I really did have a crazy productive day– look at the progress bar for Tales over there!– but the internet has been an unreconstructed horrorshow since I got home from dinner so it’s probably time to go to bed and read.
Turns out that coming up with compelling blogging material while watching Orange is the New Black is not terribly easy.
Also, I feel like this is not how a prison riot would be dealt with in the real world. I’m sure this is not the first time OITNB has been referred to as unrealistic but… they’re kinda setting a new record with this one.
Have a Bowling for Soup song. It’s been running through my head all day.
I am, in no particular order, sick of:
- White people;
- the Internet;
- absolutely everyone and everything else.
Okay maybe it’s in that order. That exact fucking order, in fact. I’ve been on a self-imposed Facebook break for the last couple of weeks; if you’ve seen me post there it’s because something else I’m using autoposted for me, and I haven’t missed it. That’s across both my author and Clark Kent identities, and I’m considering a mass unfriending (again) on the CK account of literally everyone but immediate family and people who I have no other way of keeping track of.
And then there’s Twitter, which is normally my outlet for politics-related stuff so that I don’t have to vomit it up here, but which has been on an exceptionally stupid bender for the last couple of days. I just tore myself away from it and closed the app down when I caught myself moments away from sending an incendiary reply to someone I generally respect who was criticizing my college hometown for having too few pleasant places to sit. Which is, like, abject nonsense; the entire town is a pleasant place to sit, but what the fuck do I care one way or another if someone is wrong about that? I do not have any reason to care. None at all. And yet.
Who knows; maybe this is the Lexapro talking again and maybe the world did get measurably dumber recently. There was that attack in London last night, which does always tend to bring out the stupidest among us. But in general I’m just not in the mood for humanity lately.
I’m going to go put the boy to bed now and try to bask in something happy and simple for a few minutes. Everybody else, like, go outside, or something.
Because it was a long day and shut up, that’s a thing.
I have decided something, as of yesterday. I am no longer going to be selling furniture to anyone I know in the real world. I will continue to recommend that people who know me in my Clark Kent guise come into my store if they need to buy stuff, but I’m not going to be your salesman. I’ll hand you over to someone who is good at their job and let them do it and that’s going to be it. Why, you might ask? Because since I’ve been working at the store I’ve had four people who I know IRL come in specifically to buy from me because they knew I worked at a furniture store. The following things have happened:
- Person #1 bought a coffee table and a couple of other things. The other pieces were fine but the coffee table came in broken. Twice.
- Person #2 bought a sofa and love seat. They were slightly backordered when they were ordered and they proceeded to slide back repeatedly after being ordered, and took, if I remember correctly, nearly two months to come in.
- Person #3 ordered a customized sofa and loveseat. Normally these are pretty bulletproof in terms of coming in on time so long as they’re ordered correctly. Note the caveat in that sentence, though. For these folks, I discovered that what is called a “loveseat” when it is sold in the normal configuration is called a “sofa with console” if you special-order it, and so they had to wait eight weeks (normal for a special order) for the wrong goddamn loveseat to show up in the store and then eight more weeks for the one they wanted. Of the four, this is the only one that was unambiguously and clearly my fault; that said, I blame the company because that’s completely ridiculous.
- Person #4 ordered a loveseat that was also slightly backordered and supposed to arrive in early April. When it finally arrived– in the middle of May– it was, inexplicably, the loveseat that they’d ordered but in the wrong fabric. The loveseat in question cannot be special ordered and does not come in that fabric. In other words, I couldn’t have ordered it the way they got it if I’d wanted to. No one has any idea how the hell this one happened. It has to have been some sort of screw-up at the factory but here’s the kicker: our company owns that factory, and we don’t sell our furniture to other furniture stores. So it’s not like this was the way this piece gets sold at Furniture Store B and it got shipped to Furniture Store A by accident. Even the warehouse guys at our main facility in Mississippi had no idea at all how this happened. This is, in other words, some bullshit.
So, yeah. I’ve learned my lesson and I’m done. I still recommend that you buy stuff from my store– despite those four examples, this shit really doesn’t happen all that often— but apparently I’ve gotten hit with the bad-luck stick in terms of selling to people I know. So I’m done.