Sunday, March 3, 2013

I know why the caged bird doesn't sing

We all know that retail is one of the most hated fields of work due to uniforms, walking yourself to death, and how anal people can get over whether or not something is on sale.

This blog post has burst forth into the world because I am caged within the jewelry department for seven hours - the only ability to leave its confines for the bare necessities of food and using the restroom. To make things even better, I'm prescribing the post on a left over notepad on which one of my fellow associates has written on the spine "TJ Maxx Suxx."

I haven't always been unhappy with the jewelry department. We used to be able to  put out freight, take clothes out of the fitting room (I'm sorry, our manager insists we call it the dressing room since people stopped saying fitting room years ago), and leave jewelry unattended for a matter of moments while we use our facilities. Now we must clean and re-clean and re-re-clean all the snotty-nosed and cotton candy-stained prints kids have left on the glass Thanks for throwing those regular Saturday carnivals, Old Navy.

Our company is really pushing jewelry sales, as I'm sure you've figured out by now; therefore, someone needs to be at the customer's disposal at all times. The problem is there aren't any customers interested in jewelry until noon or later. So aside from cleaning, what am I supposed to occupy my time with? (I've already read every single cookbook we have in stock, which isn't the best idea when you have wait to for years to go to lunch.)

With multiple mirrors placed around the counter top, I could find all of the best (and worst) angles of my face for future photo-shoots  or I could use them to see what my uvula really looks like. But then I think the customers that do traipse on by would find that unattractive.

Having a good singing voice, I could serenade myself. Unfortunately, we play old, out of date music; a good portion of which is from the 80's with twenty thousand too many synthesizers and weird ape moaning. I don't think my vocal cords are prepared for that.

I recently ordered a belly dancing workout dvd, so I could practice the basic hand and hip movements, but a customer might think I'm having a seizure or secretly worshiping Aphrodite.

Now, you might suggest the obvious of trying on every single piece of jewelry. And I will say to you that I don't do that anymore. Because once upon a time we received a beautiful, inexpensive Lucky Brand ring. Even though I knew full well that it was a size seven, I tried the blasted thing on anyway, because I was determined to buy this ring on payday. Seeing as my finger swelled five times its normal size, I prepared  my heart and mind for either permanent jewelry or amputation. Luckily, with some lotion and a lot of violent, mental curses on the jewelry makers at Lucky Brand (no hard feelings), the ring came flying off and rolled halfway out into the store with a loud CLINKCLANKCLUUUUNK. A week later the same thing happened with a bangle bracelet (also made by Lucky Brand).

Since I've scribbled all of my other options out for passing the time, here are a few more I've come up with  for consideration:

  • practice perfecting "the elevator" move
  • take up origami
  • perfect sketching of the clothing racks
  • try on every pair of sunglasses
  • practice the art of tattooing with Sharpies
  • learn how to braid corn rows
Although I jokingly complain about my first-world problems, taking for granted my freedom is a serious matter.

Throughout my collegiate history classes (that have curriculums untainted by the government since I got to a private institute) I have found a lot of problems with the bully America seems to be (take the Trail of Tears for example.) Nevertheless, I do live in one of the greatest countries on earth because of the freedom I have. My family isn't so poor that I am forced to prostitute myself in order for them to eat like many women in Thailand. I don't have to cover my hair or face in order to keep from tempting men that aren't my husband like women in arabic countries. I am free to work whatever job and pursue whatever dream I want to unlike the women stuck in the caste system of India.

Luckily, I live in a country that will pay me almost nine dollars an hour to stand in one spot and accidentally throw merchandise all over the floor.

I know getting annoyed with silly things is a hard habit to break, but maybe we can counter our useless frustrations with thankfulness and a good attitude. Even if the music is bad, it won't physically hurt anyone if we chose to hum along.

So here's to all of those who have fought and died for my freedom, owning guns, eating BBQ, drinking sweet tea, and being free. My heartiest fist pump is extended to you, MURICA!

1 comment:

  1. Right on Aly! Keep up the good work. I am once again entertained with your prose my friend.