You Haven't Lived Until Someone Shoves a Pair of Toddler Jeans in Your Face Because You Didn't See the Clearance Sticker

Or How I Learned to Hide in the Baby Formal Wear Department Like a Milford Academy Pro

Normally, at my second job, I am a member of the "Home" department team. It's still still still still  under construction, and there's not a lot going on. Even if renovations were complete ("two more days!!!!1!!," we're told every three days), it'd still be pretty mind numbing. Or at least that's what I thought until the beginning of this week, when I came strolling in only to find I'd been moved for the week into the absolute worst department that could possibly exist.



Children's -wait for it- at peak back to school time.

Nothing makes me appreciate my very, very excellent, mellow, ILWU-Local 5 break law enforcing job at the bookstore more than being thrown into and left virtually alone* in a department that I have literally zero training in, next to no product knowledge of, only to be actually yelled at by an old Russian woman because no one in the department would answer my calls for a back up cashier.


Spending the days being yelled at, having people think it is perfectly normal and acceptable to demand a ~*~price adjustment ~*~ on something you bought a year ago (fucking TLC, I swear to god, the disservice you have done to the retail industry by glamorizing being a couponing whackadoo), and watching a grown woman unload an entire 3X5 table top of boys' Angry Birds t-shirts onto the floor, then walk away while complaining about how messy the store is,  hoo-doggy, I learned my lesson quick.

After speaking with no less than four people in other areas of the store who were former kids dept people and finding out that I wasn't alone in thinking it was an actual Hellmouth, I vowed to not be the joker stuck on the register while everyone else conveniently didn't hear my paged pleas. Combining my time honed skills of  moving silently across carpet and unpacking apparel shipments like the wind,  I was able to weasel my way into working on projects that are normally reserved for "support" staff (IE THE JOB I ACTUALLY APPLIED FOR AND WOULD BE SUCCESSFUL AT AND NOT WANT TO STAB MYSELF WITH SENSOR TAGS).  Lo and behold, my miserable hours actually went by at a reasonable speed. Aside from the titular incident, I only had to wait on one other customer. I didn't notice when one of four Taylor Swift songs on rotation played every forty-five minutes. I didn't want to stab myself with sensor tags.

Thank Mastercuts Jesus, today was the last day I have to be in that department for this week. And next week. And hopefully for the rest of my life.

*I say virtually alone because there was one gal who saved me multiple times by actually recognizing that I have no idea what is going on and being super helpful and patient with my panicky ass.

After nine days in a row, I finally get a day off on Sunday and I don't know how to handle this information.