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So, in order to debunk a few myths and fantasies about life as a checkout chick/guy/"service attendant", I'm pleased to bring you the most enlightening of blogs. I'd honestly call this a public service, creating awareness that in all honesty, no one likes a customer. No one likes a whiny, rude, arrogant customer, sure....but no one likes a customer, full stop. Aside from the money issue, every business would run better without customers. Especially the business I was lucky enough to land a casual job in-a supermarket. A cramped, bustling, centrally located supermarket well within the public's eye.
Apart from the obvious joys it brings me to pack peoples groceries for hours on end, the job of being a checkout 'operator' is satisfying in other ways. But, I'm not here to simply bore you with the highlights of my job-that's going to be revealed in its sweet time. No, quite simply, today is going to be focused on one thing: Plastic bags.
Quite simply, plastic bags are the devil. If Satan himself was to produce offspring, he would've plastic bags as part of the basic anatomy of said spawn. And recently the bags have been victimised in newspapers, on TV, and basically any other media outlet you come across. However, in saying all this, I'd like to add that if YOU, the customer, present US, the checkout operators, with twenty three cruddy, disgusting, ill-shaped, rainbow coloured felt/hemp/cotton bags, we will NOT be more inclined to pack your bags with care. In fact, we'll probably keep packing in plastic, ignoring your whining little cries of "Oh! But I have bags! They're just at the bottom of the trolley/out in the car/at home on the bench/of totally no use to you because they're two centimetres by two centimetres."
Pay attention here. Just for a second, that's all I ask.
We don't care if you have bags. Really. Plastic bags are just as easy to pack, sometimes more so. Your dirty, smeared, stained bags don't bring us any more pleasure. Personally, I hate handing out plastic bags left, right and centre for free-but by God, it's nicer than having to forcibly touch and then pack your green bags. Mmmmk?
On a slightly happier note, though-cannot wait for the plastic bag charges. The day that I can charge customers per bag is the day sweet victory is delivered by the supermarket gods. Old ladies, Asian men and middle aged couples beware. You'll no longer have the bags for bin liners/ man bags/ dog poo carriers. You may, instead, purchase them off us for a cost. Ten cents. And if I had my way, it'd be higher. Make it $1 per bag, and we may have an impact on the environment.
For now, that's all!
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I would officially declare myself a breakfast lover. If people can be divided into meal categories, I would slot in nicely into the small, bright eyed bunch of humans that put a serious amount of effort into their first, and most important, meal of the day.
Breakfast is to me what dinner is to everyone else, I believe. I have a sweet tooth, and apart from dessert, breakfast is the only place I can really indulge this and call it an actual 'meal'. So, it is to my absolute delight and pleasure to bring to you my first ever breakfast review.
The only reason I can justify going out for breakfast is that it was actually my birthday yesterday-so, I'm permitted to indulge. Which I did, with pleasure, at The Hilton hotel in Melbourne at approx. 8:30 this morning.
The Hilton is lovely-right next to the Carlton gardens, with a fantastic view. The buffet breakfast costs $26, and the full breakfast (including hot food) is $33. This includes the following:
-Four different cereals
-Four different honeys
-Four different breads
-Five choices of jam
-Eight types of pastries
-Four variations of muffins
-Salads
-Cheeses
-Fresh fruit, dried fruits, various nuts
-Bacon & salami, and salmon cream cheese
-Eggs, any possible way you like them
-Coffee, made however you'd like
-Six differet sorts of juice, plus a juice maker so you can create your own
-Yoghurts
-Stewed dates and cherries
-And any thing else you want, upon request.
I swear, I felt like I need to create a song in order to describe this buffet. I was in breafast heaven. I wanted to twirl around the buffet like Maria on top of the mountains in The Sound of Music, that's how overwhelmed I was. It was just....fabulous.
All topped off by the lovely waiters, that constantly kept filling up my coffee mug, and gave us complimentary champagne upon discovering it was my birthday. I swear, I could easily fork out that money in order to dine there daily. If I ever actually earn enough to do that, I'll know I've made it in the world of breakfasts. I'll also probably need a fantastic gym membership.
However, the Hilton is just...lovely. I would say that any hotel has a similar buffet menu, and in time I'll visit the others, I'm sure. But for now, I'm content with the fantastic, professional service I received there, along with the lovely food.
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Look, I've come to terms with the fact that I'm a social Nazi- I'm creating rules left, right, and centre for every available social situation. However, I'm hoping that a few morons out there will actually read these entries and realise how much they're annoying other people.
So, kidlets, today we're focusing on lift courtesies. I realise there are different lift contexts-work, shopping centres, and apartments are the main three I could come up with. Seeing as my work involves scanning thousands of barcodes per hour, and my shopping occurs about as often as Britney should be allowed to reproduce, I picked apartment/home elevators.
Firstly, it's awkward if you're going up/down in an elevator when the building is higher than ten floors. That's usually going to take upwards of twenty seconds-the breeding ground for too many nervous smiles and glances towards the tightly shut doors. Make the most of the situation by just trying to not to appear like a captive animal-no aggressive button punching or leaping out of the half open doors.
If it's just you and another person, and you don't know them, at least say hi. Or try to. You live with them, make a half decent effort. If you're tired/cranky/PMS-ing/teen-ang sty, you're excused from this-but be warned, they'll share the awkward lift story with their housemates. At least say hi to the person, and say what floor you're on. That way, if you meet them again, you can just grin and relax into a silence-you've already introduced yourselves.
If it's you plus another couple, here are a few guidelines of when you can be rude. Firstly, when they start making out in the lift. This happened to me a few weeks ago- it was disgusting. They face sucked for a good five seconds, and all I could hear was the sound similar to that of an octopus' dying gasps-sloshy, sucking noises. So, I basically turned side on to them and stared at the door-perfectly acceptable. But if the couple seem open to conversation, again, say hi. Not much beyond that required, I'd say.
If you're the one in the couple situation, obey the above 'no lift maccing' policy. If the 'couple' is technically you plus a friend, I would say you're perfectly allowed to have a conversation in the lift-contrary to popular opinion. I say this because firstly, you're keeping yourselves entertained in a non-repulsive manner, and secondly, you're also entertaining the other lift patron/s. They can listen in legally, and speculate on exactly what you're discussing. There are pros for all parties involved-just, obviously, not every topic is allowed. No gross personal hygiene or STD discussions.
Finally, if you're stuck in the lift with people from other countries, who are having another conversation in their own language, go with it. There's little you can do about it-you basically just have to grin and hope they're not saying what a whore-munger you are. My trick here is to watch people's eyes-if they're talking about you, their eyes will naturally slide over to you once in awhile. Well, that's how it worked for us when we used to speak pig-latin.
If you get in a lift with someone you actually know, obviously you're obliged to greet them. Beyond that, though, I say it's open slather. If you don't like them and wish to make the ride awkward, then silence is your awesome weapon. Use it to your advantage-just lean against the wall and chill-don't stress. If you don't mind the person, feel free to chat at will. If you feel rude not talking, then here's my opinion-say hi, ask how they are, and then next time you're in the lift with them, wait and see if they'll ask you the same thing. If they genuinely don't hate you, they'll usually tend to ask. If they don't, let them enjoy the awkwardness.
I'm sure I'll have more close encounters of the elevator kind, and will keep you all informed.
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After doing my blogging rounds, and reading the various entries by my most loved and most despised writers, I came across something truly....average. By someone that's an average, predictable blogger. More experienced than me, definitely, but also....boringly awful. So I thought I'd put my own little, female two X chromosome spin on his tacky, tastless blog.
Sam de Brito has an annoyingly presumptous blog entitled 'All men are liars (except this one)' blog over at The Age. The title alone is enough to give me shivers of anticipation not unlike that when I've eaten something two weeks out of date- vaguely horrified, a token dry retch, and attempt to pretend it didn't happen
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Being the regular gym crazed fanatic that I am (or am usually called), I've realised that there are just some things that you do and don't do whilst sweating out what feels like half of China. There are simpler courtesies, and unfortunatly I've been the victim, and sometimes perpetrator of a few of these rules.
Firstly, don't on any accounts do any blatant checking-out of other gym patrons. Subtle is fine, absolutely, but an outright pervy stare is not the nicest thing to encounter when you're puffing, panting, and your hair is flying everywhere. Although, who knows, perhaps you're into that. But in general, look, sure, just make it a little subtle. Anyone who is cruising for babes in the gym is in depserate need of a good smack, in my opinion
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Finally, I've accumulated enough rage for another post. It's been awhile, but today I'll be focussing more on the mundane rage-filling things, that make me want to hiss and explode (much like a fizzy Coke bottle).
Token Cleaning Efforts by family members/housemates
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I believe I'm somehwta cursed by the public transport seating gods; if there's the slighest chance that there's one seat left, I'll never score it, and if I do, I'll be sitting next to the socially challenged/ bodily odoured challenged/ most well rounded person in the damn carriage.
However, occasionally it's worth putting up with this, becase I'll overhear some of the weirdest conversations ever formed by the human mouth, and Saturday was no exception
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Look, my judgemental streak hasn't really done me many favours in the past-however, since the introduction of MySpace and Facebook, I've been escalated to the dizzying heights of assessing people based purely on their profile pages. Now look, I'm sure I'm not the only one. However, I maintain that if you have any of the following things on said profile page, you should be struck down by the Internet Gods:
-Anything sparkly, pink, fluro or flashing. Funnily enough, I don't enjoy having my eyes burned out every time I want to view your page. And also, you're not interesting enough that I will continue to do so, over and over and over and over again. No one is that interesting. The only things that these bright, obnoxious colours say about you is that you are an attention seeking whore. I wouldn't talk to you in public if you were wearing said colours, why would I put myself through the pain over the Internet
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In this modeern rotating ball of dust and bricks and reality tv, I would argue that a land slide of things are embraced-nay, they are openly broadcast on television shows such as 'Wifeswap' and 'Cheaters'-but I am here to discuss the age old problem of.....the age gap (pun intended with 'age old problem'. Pun quote fulfilled).
The age difference between a guy and a girl, a girl and a girl, and a guy and a guy is interesting. However, today I'm going to straight up be discussing the age difference I am the most enlightened about, aka the girl and guy relationship. I'm not being exclusive, but I'll probably put my foot in it if I start talking about the girl-girl or guy-guy age difference
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Comment by Jessamy
on Connex and its discriminatory ways
That's Pretty Intense
I have thought of the actual staff, seeing as I posted it as "connex is a discrimanatory organisation". Not the individual staff-they follow their orders, just like anyone else. You've missed my point entirely about the discrimination occuring on certain lines. Nothing to do with walking in anyone else's shoes-I have a shitty enough job as it is, probably equal to connex, dealing with drug addicts, drunks, and other general idiots. So, firstly, don't do anoymous posts, and secondly, maybe read through properly next time?
....Also, have you not travelled on connex lately? It's still laregly terrible, nice staff or not.