Work kicked my ass somewhat today. Even though I was there only for my scheduled shift, haha. Maybe it was the shoes. Or maybe it was because every asshole in a three county radius was in the store today making me look for socks and crock pots and house fans and down comforters and god knows what else. Besides that, I had the pleasure of organizing discount women's underwear and putting it on a rack today. I think the public should be afraid. Very afraid. Because on this rack, behind all the granny panties and the occasional black thong, there exists something so horrible, so dreadful, that I dare not even mention it here. Ok I will, because I am kinda going for the shock value:

a G-STRING!!!!!!!

*cue freaky violins from the soundtrack of "Psycho" here*

I don't really think Sears is usually in the habit of selling such things, especially in this neck of the woods. And I think that's a good thing. The ratio of old ladies in this town to the number of G-strings that Sears sells is approximately 28,765:1. What if all those old ladies had their very own personal piece of ultra-thin butt floss? And what if they suddenly decided they wanted to try them on at the store? Or take them, home, try them on, and return them? Naturally I would be at the register when they did this. I'm going to stop talking about this now because I don't think a three-dimensional collage of the remnants of pepperoni pizza and strawberry Nerds would be a nice addition to my computer keyboard. Ewwwwwwwwwwwww.

Also, I had to cover someone's break in shoes today. Now, for all those lucky people who have never worked as a department store retail shmuck, and particularly never as a department store retail shmuck in the shoe department, it is quite an experience. I, in fact, always used to wonder what the salesperson did when they went "in the back" to get my comfy size 8 1/2 Adidas sneakers. I guess I always assumed that there was some kind of magical genie "in the back" that would just hand the salesperson the shoes needed and that was that. No. "In the back", there are shelves and shelves of shoes. No joke. Twenty feet high shelves of shoes. Like a Utopia of shoes. A veritable Shoetopia. Anyway, as I was covering this girl's break, I kept praying that no one would actually require me to go "in the back". But apparently God saw fit to punish me today with G-strings and bitch boots. Ugly-ass bitch boots with pointy heels that were at the very top of this twenty feet tall shelf of shoes. Accessible only by this skimpy little ladder.

Have I ever mentioned that I am extremely afraid of heights? Especially since that gym class in ninth grade, when we were doing all that rope climbing stuff, and I was finally coerced into climbing the bleachers. I was perfectly content to stay up there. Make friends with the dust bunnies at the top of the bleachers and everything. But no. I had to come done. And the girl that was belaying me dropped me. I landed on my elbow. It hurt very much.

So yes I'm afraid of heights. I was just about to climb onto that shelf with the bitch boots and stay there forever. Or else cling frantically to the top of the ladder and start yelling for someone to come rescue me. Particularly Cute Stockroom Guy, heh. But instead I had to inch my way down and take the boots out to the lady. Who wanted a different size after that. So I had to go back up the ladder. Again. I should sue. I'm a broken shell of a human being now. Or something.

See there I go, talking incessantly about work But I have nothing else to say. Seriously. It's Friday night and here I am sitting here and it's starting to drive me crazy. I'm having a major Denny's craving. I haven't been since June. June, people. That's wrong. Well, I may need to at least procure some rum for my vanilla Coke. Why is no one ever around when I feel like being bad? I don't think anyone believes I drink at all, anyway. Whatever. I'm not a big drinker. I guess I'm a disgrace to my family fulll of alcoholics. But what can you do?

Wait till tomorrow. I actually get to see people tomorrow. :)

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