Well, at least he didn't call me a spic.
Oh my Lord, here I am again. I've run out of mana on JediMUD and apparently have nothing better to do than post to my Livejournal. I'm not sure if this is a commentary on my life or if I'm just not thinking real hard on the subject. ;)
Let's see. I finished those chiles. It took three days, two bags of charcoal, one can of lighter fluid, and three books. On the up side, I got a nice tan while I sat outside. I can -do- that these days. It pleases me. Back home, fifteen minutes, bam, flash fried. Here? Four hours and I start to get a tad pink. I can live with that. Oh yes. I can definitely live with that.
Hm. Major wtf moment at work the other day. Still working in the juniors' department at JCPenney's. A couple of guys walk up to me, couldn't have been any older than say sixteen or seventeen, wanting to know where they can try stuff on. I send them upstairs cause, well, there's no men's dressing rooms downstairs. People frequently get pissed about this, but nah. Not these two. The one asks me if it's okay to take an item from my department up there. Note that the only girl with this guy was his mother, not to mention that he was asking after guys' dressing rooms. I did a double take. I spluttered. I finally settled on "From this department? Uh.... sure... if you like..."
He came back with his mother fifteen minutes later and bought two pairs of junior girls' jeans. The same two he'd taken upstairs to try on. WTF? Seriously.
Well, at least he didn't call anyone a spic. Oh Lord, now that was funny. A gaggle of young girls at the register, each of them has their own item - pretty standard. They don't stand in line, they sort of stand in a cluster. This older lady gets in line behind them and gets pissed when I wait on them one by one, saying that she's next. Her and the one I just waited on get into one of those semi-silent staring contests. Oh boy. This is getting potentially ugly. I look at my co-worker. She looks at me. We shrug. Nothing bad yet. Then they start yelling at each other. I ask them to calm down. They do, for all of thirty seconds. Then the old lady turns to the girl (who was quite pretty, really, dark skin, dark hair etc... out here, probably Italian) and asks her point-blank "So are you a spic or what?"
I was floored.
If I hadn't been wearing my nametag I so would have started shit.
You know, sorta like "She may not be, but I am." Because, well... I am! :D
But alas. Being on the clock, I shared another of those looks with my co-worker as the girl starts yelling back at the old lady "No, I ain't no f***in spic, what's your f***in problem, you f***in old bat?" Yeah. The f-bomb was easily the most common word in her diatribe, which continued on and on and on. I asked my co-worker if she thought I ought to call security. This is where I was floored again. The old lady turns to me and says "Yes, would you? Can you call security?" Listen, you f***in old bat, you started it. You'd be the first one to get tossed out. What's great is, I'm not even offended. I'm amused. Ignorance is funny. In fact, it's become an inside joke amongst both my friends and my co-workers.
Hence, "Well, at least he didn't call you a spic."
Bahahahaha.
Let's see. I finished those chiles. It took three days, two bags of charcoal, one can of lighter fluid, and three books. On the up side, I got a nice tan while I sat outside. I can -do- that these days. It pleases me. Back home, fifteen minutes, bam, flash fried. Here? Four hours and I start to get a tad pink. I can live with that. Oh yes. I can definitely live with that.
Hm. Major wtf moment at work the other day. Still working in the juniors' department at JCPenney's. A couple of guys walk up to me, couldn't have been any older than say sixteen or seventeen, wanting to know where they can try stuff on. I send them upstairs cause, well, there's no men's dressing rooms downstairs. People frequently get pissed about this, but nah. Not these two. The one asks me if it's okay to take an item from my department up there. Note that the only girl with this guy was his mother, not to mention that he was asking after guys' dressing rooms. I did a double take. I spluttered. I finally settled on "From this department? Uh.... sure... if you like..."
He came back with his mother fifteen minutes later and bought two pairs of junior girls' jeans. The same two he'd taken upstairs to try on. WTF? Seriously.
Well, at least he didn't call anyone a spic. Oh Lord, now that was funny. A gaggle of young girls at the register, each of them has their own item - pretty standard. They don't stand in line, they sort of stand in a cluster. This older lady gets in line behind them and gets pissed when I wait on them one by one, saying that she's next. Her and the one I just waited on get into one of those semi-silent staring contests. Oh boy. This is getting potentially ugly. I look at my co-worker. She looks at me. We shrug. Nothing bad yet. Then they start yelling at each other. I ask them to calm down. They do, for all of thirty seconds. Then the old lady turns to the girl (who was quite pretty, really, dark skin, dark hair etc... out here, probably Italian) and asks her point-blank "So are you a spic or what?"
I was floored.
If I hadn't been wearing my nametag I so would have started shit.
You know, sorta like "She may not be, but I am." Because, well... I am! :D
But alas. Being on the clock, I shared another of those looks with my co-worker as the girl starts yelling back at the old lady "No, I ain't no f***in spic, what's your f***in problem, you f***in old bat?" Yeah. The f-bomb was easily the most common word in her diatribe, which continued on and on and on. I asked my co-worker if she thought I ought to call security. This is where I was floored again. The old lady turns to me and says "Yes, would you? Can you call security?" Listen, you f***in old bat, you started it. You'd be the first one to get tossed out. What's great is, I'm not even offended. I'm amused. Ignorance is funny. In fact, it's become an inside joke amongst both my friends and my co-workers.
Hence, "Well, at least he didn't call you a spic."
Bahahahaha.