Shut Up and Drink Your Beer

My oldest brother's birthday was Sunday. In celebration, we opted to take a family outing of sorts and go to a football game. The Indianapolis Colts to be exact. Now, the stage has to be set, and the characters described to fully appreciate my family going to a sporting event.

Dad, Mom, and the 4 sons. 6 people. Dad looks like a larger version of Old Man Winter, but jollier. Kinda like Santa Claus without the full beard. Not as round though. Loves football. Mom appreciates football, but not fanatical like most of us. Likes to play the pools to try and earn some extra money. Son 1, the eldest, whose birthday it is, is a big sports nut. Plays fantasy football, and drives big trucks. Like, the kind you can't fit into one parking spot. Brother 2 loves football and hockey. Can't get enough of either. He is also an extreme pessimist, or realist, whichever you prefer. Son 3 is Deimos, the writer of the blog you are currently reading. I love football too, and although a gamer at heart, football is a special time of year. Then my youngest brother, Son 4, who would probably ask what inning we were in. Would probably rather be networking or studying, but its a family function, so he came along. Possibility of free food was there. The four sons could not be totally different than the four of us are. And yet, we get along just fine. Its quirky, weird, and works astonishingly well.

I wake up at 8:30 am. Normally, for most people, this is ok. When you go to bed at 3:00 am because you were up late working the night before, 8:30 is a bit harsh. Dad calls a minute after my wife wakes me up. Reminds me to bring a jersey for Mom. Yep, we are on it. The Wife had them all cleaned the day before. I am not one to openly brag about my wife all the time, but she is awesome. Keep that in mind. I hang up the phone and try to not go back to sleep. My son jumps on me to wake me up. That will do it. I stumble around, my lovely wife makes me coffee. Bless her heart, I told you she was awesome. I shower, put on my "ADDAI" jersey, and start pouring my coffee into my little thermos. I grab my wife's "MANNING" jersey and head out to the car.

I get to my parent's house, where we are all meeting, except Son 2, who will meet us for tailgating possibly. We were scheduled to leave at 9:30. Yea right. C'mon now. I got there at 9:30 knowing full well we were not leaving at 9:30. I couldn't have been more right. Mom put on her Manning jersey and we drank coffee for a bit. Son 4 had to run downtown for something. He told us we can pick him up at the campus parking lot. Seemed logical. It was downtown, and not too far from where we were going to be. So, Son 1 came from out of state, and his massive tank was in the driveway.

The truck/tank is an important part of this endeavor. It gets somewhere around 4 miles to the gallon. Its a flat bed, but surprisingly, the cabin is rather spacious for four of us to sit in. Son 1 has GPS, satelite radio, the works. Son 1 bought a portable grill to tailgate out of as well. For his birthday, the Parental Units got him his own Addai jersey.

I also had to jab at Son 1, because he plays Fantasy Football. Fantasy Football is Dungeons and Dragons for jocks who used to make fun of people who played Dungeons and Dragons. Except it doesn't have the cool dice. Fantasy players. Fantasy Teams. Fantasy Games. Fantasy League. Needs more Dragons. I had to whip out my Comic Guy Voice.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lzyd91NFx-Y

We are finally getting ready to leave around 10 or so. Mom has a bad ankle. It practically takes a running start to get into the cabin of the truck because it is so high off the ground. A family effort was required to get Mom into the cabin. We got her in though without using a shepherd's hook. We all get buckled in and Son 1 starts the car. Then, a little black car whips around the corner and stops in front of our driveway. Son 4 has returned. Pansy didn't want to wait in the parking lot alone, so he hurried back home.

I call him a pansy because Son 4 is like, 6'4" and is no longer "scrawny." Thin somewhat, but not scrawny. Most people on that campus would have been scared of him. Not only that, but campus isn't exactly a "ghetto" or anything, so he would have been fine. Pansy.

So Son 4 goes back in and grabs his newly bought Colts jacket. He jumps in his car and leads the way downtown. I call him. The NFL sticker was still on the shoulder of the jacket. Pansy forgot to take off all the stickers. He bought it yesterday. Dork.

We get downtown, which was an adventure because Mom is in the backseat with me, and is generally a nervous passenger. I had to remind her that if anything hit us, it wouldn't survive. We would probably be alright. I mean, I had seen one of these trucks once before, but I think it was at a monster truck rally. The truck was king of the road.

Son 4 drops his car off on campus and jumps into the tank with us. Now, the tank sat 4 comfortably. Not 5. We got a bit cramped back there. Still, better than sardines I guess. We drive over to the stadium, and our day of hilarity begins.

Son 1 is perfectly comfortable paying 40 bucks to tailgate in the parking lot that is right across the street from the stadium. The rest of us are a bit stunned, but he doesn't care, its his birthday dammit. So, the guy taking the money says to follow the dude in the bright green vest.

What needs to be understood about this guy is that he is a total Cletus. I mean, this guy is the stereotypical country bumpkin that you would see at a truckstop. Looks like he would hit on your daughter too. Large, with a southern twang, and had about as much logic in him as a woodpecker. He parks us, and tells Son 1 to back his truck in. Son 1 explains we want to tailgate. Cletus responds with everyone needs to back in.

Say what?

Then he says we can tailgate at the front of the car. Well dumbass, that defeats the purpose of a TAILgate. Using the flatbed of the truck is the whole point of its trip down here. We jump out of the car, and I mean that, because you practically needed a parachute to do so. Son 4 practically wiped out trying to get out of the truck. We start unloading a bit and Cletus comes over and says we can't tailgate there. When we asked why, he said that the part of the parking lot that was coned off was in fact, another parking lot. We said that this arrangement wouldn't do. So then Cletus has us park in another spot, again telling Son 1 to back in.

Fuck that.

Son 1 pulls in so we can actually tailgate. Totally destroys one of the cones in the process. Watching Cletus try to get that unstuck out of the wheel well was priceless. What was also awesome was that Son 1 had no idea he hit it, because he was in another zip code up in the cabin of the truck. So he kept lurching forward while Cletus tried to pull the cone out of the moving wheel well. Awesome.

So, after all this hubbub, Cletus then has the audacity to tell us that he works for tips. Really? What, charging us $40 for the spot isn't payment enough? Fuck you. You are lucky we don't throw our leftover brats at your face. Son 1 told him he could have a hot dog. Thats right bitch. Your tip is you get to wolf down our weiner. Eat it.

We tailgate. We eat burgers, brats, hot dogs. Son 4 and I throw a nerf football around. Dad asks why a nerf? 2 minutes later, Son 4 beans a car with his horribly inaccurate throw. Thats why Son 1 brought a nerf. Son 4 has the athletic ability of a quadriplegic on a horse. Son 2 shows up about 10 minutes before we were going to pack up. Apparently, some dumbass gave him the wrong directions, and he ended up parking on the other side of the stadium. Hiking several city blocks in the wind sucks. He threw on his Addai jersey that his wife told him to bring, and we packed up the tailgate to go inside.

Lucas Oil stadium is pretty nice. After we got padded down we were allowed to enter. That security was a joke. I could have hid a gun in my crotch or anywhere from the waist down for that matter. Apparently, we had seats on the 50 yard line, which was awesome. The bad part? We were four rows from the top. I mean, we were like six stories up. There wasn't a bad seat in the house, but dammit, I almost suffered vertigo getting up that high.

So the game starts. I am sitting by Son 4. Son 2 is next to him. Here is where things go horribly wrong. Son 2 has a curse of sorts. Whenever they go to a sporting event, they sit near "those guys." You know, the annoying ones. The ones that get too loud, or do stupid shit. Now, there are 50-65 thousand people here. There are bound to be some morons. But they always sit by Son 2. This experience was no exception. It seems unfortunate as well, because outside of these two groups of people, everyone else around us seemed cool.

I will start with the guys behind us, who we laughed at the whole game, and I don't think they even knew it. They were the loud and/or obnoxious ones at all times. The main problem was that Son 1, 2 and myself were all wearing Addai jerseys. Addai is pronounced "Ah-die." These fucksticks behind us kept yelling "Ahh-dooooooy" everytime the guy did something, which was often, since he was the running back. Addai for a 2 yard gain. Ahh-dooooooy. Addai for a touchdown. Ahh-doooooooy. Addai is being substituted for the back up runner for this series. Ahh-doooooooy. Pass complete to Addai for a six yard gain. Ahh-doooooooy.

I think they were trying to sound black. They ended up sounding like a chorus of retarded seals with a broken flipper. At least clap like a seal if you are going to sound like one dammit. Then, they tried to get us to join in. "Hey look, a bunch of Ahh-doooooy fans in front of us!" Not one member of our family looked back. I think we each took turns rolling our eyes at each other. I know Dad and I took glances at the other 3 sons sitting between us. Not one of us moved. The general silent concensus from our family was: Shut the Fuck up. I know Son 2 was gritting his teeth and wanted nothing more than to punch those bastards in the face. He showed tremendous restraint though.

Then there were the two ignorant bastards in front of us. They were presumably married, and if they ever have kids, that child would probably be shot just on principle of trying to preserve what is left of the gene pool. The wife at like horse at a trough, and never stood up once, even for the big plays. She probably missed over half the game. Her douchebag husband was that guy on the phone the entire game. He also brought binoculars. Cute. He then loudly shouted into his phone trying to find a couple of his "friends" who were located at various points all over the stadium. He spend a vast majority of the game looking at the stands! Who gives a shit?! Watch the damn game. You paid over $100.00 a shot for these tickets, watch the game! If you wanted to be with your friends to watch the game, stay at home! At least then your wife won't overpay for the food! The worst was in the 4th quarter. The visitors are lined up for a fourth down deep in our territory. The hopes of them winning rest on this play, and Fuckhead in front of us is looking for his buddy. Jesus Christ! That is almost as bad as you standing your fat ass up early in the third quarter while we are trying to watch the game just so you could locate your buddy 5 rows behind you. Sit your fat ass down!

But wait, there is more. When we finally sealed the game with about four minutes to go, in front of these bastards sat 3 of the visitor's fans. They calmly got up, and began walking out, as the outcome had been all but foretold. These three guys were rooting for the other team to be sure, but they were at least cool about it. They didn't jab or mock. They didn't scream at the home team's fans, or start fights, or drink too much. They watched the game, they rooted for their team in a respectable fashion. Then, these two bastards who haven't been watcing the game practically flog them as they are leaving. What the hell? If you can tell me who has scored any of our three touchdowns, I will buy you bastards the next jumbo popcorn you inhale. I am glad I didn't offer that bet. Everyone on our side of the stadium knew that Ahh-dooooooy had scored at least once, possibly even eight times at that point.

Of course, there are other morons at the stadium that you don't sit next to. You know the ones. They appear on the jumbo tron. Perfectly normal people sitting there watching a game. Then, they see themselves on the jumbo tron and go crazy, hooting, hollering, and waving their arms like anyone gives a shit. The worst is when they are in the middle of a conversation, and the guy next to them taps them on the shoulder to tell them they are on TV, and then they go crazy anyways. The person they are having the conversation with is probably less than thrilled.

And then the flood of advertisements throughout the game. Jesus Christ its horrible. At least at home you have the mute button. You can get up and grab a drink while the ads are on. There is no escape from them. And, just for the record, unless you are the people involved with the little advertising promo, not one damn person in that stadium gives a rat's ass about the "High Five Crew" or the "Edy's Ice Cream Fan of the Game." They don't give a shit about the "State Farm Luxury Box" or the "I got these seats at a Speedway section." Except for the dipshit in front of us, we came here to watch the damned game.

Also, being at the game is different than at TV. During those ads, you get a drink, come back, game on. At the stadium, you have players standing around waiting for the cue to go. Its a total break in momentum. You also don't have the play clock in the lower corner, the scores of other games up top, and most importantly, you don't have the "yellow line" to see where the first down is at. You have to eyeball it, which is difficult six stories up.

One more thing about the stadium. The guy running the jumbo tron sucks. There were about 10 plays that we wanted to see on the jumbo tron. Close calls, good hits, or not called penalites. We saw about 30% of what we wanted to from the replay. That is a very low percentage given the lack of hurry up offense in the game.

The game was fun, and the Colts won. For the people sitting in front and behind us though, you fuckers need to...Shut Up and Drink Your Beer!

-Deimos

TPS Report 11/13/09

Sometimes, you wonder what people are thinking when they come into a store. I am sitting there around midnight at the LGS (Local Game Store). We are open until 1, so this is not unusual. The gaming for the night has all but ended, and only a few people are left in the store.

We are just hanging out making small talk when we hear some commotion coming from the parking lot. And by commotion, I mean a jackhammer sound as it is wailing on paved road, like a parking lot. It sounds close, and I am wondering for a brief second if the end is neigh. Then the door opens, which of course, makes the sound louder. Turns out it was coming from a truck that has parked in the fire lane outside.

Now, it should be noted that I am a firm believer in walking. Especially when it involves fire lanes. I think people who park in fire lanes need to be hooked to the back of their car and dragged for five miles. I have seen the reports of people dying in fires because fire lanes were blocked. Therefore, the guy that gets out of his truck, and ultimately comes into the store is already NOT on my good list. For sake of argument, I am going to call the guy Hobo.

Hobo looks like he came right out of the alley. Matted hair, and clothes that can best be described as "unkempt." He wreaks of cigarette smoke, which is just flat out nasty, and after about 2 seconds, I realized he had the brains of the door he just came in. He doesn't say hi. He doesn't look around. He finds me and looks me dead in the eye with all seriousness and says...

"How do ya get in da liquor store next door?"

Really. I mean really. I even got the accent down on that one. I wish I was creative enough to make this shit up, but I am not. So, remembering that it is Friday at Midnight, I answer about as straight as I can. "Through the door."

The couple guys in the store with me smirk a bit. I mean, what else can they do? Its the right answer, but apparently I was missing something. So the conversation does not end, much to my chagrin.

"Ya, but da door out der is locked, un' it says don't enter."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HY-03vYYAjA

Good lord. Even when he is telling me what he read he still uses contractions. It says DO NOT ENTER. Speak normal English you moron. At this point, I don't want him to get more alcohol. Sounds like he has had enough already. But who am I to keep the hilljack from his Pabst. The rest of the conversation was:

Deimos: Yea. That would be the exit door...
Hobo: Uh...
Deimos: ...and the entrance door is the one to the right of that that says "open" on it.
Hobo: I ain't see anudder door.
Deimos: Oh, its there. You just have to keep going past the first door.
Hobo: I's tellin' ya, I ain't seein' anudder door out there.
Deimos: Trust me, its out there. If you can't find it, I will point it out, but its there.

What needs to be appreciated is that this whole time, I kept a serious and interested look. The Hobo walks out, and is never seen again. But his truck was rattling for over five minutes, so its safe to say he found the "enter" door.

It stuns me that people like this are not only allowed to come out in public, but haven't been fumigated yet. And for Christ's sake, fix your damn truck...

-Deimos

TPS Report 09/18/09

You know you must be a punk when you are such scum that I actually have to kick you out of a game store. So, its a sort of typical Friday night. Magic players (god help me) are in the store throwing down their tournament thingy. I, much to my chagrin, am running the tournament because my boss decided he deserved a day off. (Mother fucker worked a few months straight without one apparently. Wuss.)

So, all is going alright, because the Magic players are actually behaving themselves and not completely annoying me. However, that just can't be par for the course on FNM (Friday Night Magic). Something just has to grate on my nerves.

Enter the little tweener skateboarder punks.

I am talking about 4 or 5 kids who look like they are 12 year old Tony Hawk wannabes. They got the grunge clothes on and the spiky blond hair to match. And by grunge clothes, I mean Abercrombie shirts that have seen better days because these guys suck so bad, they wear out their clothes as they wipe out on the pavement. I swear, Ken from Streetfighter II didn't eat this much gravel on easy mode compared to these losers.

So these Boarders come in and are mouthin' off and trying to pretend they are cool by making fun of the Magic players. Now see, normally, I would join them, because most Magic players leave off an aroma of something awful. But these Magic players, for the most part, are pretty decent. Plus, they outnumber the Boarders 3:1.

But, because they are a bunch of whiny bitches who mumble the insults instead of slinging them right at the Magic Players, I feel it is my duty to defend not only the gaming industry, but my store dammit. You aren't just going to walk all up in here and start harassing my customers. Fuck no.

So, I pick out the most annoying one. Kid is about 4 foot nothing and 100 lbs wet. He looks like that sixth grader from your middle school that thought he was better than anyone else because he had blue boxers. I figured in a dysfunctional group, the kid that looks like he could most easily get the shit beat out of him was the ringleader. So, I start mocking the kid by calling him "Squirt."

Its an appropriate name really. It designates small, annoying, and high pitched. Insults begin flying between him and I, and he keeps trying to jab back, and then laughing loudly, trying to get his little groupies to join in. What he didn't understand was that while the groupies smiled, they didn't laugh. Why? Because I could beat the cream cheese out of any of them with one arm. You generally try not to laugh at people who could crush your skull like a melon.

Now, I am not Mr. Built or anything, but dammit all, I have some muscles. When I flex, I can definitely outgun anyone in that store. (I know its a game store, so thats not saying much, but considering my options at the moment, I would say I have the upper hand.)

Well, eventually, Squirt decides that he was going to make fun of my mad painting skills.

Oh no you didn't.

So I calmly put down my paintbrush and the conversation ensues to this nature:

Me: Hey Squirt.

He looks.

Me: I knew you would look. What's your name?

Squirt: Bob.

Me: Bob? (I don't believe him). Well Bob. Get the hell out of my store.

Now, it should be noted that I told "Bob" to get the hell out of the store. No one else. So when they all left, I realized that I had indeed picked out the ringleader.

So, with the circus back outside, you would think the night would be over with these clowns. But oh no. The Boarders decide to start loitering outside the store. Jumping over little lines of water that they marked on the sidewalk. I mean really. Little lines of water. They cleared the line about half the time. Sad.

Then one of their little girlfriends comes up and starts chatting with them. After a few minutes, they realize that they might get the cops called on them. So one of them dares to come back inside and ask our owner if the cops were called.

What needs to be understood about the owner is that he is first and foremost a country boy. Tall, slanky, and is quite direct. So, from my angle I see the Owner standing 6'3" + or so, and the little kid at about 4'6". Between the rural draw of the Owner and this little city kid, it looked and sounded like an episode with Foghorn Leghorn and Chicken Little.

Chicken Little: Um, did you call the police on us?

Foghorn: Boy, did I say you could come back in my store?

Chicken Little: Um...no...

Foghorn: Get out then.

More hilarity ensued when one of the Magic players called his grandfather, who was a cop. A few minutes later, he pulled up in his Crown Vic and followed the kids into the Dollar General. He didn't wait for them to come out. Oh no. He went right in after them. They promptly left the area, and we never saw them the rest of the night.

-Deimos

A Changing of the Guard

So, the blog went cold. I know I know. Shame on me. Lots been going on. Let me explain.

I am no longer at the Hardware Store. Ta-da! I now work at a Game store. Yessss...a game store...good times. Far better than that Hardware store. I get paid to play games. Doesn't get much better. I am back in my own environment. They pay me more and its closer to my house. It was an obvious choice.

However, I still have a few good stories from the Hardware Store. They are just as funny as they were a month ago. One of the ones that sticks out in my mind is the "couple" that came in buying plumbing supplies. I mean, I am talking those huge pvc pipes that you find under city streets. The big white ones that you could stuff small children into.

Now, the fact that they were buying this stuff is not as important as the fact that these two were...unique. The guy looked like he had come right off of a Jerry Springer episode. He had the mullet, and you could smell Pabst Blue Ribbon on him. He wreaked something awful, and he couldn't form a complete sentence without butchering the English language. What made this worse was that the "woman" he was with was so attention grabbing, he almost got away with being normal.

This..."woman" was about 6'6" and had shoulders wider than the Hoover damn. You could probably land stealth bombers on her back. She looked like she could play for the damned Oakland Raiders. She towered over Mr. Redneck, and her voice was about as deep. What made matters worse is that her dress was too small for her, and she had an Adam's Apple.

I mean really. She really did. I thought her knuckles may have had hair on them, but I could have been wrong. I tried not to get too close. Fortunately, I was stationed at Self Checkout, so they bypassed me for the Customer Service desk. Thank God.

So my only real questions are: Did the dude know? I mean...he had to of known. Right? I mean, it was pretty obvious with the throat, hands, and square jaw that this person was a man at some point. He might still be. You would notice that at some point, wouldn't you? I mean, this is the type of crap where the "woman" goes on Jerry to tell her mate that she is a dude, and then he gets grossed out and storms off the stage. Well, duh pal. The chick you have been sleeping with has a penis...what more proof do you want? I mean, I thought this stuff was only on TV. Apparently I was wrong.

One of my fellow cashiers at the Hardware Store said she was in the bathroom when she heard some heavy voice clear his throat. She thought she had gone into the wrong restroom. It was that obvious. I asked her if the person in the next stall was standing to pee. She never responded.

* * *

Now, before you guys start abandoning ship, just remember that I will still be dealing with stupid people. Even if it is not at my job, I will do my best to bring you the adventures of continuing observation and battle with the masses.

-Deimos

TPS Report 07/02/09

Today's adventure is a short one, but a sweet one. I am on the front line, minding my own business, and checking people out of the store. Lo and behold, my next pidgeon meanders into my grasp, and before I knew it, I had a TPS Report.

He was not the usual suspect. Older gentleman who was soft spoken for the most part. As it turned out, he was actually quite old. Over 80 even. He was also fairly pleasant, but as we all well know, that does not excuse you for being retarded.

I ring up all two of his items and give him his total. He then swipes his card (on the third try) and after we go through all the motions, it asks him to sign on the line. Now, normally, this wouldn't be too difficult, but Old Man Winter (OMW) is having a hard time understanding how his signature is going to disappear once its put on the monitor.

I hand OMW the electronic pen that comes attached to the machine. (Imagine that, it does serve a purpose!) He then proceeds to write his name normally, and he pushes done.

I honestly should have seen this coming, but I was totally dumbfounded. You see, after he signs his name, he then takes the electronic pen and tries to write the total in his checkbook. After a few frustrating moments, he looks up and asks "Why won't this pen produce ink?"

Really? I mean...really? Did you really just ask me that? I mean, what do you say to that? Sorry dipshit, ink and electronics don't mix? I can't be rude to him, and he was nice enough I don't want to be mean to him, but what do you say? I just mumbled something along the lines of "no" and let it go. I really was at a loss for words.

And while we are on the subject, who talks like that anyways? Since when does a pen produce ink? I mean, the writing utensil doesn't generate its own ink or lead. Its put in there prior to purchase. I mean, does a clock produce time? Sometimes, I think this type of sentence would work. You know, like, I need to go produce urine. But in this case, I think he got it flat wrong. Sorry OMW, looks like you will have to try and produce a brain on your own.

-Deimos

TPS Report 06/22/09

Down in lumber, things can be pretty quiet. Especially at night, when most people don't really have a use for wood. (Aha! - No perverts please). Right around 9:20 or so, things have been quiet for quite some time. I am thinking to myself, perhaps I will get through the night without incident. Perhaps tonight, the human species attempted to salvage a hint of intelligence. Oh, cmon now, we all know better.

At the 9:20 mark, three people come in through the lumber doors. Old black lady and what looked like her husband, and a younger black lady (possibly their daughter). The younger one was about 30+ or so, but it was painfully obvious right from the get go that she had the IQ of that piece of cedar by the desk. You see, generally, at 9:20 pm, (21:20 for you military folks) it is dark out. Tonight was no exception. The sun goes down, and its dark out. Fascinating. Yet, this moron decided that she is going to wear glasses into the store. Now, I am not talking reading glasses, I am talking full blown 10" spec sunglasses. The kind that runway models wear to block the paparazzi from blinding them.

So this bucked tooth Blues Brother wannabe then turns to me, and asks "where da wata heatas are at." This can't end well. She still hasn't taken off her sunglasses, and on top of it, she is looking for a water heater at this time of night. I point her towards the "Heating" aisle and shake my head, hoping that they go up front to pay instead of the lumber aisle. I knew better though. They would be back.

Sure as it was dark outside, they came back, with a big ol' water heater in tow on one of our flatbed carts. I rang them up, and as I am doing so, Bucktooth asks me for some rope. I tell her there is rope in the Hardware department, thinking she was asking where the rope was at. But oh no, her rudeness and ignorance knows NO bounds. Perhaps thats why she hides almost half her face in shame behind those huge solar powered sun glasses. She then tells me that the store provides rope to tie things down with. I am 99% sure they don't, but you never know. She then wants me to get someone to help her and her..."parents" load it into the back of their truck. Still not sure if those are her parents, but we will go with it.

I am giddy at this point, because I already have played out in my mind how this is going to happen. I eagerly dial up the lumber guy to come out and help these people, and I use the term loosely, to load up this water heater. But, they don't even bother waiting for him, they begin moving this big ol' unit out to the truck.

Lumber guy comes up, and I point him towards my prey, I mean, the customers, and inform him that she is going to demand some rope. He looks at me oddly and says that we don't provide rope for the customer, that is something they need to bring or buy.

Yes! This is fantastic!

I shrug and smile, knowing full well the painful conversation he is getting ready to have. Poor guy. So I watch from my window as my boy explains to Bucktooth that the store doesn't provide rope. The dad then practically lifts the water heater into the back of the truck by himself (didn't think he had it in him!) and our guy comes back in with the cart.

He grabs a gatorade out of the cooler and we watch and enjoy these three dance around in the truck, trying to find the best way for it to sit in the flatbed without falling over as they go back home. What makes this so awesome is that Bucktooth never takes off her glasses. Never. It takes them almost 15 minutes before they finally drive off, leaving the water heater vertical in the back of the truck, which was the exact way they had originally put it in. I think my face was locked in this pose.

http://www.fancydressstore.ie/CUuploads/Shop/items/867/1550a_scream_mask.jpg

In those 15 minutes, not one of them had the common sense to come back in and purchase some rope or bungee cord from the hardware department to prevent the eventual disaster that would be the water heater falling out of the back of the truck. Not one of them thought to at least come in and try using the twine that the store provides that is right next to the door as they entered and left.

After we laughed, and cried, my friend from lumber went back to his work. It was 9:58, and I was getting ready to close shop when another couple comes in and wants to purchase 50, yes...fifty cement blocks.

Really?

The only thing I could possibly think of that you would need 50 cement blocks for at 10 pm would be to use them to tie down the bodies as you throw your victims into the river. I promptly flick my light off, and point them towards the masonry aisle. I am taking no part in this little scheme of theirs to slaughter 50 bodies and then hide them. That, and I am off the clock. Fuck it.

-Deimos

TPS Report 06/13/09

I know I haven't been as diligent as you would have expected me to be about my TPS Reports. I am sure that some of you have begun questioning if stupid people still came into my place of work. Fear not, for I have come fully loaded tonight. Tonight, I present to you with a TPS Extravaganza!

I boldly will bring you not 1, not 2, but three (3) TPS Reports rolled into one! Thats triple coverage! Not only is this limited time offer yours, but I am also throwing in a new segment into the blog as well, and its absolutely free! It will be added on at the end of this post, just like the "Species of Self Checkout" are. A fine dessert for your synical meal.

So, if you are a loyal reader to my musings, then it will come as no surprise to anyone that this TPS Report happens in the Self Checkout. What makes this truly remarkable is that it all happened in about a twenty minute span. Thats impressive, even by my standards. I mean, twenty minutes isn't even a TV show. We are talking pretty fast here.

It is important to understand that we have had some problems at the self checkout recently. Our machines are vomiting left and right, and so we are requesting that customers help us out by not being stupid. There are four checkout lanes. One of them has a yellow sign right above the monitor. The thing practically lights the front end of the store by itself. I mean, it is yellow. On it, it says that if you opt to pay with cash, when it prompts for a phone number, please do not decline it, or it could crash the software.

Now, I understand that the programmer must really suck, since this is an option that comes up every time someone pays with cash. However, if you don't want to give out your phone number, even though the hardware store doesn't solicit you, its understandable. Just punch in any number. No one really cares in the long run. The only reason we do it is so if you need to return something, you can without a receipt. We can just look you up by phone number. Either way, just don't decline the option, its all we ask.

The other three kiosks have a big green sign above their monitors that says: DEBIT/CREDIT cards only at this time. NO CASH

Please note how the methods of payment are in huge bold letters. This is done to emphasize exactly what is on these signs. It is important that these machines do not take cash, because again, the software is now on the fritz so to speak, and feeding these machines money could cause them to crash. If you need to use cash, use the one with the yellow sign, and please make sure you include a phone number.

It is surprising how many illiterate people come to the hardware store, and ask me if any of the machines take cash. What makes this horribly worse is that they aren't a part of the TPS Report this week, if that tells you how bad its going to get.

So, the first few minutes go by alright, when a man comes around the corner with a shopping cart brimming with stuff. He has various amounts of tools and bolt/nail bags in his cart. Mostly stuff from lumber and hardware. On top of all this he has about half a dozen very long pieces of wood. You know the kind. The 12 foot pieces that smack stuff off of shelves as you turn a corner. He turns an about face towards me, and then looks down at the nearest kiosk and then into his cart. He does this a couple more times, his view bouncing back and forth between the 2 and a half foot scale and his cart bulging with stuff. Then, with a very sincere and straight face, he shoots a look at me and says, "This isn't going to work, is it?"

I rub my temple for a second before grimacing and shaking my head. No...no it isn't. I tell him I don't advise using self checkout due to the obvious size and volume of the items selected. He then says that it shouldn't matter how many items a person has, he should be able to use the self checkout. He then walks towards one of the cashiers and stands in their line.

Are you serious? With the amount of shit you had in your cart, you would have to check out at a truck stop just to use their damned scale. And judging by your white knuckles, they couldn't have any trucks on their either, or the scale would break. Hurricane Katrina couldn't have knocked over your cart! And don't worry about the crap you knocked over with your lumber. I mean, really..."It shouldn't matter..." my ass. Why do you think grocery stores and other places have a 12 item limit? Its not because they don't like you, its because it becomes unreasonable to cram that much crap on such a scale. The only reason we don't have an item limit is because 13 nails will fit on that scale. You want to know the real reason "this won't work?" Its because you are a dipshit.

So after this little incident, a few minutes later, a woman heads over to one of the kiosks with the green signs on it. You know, the ones that say "no cash" on them. Do I even need to continue with this? Of course she shoves money in the hole. To hell with signs, she is entitled and ignorant, and will do what she pleases. She shows absolutely no remorse when the machine begings to whir and the red light flashes as the whole kiosk locks up tighter than a politician. I get real shitty with her too. Dammit, if you had at least said you were sorry, I might have tried to be pleasant. But oh no. So when she looks at me with a small smirk on her face, I ask if she would like to pay the bill to get it fixed. Her eyes widened as I point to the camera screen that has her on video jamming the kiosk. I then inform her we will call her if we need her monetary assistance in upgrading our systems. The woman probably canceled her phone service tonight.

Not 30 seconds later, a dude comes around with one item. He goes to the cash machine, thank god, and pays for his item normally. Of course, he fucks up, because if he hadn't, he wouldn't be mentioned. He hits the "decline" button when prompted for the phone number. Of course, he does this while I am putting the TEMPORARILY OUT OF SERVICE sign on the other kiosk. No sooner do I put the sign up, but I hear that familiar whir. The machine locks up like Fort Knox, and the dude is almost 1/3 the way out the door, his receipt still dangling from the machine. Un-fuckin-belivable. Where in the hell do you people come from?! It was unfortunate that I wasn't able to give him hell like I did the other lady. Ah well, karma will get him. I guess I will just have to live with the fact that he will be "the one that got away."

* * *

Now, as promised, here is a new segment of the blog, and as usual, we owe thanks to the self checkout kiosks. This segment is going to be items that appear on my screen as people scan them. Of course, they are in all caps, and are often times shortened due to length on the screen. So in order to accomodate this, they only use key words. They get rather descriptive with these words, despite lack of room.

CARROT, BIG TOP

Its either a circus, or that annoying Carrot Top guy got famous.

PAPERBEAD 90 DEGREES INSIDE CORN

Didn't know typewriters were made of vegetables.

MALE TERMINAL ADAPTER

Sounds like it would hurt your manhood.

30 CT WOOD FOR GOOD WIPES

Hey, you would have wood too if you had a good wipe. Not sure you would have 30 of them though.

10 OZ KNOCKDOWN TEXTURE

Its what pavement feels like.

BALLCOCK ADJUSTABLE 10-14 IN

For those who are adjustable in some areas.

VIBRATING VOLTAGE TESTER

Again, sounds painful to your manhood.

-Deimos

D-Day: 64 Years Later...

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Question and Answer Time with Deimos

Before I delve into the happenings of more idiots, I think it is time to answer some questions about this blog that have been asked by my "throngs" of readers. Again, these are real questions that have piled up over time. I am getting tired of answering them.

1. So [Deimos], why don't you use your real name, or that of the companies you work for?

Two words. Plausible deniability. Companies get into a big stink when you reveal a few of your inner workings to a public. And since things posted on "The Intrawebs" is serious business, and therefore, considered published works, it is best to remain anonymous. Granted, most of my readers probably know me, and probably know where I work, but its always better to cover your ass than to risk getting sued or something awful like that. And to prove this point home, for the people who asked this question, I didn't use your name.

2. I mean, really, these aren't true stories, are they?

What makes this blog so neat is that these are in fact true stories. All of them. The TPS Reports, the articles, and even my own cynical thoughts are all true. Its sad that there are that many stupid people out there, and as the blog grows, I think we will all get a greater sense at just how bad our gene pool has gotten. It might be time to start that Revolution I was thinking about.

3. You ever thought of publishing your blog into a book once it gets large enough, or even writing a book about it?

Two words. Plausible deniability. Last thing I want is some asshole Publisher getting money off my idea while I get sued. We all know they would want names, and then I would get mentioned in there somewhere. Ugh. Besides I wouldn't want fame and fortune to go to my head. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2c4L4CPfQY8

4. I got one for your blog. You will never believe...

Stop. Just stop. Write your own damn blog. I don't mind hearing your stories, but they aren't my experiences. My blog. My shit. My experiences. If you want your tales told in story and/or published, either hire me or go write your own. And, unlike some, I am not easy or cheap. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F2QccunIArs

5. You really going to be able to do 1 blog a week?

Hopefully. I mean, if I don't, the World explodes, so you better keep your fingers crossed. Sometimes I may not be able to, but the goal is to do at least 1 a week. Sometimes, you might be getting more, in which case, you should be even more grateful I let you glimpse into my small World.

Sorry about the lack of TPS Report or amusing article today. I am sure sometime this week, someone will do something stupid, and we can all have a good laugh at it.

-MW-

Media Madness

Over the past decade or so, the media has seen it's ratings drop. Considerably. They have tried putting new anchors on. They have tried spicing up the programming. They have even started this "investigative reporting" stuff, where they snoop around trying to create news, instead of leaving it alone. Now, granted, some of the stuff they have uncovered was beneficial to the community, but quite a bit of it was unnecessary.

Yes, the media has even taken the "News for YOU" approach, like we are on the same side. Yea right. You aren't on my side. You don't even know me! I bet I can tell you what your news is like though, assuming you even watch it. Its quite scary.

It starts with News at 6, or whatever hour your media hype comes on. Often times, it has a sylized number of the channel you are watching. They will try and be cute, and have the time match the channel. 6 News at 6. 11 News at 11. 7:30 news...at 7:30. Then they show the four dunces they threw up there to "report" the news.

You are going to have your two anchors. One is a man, the other a woman. (This is true for all but a very select few). Then it will be Jack Stumphump with Weather, and Don Notalent with Sports. Thats whats on the menu, and it doesn't matter what channel you change it to. Thats what you are getting. General news, weather, and sports. You know why weather and sports get their own person for coverage? Because there are other programs that do just weather and sports. (ie the Weather Channel, and ESPN).

So, the two anchors will kick off the night, and these two people are total drones, it makes your head spin. Half the time, they don't know what they are saying, they are just reading from the teleprompter. You could have someone put up on that screen they read that they are sitting in dog vomit, and they wouldn't bat an eye. After they are done with a story, the sometimes will have a brief, 10 second "conversation" about it, but it usually is, "Wow, thats interesting," and the response is just as negligible, because they have no idea what they just read. Then, they kick it over to Jack with Weather.

Now, this meteorologist is even a bigger joke. You see, there are two types of meteorologists. The ones who live in a static climate, and the ones who don't. For the meteorologists who live in a static climate, their job is a no brainer. Hawaii is a good example. Oh look, its sunny. Back to you. Don't believe me? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3-TfZslHKoo

Then the other meteorologist lives somewhere North of the mason dixon line, and not in California. They come up with crap like, partly sunny today, with a chance of showers. Highs in the 70s. Can you get much more vague than that?! Good lord pal, do you have any idea whats going on? Of course not, because you can't predict the weather! You can guess the weather. Even then, its just a guess. They will then try to emphasize their point home by waving their hand over a general area where there might be some green on the radar a little later, indicating there might be some showers. I wish I had a job where I could never be right.

And speaking of these radars, how much more ridiculous do the names have to get? You get all these fancy "high tech" weather radars like the Doppler, the Stormtrack, and the Joan Rivers, and they still can't get an accurate depiction of what is going on. I am becoming more and more certain that that is why the economy is tanking. There is too much money invested in innacurate weather radars.

Then the Weather guy kicks it over to the Sports guy. Ugh. Here is a waste of time. This dude is forced to tell us about the local High School Women's Lacrosse team instead of Game 3 of the Stanley Cup Finals, because he is trying to maintain his "local good guy image." Fuck em. No one gives a crap about High School sports except people in High School, and they don't normally watch the news. So why is he telling us about stuff we don't care about? Because if you want Game 3 of the Stanley Cup Finals, you turn into ESPN, or the NHL Network. You dont' need to get your news from some yokel.

Despite the shortcomings of the Anchors, Weatherman and Sports guy, the real cause for the drops in ratings has nothing to do with the people you see on TV. It has everything to do with the Producers of the news. The people behind the scenes are why the American public is tuning out. Its very easy to understand. The news is negative.

All you ever hear about is rapings, shootings, killings, kidnappings, stabbings, theft, police chases, assault, escaped criminals, sex offenders, fires, explosions, car pile ups, deaths, and the occasional political drabble, which 9 times out of 10, is the worst on the list. You never hear about the charity walks, the woman who saves a boy from drowning, or the house that was just built for a homeless family. You don't hear anything about this stuff either. http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,522061,00.html Why? Because apparently, thats not what we want to hear. Apparently, the Producers feel the other stuff is more important. Apparently, they are wrong. The ratings are screaming at them that they are wrong, but they are so obsessed with the negative, they don't want to report the positive. When it comes right down to it, people are sick of it. They are sick of the negative.

And what makes it worse, is its always the same story. Dude shoots baby's momma. Shoots kid. Takes money. Runs. Here's a mug shot. He is still on the loose. Any information, call Crime Stoppers. Next story, fire kills 22 sleeping orphans as person in charge was strung out on coke. She is expected to make a full recovery. Its a tragedy.

There is the other thing that bothers me about the news. The word "tragedy" has lost all punch. It is a dead word. A tragedy is what Shakespeare wrote. What happens in the news is rarely a tragedy. Its an unfortunate event. A tragedy is when the Main Character has to make a choice, and he is damned no matter what. He can't win. The prime example of a modern day tragedy would be when a cop has to shoot a kid that has a gun pulled on him. If he doesn't shoot the kid, he dies, if he does shoot the kid, the kid dies, which is never cool. So no matter the choice, the cop is fucked, and the kid probably is too. No winners, hence, a tragedy. Either way, its negative.

And this is why Generation X, as we have been dubbed, gets such a bad rap. Its because all the negativity is reported, and none of the good stuff is reported. And it doesn't stop with the news either. It spreads all over the media. TV, Newspaper, Magazines, Radio, petty little blogs, and so on. You name it. Its everywhere. Thats why I tuned out. I burned a CD, and thats what I listen to. That and the Cubs games. (Ron Santo is the new Harry Caray).

-Deimos

TPS Report 05/22/2009

Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn. You see, women are only abled to be pushed so far before it backlashes. The problem men face is that they don't know when to quit, or for that matter, when they shouldn't even start. In all honesty, this guy had it coming.

Numbnut of the day comes up and sets a piece of discounted glass on the counter. This is not too odd, since we are at the hardware and lumber register of the store. I alter the price of the item, and it comes up to $5.86.

Now, even I can manage $5.86, but apparently, this dude couldn't. I saw some bills in his wallet when he opened it, but I couldn't tell what they were. He says, hang on, my wife has 100 bucks I wanna get changed. I am thinking his wife is down the hall or something. No, she is in the parking lot. He starts yelling at her from inside the store to his truck halfway out of the parking lot.

Now, granted, the double doors to the parking lot are right by the register, and they are open, but seriously dude. How dumb can you be? No matter how loud or menacing you sound, she is not going to hear you. So he struts out there and goes to the car, leaving the glass on the counter, and the line forming behind him.

He finally gets back into the store 2 1/2 minutes later (I kid you not). It looked like he was coming up, but then he would go and head back out. The line was getting rather impatient, and it wasn't with me. (Most of the customers down in Hardware are pretty cool, and I usually don't mind working down there.)

So, finally, this woman comes in with him, and she looks pissed off something proper. I would be too. This guy was yellin' all sorts of profanities to get her in the store. I decided it was in my best health to make this guy look like a total asshole, and save me the wrath of this very irate woman. She asks the total. I regurgitate the number of $5.86.

She says, no, I mean, for all the items. Miss, that is all the items. Its just that one. Her eyes get very wide as she starts to tremble. Its like watching a volcano. "Say what?!" she screams.

Score.

"Boy, you gots 15 bucks in yo' wallet, Why the fuck did I have to come in here?!" The dude yells back at her that he wanted to get the 100 dollar bill changed.

Oof. Wrong answer there pal. She is very pissed. She hands me the 100, and I give her her change as quickly as possible. I try not to make direct eye contact. I am afraid lazers will come out of her eyes and seer my skin off.

Now, first of all, if you got money, why the hell would you go back out into the parking lot and have your "signifcant other" pay for something. (Not sure if they were married. Probably were.) Secondly, whats the point in getting that 100 dollar bill in the first place if you are just going to have it cashed? Why not carry 20s instead? The point of a 100 dollar bill is so if you have to make a heavy purchase, your wallet isn't bloaded like a fat guy at the buffet. They aren't meant to be "cashed." Checks are cashed. Not 100s. Moron.

However, the best was yet to come! So after the dysfunctional duo leave, I start ringing out another customer. It is at this point, we hear yelling in the parking lot. We turn to see the couple arguing and screaming profanities at one another. The guy has made a serious tactical error, however. You see, when he came inside, he left the woman in the truck, so not only does his wife, or whomever, have most of the money currently on them, but she also has...the keys to the truck.

The last I saw of them was the dude running after his ride as it was turning right out of the parking lot. The remaining customers and I had a field day with this, laughing it up at this moron's lack of foresight, and overall general stupidity. (Like I said, most of the hardware/lumber customers are pretty cool). I mean, honestly. You never piss off A) A woman B) A woman you have emotional ties with C) A woman with the only keys to the car.

* * *

Self Checkout Species Files:

The "Checker:" This customer does just fine scanning items. In fact, they are a natural. They don't trip the scale, and only bring items that will actually fit on the scale. They are very adept at hiding their idiocy. Alas, it always comes out in the end. After everything is said and done, they opt to write a check...in self checkout. Um, and who is going to verify this check? That's right, someone else. Me. Making this a waste of time, as once again, people do not understand what self checkout means. Also, more often than not, the Checker will use their knee as a table, and where will they put their foot? On the scale of course.

-Deimos

TPS Report 05/20/2009

Today's report comes to you from the outside section of the store. We commonly refer to it as Lawn and Garden. (LG from here on out). The lines are always very long, and there is a certain type of customer in the outer fringes of the store.

You see, in general, when people buy plants, flowers, or vegetables, they buy them en masse. And I mean this wholeheartedly. They will come up with flatbeds full of plantlife. Now, my ergonomic gamer loving ass with allergies shouldn't be outside that long to begin with. But when you add the fact that there is almost a never-ending conga line going through that checkout, the day can seem to drag on.

Now, the customers out there are really broken into two types. There are the really cool ones who understand that the people in front and behind them each have 50 items to ring up, and they also have a cartload of stuff as well. They are totally cool with waiting because human beings are only capable of moving so fast. (This includes other customers digging for exact change).

The other type is the one I will have to write about. These are the hippies whose time is far too valuable and have the patience of a 2 year old wanting candy. They tend to be rude, snotty, and overall unpleasant in their quest for a completely organic life. Today's episode is one of these "people."

A couple comes up, and begins putting their stuff on my register space before I am done with the customer ahead of them. This is always a bad omen, and often times, I wonder if people really know how rude they are being. So after the other customer has to push her stuff out of the way to swipe his credit card, I could see the vein in her forehead throbbing already that someone has dared challenge her universe.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

Now, note, it is daylight out while this is happening. It is also quite hot. I will explain later why this is important. So the woman shoves her stuff into the center of the counter, and I begin scanning. I scan the five plants or so she has on there before I raise my little lazer gun and look down at her flatbed where she has more garden style tools awaiting purchase.

Now, my little lazer gun is cordless, so when I need to do these types of things, like scanning items near the ground, it is easier for me to do so. But, when I bring my gun up to rest on my shoulder, the woman begins screaming at me.

"Watch what you are doing, you could have blinded me!"

Now, at this point, I am thinking she has to be talking to someone else. Perhaps another customer almost poked her in the eye with a stick or something. However, when I turn around, there she is, red faced with that stupid vein in her forehead again, and she is staring at me. Someone as old as this lady should not be able to get her face that red, unless she got trapped in a tanning booth. It just isn't healthy. I look around to make sure I am understanding that she is in fact, yelling at me.

I respond very politely (this was a mistake) and ask her what she is talking about. Her response? I could have blinded her with the lazer.

Wow.

OK, first of all, this lazer can barely scan the damn barcodes you people bring up here. The barcodes are covered with dirt, grime, and God knows what else. These little lazers are thin beams that flicker in and out, and barely work. Secondly, they only work when I am pulling the trigger. They aren't really substantial lazers that stay on afterwards. Because of these two things, this lazer is clearly NOT strong enough to do any real damage to your eyes unless you stared at it for a good week or so. Thirdly...it's daytime! (Told you this would come back). How the fuck can you even see the damned lazer is beyond me, because I focus at where it is on the barcode, and I can't see it most of the time. You mean to tell me you could even though you don't know where its specifically pointed at? No. I doubt it.

I try to politely explain that she was not in danger of this lazer. (Again, a mistake. I should have learned at this point). She then proceeds to go off on me. I really don't give a rat's ass. I am ready for my lunch break. The guy with her (assumingly her husband) is rolling his eyes in great pain, as if wishing this bitch would just shut her piehole and pay for her damn flora.

After I ring up the items, and suppress my laughing, I give them the total. The guy swipes his gift card he had, and it takes care of most of the bill. He then pulls out his credit card, and after he swipes it, Lazer Bitch waves a coupon in my face, saying I need to take 10 dollars off the card.

Score.

You see, I can't scan the coupon now that the gift card has been swiped. The computer won't let me back out. Haha Beeotch. She then starts throwing a temper tantrum, and the dude with her just shakes his head and swipes his card. I roll my eyes at him. We both smile. I feel his pain. I actually almost pity him. I mean, after this, I don't have to put up with her shit. He does. Thats what you get for marrying a succubus.

Of course, I always get the last laugh on customers like these if I can. After she walked out, I fired my lazer at the back of her skull. This was my third mistake, because I was going for cancer in the brain at that point. But, you can't have cancer in something you don't have.

To make this whole thing better, the dude in line after her brings up a tiller and sets it on my counter. Tillers are those tools for turning dirt that have the spikes on the end of them. (For those that don't know). He smiles and says "I bet this thing can do more damage than your lazer."

HA!

I laugh a bit before I look at the woman walking to her car. You are more than welcome to try sir. You are more than welcome to try.

-Deimos

TPS Report 05/16/2009

This week's TPS Report comes to us from, once again, the Self Checkout line, where I continue to catalog different species of idiot. Now, I am also coming to understand that while my list is far from complete, there are also several types of people who could classify as more than one species. Observe:

Our Moron d'Jour comes up to the line. She has a cart full of stuff. (Turns out to be 14 items). She is also on a cell phone, and has two kids, one is about 10, the other 7. Not a good start. Not only is she not paying attention to what she is doing, but she isn't paying attention to her kids either, and she is in a hardware store. Reminds me of those Farside comics you used to see where there were two buildings next to each other, and the caption simply read: "Trouble Brewing." Normally, these two buildings would be like, an alligator farm, and a nursery. This is kind of how I felt about this woman with her kids. It just spelled trouble.

Things started out well enough, she bagged about 3 items or so with no trouble or cause for concern, but then things went down hill fast. You see, she started this spiral by removing the bag from the scale, and dropping it into her cart. Ding ding ding. Right light of stupidity flashes, and the dance has begun. Speaking in very heavy Ignorant, she asks why she can't continue to scan items. After quite calmly stating to her that the thing she is standing next to is indeed a scale, she says, "Oh, so I gotsa keep dat on der?"

Yep. You gotsa.

So, she places, and by places, I mean throws, the bag back on the scale, opens up a new bag and tries to scan the item. It takes a second for the scale to recover from the sheer velocity of the throw, but it manages. 3 items later...you guessed it, the red light goes off again as she removes the 2nd bag and puts it in her cart.

Now, at this point, its pretty obvious she has the IQ of the broomhandle she just scanned, since she just made the same basic mistake 20 seconds prior. After once again explaining the obvious, she hands the bag to her 10 year old son, and tells him to hold it on the scale. Now, at first glance, this seems kind of smart, since the broom handle is sticking way out of the bag. However, it is fundamentally flawed.

You see, the kid holds the broom handle just like he was asked, but in doing so, he is applying pressure, and therefore, weight, to the already overtaxed scale. Red Light of Stupidity flashes once more. I don't even let them see it, I just promptly hit the button. The Moron d'Jour scans a gallon of paint. (Who would ever trust this woman with paint is beyond me.) She then proceeds to set it on the floor.

Wow. Just wow. This lady is a walking red light special, and not of the provocative kind either. The poor 7 year old girl pushing the cart is about bored to tears. The woman, realizing the light was red, asks me if she has to put that [paint] on the scale too.

Now, seriously people. How long do I have to hold my tongue on this? This really isn't fair. I nod silently, fully realizing that if I open my mouth, I will probably end up getting fired. So next up, she throws something small into one of the bags. Again, I am emphasizing throwing. But, the item is so small, the scale isn't picking up the weight. The monitor asks if she would like to skip the bagging process on this piece. She, of course, is on the phone.

So, the kid decides to take it into his own hands, and lifts the broom off the scale and tries to push the button on the screen with the end of the broom handle. Now, first of all, why would you jab at a piece of electronics with a broom handle? Secondly, in doing this, he has tripped the scale once again. Red lights for everyone! Really stupid there kiddo. Its pretty obvious whose ass you got shot out of.

The next 6 or 7 items go about like this, occasionally, it takes two mercy buttons to get them through an item. When everything is said and done, they managed to scan all 14 items, and I only had to push the Moron button a whopping 17 times. 17! Thats more than 1 per item! I didn't think that was possible! So, I have dubbed her Queen of the Red Light Special. (QRLS)

Ugh. I totally have discovered a new species, or at least a subspecies...

The Quarterback: This customer likes to throw things on the scale. They may also have other species types, such as Waitless or Weightless, but the emphasis is on trying to cause as much damage as possible to the equipment, usually by throwing heavy or sharp objects onto the scale.

And, because I am in the mood, I shall give you another subspecies:

Dis "Count:" An offshoot of the Faux Independent, the Count likes to have coupons that have to be redeemed up at the register. Or, even worse, they purchase items at are on sale, and must manually be altered by the supervising person, (Me) hence defeating the point of self checkout.

-Deimos

Webster is a n00b...

So, apparently, the people who speak English in this world are getting pretty desperate. You see, the English language is approaching a huge milestone. It is "estimated" by "experts" that this milestone will happen around June 10th, of 2009. This is just a few weeks away. The milestone I am referring to of course is the 1 millionth word in the English Language. That's 1,000,000 who don't have "millionith" in your vocabulary yet. That is a lot of zeroes. According to http://tech.uk.msn.com/news/article.aspx?cp-documentid=16646244 the link anyways, we are on the verge of greatness.

I, of course, don't believe in this greatness. Why? Because the English language is trying too hard to become hip. It's not hip. It's not cutting edge. It's old and has flaws, and quite honestly, I like it that way. English is a germanic language, so it, for all intents and purposes, should be difficult. I guess why I am bothered with this is the fact that there are words in there like "ain't" and "d'oh!" Words that are slang or even just a sound effect made by a fictitious character. Their are laxing their standards to achieve this goal. So naturally, it is only befitting that the 1,000,000th word be...noob.

Now, for those of you who aren't in the know, let me explain noob. Noob is a word that derives from newbie, or new person. Basically, its a sort of "rookie" if you will, and its popular usage comes not from corporate America or the government, but from gamers. Noob, in general can be used in 3 contexts as a gamer, and more often than not, an online gamer.

The first is when someone says they are genuinely new, and hence, a noob. They need help understanding the controls or finding places on a map. These noobs tend to be kind of pleasant, which, in online gaming, can be rare. It also means they generally are not referred to as noobs, but just as new. The reasoning for this is because noob generally is more derogatory of a word when used in gaming context.

The second use is in such a context. A person messes up, or does something stupid, or may even try to kill your character, but fail. This person can be labeled a noob. An example would be: You NOOB, you couldn't kill me while I was fighting something else! LMAO!!!1"

The third usage is in jest, where someone who you would consider your online friend makes an honest mistake or forgets where something is at, and your entire group mocks him and calls him a noob. He, in return, laughs, because it is only appropriate since he was an idiot.

Yes folks, this is our potential 1,000,000th word. You would think, with all the other words out there, one of them would be able to derive another word that has a little more oomph in it than noob. Apparently, Webster is a noob, since they can't think of anything else.

-Deimos

TPS Report 05/07/2009

Apparently, some people partied way too hard this Cinco de Mayo, because its the only logical conclusion I could have made about my latest victim in my fight against the masses of stupid people. Of all the ones in recent tales, this is probably the worst.

One of my 12 bosses that has half a brain sent me down to work the Lumber cash register tonight to allow a fellow co-worker of mine a chance to take a break. I am totally down for this, because not only is Lumber overall slower paced then the front registers, but the customers, for the most part, tend to be pretty level headed, and kinda cool. They understand that sometimes, things happen and you got to look an item up or whatever. Like I said, reasonable people.

Of course, there are exceptions to every rule and/or stereotype. Tonight, I got to meet one of those exceptions. So, during the twenty minutes or so I am down at the Lumber register, I had all of about nine customers...and they all came at once. I was at register 2. Register 2 and 3 sit next to each other, sharing a spot for employees to stand. Basically, they are back to back, with Register 2 facing one way, and Register 3 another. So I am open on 2, because it is by the larger set of doors, making it easier for people with long pieces of lumber to exit. (Aren't I nice?) About two people through my conga line, and an old lady comes up to the register 3 and sets some flowers down on the register counter. She says nothing.

Now, at this point, I am not too concerned with her. After all, I have a horde of customers buying my wood. (Keep your crotch jokes to yourself) An old lady with flowers looking around like she is waiting on someone or something doesn't bother me too much. It would have continued to have been a non-issue as well, until the Witch of Register 3 opened her mouth.

WR3 waits until I am halfway through ringing up a customer before she opts to interrupt me. She doesn't ask questions, she doesn't even excuse herself from interrupting me. She demands to know why she has been skipped in line, and why I am not ringing up her flowers. I take a quick glance at my current customer, excuse myself from our conversation, and turn 180 degrees to face WR3. I smile as politely as I can before saying, "Sorry Ma'am, but I didn't realize you were ready to check out. However, that register is closed, and I am on the only open register at the moment, I am afraid you will have to get in line." She crinkles her nose at me a little bit in response.

Yes dipshit, you see that huge fucking box above your head with the number "3" on it? You see how it is lacking a light source? You may also notice, if you get your head out of your ass, that the light with the number "2" on it is illuminated, hence indicating that the register is in fact open. Of course, you probably were too busy paying attention to everyone else who already figured out what that meant, hence the line of very patient customers who now have to watch me dealing with you.

On a side note, why the hell would you have flowers down in Lumber anyways? The Lawn and Garden section of the store is on the complete opposite end, and they have registers down there. You had to pass up 11 possible registers and the self checkout to get down here with those flowers, and then you proceeded to go into the wrong line! Who the hell let you out of your cage? Seriously! They let you drive? I mean...really...they do?!

Eventually, WR3 gets to the head of the line, which at this point, is just her and one other person. She says she is very disappointed in the lack of customer service, and that I should be ashamed of myself, along with dropping a couple of inappropriate words. I calmly set down my scanner and take a side step over to Register 3. I flip on my light, and ask the gentleman behind her to step over so I can ring him out. She is flabbergasted.

I shoot her a quick glare before nailing my point home. "It is my job to assist you in the nicest way possible. It doesn't mean I am here to take your abuse. When you are ready to engage me in a conversation like an adult, I will assist you." Of course, I don't even bother looking at her at this point. I just go about being nice and ringing the other guy out. By the time we are done, she has left. The flowers are still on the counter.

The lesson learned here folks is that I don't take crap from my kid, let alone a stranger with an attitude. I hope she rats on me to one of my 12 bosses. That way, I can relive the tale. Once I tell them its all on camera, and they can see and hear what I did for themselves, and I will laugh. This is probably the first person that I have actually felt a loathing for. Not because she was an idiot, but because she disrespected me after being an idiot on multiple levels, which is much harder to do than it looks.

-Deimos

For the Love of Chrysler!

We got a new car recently. Well, new to us. The 2006 Chrysler Sebring. Nice car. The Mrs. drives it. In any event, on my days off, I ran around town, getting the thing fixed up. New oil, tires, wheel, and of course, the title.

Yet, when we went to get the spare key made, we were informed that the dealership had to make the key, since they put some stupid microchip in the head of it. Basically, only Chrysler can copy this key, since they have to install the chip, and without the chip, the car thinks its being stolen, and promptly locks up.

Now, seriously people, it has come to this? You know what kind of inconvenience this is? Not only does it cost $62.00 or so to get this stupid key made, but if someone is going to steal the car, it is not always through a hotwiring. Sometimes, they do have the key, (that they also stole), but they have it nonetheless. So, instead of dropping 2 bucks on a spare key, I am dropping an extra 60 to try and circumvent only one of the many myriad ways to steal a car. Not what I would consider a good investment. No wonder the car industries are in trouble.

Alas, there I am at the Chrysler dealership. I explain this situation, and after telling me the cost, they have the gall to ask if I want the remote control button to open the car from afar. Its an extra 40-50 bucks or so. No thanks, I don't have lube, and this is already going to hurt, so just get it over with.

Here is where things get very stupid. They lead me to a very fancy lounge waiting area while they are busy making the small item they are overcharging me for. They have a copious selection of magazines to read, plush leather couches, a snack bar, TV, and fresh brewed coffee. The place feels like a Holiday Inn without room service or an ice bucket. The air conditioning is even on.

I figure I will at least try and get my money's worth by shoving as many pastries in my mouth and downing as much coffee as I could. I would look like a chipmunk, but dammit, for 62 bucks and some change, I don't give a rat's ass. I am entitled now dammit. So as I am sitting there drinking my coffee (which was suprisingly good) and eating a pastry, I was flipping through ESPN magazine when suddenly, I hear Barak Obama's voice on the TV (this is, of course, not surprising).

However, it was what our President had to say that damn near made me throw up 4 pastries and 2 cups of coffee. He was announcing (and mind you, this is a live broadcast) that Chrysler was going to declare Chapter 11 Bankruptcy in the coming hours today.

O' Really?

I calmly set my magazine and coffee down on the nice cedar end table and calmly walk over to the door leading back to the garage. I poke my head out and find the guy who helped me earlier. I shout that I really need that key in a hurry. When he asked why I was suddenly in such a hurry, I couldn't help but break the news to him.

"You guys just declared bankruptcy. It was on the news."

The guy makes a face that can best be described as surprised, but not stunned, and then smiles at me. "Yea...well...um...let me go check on that for you."

I smile and shut the door. Looks like I better shove a pastry in my pocket for the road and get out of Dodge...

-Deimos

TPS Report 05/01/2009

Even the nicest and seemingly pleasant people can still be put into the TPS Report when they decide that they really are idiots. For some reason unfathomable to a person with common sense, I was put on the Customer Service Desk this past weekend. (Really? I mean, who is in charge around here? Don't they know better?)

After a few minutes of sheer boredeom, a woman comes up to the line to pay for her items. She seems nice enough, and small talk about common things begins to happen, such as the weather, and "How's business going?"

To be honest, this is where I should have seen the red flag. Perhaps I was just trying to hard. What do you care about how our business is doing? Its doing well enough for you to be here, isn't it? Again, she was probably just trying to be nice, but at this rate, and the way she was trying to seem genuinely interested, she might as well asked if I wear boxers or briefs.

Finally, her total bill rings up. Her total came up to just over fifty bucks. She pulls out her credit card and swipes it. We go through the motions of ringing up her sale when a "DECLINED" comes up on my register. Now, at this point, remember that I am still trying to be nice. After all, I am on "Customer Service," I tell her that the card was declined. However, I immediately ask if she wants to try it again.

This would seem counter-intuitive, since it just declined it, but sometimes, it declines it because it doesn't read it right. Our card swipers, on a scale of 1-10, rate right around a "Kick to the Nuts." So, explaining this in a "PC" way, I ask if she would like to try again. She nods, saying that she just used it yesterday.

Once again, we go through the motions. Once again, it declines it. I ask her if she would like me to try and swipe the card on my register. (Note: This is rather a poor business practice by the company. Why don't we just swipe it ourselves to start? It would save so much time.) She says, yes, although she is a bit irate at this point.

So I swipe her card. And, you guessed it...same result. Declined. Now, here is where things get ugly. Three strikes and she is out. I tell her the card is declined, and asks if she would like to use a different method of payment. Perhaps blood, or common decency? Neither. Instead, she starts throwing a complete temper tantrum.

Things such as, "I can't believe this bullshit, and what the fuck do you mean its declined?!" Her face gets really red and she starts breathing heavy as she explains, once again, she just used the card yesterday. Meanwhile, a line is forming behind her, and she is really starting to make a scene. One of my 12 Supervisors sees what is happening and begins inching towards my position. If I am going to make her look like an idiot, I have to do it quickly.

I look down at the card, pretending to be perplexed, when the answer hits me square in the face. I grin a little and offer her her card back. I explain to her that it is expired, and she glares at me. My shoulders droop a little and the conversation ensues thusly:

Me: Maam, your card is expired.
Moron: No...it...isn't. I just...used it...
Me: ...yesterday. I know. But today is May 1st.

This throws her off guard a bit. She crinkles her red nose and continues to stare at me.

Me: Maam, its May 1st.
Moron: You just said that...
Me: Yes. Your card expired on April 30th. See?

I point to the card, where the expiration clearly reads 04/09.

Me: Would you like to use a different form of payment today?

At this point, I am trying to sound like an automated machine, asking her the same question I have been asking her for a couple minutes now.

The cheeks flush as she turns and walks out of the store without a sound. Damn you! Now we have to take all this crap and put it back on the shelves. One of the 12 looks at me and says, "What was all that about?"

I shoot her a quick glance. "Just another happy customer," I mumble. That was all the response she was getting from me. Took her how the fuck long to move 8 feet to my position? If you are going to be my supervisor, those are the types of customers you are supposed to handle when her face gets all red. Letting me shoot that woman down was cruel and unusual punishment. You're fired.

* * *

As promised, I have another species to add to the "Self Checkout Customer."

The "Voter for Change": Generally, this species tends to be much older, like, blue hair older, and carries large purses that you could stuff bodies into. After buying a bottle of Windex and a sponge, they insist on paying with exact change. To make matters worse, its normally in pennies. One cent at a time, they pay their bill while the line forms behind them. Then, when they are about 14 cents away, the set their purse down...you guessed it...on the scale, in order to fish for the last 14 cents. The hilarity of the red light ensues, and, in most cases, they are oblivious to it, since they are shoulder deep in their giant body bags looking for coins.

-Deimos

TPS Report 04/27/2009

When it comes to the world of retail, and it's moronic inhabitants, I considered myself an expert. But I was oh so wrong. Experts have to have far more experience than I. However, after this past weekend, I am starting to catch up.

This past weekend, I was properly introduced to a new special breed of idiots. You know them as the people who go through "self-checkout" or, as my brother and I call it, U-SCAM. It's only fair to classify such a species into it's own breed. While there are several types of this breed, they all share some similar qualities. Kind of like platypus. Dopey looking with big mouths. They also have that "Do it yourself" attitude, which is to be expected at a hardware store, but not to this degree. No, these platypus have an air of pretentiousness about them. They somehow feel superior to other people because they know how to scan something. (I think that must be it, I can draw no other conclusions at this time. Further research is needed.)

So, needless to say, I was placed on the self checkout line for several stints this weekend. I was able to classify a few of the sub species of this particular brand of moron. Remember, that at the hardware store, a green light means go, and a red light means "Customer Needs Assistance," or, in non-corporate terms, someone is more than likely being an idiot. In no specific order, I have found the following:

The Waitless: These are the people who's time is far too important to stand in line. They will gladly run 1/3 of the way across the store to scan the items themselves, only to be tripped up by something like their card not scanning properly. They end up taking 10 minutes longer than expected. Then they feel satisfied after they leave that they saved themselves some time. Its only after they reached the door and see the person that was behind them in a normal line walking out ahead of them do they realize how anal they were. Next time, they will bring a better card.

The Weightless: These are the morons who don't understand the term "scale." OK, newsflash here, "scale" is not a chic term coined by some in group at the hardware store for the use of their self checkout. No, a "scale," as surprising as this sounds, is an instrument used to measure weight. You fat asses in Lane 37 remember this right? Its that thing you would step on, and after it got to the 4th digit, you would cry youself to sleep every night, remembering the good ol' days of when 800 was nice and trim. Can I offer you a dictionary with your order today? The worst thing about the Weightless is that sometimes, they don't get it, even after you explain it to them. They keep trying to pull stuff off of this weird "scale" and put it into their cart. Then, the little light above them flashes red, signaling their stupidity until I mercifully hit the button. Sometimes, I just let it flash and pretend I am busy with another customer. Makes it all the more funny to make the Weightless a little like the Waitless.

The "Not Drawn to Scale": This subspecies is similar to the Weightless, except they understand the concept of what a scale is, they just don't understand that it measures weight properly, and that a 1'x4'x16' piece of lumber isn't going to fit on a scale designed for a bag of fertilizer. Just isn't going to happen. They lean it up on the edge of the scale, so that it damn near smacks the camera dangling from our 40' ceiling. Then, when the red light goes off, they throw up their hands in disgust, claiming that they put the piece of "OMGTOOBIG" on the scale. No dickstump, you didn't. You leaned it up against the edge of the scale. Have you ever only put your toe on the scale in your bathroom? Its not an accurate reflection of your weight, regardless of how big your big toe actually is. Then, after I give them the green light, they complicate the matters by...you guessed it, trying to move the lumber so that it fits on the scale...thus setting off the red light.

The Mathematician: A very rare species, since most people understand 1st grade math. However, human ignorance knows no bounds. In an "effort" to keep transactions secure, the hardware store requires the last 4 digits of your credit card when charging a purchase. In other words, we are trying to dick with you. I understand NO reason for this, but we are actually REQUIRED to do it. In fact, we can't complete a sale with a credit card until we verify the last 4 digits on their credit card. (Note: Debit card is cool, you just punch in your pin and go. Whatev. But Credit cards? Oh no. We complicate those.)So, when the little old lady starts swearing at the machine because her credit card doesn't require a pin, it is time for me to save the universe from her wrath by making her feel like an idiot. This is the perfect sting for me, because the red light never comes on in this instance. No. I get to go all James Bond on her and walk up and humiliate her without anyone else knowing. Its a covert mission. Get in. Make em look stupid. Get out. And of course, thank them and tell them to have a nice day.After explaining to her (twice) that our store requires the last four digits on her card, and that if she looks at the touch screen where she scanned her order, she will see that it prompts her for such a thing, Ms. Mentalblock finally succumbs to my logic and listens to what the computer has been screaming at her to do for the last 3 minutes. She says that it doesn't make sense, and that she doesn't have to do that anywhere else she goes. This is true. Kroger, the Nail Salon, and the Psych Ward don't require the last four digits on your card. Thanks again, and have a nice day.

Faux Independent: So far, I consider this the pinnacle of the species, as these are the absolute worst. These are the people who will need to have items looked up. Bags of concrete, topsoil, a certain screw. They might need softner salt, a grill, or a propane exchange. None of these are all that bad, mind you, but remember, he is in SELF checkout. Knowing full well that you are going to require assistance in your purchase immediately nullifies any logic of going through a self checkout. Its a double time hassle to assist one customer for so long, when the majority of the masses have red lights above their heads, and a flustered look on their face that only gets worse the longer you spend with the Faux. It gets even better when the lines are full, and he asks you to ring him out. Um, hello? Self checkout. This makes the Faux even more irate, as he is forced to go into the "normal" checkout lines with the other "non-platypi." When he argues that you have a register, the common comeback is, yes, in emergencies. I can NOT help these 4 people with red lights over them because YOU don't want to wait in line. Excuse me, I have a mathematician on 38 who needs assistance remembering what the number 2 looks like. As I delve deeper into this cesspool, I will bring to light any more species I find of this fascinating, yet dangerous group of "people."

-Deimos