Blick!

Thank you for calling Wal-Mart how can I direct your call?

Menswear. 

I can help you with that.

Do you carry thong underwear for men?

Huh, I don’t think so, but let me put you on hold and I’ll go check.

At this time, I put the call on hold and remained in my seat because I knew full well we didn’t have any for me to check on.  I just needed a moment to catch my breath and swallow the bile that was rising in my throat.  There are two things a man should never wear on the lower half of his body. 

One is a Speedo.  

I don’t care if your body is a clone to Matthew McConaughey, (and let’s face it, whose is?) a man should never wear a Speedo.  Trust me, a nice pair of swim trunks will do nicely to showcase your legs and manly chest.  There is no need to knock me over the head with, huh, something else.  So trunks are in-Speedos are out.

Number two is a thong.

See above.  

And if I need to explain why Guys, you are in bigger trouble than I feared.  I will not make a designation between underwear and swimwear.  A thong is a thong.  This is equal opportunity ickiness.

We sure don’t.  The best I can do are string bikinis and low slung briefs.

Well, I’m a male stripper and I just need the skimpiest thing you’ve got. Are they solid or patterned?

Stripes and patterns.  They come in packs of five and sell for 9.95.

So tell me, out of those two choices which would you rather see me in and why?

I’msorrysirI’mnotaverygoodjudgeofthatsortofthingyou’lljusthavetocomeinandseeforyourself.

CLICK! 

Two words, Ya’ll.

Cree. Pee.

Gossip with a Romanian

Sugar is there!

What?

Sugar.  Is there.  She promise lunch to me!

Oh, yeah.  She said she’s ready when you are.

I come now!  She be ready!

So five minutes later, Carmen came by and we went to lunch.  Hands down, she has the most beautiful face of any woman I have ever met. She’s four years older but looks ten years younger than me so of course I intended to hate her. 

Alas, I cannot. Even if every thing that comes out of her mouth sounds like a command.

Where Kasey?

She called out sick tonight.

Oh I wordy ‘bout her.  She call out too motch.  She get coaching!  Coaching in computer!

I’m sure she’ll be fine. Hey, how’s your son faring?

He good.  He email me yesterday.  It very hot in Iraq you know.

Her husband drives over the road.  Before they married he worked with a Romanian guy and when said guy was going home for a visit, Carmen’s future husband went home with him to experience a new country.  And there he met her.  She has a son who came over with them and when he turned 18 he became an American citizen and joined the army.

I need to lose weight.

Carmen, Honey you’re gorgeous.  Where do you need to lose weight?

My stomach!  Look!  I gain weight here in US.  Chemicals in food! In Romania no chemicals in food. I lose five pounds in week I want.  But you have no tea here.  I have my Mother send the tea.

Tea?

Yes, You drink one cup a day and lose five pounds in week.  But no drink too motch or you go to bathroom.

She worries herself to death about everyone’s comings and goings.

She clock in too early. She get coaching!

He take too many breaks. He get coaching!

You back from lunch?  When you go home?

You clock out too late you get coaching!

How would I feel living in a country other than my own?  The thought excites me, but would I miss the most?

What do you miss about Bucharest, Carmen?  I mean other than everything.

Oh, I miss my Mother and sister.  I miss the city.  There is so motch to do there!  Here, I miss my husband. I only see him on weekend.

I was thinking this must be really lonely for her-with no family in the country.

But, I go to mall on Saturday with mother-in law. 

I felt better immediately knowing she had company.

Good!  You’ve got some family.

No.  I no like her!

…some things are universal. 

The Five Senses

...as experienced just this evening while moonlighting.

Seen: In the cookie aisle, a woman stuck in the 80's. She wore jeans with a waist so high her boobs lopped over the waistband. They had not tapered legs, but peg legs. (Gentlemen, there is a difference) They were acid washed. However they looked brand new. So either she bought ten pair in 1985 to last her the rest of her life or someone has resurrected this look.

Please, God. No.

Smelled: A grocery stocker hosed down in Patchouli. Not a blend or an essence thereof, but pure, straight patchouli.

I hate patchouli.

Heard: On the Muzak, that titular song (tee-hee, I said tit) from 1979 Lead Me On by the incomparable Maxine Nightingale. I had that damn piece of crap stuck in my head all night.

Of course, I knew all the words.

Make it stop!

Felt: While collapsing boxes, a cardboard paper cut. Kinda like a normal paper cut, but worse.

I cursed.

Out loud.

Also Felt: Hugs from my two favorite little girls while they were skipping by the fitting room looking specifically for me.

OK, the cardboard cut of death is feeling better.

Tasted: Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper and a bag of pretzels from the vending machine.

Yum! Dinner of champions

Also tasted: Red wine at midnight after arriving home.

That last taste was my favorite of the five senses this evening.

...the hugs weren't bad either.

Rah! Rah! Sis-Boom-Bah!

Big Daddy and I went grocery shopping.

Big Fun!

We rounded the corner and at the end of the laundry soap aisle we saw a man wearing a floor-length raccoon fur coat.

My hand to God.

It’s one of those things you see that you’re not really sure you saw. Big Daddy and I stole a glance at each other out of the corner of our eyes just to make sure that we were indeed seeing the same thing.

We were.

We waited until we passed him and then doubled over with laughter. It was the most ridiculous thing we’d ever seen. BD said, “All he needs is a banner and a megaphone.” He was right! Except for being several years too old to be a traditional student, this guy looked like he’d rolled straight out of 1920’s college football stadium.

Now, granted, there was snow on the ground and it was a tad nippy, but a floor length fur coat?

He wasn’t making a ‘mountain man’ statement either. His hair and beard were trimmed nicely, he wore conservative clothing and there wasn't any chaw nor a possibles bag in sight. I think that’s why his coat looked so danged odd.

We had to detour around the store to make sure we didn’t run into him again. It was too dangerous-who knows where all that uncontrolled laughter could lead? We didn't want it to lead to a fist fight out by the bike rack.

We didn't pass by him again, but we knew when anyone else had.

In the soda aisle we heard, “Did you see that?” and passing through the produce was “Where would you get something like that?”

Wal-Mart was a cheerful place that evening-full of laughing people.

I don’t think the man noticed. He seemed oblivious to any comment and not the least bit self-conscious.

...mmmm.

No beard on this one, but it's as close as I could find.

The Wrong Thong

Here comes that cute little Lorna girl walking down the hall.

Her with her thin shapely legs and all.

Christ.

I really want to hate her, but unfortunately she’s one of ‘those’ people who is sweet, kind, and gracious to everyone therefore making it impossible to hate her simply on the grounds that she’s gorgeous.

That pisses me off. I’d really love to hate her.

You see, I’ve always wanted slender shapely legs.

Ain’t gonna happen.

Because...I have an hour glass figure.

Now, it’s more the hour glass from the wicked witch’s castle in the Wizard of Oz than let’s say an egg timer. And time has run out seeings how all the sand has fallen to the bottom.

But it is an hour glass nonetheless.

That being said, I’ve never lost an ounce of fat from my thighs.

I carry my weight in my hips, butt, and legs. So when it comes off, (and it is coming off currently thank you very much for asking) it’s noticeable first in my face, waist and to lesser extent, the boobs.

My knees still blubbereth over.

I’m bringing this up, because I guaran-damn-ty that Missy there down the hall wears a thong.

I spend a lot of time these days folding and re-hanging women’s unmentionables and I have had ample time to study, peruse, and lust after pretty under things.

Mostly thongs.

There are thongs with lace and ribbons and shiny crystal hearts where the dental floss meets the waist band.

A lot of women wear these and swear they are the most comfortable inventions ever created by man. (And I assure you a man had to have come up with this idea.)

I tried a thong.

Once.

I burned it in the wood stove less than 30 minutes later.

I have spent the majority of my life picking my drawers out of my crack. I see no reason to put a strip of fabric up my ass on purpose.

That doesn’t mean though I trot around in high-waisted 'Granny Panties'.

Ew.

I’m more of a bikini/hip hugger kinda gal.

That should satisfy ya’ll’s curiosity. I know there has been considerable interest in what kind of drawers I wear. I daresay it’s been a subject of great debate.

…this blog is called ‘Sugar Britches’ after all.

The Heart of the Matter

Thank you for calling Wal-Mart. How can I help you?

This is Cherie. I won’t be in tonight. I can’t get out of my driveway. (Click)

Thank you for calling Wal-Mart. How can I help you?

Yeah, this is Lavonne. Honey, I can’t come in tonight. My road is iced over. (Click)

Thank you for calling Wal-Mart. How can I help you?

This is Marianne. There is no way I’m getting out in this stuff.

But, you live across the street!

Oh. Then I’m sick. I won’t be in. (Click)

Thank you for calling Wal-Mart. How can…(SLAM!)

Sugar! Oh thank God you are here. Everyone else has called in tonight.

So I gather.

By the way, I don’t think we’ve officially met. I mean I’ve seen you around and all. Anyway, I’m Bonnie. I’m the infants’ department manager.

Glad to meet you. I only wish it could be under happier circumstances.

Well, you’re on your own. You’ll have to man the phones tonight and cover all five departments.

Great!

If folks ask, we are out of: ice melt, rock salt, sleds, cheap cat litter, shovels, kerosene, and generators.

Good God! What’s left to buy?

Groceries. People have gone crazy today buying groceries.

But, that means we’re also out of bread, milk, eggs, and bottled water.

Exactly.

So why are we still even open?

(Blank Stare) Why tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day.

…of course.

20 Items or Less-Questions from the Express Lane

If we buy five packs of Wrigley’s Juicy Fruit gum is that considered one item or five?
One.

I have 47 seven items instead of 20 is that OK?
(sigh) Yes.

Do you take payroll checks?
Yes.

Will you take cash?
Yes.

Will you take a WIC voucher?
Yes.

Will you take my firstborn?
Yes.

Can you ring up alcohol?
Yes.

Is register 13 really the only line we can buy smokes at?
Yes.

Did you know that ‘20 items or less’ is actually grammatically incorrect? Less is used for quantities. Fewer is used for individual units. So technically, your sign should read ‘20 items or fewer’. Do you think your store planners realized that?

…No.

Found Tonight

One bottle of hot sauce. ...in with the panties.

I spent the rest of the night humming this little ditty.

Muy Caliente!

People are...

pigs and thieves.

I'm beyond tired.

My feet hurt.

I have a blister on my big toe.

I have a headache.

I have to piddle around for at least an hour because I can't sleep right away when I get off work this late.

I'm cranky.

So everyone else went to bed to let me stew in my sour mood.

Good call, Ya'll.

Why are people pigs?

...because.

They prowl through the clothing and, when they are done, they throw it on the floor or discard it in the produce aisle.

I realize fully that my job is to pick up after people and refold 7000 shirts a night. I have no problem with this and I am not too proud to pick up after people. But still-a little common courtesy would be nice.

This evening a woman handled a shirt. (as women we can't just look. We have to feel it, hold it up against us, look at it frontwards and backwards ask anyone near us if they think it would make our ass look fat) It was on a table I was refolding. When she was done, she looked right at me, and threw it down.

...and walked away.

Thank you for shopping with us, Ma'am.

Why do I call people thieves?

...because. We'll take anything and hide the packaging in the socks.

Working the unmentionables department I have found torn and empty packaging for:

hearing aid batteries,
mascara,
lip liner,
cell phone holders,
candy wrappers,
earring cards
wallets (where's the irony there?)

One night I found two empty memory card packages hidden in with the thong underwear.

What does that mean?

I think in everyone's best interest I'm going to try the warm milk thing tonight.

...or maybe just some Advil with a vodka chaser.

Yeah. I think I like that better.

What do you think?

Work Stuff

What do we talk about today?

I’m a little fuzzy with my extra job and all. You’re lucking you’re getting to hear from me.

…or unlucky depending on your outlook.

What kind of idiot signs up for a retail job this close to the holidays?
Who in their right mind gets trained on the register two days before Thanksgiving?

Oh, yeah. Me. Heh, heh.

Last night was my first out on the sales floor. The night before I had my ample butt glued to a chair for 5 hours doing ‘computer based learning’.

Yeah, I know. I know. I write that crap for a living with my day job, but writing and producing it and being on the receiving end of it are two completely different things!

But, thank Jesus, I can now clean up a soda spill properly using the correct 'personal protection equipment found at the nearest spill station’. And God forbid, if somebody breaks a bottle of bleach I know to put the leftover product, not in the trash, but in the 'properly color-coded barrel for disposal’. (after of course you soak up the remaining product, put it in a chemical bag, and then a bag liner)

An old boy came through the line last night. His cart loaded to the gills with household stuff-mop, broom, bed sheets, cutlery tray, dishes etc.

Setting up housekeeping, huh?

My wife left me.

Gulp. Oh, so sorry.

Yeah. Some women just aren’t happy unless you come see them every month and a half or so.

We can be demanding like that, can’t we?

While I was in Africa, she cleaned out the house.

OK, I’ll bite. Africa? What were you doing in Africa?

Oh, I’ve been all over-Africa, China. I’m an airline pilot.

Oh, I see. (He still had a lot of stuff in his cart) commercial or private?

Oh I don’t fly commercial anymore, I have my own business.

That’s interesting.

Thank God we didn’t have any kids.

That is indeed a blessing.

I almost adopted her daughter. Cute kid-love her to death, but what are you going to do?

Indeed.

Are you married?

Yes I am.

Do you see your husband every day?

Yes- and he sees me.

Does that work out okay?

We’ve been married 20 years. I think we’ve caught on to something.

Yeah, I suppose.

Will that be all, Sir?

For this trip. I don’t know how I’m going to get all this stuff in my Escalade. I’ll have to come back later for more stuff.

Your total is $545.76, Sir.

At this point, he made a HUGE production of flipping out 100-dollar bills (from a wad of them in his wallet). Trying to be polite, I looked away. While making change, he said-loudly,

Did I give you six or seven one-hundred dollar bills? I didn’t pay that close attention.

You gave me six.

Thought so. Well, Girls- (my trainer and I) I’ll see you in a few.

Have a good night, sir. Oh-you forgot this bag.

I handed it to him. It held a bottle of Jack and a 2 liter of Diet Coke.

That would have been a bummer

Drug Test

I’m guessing my urine sample came back clean as a whistle. I have orientation today. Tuesday evening after the second interview, I went round to give my sample. I waited 20 minutes in an empty clinic, until a pleasant male nurse came to fetch me.

Here you go, Sugar. Fill the cup to the line. You may close the door but don’t lock it. When you are finished, don’t flush, don’t wash, just open the door and give me the sample.

Do I get dinner and a movie first?

If I did that for everyone I’d go broke, Honey.

‘Tis life. I close the door.

At this point I was really wishing I hadn’t peed before the interview. I took the quart size container and try and strain as I may, it took me forever to get what felt like 2 tablespoons of urine in that odd looking cup.

I opened the door.

Here ya’ go. And, ah, sorry. I kind of made a mess.

He takes it.

Without gloves.

Ew. You’re not wearing gloves.

Well from the looks of you I thought you’d have better aim.

You can tell by looking?

I could until now.

Yeah, well. That type of performance requires a talent I don’t posses. Guys must be a whole lot better at this than girls.

Oh no. Guys make much bigger messes.

Can I wash now?

Yep. ‘Cause you can bet the minute I get through with this I’m going to.

What now?

Sit down in front of that PC there. I’m going to bring you your specimen and I need you to initial and date it. I’ll bring you a pair of gloves.

Oh, don’t bother. You already cleaned it up and after all it was my pee. I’m OK with my own pee, it’s other people’s pee I stay clear from. And I’m not too fond of having strangers come it contact with mine.

What do you mean? We’re hardly strangers. I touched your pee.

Riiiight.

Now when the next screen comes up sign your name with the electronic pen like you would if you were signing a credit card.

You mean you’re testing it right now? It doesn’t have to be sent off to the lab?

We only send it if it comes back positive. Then that doesn’t mean you tested positive for illegal drugs. Other things can show up. You could also be the odd quality assurance check.

What are we testing for?

You know the usual. Pot, Meth, Opiates-your general garden variety dope.

AH.

You’d be surprised how many people make it back here and say, “You know a month ago I smoked dope.” I tell ‘em, “Well then guess what, Dummy? You’re going to fail.”

Riiight. Am I done?

Yeah. You can wait on the results if you want. They could be anywhere from 2 to 20 minutes.

That’s OK. I’m pretty confident.

The little gal at the desk teased. “Did we get another fail?”

“Yup” he said. “I could tell by looking…at least I could until now”

Part 2 of Part-Timing

I’m waiting for a second interview.

What?

I was articulate.
Well-groomed.
Composed.
I had Altoids at the ready.
I came up with eloquent, appropriate responses to the following scenarios. (And working full time in HR currently, I know from whence I speak.)

Tell me about a time you had to assist someone who was upset with the level of service they were receiving.
Describe a situation where you had to use team work.
Tell me about a time when you had to finish an assignment ahead of schedule.

“Ms. Britches, are you sure you want to run a register?”

“I’ll work wherever I am needed.”

“Well, this position is in soft lines.”

“That would be fine, I’ll work wherever I am needed.”

“I wish you where applying for register, but technically I’m interviewing you for softlines. So you have to interview with them before I can offer you a position.”

“Terrific. I’ll work wherever I am needed.”

“Well, I’ll just tell George tomorrow we want you for the register.”

“Wonderful! Do you have all my phone numbers?”

“Yes. We’ll give you a call tomorrow or the next day.”

I’m still waiting a week later.

My interview was done by a 12 year old. She could barely read the scenarios off of the page in front of her. She stumbled over her words. She was disheveled and chewed gum through the entire interview. When it was over she immediately forgot about me and started flirting with her 14-year-old boyfriend who was waiting impatiently outside the office.

I’m sounding pissy.
I’m acting above my raising.
I’m a little too proud of myself.

I know this.

But, Damn! How is it possible I can’t get a second interview and this little girl was in charge (in charge!) of initial screenings?

Damn!

Part-Timing

I have a job interview this evening. I’ll actually be out of the interview before you read this but since I haven’t had it yet, I can’t write about it in time for this post now can I?

I need a part time job. The job that goes above and beyond your full-time job. The kind that gets you through the holidays and helps pay for the nickel and dime-ing of raising kids.

I want to live beyond my means. So…I need more means.

I’m headed to my local Wal-Mart to acquire a job running a register-ringing up sundries in a timely and efficient manner. To be pleasant without driving patrons to distraction with overly bright and perky, yet forced, conversation.

I hope not to be avoided

And we all know the ‘checkers’ to avoid:

-The old retired gentleman that talks too much and takes a year to total your groceries.

-The teenager who pops gum the entire time and grunts when asked a question.

-The lady with the kind face who changes her mind constantly when bagging. She takes things out of one bag and puts them in another and then back again until they are just so.

-The trainee who has to call for help when he can’t figure out the code for purple cabbage vs. green.

-The underage checker. She has to have someone else ring up liquor. And let’s face it, who can take a trip to Sam’s place without a drop before…and after?

…maybe my means are just fine after all.