I’m just gonna rebrand the blog now

INFINITEFREETIME NO LONGER.  This blog is now called InfinitecomplaintsaboutAmazon.

Nah, not really.  But in the midst of all this nonsense about the goddamn books we ordered some boots and shoes for the boy, because apparently November is just too ridiculously late to do something crazy like walk into a store and buy boots.

(I feel less sorry for brick and mortar retail every time some shit like this happens.  It’s November.  We haven’t had real snow yet.  Leave some fucking boots on the shelves, you jackasses.)

Right, I forgot to complain about Amazon.  So, we couldn’t find boots at the shoe store nearest to our house, or the Target nearest to that shoe store, so we ordered him a pair of boots and a pair of new shoes, because why not do both at the same time and OH HEY you missed out on that sale too.  The boots got here the other day; all good.

The shoes got here today.  Now, this was one of those “fulfilled by Amazon” things, so Amazon isn’t directly responsible for this, but I opened the box and there was still a fucking ink tag on one of the shoes.

Come the fuck on, guys.  I have a dentist appointment tomorrow, and my appointment is near an actual Dick’s, so I’m gonna just swing by there with all my receipts and everything and see if they will remove the tag for me.  Alternately, we’ll just cut the fucking laces off and buy new ones.  I don’t have the damn energy to deal with a return right now.  

(Wonders how effectively the internet can help with removing the tag.)

Anyway.  The image up there isn’t there for any reason other than that I’m listening to Shimmy Shimmy Ya right now.  I am officially on Thanksgiving vacation, meaning that I don’t even have to think about any children other than the one that lives in my house for the next several days.   Virtual hunting is about to get way more important to my lifestyle than it used to be.  It turns out we’re not leaving town like we thought we were, so we’re hosting Thanksgiving, but we’re gonna keep shit simple.  The other four days of the weekend?  Relaxation, motherfuckers.  

Y’all do the same.  

Na na naaa na, na na naaa na, hey hey hey

giphyYou have probably forgotten, because my life is not actually all that important to anyone outside of my immediate family no matter how much time you spend on this blog, but I did myself a bit of vagueblogging a couple of weeks ago.  As of yesterday morning, the need for vagueblogging has passed!  I can stop holding onto this goddamn secret that has been making me nuts since IndyPopCon!

I put in my notice at my job yesterday.  As of August 8, I will no longer be a furniture salesman, and I’ve got another week of paid vacation between now and then.

Thank Christ.

I will say, to be fair, that I like the people I work with a lot, and despite my frequent complaints about it there are a lot of much worse jobs than selling furniture.  But after a hair more than two years of three 11-hour days a week and working every. single. fucking. weekend I have had enough.  My son will turn 7 a few weeks after I quit.  He is starting to notice that Daddy is not ever around on the weekend.  And regardless of how I might feel about any other aspect of the job, I can’t have that.

What am I doing, you ask?

I am returning to education.  I’m not returning to teaching, or to administration, however.  I won’t be working directly with kids, at least not much, although I will be working in a school.  The job is primarily tech related, meaning I get all the advantages of being a teacher– including the pay, which should be substantially more than I’m making now– and very few of the disadvantages that drove me out of teaching a few years ago.  I am not a teacher, though.

I have known about this since the Saturday of IndyPopCon.  I applied for the job on that Thursday, had a number of email back-and-forths on Friday regarding scheduling an interview, and on Saturday the principal called me, cancelled the interview, and hired me on the spot.  After two years of applying for half a dozen jobs a month and getting no interviews at all, to be hired without one was immensely fucking gratifying.  It’s almost like I have skills that are useful in certain circumstances!

At any rate, I’ve been waiting for a few ducks to get their lazy asses lined up regarding the job becoming a bit more official before quitting and announcing it here, and considering that I started getting emails from my new employer today, I figure that’s as official as it needs to be.  I also needed to make sure I got that second week of vacation scheduled on a certain week where my wife will be in Boston without me and it will be much easier to make it through life if I’m not at work, so today turned out to be a great day to make everything official.  I figure I’m giving just under five weeks of notice; finding someone to replace me in that time shouldn’t be that hard.

(That said, if you know me in my Clark Kent guise and know anyone who would be good at sales, we’ve got a couple of open jobs.  No particular education or experience necessary other than a high school diploma.  Hit me up.)

So.  Yeah.

*tremendous relaxed exhale*

Feels good, man.

In which that wasn’t a joke

AngerIn the long run of things, this probably isn’t that big of a deal, but it’s still on my mind, so fuck it, I’m talking about it.  I work high-end retail, right?  We all know this.  So I’m working on the Fourth of July, just like a whole lot of other people.  I actually get it pretty well; normally big national holidays mean everybody has to work all day (and Wednesday is usually my half day) but we’re closing at six, so my Big Holiday Work Schedule is having to work a fairly inconsequential three and a half extra hours for the week.  I’m gonna survive.  Frankly, my birthday is the 5th and that’s always overshadowed the Fourth for me.  Call me unpatriotic if you like.

So dude calls on Wednesday to find out if whateverthefuck he ordered is in.  He’s not one of my guests– and, incidentally, my tolerance for putting up with even an iota of crap from people I’m not personally making money from has been declining precipitously lately– and I look his stuff up and find out that it’s in the store.  We had received a delivery that day; chances are it had just come in a few hours prior to the phone call.  I offer to set up his delivery.  As it turns out, the rest of this current week is full but all of next week (ie, the first week of July) is pretty much entirely open.  I tell him that and point out that we do deliver on the 4th (if we’re open, we’re open) if Wednesday works for him.

There’s a pause.

“You’re delivering on the Fourth?”

Another pause.

“You should be shot.”

Now, there’s really not much left to this story.  I told him everybody in the store was working that day but that I appreciated the murder threat.  He acted like he didn’t hear me.  I didn’t hang up on him or cancel his shit (although if I remembered his name, I might seriously jump in and reschedule him for, like, 2028 without telling anyone) and I sure as shit didn’t tell his entitled white Republican ass (argue with me, I dare you) to shut the fuck up and die alone and in pain like I probably ought to have.  He snarled at me that he wanted the 3rd, I scheduled it, got off the phone, and then sent this email to my regional manager:

IMG_7416.jpg

(I had, as you probably gleaned from context, just sent my RSM an email prior to getting that phone call.)

He wrote me back and told me he appreciated the laugh, apparently misreading the tone of my email, which was meant to be “this is fucked up, this guy is fucked up, I’m tired as hell of fucked up, and next time this won’t go as well,” not “here’s a funny anecdote about a routine thing that just happened to me.”

But yeah.  Maybe I’m taking shit too serious.  But these fuckers are getting more and more emboldened on a damn near minute-to-minute basis, and it’s just like a fucking Republican to get mad at the motherfucker who has to be at work rather than the motherfuckers who are making them come to work, and I don’t want anything to do with these entitled, violent, stupid assholes any longer.

First Day of Vacation: I Went to Work edition

giphy
I was looking for a .gif of the “Get me a G-O-B” scene, but this’ll do.

Last week was an exceptionally shitty week to be a furniture salesman– easily the worst single week in my entire two-year tenure, in fact, and is is nearly unimaginable that June will not end up as my worst single month as a furniture salesman as well.  So when a previous customer called last week and said that she was out of town but wanted to make an appointment to come in and spend a few thousand dollars, I happily scheduled her for 10:00 this morning and came in anyway.  While I was there, I caught a customer from yesterday who had had to postpone his purchase because of a freeze on his credit accounts– meaning that I had, in a single hour, on a day when I was not supposed to be at work, more total sales than in the seventeen days prior to that hour.

So, yeah.  Come into work on my day off, but make hundreds of dollars in commissions during that hour I came in?  No problem.

Then I returned something to Best Buy, came home, played video games, mowed the lawn, played more video games, got some important emails, responded to those emails, finished my renewal for my teachers’ license (which will expire in 2028, a year that is so far away I cannot comprehend it), played more video games, got some light cleaning done around the house, ate dinner, and now I’m writing thishere blog post.

My big plan for tomorrow?  Breakfast is gonna be sausage grits and a fried egg.  Ask me how excited I am about my breakfast tomorrow.

I am so excited about my breakfast tomorrow.

The remainder of the day will be split between more video games– can you tell I caved and bought Dark Souls Remastered once I realized I’d have a solid week where I didn’t have to go to work?– and the Composition of Fiction.

Not bad for my first day off.

Not dead yet

Two eleven-hour shifts in a giant building with no air conditioning when it’s 95 degrees outside down.

One to go.