Sunday, July 31, 2011

"Would you like it... gift-wrapped?"

Dear Globlets,

I suck, I know. Let's just pretend the last 15 days never happened and move on. I'm posting now.

I like my job. It's just a retail job, but it's really a great environment to be in even though the music hasn't been classic rock for the last couple of weeks. I feel like I'm getting better and better at everything. The newest of newbies sometimes even come to me for help. The numbers are in my favour. I never meet my sales targets; I beat them. And my boss has made it clear that she does not want to lose me. This is something I never got when I worked at the coffee shop. Nobody ever told me or made me feel like I did a good job at anything. Being told that I wasn't the person they thought they'd hired (but holding onto me anyway because they felt bad(?)) was my first clue that I would never feel truly welcome there. Perhaps I wasn't. There were some good times, of course, but it often felt like I would work so hard yet still manage to do something wrong, or rather nothing right. I blame it on the lack of training I received as well as the lack of organization within the facility. There was no system, and I need a system.

There is a system where I work now. There are procedures and guidelines and assignments, but I am still faced with variables, so it's not like working at a military training base. In addition, others have described the sales team as being like a family, and I tend to agree. I feel comfortable talking with any of them - perhaps less when it comes to Hot Coworker, but that's just because he's pretty. However, if something serious ever comes up, I know I could count on him, which is familyish.

I prefer to work in the fitting rooms, where there are many interactions that tend to happen all at once. It gets stressful, especially since the doors are flush with the wall, and the whole thing is mirrors, so I can hardly tell the rooms apart. Someone will ask me for another size in something and the moment they close their door I will have forgotten which room they were in. This isn't a problem when it's slow, but when nearly every fitting room is full, my only hope of identifying the rooms is a little number that pops up on the door when it's locked, as long as the person inside has remembered to lock it. Then I have to worry about multiple locked doors next to each other, particularly if someone sneaks into a room while I'm not around. ("Was it room 5 or 6?") Then I usually just knock and ask if they were looking for a size, and sometimes I'll just shout, "I have that size you needed!" and whichever door opens first is the one I'm looking for. It's like Whack-a-Mole combined with Memory Blocks. And for some reason I love it. When I'm not attending to customers there, I'm processing clothing rejects. I hang things up the way they're meant to be and either take them back to the floor myself or thank the designated "runner" who does it instead.

A part of me wonders if my enjoyment doesn't also come from the lack of responsibility I face back there. In the fitting rooms, it is less likely for people to steal and easier for me to notice if someone does, whereas at the front it's easy for things to slip by. It's easier for someone to simply swipe items from a table at the front than it is to smuggle something out of a change room. And at cash, well, it's cash. You're dealing with people's money and the store's accounting and inventory; plus, you have to be quick and be careful of fraud. But perhaps with a little more practice on cash I'll get more comfortable with it.

Sometimes when I'm packing a customer's purchase in tissue paper, I feel like they get a little impatient. Less so now that I'm more used to it, but I can't help but remind myself of Rowan Atkinson in this scene from Love Actually where Alan Rickman agrees to having his purchase gift-wrapped.

All in all, things are doing well in the job department. It hurts going from being paid almost $20 per hour to less than half of that for twice the work, but at least it's coming in consistently.

Now, before my spine ends up staying like this permanently, I'm going to end this here, stop writing with the laptop on my chest, return my arms to a less bent and more natural position, and hope Lucy doesn't run away when I move her so I can turn around and put my sleepy head on the pillow. As enjoyable as the job is, surprisingly, it takes a lot out of me physically. After work, I'm usually quite content to just fucking die on the couch. But not tonight, I told myself. Tonight, I dedicate this night to my Globlets. (Mostly because nothing was on TV.) <3

Friday, July 15, 2011

Gaydar Love.

Dear Globlets,

I have a job again. And a coworker who is really hot. As it is a retail job, I was quite content in thinking my hot coworker was gay. Bad stereotype, I know, but it's a good defence mechanism. (Attractive young man + gay = off limits.) However, he is not gay. He is in a very serious relationship - far more serious than anything I could handle - with a woman.

Just yesterday (I think), he and one of the managers got a classic rock radio station to replace the top 40 one. When I went in and Supertramp, Cream, and Queen were playing, one right after the other, I thought to myself, "I fucking love this place."

Later on in the day, I dropped off some clothing in the fitting rooms area where Hot Coworker was working. He asked me how my day was going, and I said, "Excellent, now that I've heard Radar Love."
"Well, you know," he said. "We've got a thing, you and I, that's called radar love."

I just about died. He quoted Golden Earring. I think he created a new standard that my future man will have to meet. *Must be able to quote classic rock songs on the spot.*

He's nice, good-looking, dresses wonderfully, and has excellent taste in music; even so, I do not need to mate with him. We'll be coworkers who get along really well, which is the case for most of the staff, but he is fantastic.

After all, we've got a thing that's called radar love.

And to make me feel better, he's gay.

Gaydar love? No, that doesn't work too well, does it?

Thursday, July 14, 2011

It Was Always You.

Dear Globlets,

i miss u.

But I haven't forgotten about you. Don't look at me like that. You know if I could have, I would have posted. Okay, maybe that's not entirely true. Maybe I've had plenty of opportunities, and maybe the thing getting in the way is that I wanted to feel emotionally ready to globulate. Maybe I wanted to come back from the dead with a bang, with something extraordinary, with something... epic. But that's not the way shit works. And I should know better. So many times I've thought about writing to you, Globlets, and so many times something stupid distracted me from what really matters. What really matters is you.

So, hello, you. I'm back. But I was never really gone, was I? I was always here. Just like you. Waiting for me.

There's so much to say, but no longer will I wait for that special moment when the stars align, and in my heart I feel the time is right, because we could all be waiting a very long time for that. No... Instead, I will write whatever and whenever I feel like, even if it's just rambling because, good god, do I look sexy when I ramble, and, lawd almighty, do you like it when I look sexy.

I need to get a notebook for writing stuff like I did for the Morning Pages that I had to do for ENG154 (Fiction class). Just have to write a page at least per day, but I promise you it will not be in the morning. This bladder needs to be voided ASAP after waking up. Writing a page per day is supposed to get the words flowing easier and faster, making the wait for the perfect moment to write unnecessary.

I've excited myself with all this rambling, just as I'm sure you, too, are excited. More writing tomorrow.

It was good to see you again, Globlets. Real good.

Monday, July 4, 2011

Hate to See Her Go...

Dear Globlets,

Sometimes, if you're lucky, exceptionally special people enter your world. There is something about them that you are inexplicably drawn to, and once you have them in your world, you never want them to leave. Sometimes the feeling leads to romance and other times to friendship. And when you start with friendship but would consider something more, that's when you become terrified of what might happen if you take the next step.

There are a number of people who have come into my life and made me so happy to have met them. D was one of them until he broke my heart, leaving me to wonder what it would have been like had things been different, but granting me the opportunity to experience something as deeply emotional as that.

Although we've never met, there is a strange attraction I have with another boy in the US: CSa. He's quite different from D, in that D was more personality and CSa is more brains, but that's not to say D wasn't smart, or that CSa is dull. I have so much in common with CSa, and when we talk, his brain turns me on. Speaking to him literally excites me. I get that weird smiley-girly-giggly thing that activates when I'm talking to someone I'm attracted to. Unfortunately, we don't talk as often as I'd like, but there is something supremely sexy about a guy with a brain, and the fact that he looks like a young Benicio del Toro helps too.
(Es mas rico que la chucha.)

The problem with most of the special people I meet is that they do not live in the same city as me. I'm lucky if I find myself in the same country with them, in fact. The internet doesn't help. I mean, it does, because it allows me to meet fascinating people who live very far away, but it also allows me to meet fascinating people who live very far away, which is bad. Plus, it lets you to creep their Facebook pictures and Photoshop your face into them. Not that I do that, of course.

Most of these special people have been boys, but then came Marissa. When I heard that the manly, infamous Marissa (she gets her name spelled out - that's how special she is) was coming to MY city, I was really excited. I'd talked to her online through FVDES' student social networking site-type-thing, and I already knew she was awesome. Although we didn't hang out much in the beginning, over time we became great friends.

She is the kind of person who is everybody's best friend. She is reasonable, smart, down-to-earth, fun, clever, funny, and when she's not being the absolute worst human being purchasing a one-way ticket straight to hell, she's buying a second ticket for me as well. We can have intelligent conversations. We look at things in a very similar way. And while I don't know for sure how she feels about me, I feel very strongly about her, and I think I've made that pretty clear. Unfortunately, neither of us are attracted to each other romantically. (It's all bark, Sugarmuffin.) I'm lucky I know her.

But she had a decision to make recently - a pretty big decision that would seriously affect her future. She would either stay here and go to UVic or go to a university in Ottawa. She kept me on edge about it for weeks. While I had the feeling she would choose Ottawa, I always hoped that I'd be wrong. Of all the times I would have preferred to be wrong, I ended up being right. She's going to pursue her academic goals in the East. I would never ask someone to stay for me, and I would never stay for someone else if they asked me to, and I'm proud of her. I probably would have felt guilty if she'd stayed. (For about 10 seconds /selfish bitch.)

She'll come back to Vancouver in a year, luckily, but I'm going to miss her like boys miss toilet bowls: A LOT.

That was really poetic.

But I really am going to miss her. She's one of the special people, and I'm sad to see her go. Special people just aren't allowed to be in the same city as me for long periods of time. I think I know why, though. It probably has to do with the fact that if too much chemistry and amazing-awesomeness is found in a small area over a long period of time, a black hole might form and the whole world would be destroyed in a matter of minutes. Or seconds. I'm not a scientist. Neil Tyson is.

Marissa would know.

I might be sad to see her go
But I love to watch her leave.

Did I just quote Lil Wayne? I've never even heard the song. How do I know this?
GOOD LUCY, IT'S AWFUL! I can't even embed it. I won't. I'll link, but that's as far as I'll go. OML. Listen and weep: Yeah, I'm a hater.

'Cept she won't be coming back
Asking 'bout her keys.

See? I can rap, too.

Keep in touch, brochacho. Because I... will always... love youuuu!

Hey. Fezzes are cool.

PS. "(Nicki Minaj)
Ok I get it, let me think,
i guess its my turn,
maybe its time to put this p-ssy on your sideburns"
- I can't say for sure, but I think she's doing it wrong.