“Bartender, a drink for the short woman.” Or else slide your drink over and offer the kid a sip.
But you have to slur your words and act like a cartoon drunk.
“Here, kid. Thish’ll put shum hair on yer… you married? Lemme tell ya bout wimmin, shport…”
Thanks, I am just getting depressed. But I need to keep my chin up. Thanks.
Just asked a supermarket employee what aisle the light bulbs were in and she didn’t know
But they want $15 an hour :smack:
A friend recently turned 60, and when I offered my condolences, she was like “aaaa fuck it…all good…life’s good…who gives a shit anymore, right?”
I was like, sure, I guess.
Curious if any other recently-60’ers had the same feeling.
(Not that this is exactly the most pit-worthy thing I can think of.)
How dare they? If you don’t know where the light bulbs are, you aren’t worth a cent over $9.87!
If I see a employee then they can tell me rather than me looking
Depends a lot on how long they’ve worked there.
Hy-Vee is opening a store about 1.5 miles from my apartment this fall. The newspaper said 175 full-time and 500 part time jobs (!!!). It’s freaking retail, so if you only manage 20% turnover in those 500 part-timers, you’re doing well. That’d be 100 new people every year. And well, almost of them will be new to the chain when the store opens.
Excuse me for asking, but is English your first language? If not, I am happy to grant you some slack in understanding common sentences.
My use of the word “you” was a generic reference to all store clerks, as you (cg16, that is) should be able to tell by my saying how much “you” are worth. Since, after all, you (cg16 again) were the one to open the subject of wages for clerks.
May I just take this opportunity to add that there are any number of reasons, some valid and some not, for a sales clerk to be unaware of the location of an item in a supermarket. You do not know their circumstances. You also don’t know how much they actually make, nor how much they think they are entitled to be paid. In other words, there is no logical relationship, in your original post on this topic, between your first paragraph and your second paragraph. That is called a non sequitur.
I didn’t feel like looking for the light bulb so I figured someone who works there would know where they are but she didn’t.
Are you sure that lady was really an employee at that store? I know this shocks some people, but sometimes retail people shop at other stores. Some people just see the “retail look” and assume that that person works at that store.
My rant: Our old sick cat went to the vet today. He has a tumor somewhere in his belly. X-rays happened, but where it is could be on the liver, intestine or kidneys. According to our vet, the only way to really know would be exploratory surgery. I don’t know what to do. We love our old guy, and want his quality of life to be good.
If it is something that can be fixed, we would want to do it, but we don’t want to have him cut open and then deal with the recovery time if all they are going to tell us is “I’m so sorry, your cat is going to die.”
Yes she had on a uniform.
Are you sure that she was wearing the uniform for that store? I like to wear red shirts and khaki pants. I’m often mistaken for a store employee, even when I’m shopping at a place that has employees who wear blue and green.
Most store employees would have said “I don’t know where the lightbulbs are, but I will find someone who does.” Other shoppers who are only shopping in their work clothes might not want to explain that and would just want to walk away and think about their travel plans.
Yes it was for that store which is why I asked her the question.
Well, I would like to inform y’all that I recently needed some of those plastic things you freeze and then carry in the fridge bag, and the restocker I asked about them knew where they were and took me there in person because even knowing the area they’re surprisingly hard to see.
Oh, and in a different store, the electric strips are in electricity (there are some stores where they get kept in electronics).
I only bought food out of there and wanted the store employee to tell me where they were so I could get back home and relax.
I just offered our old sick kitty a snackypoo. That was his favorite snackpoo and he just turned his nose up and is now sleeping on Westley. Poor Westley. Westley is still afraid of cats.
Its been so hot and humid lately that I’ve been washing my hair every night. My hair doesn’t like that and its all fizzed out. I guess I should probably go to the grocery store and demand that someone tells me what I need to use.
Conditioner, or a 2in1.
I just turned 60, eight weeks ago, but I’d be quite nonplussed if anyone had offered me condolences over it. Compared to the available alternative, I’d say turning 60 is a pretty good deal.
You think 40’s bad? Wait until you reach 50 . . . and 60 . . . and 70 . . . .
Each decade gets exponentially worse. I remember when I turned 50, my mother said “Some day you’ll wish you were 50 again.” Hell, now I wish I were 60 again.