So my boss told me I can blog about work, as long as I don't name names or precise locations. Whoo-fucking-hoo. I've been sitting on this entry for a week out of fear. But now, I can blog it.
Last week we had a special event at the store, to premier a new product. We closed at five, and reopened at six. People, there was a LINE waiting to get in at six that stretched down the mall to the coffee shop.
Those folks in line didn't know whether to shit or go blind, because they had to decide: line up for the new product, or line up for tickets to Star Wars. Because, yeah, it's pretty much the same group of sox and sandal wearing, go to Star Trek conventions to practice conversational Klingon, home beer brewing nerds. Uber nerds. My people.
Really. I can't make fun of them too much, because, after all, I am their goddess: The Geek Goddess. I can identify the original Star Trek episodes in the 30 second teaser before the credits. I can talk tech talk: routers, bit rates, code. I know all the urban legends and where to go to on the internets to debunk them. Click here.
Since I'm too old to care about such things as appearances, I got to work the line wearing a pair of fuzzy animal ears that symbolized our new product. One of the managers made me lose the tail, which was a pity, 'cause sisters, I was working it.
Later in the evening, the mall rats came out to prowl. Where are these girls' mothers? The fat bellies hanging out over the low-rider mini-skirts, the black bra straps peeking out from under white tank tops, the dirty feet in sloppy flipflops. Skanks. We had a number of prizes at the event, but you had to be eighteen or older to win. Nevertheless, the mallskanks all wanted to play. Why? I kept asking them. You can't win even if you win. You have to be eighteen or older. A pair of them came back with "Together our age is over eighteen!" And I replied that divided by four, my age was almost 18, too. That scared them into leaving.
Then there was the U of Miami kid who tried to convince me that he needed a bigger discount, because he was a poor student. I told him that I was a minimally employed old lady, and he wasn't getting pity from me.
The managers were very happy with how I handled the door. I'm so proud.
Last week we had a special event at the store, to premier a new product. We closed at five, and reopened at six. People, there was a LINE waiting to get in at six that stretched down the mall to the coffee shop.
Those folks in line didn't know whether to shit or go blind, because they had to decide: line up for the new product, or line up for tickets to Star Wars. Because, yeah, it's pretty much the same group of sox and sandal wearing, go to Star Trek conventions to practice conversational Klingon, home beer brewing nerds. Uber nerds. My people.
Really. I can't make fun of them too much, because, after all, I am their goddess: The Geek Goddess. I can identify the original Star Trek episodes in the 30 second teaser before the credits. I can talk tech talk: routers, bit rates, code. I know all the urban legends and where to go to on the internets to debunk them. Click here.
Since I'm too old to care about such things as appearances, I got to work the line wearing a pair of fuzzy animal ears that symbolized our new product. One of the managers made me lose the tail, which was a pity, 'cause sisters, I was working it.
Later in the evening, the mall rats came out to prowl. Where are these girls' mothers? The fat bellies hanging out over the low-rider mini-skirts, the black bra straps peeking out from under white tank tops, the dirty feet in sloppy flipflops. Skanks. We had a number of prizes at the event, but you had to be eighteen or older to win. Nevertheless, the mallskanks all wanted to play. Why? I kept asking them. You can't win even if you win. You have to be eighteen or older. A pair of them came back with "Together our age is over eighteen!" And I replied that divided by four, my age was almost 18, too. That scared them into leaving.
Then there was the U of Miami kid who tried to convince me that he needed a bigger discount, because he was a poor student. I told him that I was a minimally employed old lady, and he wasn't getting pity from me.
The managers were very happy with how I handled the door. I'm so proud.