Rants of an attention Whore.

Today’s rant is the insufferable topic of hippies.

I used to live in Washignton state when I was a little girl. I idolized it my whole life, and after high school, decided to return. I moved in the area of Olympia, which should be renamed to Hippieville. Or something equally gross, but maybe more creative. Anyway, I began attending classes at the local community college.

I. Was. Miserable.

I learned quickly that a conservative republican with a “Bush/Cheney” sticker on their bumper has NO PLACE in Olympia. Not only did almost everybody in my religion class HATE organized religion, but they hated my politics, my clothing, even down to what I ordered from the coffee shop.

I don’t care that people hate me; I’d rather be hated for who i am than loved for who I’m not. But damn, those fucking hippies!

They are a group of people that should be exterminated. They’re addicted to marijuana and go from class to class with that aroma of pot, lugging around their macrome bags and organic lunches from the co-op. Not only this, but they don’t SHOWER.

I just don’t get why hippies feel the need to not shower. I mean, it really has nothing to do with their politics or beliefs. Because if you don’t shower, you’re not saving water for kids in africa, you’re giving more to me, who likes to take multiple very hot baths every day.

What’s funnier, is all these hippies seem to think they’re so right about everything. They claim to be an “accepting” group of people, but if you don’t agree with them, they don’t accept you! They wear tye-die, flip-flops, and flowers in their hair, and they can’t seem to get into the new millenium. All I have to say is this.

If you want to be “organic” and one with nature, don’t do it where I can smell you.

Thank you.

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Alright, so I touched on this in my last post, but I figured that I should do some clarifying. It’s not that I *hate* old people per se, but I have a problem with the way that the majority of them act towards the young.

Working in retail, you come across this quite frequently. Even more so, however, when you work at a Commissary. For those of you unfamiliar, a Commissary is the military’s equivalent to a grocery store, with hugely reduced prices (for the most part.) and when they hire students, you only get to work weekends, when all the veterans and other various old people decide they need to shop for $900 worth of cat food and adult diapers.

Anyways, for some reason, this group of citizens seems to think that they are entitled to cutting in line, using expired coupons, and deserve special treatment, because they have LIVED. Half of them don’t even deserve a DRIVER’S license, let alone special treatment. Now, I’m sorry, but living these days is not such a feat. If you were in the Middle Ages and survived to be 80, sure, that’s something to be proud of. They didn’t have advanced medical care, they didn’t have BATHS every day, they had the plague…it was hard stuff. But these days, with modern medicine, it is not such a big deal that you made it to be old and decrepit.

On to the driving thing. I know, it’s a cliche, like the one about black guys having better endowments, white girls not knowing how to dance, or Jewish people being good with money. But old people simply should NOT be able to drive. For instance, when I still lived in Washington state, I had a 30 minute commute into Olympia every day for work and school. One day, I was cutoff by a car that slowed down to 35 mph on a highway where the speed limit is 65. I passed, infuriated that I’d almost DIED, and looked at the driver to give them a patented death glare that I’ve perfected over my years of interacting with my Sicilian relatives. Much to my horror and surprise, it was a woman who was probably ten times my age, and six inches shorter, whose nose barely came over her steering wheel, and she was BREATHING THROUGH AN OXYGEN TANK. I’m sorry, but if you need oxygen tanks to survive, you really shouldn’t be driving, especially when you drive so poorly. You crash, and BOOM. Everybody in close radius is dead because your LIFE SUPPORT blew UP on them.

All in all, I am not anti-old people. I’m really not. Granted, I get a bit uncomfortable around them, but that’s for person reasons which I won’t disclose. I just think that if they have indeed lived so long, and they’re “wiser” then they should be able to decide when they can’t drive anymore…or decide that they should treat the younger generation with respect, because they were once young as well. I think we should give them as much respect as they give to us.

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Alright so this is my blog, be prepared for a very hyper-opinionated crazy 19-year-old who’s traveled the world in houndstooth stillettos and jackie o. sunglasses. I’m a Republican Conservative Army Brat, who might be 5′3, but I sure as heck could kick some ass.

Anyway, my first rant.
What is with people who go out in public wearing pajamas? You know the type. You’re out at the grocery store or something, and there she goes. The 30-something, wearing a SCRUNCHY, no make-up, and sweats. I don’t care if they are $50 sweats from Victoria’s Secret (because honey, when you wear those, it’s not a secret that you’re a bum.) and a $75 hoodie from some other expensive store, and hugely expensive flip-flops. Ya look a mess. I’m not saying that it’s necessary to get extremely dolled up, in your Friday night little black dress and gorgeous yet ridiculously uncomfortable shoes. No no no, there’s a time and place for that stuff. There is also a time and place for SWEATS and it is NOT in public unless you are jogging or at the gym. I mean, seriously, I’m an old-fashioned gal, and it really wouldn’t kill you to put on some eyeliner and lipgloss, even those tattered jeans and sneakers, to go out in public. And for the fellows, you know the type as well. They’re the guys with bed head (that really took 40 minutes and half a tube of styling gel in front of the mirror on their girlfriend’s vanity) and flannel PJ pants and some old, childish cereal logo on their t-shirt, looking groggy. Now if you’re shopping at 2 AM, maybe to get some diapers, or some last-minute stuff, fine. But if it’s 6 in the afternoon and you’ve been awake all day, GET SOME CLOTHES ON.

It’s just ridiculous.

thank you.

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As a high-school graduate who is not currently attending any college courses, it’s pretty difficult to find a job that’s not in retail. The turnover is so high, and you always question as to why this is so, until you actually work there. My most recent experience in retail is a perfect example as to why retail is always losing people.

After moving here after a ridiculous breakup, I decided that I should probably make use of myself and get a job. I applied at this little book/video/music store that had a huge, obnoxious sign out front boasting, “NOW HIRING” in desperate letters, as if begging the public to please work there. Not even two days later, I had a phone interview and was scheduled for my second, in person. I got dolled up to impress and was sat down with a man I shall call Jose (mainly because that’s his name, but also because it’s nicer than any of the expletives I could use to describe him.) who then grilled me about myself.

My most annoying question was, “If you were sitting in my chair, hiring people, what characteristics would you want in someone?” This is a catch-22, because if you describe yourself, you’re conceited, but if you describe something you aren’t, then you’re obviously not fit for the job. Ughh. So I made the best of the situation. I listed things that were very vague, including a good sense of humor. “Would you say you’re funny, Kirstin?” he asked me sarcastically. “Ummmmm….” I was at a loss. Funny? In a bitchy way, yeah..So I saved that and said, “Well, I know people laugh AT me a lot, especially when I’m not trying to be funny, but if they’re having fun then that’s all that I care about.” Whew. I saved it.

So I got the job and after a couple short training sessions, I was an official employee.

I should mention that we also rented videos out, and there were SIX WAYS to open the rental videos. Not one, not even four, but SIX ways. When you’re a noobie there, the customers always roll their eyes until they look at your nametag, which in bold, size 34374892 font, exclaims “IN TRAINING”, and then they sigh with understanding. You’re a nublet. They even whisper to their significant others, “Oh, be patient, she’s in training.” I’M NOT DEAF YA OLD BAT. TAKE YOUR X-RATED GAY PORT AND GTFO.

On my first day, a man purchasing several pornographic movies had the NERVE to ask me if there was a cash register in the back. Fuck if I know. But I told him no. I almost told him that if he was SO humiliated by buying porn, he should do like everybody else who’s normal and download it on the internet. At least that way he doesn’t have to show his face–or his tainted right hand. But I smiled, handed him his double-bagged porn, and continued to work. I don’t care what anybody says, we ALL judge you when you buy something we disagree with.

I even judge on non-dirty items. For instance, this woman asked me where to find the book, “What’s so great about Christianity?” I wanted to say, “WHAT’S SO GREAT ABOUT GOING TO HELL?” but I pointed her in the direction of her blasphemous book and kept smiling.

Let me say now, that this job drove me to drink. I came in to work drunk/hungover twice, and both times flew through the day with ease, while a bit nauseous. Am I ashamed? Hell no, it just goes to prove that it required absolutely no brains to work there. Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. I began my job search. Chili’s seemed promising, but after a call to my retail job and a bad reference, I received no call back. That’s IT, I told myself. I’m not even putting them DOWN anymore as a reference. And so I haven’t.

I was helping a deaf woman one day at my register, who seemed to have a bit of a problem. We  were writing notes back and forth to better understand each other, because she couldn’t speak, either. My light was OFF at my register (and for some reason, stupid-ass customers seem to always think that means WELCOME! I’M OPEN!) and a woman walked up. “Um, are you like open or WHAT?” She asked rudely. “No, ma’am, I’m not, but the next register is. She’ll be glad to help you over there.” I continued helping the deaf woman and the rude one couldn’t stop. “Do you have the time?” “Hmm, no, I don’t, but there’s a clock in front of my register up there.” I offered. “I didn’t ask if there was a CLOCK, I asked if you had the time.” She huffed. WHAT THE HELL!?!?!? I wanted to scream. I just smiled politely, pointed again at the clock, and continued helping my customer. “Ugh, I thought you weren’t OPEN!” she cried. “I’m not, I’m sorry. My light is off.”
Well, I guess this whole exchange was too much because I got written up for refusing to tell the customer what time it was. I tried to explain but Jose said, “Sorry Kirstin, you seem like you would be rude like that.”
So I quit. I got the flu and my mom called in and told them I wouldn’t be there, and they said they were writing me up anyway because I wasn’t who called and that I didn’t find someone to cover my shift. It was my final allowed write-up, so it was quit without showing up ever again, or get fired. I quit.

And now, every time I go back with friends, I make sure I look DAMN good so they don’t think that their ridiculous little feud with me has had any effect on my life.

And this is why retail is losing people. Because the managers are assholes, and because old people think they are entitled to special treatment because they have lived. Oooh wow.

But I’ll rant about that next time.

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