Confused about how as well.
I'm having a hard time adjusting, I think. This whole, "Life in Texas" thing isn't all it's cracked up to be. I find myself asking on a daily basis, Why am I here again? I agreed to come here because... ?
New car? Sure, that's great, but is that anything compared to, wait, lets see, my entire life? No. No I don't believe it is.
I go to work, come home, and play video games, sleep, and then do it all over again. Some days I don't work. Some days I don't sleep(much) courtesy of my family. I was tempted to go downstairs last night at midnight and ask if any of them had any grasping of the concept of, "shut the hell up it's twelve AM." But I abstained.
And this new Target. Ugh. I dread going to work. I haven't dreaded work this much since... since I was roofing. Dreaded it because the mornings were early, the pay was lousy, and it felt like I was violating some cosmic principle by daring to climb that ladder. It was damn hard work, too.
Maybe I've grown soft. I mean, the work at T1354 is easy enough, as I'd expect. But it's a lot more hectic, a lot... bigger... and a lot less organized than my old store. I now understand why anybody I encountered at 1934 who'd ever worked at another target assumed an expression of ominous forboding at the mention of any such establishment.
This store sucks.
Maybe I'm being too harsh. Coming from one of the top twenty five stores in the FLIPPING nation can have a rather judgmental effect on the way you view other stores. And maybe that's not fair. This place IS almost six years old, has outdated equipment(and a shortage thereof), and is in a different location altogether. It's also busier. I'm used to a steady but sometimes sleepy atmosphere, populated mostly by old folks and young children. This place... this place is a damn flea market, you'd think. And it's always trashed. Always. These folks(the team members) have NO grasping of the concept of a Midday Zone. None. I even asked a team lead,
"Do you guys do a midday zone?"
"Well, you know, sometimes. Depends on how many projects we have, how busy the store is, how the zone is looking. Sometimes we do and sometimes we don't."
We always did a midday zone. No matter what. And you know what? By the time the closing crew showed up, the store looked pristine, without fail. This may be due to anal retentiveness on the part of the ETLs, or may be accredited to the Team's undying tenacity. I like to think of it as a tasty and healthy combination of both.
I think that if Target is going to change it's terminology, equipment, and store layout, they need to update older stores. I realize in some cases that this is a difficult affair. You can't cost-effectively redo the entire interior of a store and hope to stay in business. But you could AT LEAST keep stores stocked on equipment, and update the damn callboxes. Maybe send out memos to the STLs? You know?
"Dear STL Mark who Hates Aaron,
As of, oh, say, three years ago, Endyms will be called Callboxes, Reshop will be reffered to in the plural as Gobacks, and Chargebacks will just be called Open Packages(because that's what they are.) Let your team know, and stop harassing Aaron, because he's probably one of the best you have. And put him back in Electronics."
Is that so much to ask? No. I don't think so.
And another thing about this place - Aren't we still in the United States? I know Mexico is right over there, but for the love of Pete The Safety Captain, we speak ENGLISH here.
And I don't care WHAT language you speak - it's RUDE to barricade an entire aisle with your mother, six children, and two shopping carts, while you prattle on in Spanish about God knows what for thirty minutes. I have work to do, woman. Move.
And why is Spanish spoken so fast? I don't understand, honestly - why not slow down a little bit?
I know a little bit of Spanish, and by little bit I mean like a few words. Words such as taco, peso, sombrero, and Fiesta Explosion. When I can't pick out tangible words from your Spanish-Mommy-Rant, there is something wrong with this verbal transaction.
I'm not a racist, I promise. And I don't have a problem with Spanish speaking people.
I just wanna go home.
Speaking of outdated equipment(seven paragraphs ago), here's a look at the Meat Grinder, as I call it, or what this strange folk call, "the baler"
I tend to think of a baler as a device for turning large amounts of cardboard boxes into bundles known as BALES. They seem to think of it as this,
I don't know what that thing is, but I think it has a brain, because it starts by itself. I think it may also be a space ship, for as you can see, there is a ladder mounted on the side. The opening is about level with my head, so I figure one of these days that thing is going to suck me in and eat me. It'll happen, if Mr. Dr. has his way. I haven't talked about him yet, have I?
There's this backroom team member who informed me EVER so dutifully that, "We're trying to keep a closed stockroom." Or in other words, "Stay the hell out of here and don't pull stuff by yourself because you're CLEARLY too stupid to do so without SCREWING something up."
No problem. We had a similar policy at 1934. They just didn't enforce it with people who knew what they were doing, because we liked to operate on a little thing called logic. Now I know it doesn't exist in Texas because the cowboy hats absorb it all and turn it into oxygen, but this still doesn't explain why Mr. Dr. has it in for me.
I agreed not to mess with his stuff, in a friendly and hopefully unoffensive manner, and went on my way. Ever since then he's elected to stare me down when we pass or even ignore my attempts at being friendly. I gave him the nod. You know, the nod? That, "Hey, I'm not going to say anything or wave, because neither of us have time for that, but I'm saying hello anyway." That nod. I gave him that nod on THREE separate occasions, making eye contact, and he just leered at me. I dunno what the hell his problem is(or if he's just afraid of my enormous muscles), but if it's a war he wants, it's a war he'll get. Just, you know, not with me, because I haven't the motivation.
I call him Mr. Dr. because I think he enjoys his own personality a little too much. He speaks with that Dr. Demeanor that says, "I have horrible news about your medical state, and I can't wait to tell you about it. Mostly because you're going to give me a LOT of money after I do."
Except he's not getting all that money, so maybe that's the problem.
Either way, I think he hates me. But enough on that topic.
I bought Burnout Revenge the other day, and I'm definitely satisfied. The achievement points are hard to get, but the game itself is good enough that I don't really mind. Most 360 games piss me off when I can't get achievements and further my goal of beating Paul's gamerscore, but Burnout is awesome. I realize it's an old game, but, you know. It's awesome.
Enough typing. G'night.
Oh, hey, Cherah is cool. I know she likes to be mentioned.
-AJ
New car? Sure, that's great, but is that anything compared to, wait, lets see, my entire life? No. No I don't believe it is.
I go to work, come home, and play video games, sleep, and then do it all over again. Some days I don't work. Some days I don't sleep(much) courtesy of my family. I was tempted to go downstairs last night at midnight and ask if any of them had any grasping of the concept of, "shut the hell up it's twelve AM." But I abstained.
And this new Target. Ugh. I dread going to work. I haven't dreaded work this much since... since I was roofing. Dreaded it because the mornings were early, the pay was lousy, and it felt like I was violating some cosmic principle by daring to climb that ladder. It was damn hard work, too.
Maybe I've grown soft. I mean, the work at T1354 is easy enough, as I'd expect. But it's a lot more hectic, a lot... bigger... and a lot less organized than my old store. I now understand why anybody I encountered at 1934 who'd ever worked at another target assumed an expression of ominous forboding at the mention of any such establishment.
This store sucks.
Maybe I'm being too harsh. Coming from one of the top twenty five stores in the FLIPPING nation can have a rather judgmental effect on the way you view other stores. And maybe that's not fair. This place IS almost six years old, has outdated equipment(and a shortage thereof), and is in a different location altogether. It's also busier. I'm used to a steady but sometimes sleepy atmosphere, populated mostly by old folks and young children. This place... this place is a damn flea market, you'd think. And it's always trashed. Always. These folks(the team members) have NO grasping of the concept of a Midday Zone. None. I even asked a team lead,
"Do you guys do a midday zone?"
"Well, you know, sometimes. Depends on how many projects we have, how busy the store is, how the zone is looking. Sometimes we do and sometimes we don't."
We always did a midday zone. No matter what. And you know what? By the time the closing crew showed up, the store looked pristine, without fail. This may be due to anal retentiveness on the part of the ETLs, or may be accredited to the Team's undying tenacity. I like to think of it as a tasty and healthy combination of both.
I think that if Target is going to change it's terminology, equipment, and store layout, they need to update older stores. I realize in some cases that this is a difficult affair. You can't cost-effectively redo the entire interior of a store and hope to stay in business. But you could AT LEAST keep stores stocked on equipment, and update the damn callboxes. Maybe send out memos to the STLs? You know?
"Dear STL Mark who Hates Aaron,
As of, oh, say, three years ago, Endyms will be called Callboxes, Reshop will be reffered to in the plural as Gobacks, and Chargebacks will just be called Open Packages(because that's what they are.) Let your team know, and stop harassing Aaron, because he's probably one of the best you have. And put him back in Electronics."
Is that so much to ask? No. I don't think so.
And another thing about this place - Aren't we still in the United States? I know Mexico is right over there, but for the love of Pete The Safety Captain, we speak ENGLISH here.
And I don't care WHAT language you speak - it's RUDE to barricade an entire aisle with your mother, six children, and two shopping carts, while you prattle on in Spanish about God knows what for thirty minutes. I have work to do, woman. Move.
And why is Spanish spoken so fast? I don't understand, honestly - why not slow down a little bit?
I know a little bit of Spanish, and by little bit I mean like a few words. Words such as taco, peso, sombrero, and Fiesta Explosion. When I can't pick out tangible words from your Spanish-Mommy-Rant, there is something wrong with this verbal transaction.
I'm not a racist, I promise. And I don't have a problem with Spanish speaking people.
I just wanna go home.
Speaking of outdated equipment(seven paragraphs ago), here's a look at the Meat Grinder, as I call it, or what this strange folk call, "the baler"
I tend to think of a baler as a device for turning large amounts of cardboard boxes into bundles known as BALES. They seem to think of it as this,
I don't know what that thing is, but I think it has a brain, because it starts by itself. I think it may also be a space ship, for as you can see, there is a ladder mounted on the side. The opening is about level with my head, so I figure one of these days that thing is going to suck me in and eat me. It'll happen, if Mr. Dr. has his way. I haven't talked about him yet, have I?
There's this backroom team member who informed me EVER so dutifully that, "We're trying to keep a closed stockroom." Or in other words, "Stay the hell out of here and don't pull stuff by yourself because you're CLEARLY too stupid to do so without SCREWING something up."
No problem. We had a similar policy at 1934. They just didn't enforce it with people who knew what they were doing, because we liked to operate on a little thing called logic. Now I know it doesn't exist in Texas because the cowboy hats absorb it all and turn it into oxygen, but this still doesn't explain why Mr. Dr. has it in for me.
I agreed not to mess with his stuff, in a friendly and hopefully unoffensive manner, and went on my way. Ever since then he's elected to stare me down when we pass or even ignore my attempts at being friendly. I gave him the nod. You know, the nod? That, "Hey, I'm not going to say anything or wave, because neither of us have time for that, but I'm saying hello anyway." That nod. I gave him that nod on THREE separate occasions, making eye contact, and he just leered at me. I dunno what the hell his problem is(or if he's just afraid of my enormous muscles), but if it's a war he wants, it's a war he'll get. Just, you know, not with me, because I haven't the motivation.
I call him Mr. Dr. because I think he enjoys his own personality a little too much. He speaks with that Dr. Demeanor that says, "I have horrible news about your medical state, and I can't wait to tell you about it. Mostly because you're going to give me a LOT of money after I do."
Except he's not getting all that money, so maybe that's the problem.
Either way, I think he hates me. But enough on that topic.
I bought Burnout Revenge the other day, and I'm definitely satisfied. The achievement points are hard to get, but the game itself is good enough that I don't really mind. Most 360 games piss me off when I can't get achievements and further my goal of beating Paul's gamerscore, but Burnout is awesome. I realize it's an old game, but, you know. It's awesome.
Enough typing. G'night.
Oh, hey, Cherah is cool. I know she likes to be mentioned.
-AJ