Over-Educated and Unemployed

It had to happen eventually. I was officially fired last week from the Retailopia universe. Shall we take a moment to grieve? .... Moment's up! I wasn't fired because I suck at my job, or because I have a lazy eye that makes people nervous, or even because my boss discovered this blog (now that would have been understandable). No, I was fired because *gasp* the boss's daughter hates me.

No lie. I was literally pulled into the office and told "you haven't done anything wrong...you do excellent work...the best we've ever seen [because apparently data entry can't just be done by trained monkeys, who knew?]....but even though you've done absolutely nothing to deserve this and we know it's wrong [unethical, evil, and rather jerk-ish], we still have to let you go because my daughter has said that if we don't fire you then she will no longer be a part of our family."

You'd think I was making this up, but I'm serious. People aren't creative enough to make this shit up. Okay, I'm not creative enough.

So, after hearing for 45 minutes what a wonderful employee I am (seriously, people, learn how to google your employee's names and find their blogs and then ya won't be thinking they're so great after that, let me tell you AND you'd have a legitimate reason to fire them), they kicked me to the curb. Because the boss's daughter doesn't.like.me.

When did my life become a movie written by Paris Hilton with costume design by Lindsay Lohan and starring that fat guy from Superbad as my boss's pug-faced daughter? When, I ask you, WHEN?

I really don't get why she doesn't like me. I mean sure, she wasn't getting her responsibilities done, so they gave them to me and I did them in like 2 seconds. And sure, I didn't put up with her crap when she frickin lied about me and destroyed my hard work by deleting my computer files. I went straight to her daddy. And apparently no one's ever done that before. And apparently it kinda pissed her off.

So, I was enlightened last week to the fact that for 2 years now (yes I said 2 years), she's been calling for my head on a silver platter. And the Boss-Man has finally acquiesced after the "I will shun you if you don't fire her" tantrum. (Really Boss-Man, did you really give it that much thought, because never speaking to that spawn of vermin poop doesn't sound so bad to me).

So, besides me "stealing" her job out from under her, how can she not like me? I have such a winning personality. I mean, have you read my other blogs? Hellooooo. Who needed that stupid job anyways? It's so obvious that I will be a super-famous writer one day. Or homeless and frying my cat on a spoke over a burning trash can for sustenance. It's still a little up in the air at this point.

And yes, I realize I've neglected this blog as of late and so I probably don't have any readers left anyways, and I do apologize for that. But as you can imagine, life's been rather hectic lately, and let's face it people - I never gave you that much love to begin with. But here's to being unemployed with nothing better to do but write witty (albeit bitter) diatribes against my former employer. Let the semi-hysterical rants begin!

The Dirty Dealings of the Better Business Bureau

I'm sure most of you have heard of the Better Business Bureau, or BBB. Founded in 1912, the goal of the BBB is to "foster a fair and effective marketplace, so that buyers and sellers can trust each other." If you would like to read the BBB's official (and rather wordy) mission statement, you can do so here.

Now, I work for a small business that has existed for over 30 years. And though we may have our faults (which you can read about in my other blogs - ha!), customer service is not one of them. Our phones are answered by live people, emails are responded to in less than 24 hours (less than one hour during business hours), and errors on our part are humbly apologized for and corrected. Why am I telling you all this, you ask?

Because yesterday we received an email from a first-time customer asking us to please cancel her order because she had looked us up on the BBB's website and our rating was a C-, and therefore she did not feel comfortable ordering from us. We were shocked. Firstly, because we are not BBB accredited, so how can we have any rating whatsoever? And secondly, a C-?!

Well, we of course immediately looked ourselves up, and sure enough. But the reason behind the C- was troubling. There is no record of ANY complaints filed against us EVER, so why the bad rating? The explanation listed was as follows:

Reasons for this rating include:

• BBB does not have sufficient information to determine how long this business has been operating.
• BBB does not have sufficient background information on this business.

Really? You don't have sufficient information which means we automatically get a C-? When we called the local BBB branch to inquire about this, we were told that we had been sent papers a few months ago (yeah, uh-huh sure...) with questions regarding our business, and because we had not filled them out and returned them, our rating is a C-.

I see. So, even if you're not BBB accredited, you still have to fill out their paperwork and turn it in to them, or they'll slander your reputation. Got it. Makes perfect sense.

Now, why wouldn't you just become BBB accredited, you might ask. Well you see, the BBB makes money by charging companies for the "honor" of being accredited with them. I had a little trouble finding any information on their website concerning accreditation costs (only a "contact your local BBB for this information"), but from what I was able to find from googling "BBB accreditation costs" it can range from a couple hundred to several thousand dollars based on the size of your business.

So, all of this got me curious, and I decided to look up a bunch of businesses that I order from periodically to see what their rating is, and if they're even accredited.

First stop: Amazon.com (here's the link to their BBB page). Well, they of course are accredited and have an A+. As of writing this, the BBB website states that they have had 2,793 complaints filed against them. Now, I love Amazon, but their customer service is crap and I was actually surprised the number of complaints wasn't higher.

Moving on. Let's try Woot.com, the most awesomest website in the entire world and one that I have ordered from close to a hundred times, and have never experienced a problem with. Well, Woot isn't accredited (good for you, Woot!), and yet their rating is a.... D-. Wait, what?! So, what have they done to deserve that rating? Well, here ya go, straight from the BBB website (or click here to go to the BBB's page for Woot):

Reasons for this rating include:

• 62 complaints filed against business
• Failure to respond to one complaint filed against business.

Hmm. Yeah, uhhh, I guess I can totally see how a whole 62 complaints in the past three years, and failture to respond to one of those completely justifies a D- rating. Oh, and of course, the uhh, lack of being willing to pay for accreditation. That too.

Of the dozen or so sites I looked up on the BBB's site, all of the accredited companies had A+ ratings, except one (Dell), which had a C (check it out here).

The ones that weren't accredited, well....those either had a "no rating" or a horrible rating, ranging from C- to F. And keep in mind, all the companies I looked up were ones I have dealt with frequently and never had problems with.

Though it makes me rather sad, I can't say that I'm surprised to learn that the BBB is a business just like any other: in it for the profit (despite their "non-profit" status). Sure, they tout a good line about caring for consumers and looking out for them, and maybe that's not altogether untrue. But requiring businesses to pay you for a good rating? That's what I call dirty business dealings.

It looks like the BBB only recently implemented this A+ thru F rating system (on June 1, 2009 according to Wikipedia), so I guess you could argue that they're still working out the kinks. But, I'm not the first one to call them on the carpet about this, apparently. In an article I found here, a BBB representative was asked why non-accredited businesses receive significantly lower grades, and the response was: "I can't explain that. Clearly we need to do a better job in articulating what the differences are."

Yeah. Clearly. The respresentative went on to state: "A letter grade speaks to our degree of confidence that a business operates in a trustworthy manner. We're talking about business integrity."

Oh really? Speaking of which, I looked the BBB up on their own site, since technically they're a business, too. They're not even listed. Why not, BBB? Afraid of the number of complaints that will be filed against you? Go ahead, have one of your representatives leave me a comment. I'd really like to know why you're not accredited. Can't pay the fees? Yeah, I hear ya there.

So, tell me, readers: Have you had any experiences with the BBB? If so, what happened and what was the result? Have you ever looked up a company on the BBB site and made a decision not to buy from that company based on what you found? Did you know the BBB requires companies to pay for "accreditation"? Look up a few of the businesses you order from frequently and tell me what you find.

*Information about the BBB was found at Wikipedia, the BBB's official US site, here, and here.

Miracles Can Happen

So, it's been awhile since my last post for several reasons. One: I'm lazy. Two: I've become addicted to Team Fortress 2. It's awesome. Three, and most importantly: Big changes at work!

I have my own office now (woot!), so I can officially close off the world and specifically the dreaded B.D.G. Which I have had fun doing for the past couple weeks now. Okay, in all honesty, it's not so much an office as the supply closet with a desk shoved in among the cobwebs, but you don't see me complaining! I don't have to sit next to B.D.G. anymore, so I say bring on the spiders! Oooh right.

Not so fun? Having to hear her grating, nasally voice every two seconds when she calls (because she's to lazy to walk the 10 feet to my office) and have her give me more work to do. Blegh. And since the more work is usually fixing her incompetency, it's double BLEGH. That is the only word, or pseudo word, capable of describing the conundrum I find myself in. See? Working here for 3 and a half years really has made my IQ drop. Yup. It's a pickle.

Ahh well. In other more dramatic news, apparently the Boss-Man has finally realized that his daughter is insane, because two weeks from now we're having a "professional business consultant" (yeah, I couldn't believe that was a real job either) come and teach us "team building." I really hope they don't try to make us do that trust exercise where you fall backward and someone has to catch you. I don't do trust. Or falling. Or exercise for that matter, but I digress. We'll apparently have to sit around for this 6 (!) hour meeting and learn how to spell T-E-A-M. Did you know there's no "I" in it? It was news to me, too.

I don't really get what is supposedly going to be accomplished here. I mean, at the end of the day, the Boss's daughter will still hate me, will still consider it her sole purpose in life to make my life a living hell, and she'll still get away with it because she's a spoiled, rich, doughy-faced gremlin who has her Daddy wrapped around her $300 stiletto. It doesn't really matter what some peppy "consultant" (and I use that term loosely) says or doesn't say. Even if she told Boss-Man that the only way to fix his company was to fire his spawn-child, he wouldn't do it. So, again I say, what is the point?

Oh, hey, did I mention I've been looking for another job? Yeah, too bad the economy's gone down the tubes and there aren't any.

The Holiday of Labor

Labor Day Monday dawned bright and clear with the smell of barbecue wafting on the early morning breeze. Unfortunately, there would be no Labor Day celebration for me. Like all good retailopians everywhere, I had to get up at the crack of dawn, throw on my hideously unattractive "sale day" uniform (complete with button-down denim shirt that hasn't been in style since the 80s) and go to work.

While others get to celebrate, uh...wait...what exactly is celebrated on Labor Day? Labor? People who labor? People in labor? I'm confused. But I digress. Let's try again, shall we?

While others get to celebrate Labor Day (whatever it may be for) with barbecue and family gatherings and fireworks, I get to stand at a cash register and wait on all of my favorite customers.

Look! Here comes the dirty old man who asked if we carried "dirty books" shortly before propositioning me the other day. He's buying one of our sheep puppets. And he's picking my register to check-out at. Well, of course he is. Oh, goody, and now he's shoving his sheep puppet in my face and making "baaaaa" sounds and I have to stand there and smile and say, "will that be all today, sir?" and hope beyond hope that the answer is yes so he gets the hell out of here.

And now Big Bertha is walking in. Since it's such a pleasant day out, she's poured her ample frame into a pair of daisy dukes. The fabric is not enough to completely cover the crotch area, and oh, God. Oh, God! I could have lived such a long and happy life without seeing that peeking out at me.

After the endless stream of disturbed and disheveled customers, finally we can lock the doors and flip the welcome sign to CLOSED. If only it was time to go home. But, no. I still get to clean up after the invasion. All my nice, neat shelves are in disarray. Why, oh why is it so difficult to put a book back where it belongs when you decide you don't want it? And is it completely impossible to put your trash in the trash can instead of dropping it on the floor?

And what the hell is that in the toilet? Flush it down, people! Flush it down! I don't care how proud you are of your daily turd (or judging by the size of it, weekly turd), nobody else wants to see it!

Finally, after 12 hours of dealing with the bottom rung of human existence, I can go home and sleep. Hopefully it will be a nice, dreamless sleep and I will wake up tomorrow refreshed and with the horros of Labor Day blocked from my memory.

The Comment Debacle

To all my loyal fans:

I believe I have fixed the evil comment problem that has been plaguing my blog since I did some updates the other week. So, hopefully it is all fixed now, and if you see something that you just have to comment on because it's so witty and venomous, then please give it a try! And if it's not actually fixed yet...well...I'm working on it, dammit!

A Foul Stench

Ahhh, a day in the life of a retail cashier. I stand at my post as the sun begins to peak above the clouds, golden streams of light cascading down upon me. I squint to see my computer screen past the glare. I can't make it out. I reposition myself. Still no luck. The customer is getting impatient. She wants to know how much she owes (and apparently is unable to read the total on the little screen that faces her).

I glance longingly at the expensive designer blinds on the windows, and then my gaze turns to B.D.G. sigh. Unfortunately, though we paid hundreds of dollars for these custom mini-blinds, B.D.G. does not allow us to use them. The showroom needs light she says, and as I slowly go blind each day, my optometrist is reaping the rewards.

I lean over the counter to read the little screen facing the customer, completely invading her personal space in the process, and read her total to her. I really don't understand how customers can be so unobservant. Maybe they think we don't work hard enough as it is. It builds character when we have to use our brain twice as hard to make up for the empty space between their ears.

Just as the customer is walking out, a spider spindles its way down from the rafters and lands next to my keyboard....two inches away from my hand. This is not my day. Why do I have to work in this filthy warehouse with its creepy crawly spiders and lack of air conditioning? Why can't I work in the mall folding sweater vests? Sure, I'd get paid half as much, but at least I wouldn't be battling arachnids.

As if my day couldn't get any worse, all of a sudden Boss Man appears carrying a canister of "air freshener." (I use that term loosely).

"Have you noticed that it's starting to smell very bad in here?" he says, looking concerned and sniffing at the air. I steal a glance at B.D.G. whose face is glowing red.

"No, I haven't noticed any smell." I say. This isn't entirely true. It's true that it doesn't smell bad right now. But lately, B.D.G. seems to have developed a bad case of, well....what's the polite way of saying this? Gaseous eruptions that can easily be mistaken for small earthquakes. She must be on one of her new-fangeled diets. Like the kind where all you can eat is beans.

But I can't very well tell my boss that the smell he is concerning himself with is coming from the evil spawn of his loins, and is most likely the stench of all of the souls she's crushed rotting on the bottom of her Jimmy Choos.

"Oh, yes daddy," B.D.G. says jumping up. (Yes, she does still call Boss Man 'daddy,' even in the work place). "I have noticed that it's been smelling very bad in here. cough cough. It's been smelling awfully musty lately. I think there must be mold growing somewhere." She looks around frantically to emphasise her point.

Mold. Uh-huh.

"Ahh, yes. I though so," Boss Man replies, and then proceeds to empty the entire jumbo-sized canister of "air freshener" throughout the room.

Now the place smells like decaying baby powder. The air is heavy with it. There is actually a visible cloud engulfing our heads. I can't breathe. I can feel my lungs closing off. This is the end, I just know it. I see light. Blinding light. Oh no, wait. That's just the damn sun again.

Oh, okay. The air is clearing now. I'm left with a splitting headache but I don't appear to be dying. I find that I'm actually a little disappointed.

Karma's a Bitch, Ain't It?

I feel like a minuscule human being for finding glee in another person's misery. But I can't help it. Apparently yesterday (my day off), B.D.G. contracted some sort of rare cross between the flesh eating virus and poison ivy. Her face looks like soggy pizza dough covered in oozing, angry red pustules.

I know I really, really should feel bad for her instead of snickering behind my computer monitor all day today. I mean, it must be awful. I know what pride she takes in her appearance each day. And now her face totally clashes with that new pink cashmere sweater set she just bought. You know, the one that cost more than I get paid in a week.

And she couldn't even call in sick and hide in a darkened room because our latest sale flier was due at the printer's today and she hadn't even started it yet. So, she not only had to come into work looking like the rabid dough boy, but then she had to actually, you know, work.

Then, as if that wasn't enough, her daddy forced her to hand me the flier and actually ask me to proof-read it. Yeah, I couldn't believe it either. She did wait until 4:30 to give it to me. And as if her day wasn't bad enough already, I went and pointed out all these typos. Life is such a bitch sometimes.

The straw that seemed to break the camel's back was when I pointed out how ironic it was that she had spelled vengeance wrong. I hadn't ever actually seen someone shoot daggers out of their eyes before but apparently it is possible, folks. Rare, but possible.