(no subject)
God, at work they have stacks upon stacks of glossy hardcover Neil Gaiman books. I even saw a couple of copies of Good Omens. Books are friggin' everywhere, and I have no idea what they do with them all. I know they keep exactly one copy of each book they represent in the little library downstairs for cataloguing purposes, but what about the rest? Christmas presents? Coasters? Toilet paper? Sweet sweet Neil Gaiman everywhere. Though oddly enough Ken Follett seems to be their go-to guy. Him and Norah Roberts. I liked Pillars of the Earth, but the rest of Follett's stuff seems pretty standard thriller crap.
I went to buy some more comfortable work shoes today. Why do they hire an early twenty-something dude to work in a women's shoe store if all he's going to do is flirt with the customers? I asked him three times for a pair of shoes in my size before he got me them, and the pair I received were 2 sizes too big. Then I figured I'd ask for another type of shoe, hoping they'd have my size in that model, but as soon as he was off to the back room with my second request, he was distracted by some pretty young thing asking his opinion. "Well, you know..." giggle giggle et cetera. Dude, I know you're busy trying to bang some chick, and if this shoe store were self-serve I'd damn well get the shoes myself, but I can't and the only other employee on the floor is busy with the small group of French ladies surrounded by an ever-growing pile of boxes and rumpled tissue paper, demanding to try on every pair of shoes in the store. After waiting twenty minutes I left.
My feet hurt.
I went to buy some more comfortable work shoes today. Why do they hire an early twenty-something dude to work in a women's shoe store if all he's going to do is flirt with the customers? I asked him three times for a pair of shoes in my size before he got me them, and the pair I received were 2 sizes too big. Then I figured I'd ask for another type of shoe, hoping they'd have my size in that model, but as soon as he was off to the back room with my second request, he was distracted by some pretty young thing asking his opinion. "Well, you know..." giggle giggle et cetera. Dude, I know you're busy trying to bang some chick, and if this shoe store were self-serve I'd damn well get the shoes myself, but I can't and the only other employee on the floor is busy with the small group of French ladies surrounded by an ever-growing pile of boxes and rumpled tissue paper, demanding to try on every pair of shoes in the store. After waiting twenty minutes I left.
My feet hurt.