| Girl Scout Memories pt. 2 2004-01-15 | 1:04 p.m. read pt.one here (first posted on: 10/10/02) Today I over slept. Robin called me this morning at 10am and I answered the phone and she was all Ms.Sassy-pants and was like "You're supposed to be here right now" and I was like 'woops' and she audibly rolled her eyes and was like "Do you even have a good reason?" I wrinkled my nose at my alarm clock and played with the button on my shirt and said "My bed...it's sooo soft and comfy...and I got new pillows yesterday and they are sooo soft and I was awake this morning and I was just sooo comfy and my bed was sooo soft..." But she cut me off and said "yeah? I don't care, you're supposed to be here. You have the 11 o'clock Orientation and House Tour"...then she hung up. So I lumbered into work around 10:30am and did the orientation and house tour for a troop of girls from Wilmington North Carolina. Well...they actually weren't from Wilmington at all, but they were from near there and I don't remember the name of their town because I like to not pay attention to people when they tell me vital information. As it turned out, I was with them all day because I ended up teaching their special interest session too...so at the end of their stay they gave me a finger-lickin'-good evaluation. I was so pleased I put it right into the Director's box so she'd read it and be like "Yes, you DO totally rock this house museum, hardcore!" which I already know, but I like to hear it from other people. I also wanted to just put it directly in the Director's box because the troop was like "The GiftShop sucks major crusty Girl Scout ass" (which it does) and when The Evil Gift Shop Manager gets bad evaluations she always grabs them away and gets out a red pen and writes "LIES LIES!!! ALL LIES!!!!" all over the front of it...making up some reason as to why the minds of the Girl Scouts filling out the evaluation were somehow faulty and thusly obscuring my glowing comments, before it gets sent upstairs.
Now...we all know that most of the stuff in the gift shop is total crap, but The Evil Gift Shop Manager is under the impression that it's hot shit, even though she bought half of it at "Big Lots" and did nothing but mark it up a whole hell of a lot. Eh, that whole place is going to come crumbling apart one of these days. That'll be fun to watch...should remember to bring popcorn. Sorry, I'm just feeling slightly vindictive for no real reason whatsoever. (first posted on: 9-22-01) note: I was bored one day during a lull in the tourist flow, so I wrote a song about my co-worker Alesha who just happened to be sitting next to me at the time Alesha Alesha ::gutteral sounds:: Alesha Alesha But then again he's in Japan Ooooooooo Alesha ::more gutteral sounds:: OOOOOOOOOOOOOO ALESHA! OOOOOOOOOOOOOO ALESHA! ::yet more gutteral sounds with a 'sock-it-to-me' thrown in for good measure:: Alesha Alesha Oooooooooooooo Alesha Alesha Alesha say your name out loud now....ALESHA!!! Alesha Alesha Alesha Alesha ::even more gutteral sounds:: alesha alesha alesha alesha alesssssshhhhaaaa..... (first posted on:4/13/03) So today started off at a good pace, but came to a screeching halt at one point in the late afternoon. (This is the point in my entry where I sit back and contemplate why ugly, short, painfully stupid, redneck women seem to be drawn to me and thus prove to me beyond a shadow of a doubt that they are indeed ugly, short and painfully stupid rednecks.) I was sitting at the front dest when the door opened, and I watched as this woman and her herd of lightly deformed kin shuffled in. I knew exactly how everything what was going to happen and I knew how our encounter would end because god has predetermined every single one of my encounters with crazy southerners and, granted all of them are very unpleasant, but there are very few in which I do not emerge victorious. The woman was about 5'5" and around 400lbs. She had no doubt seen 'CHICAGO' and gone to her hair dresser the next day and said in her tar-soaaked voice "Make me look like Catherine Zeta!!" and the hairdresser proceeded to cut her hair into a bob, laughing hysterically throughout the entire ordeal. The result was a dull mop of something ,that I'm assuming was hair, pearched atop the woman's fleshy cranium like a pirate's flea infested parrot who had lost it's way to the shoulder and headed north a bit too far. A blind child armed with saftey scissors and a bottle tub of paste could have done a better job. Aside from the bad hair, the woman was wearing a bright pink sleeveless t-shirt and, honestly, she really shouldn't have been. But, judging by the size of her arms, I'm fairly certain that she would not have been able to shovel her copious amounts of under-arm hangy flab into the shirt so, no sleeves were probably the way to go. Oh, and the woman's mother was there too. I have to mention that because apparently the ugly acorn does not fall far from the ugly tree. They looked exactly alike, except the mother had longer white hair, glasses, and had her arms squeezed into a long sleeved black shirt. There was also a sea of early teenaged children who flowed in behind them, tossing hair, cussing under their breath and rolling their eyes in great angst that they were in a museum and might possibly be introduced to some kind of cultureor big words that would make their heads hurt. They congregated in front of my desk and stared at me. I stared back. "Hi, how y'all doing?" in the lovely way that I always do. They continued staring for a moment, and then the pink woman said "Good" in a slow and causious sort of way, but thenreturned to staring at me silently. I thought that I might jump upon my desk and scream "WANG!!!" at the top of my lungs while exposing myself to the whole lot of them, just to see if I could get one of them to speak a sentence to me. But no, I didn't move...and neither did they. Eventually I said "May I help you at all?" The pink woman blinked and said (in a southern accent that was so thick and hard to understand, that I was almost certain she was faking it) "we can just walk through?" but is sounded like less of a question, and more like a declaration of some sort. As far as 'walking through' I assumed she ment the museum, so I told her that one goes through the 6museum on a guided tour, that said tours went about every 15 minutes...and then I pointed to a small white sign on the top of the desk with listed the muesum rules and ticket prices. The pink woman side stepped to gaze at the ticket prices for a moment, before moving back in front on me. Pointing to the ticket prices she said "You have a girl scout discount." I smiled and nodded that indeed we did. She looked at me...to the ticket prices...to the sea of children she6 had with her...and then back to me. "Can you give me MORE of a Girl Scout discount?" I laughed in my fake 'Oh madame, surely you jest! I laugh inspite of myself!' kinda way and shook my head. She stared at me some more and asked if there was Girl Scout stuff in the museum. I launched into my whole talk about the antiques and family furnishings, period this, original that...yadda yadda yadda. She looked at me blankly the whole time. "So there's no Girl Scout stuff then." she said, once again asking a question without seeming to actually pose a question. I told her no, that we were not a Girl Scout memorabilia museum. "Well I don't want to see it then" she said and led her sea of children into the gift shop. The pink woman was out of sight and out of mind for about 25 minutes, until one of the girls in the Gift shop who had just recently been hired, came out and asked me if I could help them. She was like "we have a customer in here who is trying to get into a fight with us and we just want you to answer her question." So I go in...and, lo and behold, it's the pink woman up by the registers, glaring at the gift shop girls and rocking back and forth like a giant, fleshy weeble...clucking in her great anger. I walked in behind the counter so that the woman is facing me. "So what's the problem?" I asked trying to sound as much like I cared as possible. The pink woman held up a 'Birthplace Pin' and said "I want this". I nodded and said "Okay, that is the earned pin for the house. In order to get it you have to be a currently registered Girl Scout and you have to have taken a tour of the house." I stopped, foolishly thinking that that explanation would work for this rather trashy, Jaba-The-Hut-like woman standing before me. I was greatly mistaken. "I want this" she said again, and glared at me. I smiled at her and repeated myself, this time putting a rather strong emphasis on the words "EARNED pin", "CURRENTLY registered GIRL SCOUT" , "TAKEN A TOUR of the muesum". The pink woman glared at me more, her annoyance noisily bellowing through her nostrils. "Well that just doesn't make sense to me, even YOU said that the museum has nothing to do with girl scouting." I slid my face in the most beautifully realistic expression of total confusion and bewilderment, as though I hadn't a clue what the woman was talking about...as though I had never seen her before in my life. Then, a moment later, I made a face of deep understanding (I'm good at making these faces) and nodded my head. I explained to the pink woman how, yes, it was very true that we are not a Girl Scout memorabilia museum, but we were the Birthplace of the founder and a historic house museum dedicated to her. We are owned and opperated by the Girl Scouts and are a National Program center...THUS, giving us lots to do with Girl Scouting. The pink woman was slowly turning the same horrid color as her shirt and held the pin up in front of my face like one would a piece of garlic to a vampire and said "I want this." I nodded yet again and repeated myself that the pin was an EARNED badge for the house which one only got after fulfilling the two requirments for said badge...which are: (1) being a currently registered girl scout I tossed a lovely smile her way and batted my eyes. The pink woman was livid. I could tell by the way her chins quivered. But then I swear that I saw a small, christmas tree light sized lightbulb flash above her head, and she changed her tactic. "I was here years ago" she said "and I never got the pin, but I want one now." My face brightened. "Oh that is wonderful!" I said. "When you6 came before and you took the tour, you earned the right to get the pin..." The woman looked excited because she saw the light at the end of the tunnel, and started reaching for her wallet. I picked up the pin "yes, I can sell this to you...you just need to show me your ticket stub from when you were last here." The pink woman froze and her face started drawing into itself. Her eyes, nose and mouth looked as though they were being sucked into the center of her head...as if the fat there was the thickest and therefore, the most safe. The pink woman said that she did not have her stub because it was too many years ago. I explained to the woman that when we have people call us and say things like "I lost my birthplace pin...I want another" we don't sell it to them unless they can prove to us that they had gone through the museum...so, likewise, unless she could prove to me that she had gone through the museum at some earlier point, I could not sell her the pin. She stood there in her great pink-ness and jiggled slightly with hatred. "I want this pin" she said. I smiled. "I understand that ma'am, but in order to get this you have to be a currently registered girl scout and have taken a tour of the museum. It is the official earned badge for the house that you wear on the front of your girl scout uniform." She glared at me balefully and tried to shoot death-rays at me or maybe she was just trying to rid herself of excess some calories that she had stored up in the massive bags of skin that hung under her eyes . "But I'm not going to wear this on a uniform at all." she said. I blinked a few times, as if the thought of not wearing a Girl Scout uniform shocked me, and said confused, "But Ma'am...that's where it goes..." and then I once again repeated myself as to how the pin was an EARNED BADGE for the house. [aside] I've noticed that when dealing with tourists, you need to pretend that you're dealing with 5 year olds who do not know how to behave themselves. You must repeat yourself constantly, use short sentences, and small words. It saddens me that the one single thing that most tourists forget at home, is their brains.[/aside] The pink woman threw the pin behind the counter in the gift shop and said "fine, I don't want it." I nodded and smiled and excused myself and went back to the ticket desk. A few minutes later, the pink woman and her family heard waddled by where I was sitting. She stopped and, seeing that my reception desk is rather tall, she reached up and rested her elbow on the counter, and p6ointed her sausage-like finger at me. I smiled and made eye contact with the members of her sea of kin. "I am horrified at how I've been treated here today," she started. I brought my eyes to her and made a look of sympathy and nodded. "I am horrified that a so-called 'GirlScouting' institution' could treat customers like this." I nodded again and smiled more. "I'm going to report you to GSUSA." My smile broadened. "Okay" I said "Would you like my name so they know who to talk to?" she stopped and paused for a moment, taken slightly aback at the toxic level my perkiness had gotten to. She tried to call my bluff (if there had been a bluff), and I got out a piece of paper and wrote my full name on it as well as 'The Juliette Gordon Low Birthplace' just because the woman seemed like the type to not remember where the hell she was. When she was don writing, he snached the paper away from me and oozed out the door. "Yall have a nice day..." I called after them as The door closed. "...you fucking slag". Once outside the woman turned and glared at me one list time and then slithered away with the rest of her useless family. Honestly, people like that need to be run over by cars...but in this case...a really BIG car. Or maybe a train. A train might work. A train full of really big cars, full of mean dogs. That might be fun. -------------- Hum...I bet you that The Pink woman would be pleased to know that I got fired about two months after that happened. I should find her and tell her...and I might even lie and tell her that she was the reason that I got fired. And then I would cry a lot and poop on her frontt lawn. No really, I hope that train full of cars full of mean dogs got her stupid ass. |
[profile][notes][email] [g-book][dland] [2004-10-24] [2004-10-11] [2004-09-29] [2004-09-16] [2004-09-12] 
Get yo' ass NOTIFIED!:    
 |