not be out there with a shotgun, rocking in his pickup chanting "thou shall not suffer a witch to live." He wasn't there. Geh, I don't like this feeling, waiting for the reappearance of Belligerent Man. But maybe he'll never come back. After all, I'm clearly an evil witch. He might warn all his friends not to shop there.

Now wouldn't that be nice!