An Ode To Ray

Ray, I wish you were dead. More than that, I wish that I could be the person that deals the final blow that knocks your dermatitis-ridden head from your fat, greasy shoulders. From the moment you entered my life you have caused me nothing but trouble and tainted the very air that I breathe with your foul stench of batter and sweat.Not long after I started working at Video Drama you entered my store, your dirty baseball cap covering your balding head – chubby red cheeks stretched upwards in a smile that revealed your yellowing teeth. You were a carnie. A “man of the fair”. You had decided to give up the gypsy life, as romantic as it was with its swindles, dodgy deals and lack of plumbing, to settle in my town after you knocked up some local girl.Not having any proper identification to open an account with us I thought I had perhaps seen the last of your cheap gold chains and sovereign rings but unfortunately the girlfriend (and a nice one too) had all of the papers needed and you were free to begin annoying all the staff five minutes before closing every night by coming in to choose a game – perhaps in the hope that we’d give you one free out of frustration. You can take the boy out of the funfair, but you can’t take the lecherous cheating scumbag out of the boy.You told my boss that it was your dream to work at Video Drama. I overheard you and shuddered at the thought, but sure enough when a position came up you were there, brown nosing your way in with the then manager who wasn’t much of a bright spark anyway. I protested, all the other members of staff protested but there was nothing we could do. Your stupid remarks and thick accent had reached the other side of the counter. Little did we know you’d be as hard as bowel cancer to root out.When I returned to college you were given my old job automatically due to your new “seniority” in the store. They had overlooked the fact that you had stolen games from another branch a few years before that because, hey, Video Drama are fucking morons. When our manager had to leave you were temporarily given her job, not a smart decision considering you can’t seem to count or spell. For the following 8 weeks I received either no pay, or less than half of what I was due because you couldn’t get the hang of the time sheets. You spent your days eating cream buns and flirting on the phone with managers from other stores who, luckily for them, had never seen you. Every evening the night staff would have to do your work as well as theirs. The towels in the bathroom stank of feet and we found out why after we caught you wiping your stinky feet in them. You didn’t do any stock checks, you didn’t do any vault checks – you let the place fall apart. Almost a year later we’re still trying to get it back on track. And you’re still here.Before you arrived there was a great family feeling in the store. We trusted and liked eachother. You squealed on anyone who had a mishap – even on our manager which was pretty dumb considering she was told about it. Even though you had done this we still felt bad about reporting your imbecilic antics but there’s only so much people can take before they snap. When we did snap we began writing down your worst blunders and presented them to our district manager. He gave you a verbal warning – the same thing given to people who forget to sign out in the diary. We have guessed that in true carny fashion you have something on our DM and that’s why he can’t fire you.That’s why I’ve decided that you have to die. I hate you Ray. I hope you choke the next time you shovel a battered sausage down your throat. I hope you have a heart attack the next time you stare down a young girl’s top. I hope the fungus on your feet is somehow lethal and you wake up one night to find it suffocating you and poisoning your lungs.It’s either that or you get another job.

What she asked of me at the end of the night, Caligula would have blushed.

budgieinspector’s last entry made me think about all of the insane people I too encounter on a daily basis. Except that I don’t live in L.A. I don’t even live in Dublin. I live in a relatively small border town that has a population of about 6,000. How is it, then, that I am constantly under attack (for want of a better expression) from perverts, deviants and the mentally incapacitated?Let me clear a couple of things up before I begin my tales of woe. See my icon? Yes, there be breasts here, but I don’t walk around displaying my cleavage on a daily basis (I’d get quite a chill if I did I’m sure). I am normally quite covered up, quiet and apparently morose looking if I am to take any of the “cheer up, it might never happen” comments to heart. Yet, even with this unstudied air of mild anti-social tendencies I constantly find myself a magnet for people who have named and have relationships with their shoes (shut up drdoom77, it’s different if they’re Blahniks).I must admit that I don’t really mind your average eccentric person chattering to me on a bus; it can help pass the time of a boring two hour journey to Dublin very well. I’ve had old ladies tell me fascinating tales of murdered sisters-in-law and institutionalised abuse in orphanages that have made my toes curl. In contrast I’ve had a yellow toothed drug addict with infected looking scabby arms and spray me with her “Tommy Girl” perfume before vomiting on the seat in front of us and passing out. Whatever bus or train I get on, whether it’s the junkie-filled 27 from Coolock or the Bus Eireann evening bus back to Cavan I’ll find some soul with a story to tell who finds my eye-contact-avoiding, headphone-wearing, staring-out-of-the-window or pretending-to-be-asleep stance simply irresistible. Fair enough, I can handle it; it’s just the ones who want to show me their genitals that really bother me.It’s not a recent phenomenon either. Unfortunately some of my earliest childhood recollections involve old men flashing at me. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been molested, abused or sexually assaulted but walking to school with an old man following slowly behind you with his penis dangling out isn’t exactly going to produce a golden memory. Then you had the not-so-obvious perverts who would do something innocent like ask for directions before springing their insanity on you. I recall being asked when I was about 11 where the equestrian centre was. After I told the old man he proceeded to ask me if I’d ever seen a horses cock and if I’d enjoy rubbing one. I should perhaps have been expecting it, but nothing like this ever seemed to happen to my friends.Recently my job with Video Drama has opened a new door for perverts who want to persecute me. Apart from pubs we’re the only business that opens late at night so, after being refused admission elsewhere, the crazies are drawn to our bright, welcoming glass fronted shop likes moths to the proverbial flame. After a few incidents of flashers, grabbing and suspicious liquids being found on covers in the children’s section and, typically, on the cover of the newer version of “Lolita” I have armed myself with a hollow, metal bar (the handle of an old brush). The next fucker who shows me his pole is going to see mine - and guess what? It’s bigger, redder and harder than yours pal.

Both spineless and sublime

I have as much backbone as a dishcloth. I arrived at work today to be greeted by my district manager and my store manager who wanted to have a chat with me about why I don’t want to take the assistant manager’s job. I explained to them that it’s mainly financial and that it breaks down like this:1.To get to Asia and Australia in October of next year I need to save €80 per week to get the money I need for my flight and agency fee. This amount would also leave me with a comfortable cushion if things don’t work out.2. To save €80 a week while paying rent, buying food and living at least a little comfortably I need to be making at least over €300 before tax. 3. My plan has been to stay in Video Drama working enough part time hours to earn the €80 and to get another full time job to cover everything else. No other job would be as flexible as Video Drama for part time work so I thought I had it all figured out.They, however, had some counter points which made me think:1. They are offering me a guaranteed 40 hours per week, all evening shifts (I prefer working evenings) or my choice of a mix of both, managers bonus and premium and a promise that I will never have to do an evening shift or lock up alone. All of this will be added to my contract.2. I would be making €306 before tax. They pointed out that if I had a second job my income would push me into a higher tax bracket and I wouldn’t come out with much more than €20 extra despite much more work.3. I’ve done the job before, I can do it with my eyes closed and I would only have two extra duties that I don’t already cover (time sheets and alarm calls).I’m going to think about it and give them an answer on Monday but I’m definitely leaning towards taking it now. What do you guys think?On a lighter note I got my Bettie Page print from budplant on eBay today and I’m chuffed with it. It was the limited print that came free with the first 1100 copies of Queen of Hearts. Hurrah for me! I recommend this budplant guy to anyone, he was great to deal with and his catalogue is pretty cool too.

Why do I smile at people who I'd much rather kick in the eye?

Some of you will know that since I graduated I’ve been looking for a full time job so that I can start saving for my trip to Asia and Australia. At the moment I work for a video store, one of a nationwide chain owned by a very large multinational company which, for legal reasons I will call “Video Drama”. Before I went to college I spent a year working there as an assistant manager and then I moved to a part time position which I’ve had since. My plan has been to work two jobs so that I can save the amount required for my trip.Today I got offered my old job as assistant manager again and even though I was tempted to take it, I realised that it just wouldn’t work out financially. I need to work two jobs to meet my goal and nowhere is going to be more suitable and convenient for a supplementary income than Video Drama. Coming home this evening and doing out my budget for the week is making turning down this offer seem even more foolish but I know I’ve got to keep focused on those long term goals. I got a reply from a bookie company that I applied to so hopefully it won’t be too long before I’m more financially stable.One of precizzion’s latest entries about moronic shoppers made me think of all of the amusing stories I have about customers that I’ve dealt with for the last three years so I’ve decided to post a few stories. I’m gonna start today with one of my personal favourites:About a year ago Video Drama had a rather stupid system in place for Playstation game rentals. Out on the floor were covers of the games and behind them were yellow boxes with barcodes. People would bring a yellow box to us and we would swap it for an identical box with the same barcode that contained the game. I’d really love to find the genius in head office who came up with that idea and give them a swift kick in the crotch because, as you can imagine, there were often mix ups where people were given empty boxes or boxes with games inside were left out on the floor. I live in a small town and with a job like mine you get to know just about everyone. One day a family, let’s call them the Plebs, who I could best describe as having a “reputation” (and no, not a good one) rented out a copy of some game for their dullard daughter. About an hour after they left I noticed that there was a spare disk lying around, the same kind as they had rented. Being a considerate person I decided to ring them to check if they had been given an empty box and to offer them a replacement if they had.Big mistake. Here’s how our conversation went:Me: Hi, this is Catriona from Video Drama. You rented a Playstation game from us about an hour ago and I was just ringing to check if you were given the correct game.Mrs. Pleb: I paid for that game for two nights!Me: Oh yes I know, we just want to make sure that we gave you the correct game.Mrs. Pleb: We already paid for it when we rented it! For two nights!Me: Yes, it is fully paid for and it is a two night rental. Has your daughter played it yet? We think we may have given you the wrong box.Mrs. Pleb: I want to speak to your manager. I have paid for that game and I don’t have to bring it back for two nights. Me: I’m afraid the manager isn’t here right now but I can get her to call you this evening if you’d like. There really is no problem with your rental though. It’s fully paid for and you can keep it for two nights.Mrs. Pleb: Right *hangs up*To keep my sanity intact I tried to move swiftly along from this conversation and had forgotten it until a week later when Mrs. Pleb’s dense daughter was renting again and I informed her of a late fee for the game in question. It had been returned four nights late, which I found amusing seeing as Mrs. Pleb seemed to have been very clear on the amount of time she had rented it for. The daughter gave me a slack jawed look of incomprehension when I told her how much was owed (a whopping £2.00) and left the store only to return with the entire Pleb brood (Mama, papa and brother) in tow. This was where the real fun began.Mr. Pleb: *slamming fist onto counter* YOU HAVE LIED TO MY DAUGHTER! WE DO NOT OWE ANY BILLS HERE!Me: Mr. Pleb is it? I’m afraid the game you rented from us was returned four nights late to the store. It was returned to Edel at the counter on Thursday at 6.00pmby your son.Pleb son: *incredulous look and head shaking*Mr. Pleb: *more banging* WE DO NOT OWE ANYTHING HERE! THIS IS THE THIRD TIME YOU’VE TRIED TO GET MONEY OUT OF ME!Mrs. Pleb: This is a disgrace. We’re a well-known and respected family in this town and you’re spreading rumours that we run up bills with you.Me: I haven’t told anyone else and it’s not a bill, it’s an overdue charge of $2.00.Mr. Pleb: First you harass my wife about not paying for the game she rented, then you lie about us owing you a bill.Pleb son: My little sister is in tears over this. She was in tears the other night over your phone call.Me: *looking around for candid camera crew*The same conversation took place for another 20 minutes despite the fact that I offered to erase their debt and write it off as a misunderstanding. No, that was not good enough for the Plebs. They called me a liar, a thief and accused me of harassing them over the phone. At this stage other customers had gathered around and were watching in disbelief and giving me sympathetic looks.Eventually they left but, of course, that was not the end of it. The next morning I got a call from my district manager. Mr. Pleb had contacted him to inform him that I was stealing from the company by inventing late fees and pocketing them. I explained the situation and fortunately a customer who had witnessed the whole thing backed up my version of events.The Plebs were compensated for their terrible trauma (don’t you just hate big company customer policies?) but I was not asked to apologise.I was extremely happy to find out that Mr. Pleb and his family were barred from our store a few months ago after he threw a video case at another employee who was no doubt cheating his poor family again. As my grandmother used to say “it’s a long road that hasn’t a turning”.

Bus chocolate is the best kind

My brother Robert came home from London today, he went over to see Type O Negative play and seems to have had a wonderful time. He brought me a nice picture of Bettie Page with some shoes, one that I haven’t seen before, which was quite kind of him. He never goes anywhere without bringing some sort of gift back for me. Whether it’s “bus chocolate” (ask me again), books or films he’ll turn up with something quirky but entirely appropriate.Robert and I are quite close – I suppose we’d have to be considering it’s just the two of us. My parents had Robert a year after they got married and I don’t think they ever intended having another child. When Robert was seven, however, my mother says she realised that if he died she’d be quite lonely and so they decided to throw (pre)caution to the wind and ended up with a bouncing baby girl. I’ve been told that Robert was quite put out by the fact that his specific requests for a brother and subsequently that I be named “Rosie” were ignored but he eventually accepted me. Like all little girls I looked up to my big brother and worshipped him but like most little girls I also kept this admiration hidden behind a veil of bossiness and generally erratic, annoying behaviour which ranged from the accidental (locking him out of the house, laughing at his naked form [I was only 3] and standing in his breakfast cereal) to the not-so-innocent (I swear, if I had know what lay in wait for me in my teens I’d never have used the term “pizzaface”).Of course the more serious rows happened when we were both adults and shutting us up with the threat of dad coming home was no longer effective. Of all of the people I’ve had steaming arguments with Robert has been the worst. We both have hot tempers and are as stubborn as mules. We’ve had fights where we’ve not only threatened to kill each other but have physically attempted it too.Robert is almost always first to extend the olive branch, he’s very like my father in that way. Both of them will storm off after a row only to soon after make an excuse to start a polite conversation and act as though nothing has happened. It may not sound like much, but to me this is an amazing skill – I could never swallow my pride in that way. My mother and I, on the other hand, are experts in the fine art of giving the cold shoulder. We remain tight lipped and cool until our (sometimes imagined) hurts have healed. We don’t apologise in our house, we just get back on track and get on with things.Looking back now I can see how many times in the past 22 years I must have driven Robert insane both intentionally and otherwise, but we’ve still managed to keep the bond between us as strong as it ever was. I find it sad when I see friends of mine who hardly speak to their siblings and several friends have mentioned how envious they are of the friendship Robert and I have. He’s funny, extremely intelligent, compassionate, generous, thoughtful and the best brother anyone could have……you can probably expect my next entry to detail our latest fight.

These boots are made for walking

I am posting a picture of my $1200 boots today. I am now superior to all of you. Feel free to bow down at my feet and worship them (and me), but please keep your distance and do not attempt to kiss the boots lest they smite thee in thine eye. (Haha drdoom77)