Kelly's MySpace Blog Grab Bag Vol. II

Warning: There is salty language in the post below. You've been warned... Seriously. Some real sailor mouthed talk down there. I haven't edited for bad words.

Date Posted: Saturday, February 10, 2007

Title: Lest I never fall asleep again...

Body:
I have to post this.

At work we have a suggestive sell going on. What that means is we ask the person in line if they'd like to buy a certain something. If we don't ask, they get that certain something for free. This time around it's a king size twix. Oh, I'm sorry, King Size Twix. Unless you want some slack-jawed wood ape or snippity soccer mom feeling they've gotten the better of you and the store, you ask everyone that comes through your line if they would like to buy a King Size Twix. Or just a twix, it doesn't matter.

I know, it sounds easier than standing on the sidewalk holding a sign proclaiming there are oil changes at half off in the building right behind you: and believe me it is. But just like standing on the sidewalk, you will forget what exactly it is you're doing for about two seconds every 45 minutes. In those two seconds the same people I spoke of earlier will stop you, with a smile etched onto their faces, and ask to get their free King Size Twix (or twix) because you completely forgot to even fucking mention it!

Now back to before you eventually screw up and let that little chocolate bastard run off with the customer who actually paid attention to more than how much change they were due.

At first you're a little miffed that you'll have to ask every customer if they want a twix (king size, KING SIZE, WHATEVER!), but then you get to asking and it's not that big a deal. Half an hour to an hour later you could probably go for a twix yourself. Five hours later you want very much to methodically, and with extreme prejudice, burn down every last twix factory known to man. Even the one they have on the moon as back-up. Especially the one on the moon. What in the hell is a twix factory doing on the moon?

A twix factory is on the moon because you have to wake up a little over six hours from now (at 8AM because right now it's 1:50AM) and work a long but satisfying shift alphabetizing music dvd's and strategy guides that will only be messed up again when all the little bastards that don't know about gamefaqs.com read them on the floor and leave them there, and because you had to get out of bed to write all this. Which really throws you off when you see it took over 20 minutes to write (it's 1:53AM).

ps. it's now 1:54AM...PST

Commentary: A few days ago my Mom posted a blog about how annoying it was to be asked if you wanted hot sauce or fries (I'd already decided to post this post before I read that post so it's mere coincidence that the subject matter is similar). While I have never worked at a fast food place (do Round Table Pizza and Quizno's have a drive thru? no.), I have had to 'upsell' and believe me: we hate doing it even more than you hate hearing us ask.

When I posted this I was really pissed off at having to do the whole suggestive sell thing. You have absolutely no idea how infuriatingly aneurysm inducing it is to do something like that for hours on end and when suddenly you miss a beat, an asshole is right there to shove it in your face like they're so much better and smarter than you because they've gotten free candy as a result of your mistake.

Albert Einstein defined insanity thus: Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

I humbly offer my own definition of insanity as a parallel: Doing the same thing over and over again so often that you don't realize when you haven't done it.

Also, the twix factory on the moon was a mixture of being angry, tired and trying to be funny.