When I helped put out a 50-inch LCD television that was priced at $799.99 onto a television stand out on the pawn shop floor, I'll admit that I didn't expect it to sell very quickly. Who would spend that much money on a used television? Well, someone did, and it was gone within four hours after being put on display. The empty television stand was refilled with an additional LCD television, this one of more humble proportions at only 42 inches. Anyway, the 42-inch LCD TV is still for sale, but the television stand upon which it had rested is not. Someone bought it out from under it, and I found the television sitting on the floor, unplugged and with a dark screen.
When I asked what we were going to do about the television (it seemed unlikely that we would leave it sitting there on the floor and there were no additional TV stands we could use), I was instructed to find two mini-fridges of similar heights, cover them with some fabric, and then use that as a make-shift stand.
I was not pleased.
1) We may have a slew of mini-fridges, but matching heights required shifting through the several stacks of them until I could find a suitable pairing, thus requiring much time and energy. 2) When I finally did manage to find two fridges of very similar heights, I had to haul them down from the second floor storage area, through the disarray our back room is in, and then across the showroom floor. 3) The fabric with which I was supposed to cover the fridges was stored in a tricky, elevated location which first required snaking through a jungle of bicycles and then reaching above my head to try and pull down the desired fabric (I chose the slick golden cloth as opposed to the velvety purple one) off a shelf without pulling all of the extra items around it down upon me.
As it turns out, none of these individual tasks proved as irksome as I had originally expected. I quickly found two of the same exact mini-fridges (removing the difficulty of matching heights), both very lightweight (making them very easy to move from storage to the showroom floor), and the fabric easily came down from its perch detached from all the other items surrounding it (no head injuries were suffered). The real problem was something unforeseeable and came when I opened one of the mini-fridge's doors after I had moved it to the showroom floor.
A stench unlike anything I'd ever smelt lunged out at me and was so overpowering that I nearly fell over. My throat constricted and I turned away with what must have been a ridiculous look on my face. I'm not entirely sure how to describe it, but if you imagine fusing the semi-pleasant smell of a new refrigerator with the wholly-unpleasant stink of diseased flesh that has been rotting between Satan's teeth for several hundreds of years, you may come close to understanding what I faced.
I asked my manager if I should just shut the door and forget about the stench or if I needed to do something about the noxious fumes. Her first reaction was understandable. She asked if the fridge just needed to be cleaned out.
The answer was no.
The strange thing was that the fridge looked immaculate on the inside. It would be natural to assume such raunchy fumes were wafting off a cesspool of mutant, radioactive puss, but cesspool there was none. I was instructed to put the offensive smelling fridge in the back and leave the door open so it could air out. I did so and was happy to flee from its presence, but this meant that I had to find two additional fridges to use as a stand. There was another substantial amount of mini-fridge shuffling and then of hauling them across the store, but being free from the Satanic cesspool stenches was well worth the trouble.
31 October 2010
27 October 2010
Bob Ross Made Me Do It
There are moments when I find myself discouraged at the pawn shop. Such moments are when I look at what we call "the back wall". This wall is lined with shelves, upon which are placed items that either need to be put onto the showroom floor or into the storehouse for safe keeping and future display. Employment at the pawn shop is a constant battle of trying to clear off this wall as new items seen to be incessantly materializing and breeding on it. Many items are not difficult to find places for (cell phones, DVD players, speakers), but there are some items which are more bothersome. One such item is the filthy, over-sized grill that appeared over the weekend.
I'm sure it was a very nice grill to begin with, and it is still somewhat impressive with it's enormous stainless steel lid and expansive flat surfaces that jut out from either side of it and offer a type of counter space, but the grease, grime, and dirt that now coat every surface make it appear to be more of a prop from a horror movie than a means of cooking food any normal human being would desire to consume. Seeing this item made me cringe because 1) it's ugly, 2) it's huge, and 3) there is nowhere to put it inside of the store, meaning that we will most likely have to roll it outside every morning and then wheel it back inside every evening.
Wanting to avoid having to find a place for the grill on the showroom floor, I began pulling various items from the shelves around it. I put away a DVD player, a few cell phones, a television, a pair of dry wall stilts, and two of those cheap joystick games you plug into your TV, but then I saw one of the most amazing things I'd ever seen: a Bob Ross painting kit, complete with paint, brushes, utensils, and two instructional DVDs. With this single kit, one would be able to paint a mountain scene, stormy sea, or peaceful meadow while Bob Ross's soothing hippie voice instructs them from under his beach ball-sized Afro.
Needing to inspect this kit closer, I leaned up against the disgusting grill to grab the unopened box (YES, unopened!). After discovering the shockingly low price of $19.99, I put the kit back, seriously contemplating buying it for myself, but moved on to other tasks around the shop.
A while later, I returned to the back room and was assaulted by a putrid smell that lingered in the air. I asked a co-worker if she smelt something funny--which she did--and then asked her what she thought it was. She rushed off to solve the mystery, worried that it might have been gas. Not thinking much of this, I busied myself with additional chores around the shop. Not much later, I found myself smelling the same horrible smell far away from the back room on the shop floor.
As it turns out, my co-worker was correct. It had been gas we were smelling. When I had leaned up against the grill to inspect the Bob Ross painting kit, I had bumped one of the grill's gas knobs and unwittingly began to fill the store with propane. The seriousness of this situation was increased by the fact that we had been selling a lot of lighters lately and many customers liked to play with them, absentmindedly flipping them on while they wait in line to be rang up. It wouldn't have been too unlikely for one of them to have played with one of these lighters, ignited the gas, and killed us all. Thankfully, they didn't. But all I really have to say is that Bob Ross made me do it. He was the one who almost made me blow up the pawn shop with his irresistible painting kit that was priced so economically. What a rascal.
I'm sure it was a very nice grill to begin with, and it is still somewhat impressive with it's enormous stainless steel lid and expansive flat surfaces that jut out from either side of it and offer a type of counter space, but the grease, grime, and dirt that now coat every surface make it appear to be more of a prop from a horror movie than a means of cooking food any normal human being would desire to consume. Seeing this item made me cringe because 1) it's ugly, 2) it's huge, and 3) there is nowhere to put it inside of the store, meaning that we will most likely have to roll it outside every morning and then wheel it back inside every evening.
Wanting to avoid having to find a place for the grill on the showroom floor, I began pulling various items from the shelves around it. I put away a DVD player, a few cell phones, a television, a pair of dry wall stilts, and two of those cheap joystick games you plug into your TV, but then I saw one of the most amazing things I'd ever seen: a Bob Ross painting kit, complete with paint, brushes, utensils, and two instructional DVDs. With this single kit, one would be able to paint a mountain scene, stormy sea, or peaceful meadow while Bob Ross's soothing hippie voice instructs them from under his beach ball-sized Afro.
Needing to inspect this kit closer, I leaned up against the disgusting grill to grab the unopened box (YES, unopened!). After discovering the shockingly low price of $19.99, I put the kit back, seriously contemplating buying it for myself, but moved on to other tasks around the shop.
A while later, I returned to the back room and was assaulted by a putrid smell that lingered in the air. I asked a co-worker if she smelt something funny--which she did--and then asked her what she thought it was. She rushed off to solve the mystery, worried that it might have been gas. Not thinking much of this, I busied myself with additional chores around the shop. Not much later, I found myself smelling the same horrible smell far away from the back room on the shop floor.
As it turns out, my co-worker was correct. It had been gas we were smelling. When I had leaned up against the grill to inspect the Bob Ross painting kit, I had bumped one of the grill's gas knobs and unwittingly began to fill the store with propane. The seriousness of this situation was increased by the fact that we had been selling a lot of lighters lately and many customers liked to play with them, absentmindedly flipping them on while they wait in line to be rang up. It wouldn't have been too unlikely for one of them to have played with one of these lighters, ignited the gas, and killed us all. Thankfully, they didn't. But all I really have to say is that Bob Ross made me do it. He was the one who almost made me blow up the pawn shop with his irresistible painting kit that was priced so economically. What a rascal.
26 October 2010
Back from the ZOMBIE PROM
I realize that these past two weeks of not writing in my blog have probably left you, loyal readers, feeling dejected, depressed, and desperate for more tales from the pawn shop. I apologize deeply for my negligence, but there has been good reason for my abense.
Over the past few months, I had been helping plan a Halloween party for my church. And as the past two weeks were the final two weeks before the party, I was busy beyond busy making sure everything was ready. Halloween is my favorite holiday and there is no accurate way of conveying my obsession with making the party as elaborate and memorable as possible.
The party itself was called ZOMBIE PROM and catered to young single adults of my faith, meaning those who were not married and between the ages of 18 to 30, providing a nice way for us to meet other young people who share the same beliefs. And, of course, we invited those not of our faith, because what horrible Christians we would have been if we tried to keep such a wonderful event such as a ZOMBIE PROM all to ourselves! My other main planner and I did a lot of promotional work, recieved a lot of interest in the event, and found ourselves overwhelmed with the actual planning of the event. Luckily, we know lots of great people and were able to recruit volunteers to help with music, photography, snacks, decorating, and general planning. Approximately 150 people attended, a goodly number of which drove several hours to attend.
Some of the highlights of ZOMBIE PROM :
1) Voodoo Doll : We had an oversized voodoo doll to which people pinned their names on pieces of paper. The person closest to the hidden mark on the voodoo doll won the doll.
2) The Tunnels : The dance itself took place in a gym of one of our church's buildings, but we extended the party to three different rooms by connecting the gym to said rooms by creating a series of tunnels constructed out of oversized cardboard boxes. The rooms were then littered with crumbled newspapers and all kinds of broken things such as smashed televisions, computer monitors, vacuums, and etc (items that the pawn shop was going to throw away but I took instead in preparation for this). The idea was to make the party-goers feel like they had crawled into the aftermath of the Zombie Apocalypse. My favorite room had hundreds of blank sheets of paper taped to the walls. On these pieces of paper were messages or drawings written in ink that only showed up in black lighting. Each room was supposed to have a different theme, but this room's theme was that children had been locked in it for an extended period of time in an attempt to escape the Zombie Apocalypse and had written on the walls out of boredom and cabin fever. We had three blacklights in the room and the primitive, glowing messages combined with the carnage, trash, and random pitched tent combined to create a very eerie feeling.
3) The Thriller Tutorial : A friend of mine volunteered to teach everyone a simplified version of The Thriller dance--a very appropriate activity for a ZOMBIE PROM. The tutorial itself went very well and most people seemed to have a lot of fun with it, even when we almost smashed into each other.
4) The Zombie King and Queen Coronation : Early on in the night, we presented five men and five women who my fellow planner and I felt had the best costumes to the rest of the party. The attendees then voted for which male and female costumes they liked the best. The best female costume went to a Zombie Mary Poppins and the best male costume went to two brothers who had turned themselves into Zombie Siamese Twins. During the coronation, the Queen was given a sash, a bouquet of dead flowers, and a burned Barbie doll as a scepter. The King was given a sash and a severed foot as his scepter. They were both, however, given "crowns" that had been made by stuffing bloody looking spaghetti into pig stomach lining to create what looked like real human intestines. But the coolest part of having these crowns was when I pulled them from my shirt, making it look like I had yanked out my own intestines, and then draped them over the heads of the Zombie King and Zombie Queen.
Overall, the party was a success, and the best part was that there were so many people willing to help clean up afterwards that I hardly had to do anything, which is saying a lot since the decorations were very elaborate. It was great fun planning the event and seeing it through, but, boy, am I glad that it's done and over with. But now my next big project is graduate applications. But, never fear, loyal reader, I will be more diligent in my blogging. I have even been jotting down notes of stories I knew I'd want to share after ZOMBIE PROM had stopped consuming my life, so, prepare yourself.
Over the past few months, I had been helping plan a Halloween party for my church. And as the past two weeks were the final two weeks before the party, I was busy beyond busy making sure everything was ready. Halloween is my favorite holiday and there is no accurate way of conveying my obsession with making the party as elaborate and memorable as possible.
The party itself was called ZOMBIE PROM and catered to young single adults of my faith, meaning those who were not married and between the ages of 18 to 30, providing a nice way for us to meet other young people who share the same beliefs. And, of course, we invited those not of our faith, because what horrible Christians we would have been if we tried to keep such a wonderful event such as a ZOMBIE PROM all to ourselves! My other main planner and I did a lot of promotional work, recieved a lot of interest in the event, and found ourselves overwhelmed with the actual planning of the event. Luckily, we know lots of great people and were able to recruit volunteers to help with music, photography, snacks, decorating, and general planning. Approximately 150 people attended, a goodly number of which drove several hours to attend.
Some of the highlights of ZOMBIE PROM :
1) Voodoo Doll : We had an oversized voodoo doll to which people pinned their names on pieces of paper. The person closest to the hidden mark on the voodoo doll won the doll.
2) The Tunnels : The dance itself took place in a gym of one of our church's buildings, but we extended the party to three different rooms by connecting the gym to said rooms by creating a series of tunnels constructed out of oversized cardboard boxes. The rooms were then littered with crumbled newspapers and all kinds of broken things such as smashed televisions, computer monitors, vacuums, and etc (items that the pawn shop was going to throw away but I took instead in preparation for this). The idea was to make the party-goers feel like they had crawled into the aftermath of the Zombie Apocalypse. My favorite room had hundreds of blank sheets of paper taped to the walls. On these pieces of paper were messages or drawings written in ink that only showed up in black lighting. Each room was supposed to have a different theme, but this room's theme was that children had been locked in it for an extended period of time in an attempt to escape the Zombie Apocalypse and had written on the walls out of boredom and cabin fever. We had three blacklights in the room and the primitive, glowing messages combined with the carnage, trash, and random pitched tent combined to create a very eerie feeling.
3) The Thriller Tutorial : A friend of mine volunteered to teach everyone a simplified version of The Thriller dance--a very appropriate activity for a ZOMBIE PROM. The tutorial itself went very well and most people seemed to have a lot of fun with it, even when we almost smashed into each other.
4) The Zombie King and Queen Coronation : Early on in the night, we presented five men and five women who my fellow planner and I felt had the best costumes to the rest of the party. The attendees then voted for which male and female costumes they liked the best. The best female costume went to a Zombie Mary Poppins and the best male costume went to two brothers who had turned themselves into Zombie Siamese Twins. During the coronation, the Queen was given a sash, a bouquet of dead flowers, and a burned Barbie doll as a scepter. The King was given a sash and a severed foot as his scepter. They were both, however, given "crowns" that had been made by stuffing bloody looking spaghetti into pig stomach lining to create what looked like real human intestines. But the coolest part of having these crowns was when I pulled them from my shirt, making it look like I had yanked out my own intestines, and then draped them over the heads of the Zombie King and Zombie Queen.
Overall, the party was a success, and the best part was that there were so many people willing to help clean up afterwards that I hardly had to do anything, which is saying a lot since the decorations were very elaborate. It was great fun planning the event and seeing it through, but, boy, am I glad that it's done and over with. But now my next big project is graduate applications. But, never fear, loyal reader, I will be more diligent in my blogging. I have even been jotting down notes of stories I knew I'd want to share after ZOMBIE PROM had stopped consuming my life, so, prepare yourself.
12 October 2010
The Danger of the Telephone
Answering the phone at the pawn shop can be a dangerous thing. Most of the time, people are calling in to ask questions that hardly seem worth our time--"Do you buy insert random item here?"--"What time do you close?"--but they often ask things we cannot tell them over the phone--"How much would you give me for my insert random item here?"--or inform us that they will be late on paying the monthly interest on their loan(s) and ask if we could hold their item(s) just a little bit longer. In short, there are many phone calls which require little thought and could be put into script form and read off by a fifth grader, but, every now and again, you pick up the phone and get thrown for a loop. Some loops are more pleasant than others, and I had two of them today--one pleasant and the other not so pleasant.
Call #1 : The Pleasant Loop
There are some phone calls that make me thankful I was the one who answered the phone and this is one of those. A man called into the pawn shop and the first thing he did was ask to speak to a manager, mentioning one of them specifically by name. This happens a lot, people asking to speak with this or that manager, but in most circumstances they don't actually need to talk to a manager. Thus, I have been trained to first offer my assistance and find out the situation before interrupting whatever the managers are doing for something that could easily be solved without their help.
In this instance, the man did need to speak to a manager and there was a justifiable reason why he had asked for a specific one. Two months previously, this man had separated from his wife, during which time he had somehow obtained her wedding ring and then sold it at our pawn shop. The manager he had asked for had been the one who had rang up the transaction, and he was hoping the manager would remember what the ring looked like because the man now wanted the ring back because he was rekindling the flame and reuniting with his wife. Fortunately, finding out if the ring is in our inventory is fairly simple--if you have the correct level of authorization on the computer--but, unfortunately, the manager was very busy. It seems that most people with legitimate needs call during the biggest rush of the day.
Here's hoping we still have your wife's ring with the heart-shaped diamond, sir.
Call #2 : The Not So Pleasant Loop
After someone has been put on hold for a while, the phone will begin to beep very loudly to remind everyone that the customer is still holding. This annoying beeping ripped through the air at one point today and I went to answer the phone to just tell whoever was holding to hold on just a little bit longer for whoever was helping them. However, when I answered, the woman on the other end gruffly began telling me about her situation.
Upon recognizing the woman's voice, which was instantaneous, I was stricken with that horrible hollow feeling you get in your gut when you know you've fallen into a bad situation. This woman is very strange and so large that she is unable to move about independent of a wheelchair, and everytime she comes into the pawn shop, she and her male companion (friend, relative, significant other?) ask for a print out of all of their pawn loans so they can pour over a convenient, condensed summary of their thirty-something loans. They spend at least twenty minutes going through the loans and marking the ones they want to renew and the ones they want to redeem by coding them with either a check mark or circle. Yes, they have been doing this so long and have so many loans that it has become a necessary and second-nature practice to code their loans.
Well, this woman called in to tell us that she 1) could not remember when a specific loan was due, 2) that she would probably be late on paying it, and 3) that she had better not lose her item. I tried to explain that we could not disperse information about anyone's loan over the phone because we are required by law to only give out information to the loan holder. This requires that we verify their identity with them being physically present with a state issued ID in the pawn shop. I can see how it could be annoying to have to come into the pawn shop every time you are irresponsible and forget when your loan is due, but it is a precaution we take to protect the privacy of our customers. As you could imagine, this woman very passionately expressed her displeasure, telling me that I needed to get into the computer and just tell her when he loan was due because she couldn't come down because she was sick and on bedrest.
At this point, a manager realized that I had answered the phone call with the irate woman and whispered for me to put her on hold again. I nodded that I understood and interrupted the woman to tell her I'd be putting her on hold and then did so. My manager told me to just leave her on hold until she gave up on waiting for someone to get back to her. It made me feel a little guilt to just leave her hanging, but she was not being rational whatsoever and there was no better option. For the next few minutes, I kept glancing at the phone. We have several lines and when someone is on hold on any of them, the line will flash a red light. To my relief, the flashing light indicating the angry woman disappeared very quickly.
Call #1 : The Pleasant Loop
There are some phone calls that make me thankful I was the one who answered the phone and this is one of those. A man called into the pawn shop and the first thing he did was ask to speak to a manager, mentioning one of them specifically by name. This happens a lot, people asking to speak with this or that manager, but in most circumstances they don't actually need to talk to a manager. Thus, I have been trained to first offer my assistance and find out the situation before interrupting whatever the managers are doing for something that could easily be solved without their help.
In this instance, the man did need to speak to a manager and there was a justifiable reason why he had asked for a specific one. Two months previously, this man had separated from his wife, during which time he had somehow obtained her wedding ring and then sold it at our pawn shop. The manager he had asked for had been the one who had rang up the transaction, and he was hoping the manager would remember what the ring looked like because the man now wanted the ring back because he was rekindling the flame and reuniting with his wife. Fortunately, finding out if the ring is in our inventory is fairly simple--if you have the correct level of authorization on the computer--but, unfortunately, the manager was very busy. It seems that most people with legitimate needs call during the biggest rush of the day.
Here's hoping we still have your wife's ring with the heart-shaped diamond, sir.
Call #2 : The Not So Pleasant Loop
After someone has been put on hold for a while, the phone will begin to beep very loudly to remind everyone that the customer is still holding. This annoying beeping ripped through the air at one point today and I went to answer the phone to just tell whoever was holding to hold on just a little bit longer for whoever was helping them. However, when I answered, the woman on the other end gruffly began telling me about her situation.
Upon recognizing the woman's voice, which was instantaneous, I was stricken with that horrible hollow feeling you get in your gut when you know you've fallen into a bad situation. This woman is very strange and so large that she is unable to move about independent of a wheelchair, and everytime she comes into the pawn shop, she and her male companion (friend, relative, significant other?) ask for a print out of all of their pawn loans so they can pour over a convenient, condensed summary of their thirty-something loans. They spend at least twenty minutes going through the loans and marking the ones they want to renew and the ones they want to redeem by coding them with either a check mark or circle. Yes, they have been doing this so long and have so many loans that it has become a necessary and second-nature practice to code their loans.
Well, this woman called in to tell us that she 1) could not remember when a specific loan was due, 2) that she would probably be late on paying it, and 3) that she had better not lose her item. I tried to explain that we could not disperse information about anyone's loan over the phone because we are required by law to only give out information to the loan holder. This requires that we verify their identity with them being physically present with a state issued ID in the pawn shop. I can see how it could be annoying to have to come into the pawn shop every time you are irresponsible and forget when your loan is due, but it is a precaution we take to protect the privacy of our customers. As you could imagine, this woman very passionately expressed her displeasure, telling me that I needed to get into the computer and just tell her when he loan was due because she couldn't come down because she was sick and on bedrest.
At this point, a manager realized that I had answered the phone call with the irate woman and whispered for me to put her on hold again. I nodded that I understood and interrupted the woman to tell her I'd be putting her on hold and then did so. My manager told me to just leave her on hold until she gave up on waiting for someone to get back to her. It made me feel a little guilt to just leave her hanging, but she was not being rational whatsoever and there was no better option. For the next few minutes, I kept glancing at the phone. We have several lines and when someone is on hold on any of them, the line will flash a red light. To my relief, the flashing light indicating the angry woman disappeared very quickly.
06 October 2010
All Aboard The Ass Train
When placing an item out on display on the pawn shop floor, there are several things that need to be done. The item needs to be 1) cleaned off, 2) tested to make sure it still works, and 3) the price and important details about the item need to be displayed by attaching a colorful burst-shaped piece of paper--called starbursts--to it.
When I first started this job, everytime someone would say starburst, my mouth would water as I thought of the fruity goodness of the similarly named candy. Now, however, I often cringe at the thought of the tedious nature of the starburst. Correctly labeling a starburst requires putting a description of the item along with the price and a list of any accessories that it may include on the front while putting the item number and location of where the included accessories are being stored on the back. For example, a starburst for an Ipod may say something like "32 GB Ipod Touch w/ charger $249.99" on the front with "12847389, charger in small e's drawer" on the back. But just correcting filling out a starburst is not the end. There is also the task of taping the starburst onto the front of the item in a location that will leave it visible to customers when placed a shelf, display, or inside one of our generously stocked glass cases.
All in all, writing out and putting starbursts on almost every item in the store is time consuming, but they do prove to be very handy. For example, they keep customers from bothering me and my fellow employees with such simple questions like "How much does this cost?" And as they often also state what accessories are included with them, they keep a lot of people from asking us "Does that come with a charger?" So, yes, the time put into writing out starbursts does earn itself back, but lately we have come across a problem with the starbursts.
The other day, one of my managers was helping a customer pick out a digital camera. The customer asked what was included with the camera and my manager began to read the starburst to him. It came with a "charger, memory card, and ass." Luckily my manager caught himself before he read the final word on the starburst. It was very clear what had happened--someone had been abbreviated accessories as "ass" instead of "acc". What a glorious mistake, and I half wish that we would adopt the new abbreviation as it is much more entertaining than the correct one. Oh, the fun I would have telling a customer that "Yes, this camera comes with ass. I'll go get that for you."
Several instances of this have been popping up around the store, and it has been a pleasure discovering each and every one of them. My favorite item has been a train set labeled as "Toy Train Set w/ ass". I have no idea what that would mean if it were to be taken literally, but it doesn't matter because all I want to do is bellow a warning of "All aboard! All aboard the train with ass! The train with ass is boarding! All aboard!"
To my great dismay, as well as the displeasure of several of my co-workers, the incorrect abbreviation has been addressed and stifled. There will be no more items showing up on the pawn shop floor with starbursts declaring that they also come with ass. What a sad thought.
When I first started this job, everytime someone would say starburst, my mouth would water as I thought of the fruity goodness of the similarly named candy. Now, however, I often cringe at the thought of the tedious nature of the starburst. Correctly labeling a starburst requires putting a description of the item along with the price and a list of any accessories that it may include on the front while putting the item number and location of where the included accessories are being stored on the back. For example, a starburst for an Ipod may say something like "32 GB Ipod Touch w/ charger $249.99" on the front with "12847389, charger in small e's drawer" on the back. But just correcting filling out a starburst is not the end. There is also the task of taping the starburst onto the front of the item in a location that will leave it visible to customers when placed a shelf, display, or inside one of our generously stocked glass cases.
All in all, writing out and putting starbursts on almost every item in the store is time consuming, but they do prove to be very handy. For example, they keep customers from bothering me and my fellow employees with such simple questions like "How much does this cost?" And as they often also state what accessories are included with them, they keep a lot of people from asking us "Does that come with a charger?" So, yes, the time put into writing out starbursts does earn itself back, but lately we have come across a problem with the starbursts.
The other day, one of my managers was helping a customer pick out a digital camera. The customer asked what was included with the camera and my manager began to read the starburst to him. It came with a "charger, memory card, and ass." Luckily my manager caught himself before he read the final word on the starburst. It was very clear what had happened--someone had been abbreviated accessories as "ass" instead of "acc". What a glorious mistake, and I half wish that we would adopt the new abbreviation as it is much more entertaining than the correct one. Oh, the fun I would have telling a customer that "Yes, this camera comes with ass. I'll go get that for you."
Several instances of this have been popping up around the store, and it has been a pleasure discovering each and every one of them. My favorite item has been a train set labeled as "Toy Train Set w/ ass". I have no idea what that would mean if it were to be taken literally, but it doesn't matter because all I want to do is bellow a warning of "All aboard! All aboard the train with ass! The train with ass is boarding! All aboard!"
To my great dismay, as well as the displeasure of several of my co-workers, the incorrect abbreviation has been addressed and stifled. There will be no more items showing up on the pawn shop floor with starbursts declaring that they also come with ass. What a sad thought.
05 October 2010
The $1,600 Bathroom Faucet
An older man came into the shop today with a box. He set the box on the counter and proudly told me that I had probably never seen what he was about to show me. Just from that, I could tell the next few minutes were going to be interesting. Not so much because I believed that the man had some impressive item in his possession, but because the man was so pompous that I knew he was going to be completely ridiculous.
Opening the box, the man began to pull out various parts from a bathroom faucet. Only, as the man informed me, this was no ordinary faucet, but a $1,600 bathroom faucet. Apparently, the various parts had been dipped in platinum or gold. He then shoved a piece of paper with details about the faucet into my face with triumph, thinking he had proven the worth and guaranteed himself a generous loan offer. What this man didn't realize is that we never taken pricing information from customers. I took the paper, set it down, and then called a manager over because I wasn't sure if we even took bathroom fixtures. After a quick exchange with the annoying man, my manager disappeared to go look up information about the faucet and I was left alone with the customer. I tried to go about my other pawn shop duties, but the man kept talking to me--only it wasn't good natured chit chat, but self-important rambling.
He told me that he used to have lots of money and that he originally bought the faucet to impress his wife. I responded that she probably would have been more impressed if he'd spent the money on buying her jewelry instead. It was meant to be a joke, but I don't think he enjoying my sense of humor. He then mentioned that the faucet was the only thing he still had from his days of financial abundance. I asked him what had caused him to lose all of his money, but he didn't respond to my question. Instead, he told me that I would never have enough money to buy such an expensive faucet and that I would probably never even see one again. I shrugged and told him I saw no point in buying a $1,600 bathroom faucet. Completely unaware of my subtle hostility, he asked me if I had ever heard of the brand of the faucet. It was Kohler. Of course, I'd heard of it. I told the man as much and then began to ignore him.
He kept asking me questions but I didn't respond. I usually hate it when the phone rings, but when it rang this specific morning I was very glad to answer it.
In the end, my manager ended up turning away the faucet to the great displeasure of the older man. When the elderly jerk had left, I told him about the rest of my encounter with the fancy faucet man and we both had a good laugh.
Opening the box, the man began to pull out various parts from a bathroom faucet. Only, as the man informed me, this was no ordinary faucet, but a $1,600 bathroom faucet. Apparently, the various parts had been dipped in platinum or gold. He then shoved a piece of paper with details about the faucet into my face with triumph, thinking he had proven the worth and guaranteed himself a generous loan offer. What this man didn't realize is that we never taken pricing information from customers. I took the paper, set it down, and then called a manager over because I wasn't sure if we even took bathroom fixtures. After a quick exchange with the annoying man, my manager disappeared to go look up information about the faucet and I was left alone with the customer. I tried to go about my other pawn shop duties, but the man kept talking to me--only it wasn't good natured chit chat, but self-important rambling.
He told me that he used to have lots of money and that he originally bought the faucet to impress his wife. I responded that she probably would have been more impressed if he'd spent the money on buying her jewelry instead. It was meant to be a joke, but I don't think he enjoying my sense of humor. He then mentioned that the faucet was the only thing he still had from his days of financial abundance. I asked him what had caused him to lose all of his money, but he didn't respond to my question. Instead, he told me that I would never have enough money to buy such an expensive faucet and that I would probably never even see one again. I shrugged and told him I saw no point in buying a $1,600 bathroom faucet. Completely unaware of my subtle hostility, he asked me if I had ever heard of the brand of the faucet. It was Kohler. Of course, I'd heard of it. I told the man as much and then began to ignore him.
He kept asking me questions but I didn't respond. I usually hate it when the phone rings, but when it rang this specific morning I was very glad to answer it.
In the end, my manager ended up turning away the faucet to the great displeasure of the older man. When the elderly jerk had left, I told him about the rest of my encounter with the fancy faucet man and we both had a good laugh.
04 October 2010
The Things Customers Are Willing To Tell Me
I try to be a good person, but there are many times when I feel cranky and just don't want to play nice with strangers. I'd rather ignore them and go about my business without being bothered. Unfortunately, this fierce desire for solitude usually occurs while at work when I'm forced to put on a happy face for an endless string of customers. When in these moods, my face is cemented in a stern expression and my voice is hardened with unquestionable surliness, but lately I've been playing a little game that I have titled: Reconnaissance Small Talk. This is, as the name suggests, making small talk with customers in hopes of them telling me something outrageous. The funny thing is that I usually win this one sided and slightly immoral game. It's amazing how little interest you need to show in order to open a flood gate of information.
For example, one woman told me all about how she had lost her job after working at a local hospital for over twenty years when she fell and broke her wrist. She had been a secretary and her healed wrist just didn't allow her to perform like she used to. This caused her employer to heartlessly label her unable to do her job properly and let her go without offering any compensation or type of severance package. This somehow lead into the then recent event of her daughter moving away to the local community college and how the apartment she had moved into had been filthy. In her devoted motherhood, the woman spent hours cleaning the apartment for her daughter (where the daughter was at the time, I have no clue, but it didn't sound like the recently unemployed mother had any help) and then complained to the office but was not compensated for her time.
One man haplessly mentioned that he was going to head out on vacation. When I asked him why he didn't seem too happy about it, he told me that he was heading to his brother's wedding. Now, the only reason I ever go to weddings is to eat food and cake--I mean--to show my support for the newly wedded couple--yeah--to show support . . . forget it, we all know it's all about the food. Anyway, I was going to say that at least there would be plenty to eat, but the man interrupted my joke and stormed ahead to inform me that he thought his brother was rushing into the marriage much too quickly. Apparently, this man's brother and his fiance had only known each other for three months and this was not a sufficient amount of time in his opinion. I might agree with this judgement in most cases, but my parents married quickly and they're still going strong after thirty years. There's also the fact that many courtships in my religion don't seem to last much longer than three months. Anyway, I wasn't totally disgusted with the brief engagement because I'd seen plenty of marriages that began that way and are still thriving today. I would have offered some comfort that it could all work out, but the man continued on to divulge that his brother was going to have a camouflage wedding. I had never heard of such a thing, but my imagination burst forth with images of a bucktooth bride in a camouflage dress and a groom with a mullet donning a fuzzy moss tuxedo amongst a milling crowd of barefooted people discussing Nascar. The man, however, interrupted this slackjawed daydream by telling me that he was upset with his brother because he wouldn't let him bring his dog to the wedding. The man just didn't see why he couldn't bring a dog to a camouflage wedding, but, of course, the answer is very obvious. Because having a dog in attendance just wouldn't be classy.
Another moment of greatness was when I noticed that a man had a large gash across one of his fingers between his first and middle knuckles. He was actually rubbing on hand sanitizer at the moment, making the wound look especially moist and disgusting. I asked the man if he'd gotten into a fight. As it turns out, the only fight he had was with gravity while upon a ladder. As you could imagine, he lost the battle with this eternal law of nature, but as you probably didn't anticipate, he fell into a dumpster and scraped his hand open. I have since repeatedly played a dramatization of this event in my mind.
On the other hand, there are some people who are not so willing to talk. For example, I once handed a woman a pawn contract along with a yellow pen so that she could finalize the transaction with her signature. This woman, however, stared down at the pen and harshly demanded that I give her a different one. Taken off guard, I asked her to repeat herself. Without removing her eyes from the pen, she told me she needed a different color of pen. Recognizing something ridiculous, I asked her why. She responded that yellow was an unlucky color. I continued staring at her while she continued to stare at the pen as if it was a rattlesnake about to strike and asked "Really?" She said it was and I gave her a green pen. I wanted to push this topic further, but I dropped it. The way the woman was acting made me fearful that inquiring deeper into her superstitions would get me stabbed, most likely with an unlucky yellow pen.
For example, one woman told me all about how she had lost her job after working at a local hospital for over twenty years when she fell and broke her wrist. She had been a secretary and her healed wrist just didn't allow her to perform like she used to. This caused her employer to heartlessly label her unable to do her job properly and let her go without offering any compensation or type of severance package. This somehow lead into the then recent event of her daughter moving away to the local community college and how the apartment she had moved into had been filthy. In her devoted motherhood, the woman spent hours cleaning the apartment for her daughter (where the daughter was at the time, I have no clue, but it didn't sound like the recently unemployed mother had any help) and then complained to the office but was not compensated for her time.
One man haplessly mentioned that he was going to head out on vacation. When I asked him why he didn't seem too happy about it, he told me that he was heading to his brother's wedding. Now, the only reason I ever go to weddings is to eat food and cake--I mean--to show my support for the newly wedded couple--yeah--to show support . . . forget it, we all know it's all about the food. Anyway, I was going to say that at least there would be plenty to eat, but the man interrupted my joke and stormed ahead to inform me that he thought his brother was rushing into the marriage much too quickly. Apparently, this man's brother and his fiance had only known each other for three months and this was not a sufficient amount of time in his opinion. I might agree with this judgement in most cases, but my parents married quickly and they're still going strong after thirty years. There's also the fact that many courtships in my religion don't seem to last much longer than three months. Anyway, I wasn't totally disgusted with the brief engagement because I'd seen plenty of marriages that began that way and are still thriving today. I would have offered some comfort that it could all work out, but the man continued on to divulge that his brother was going to have a camouflage wedding. I had never heard of such a thing, but my imagination burst forth with images of a bucktooth bride in a camouflage dress and a groom with a mullet donning a fuzzy moss tuxedo amongst a milling crowd of barefooted people discussing Nascar. The man, however, interrupted this slackjawed daydream by telling me that he was upset with his brother because he wouldn't let him bring his dog to the wedding. The man just didn't see why he couldn't bring a dog to a camouflage wedding, but, of course, the answer is very obvious. Because having a dog in attendance just wouldn't be classy.
Another moment of greatness was when I noticed that a man had a large gash across one of his fingers between his first and middle knuckles. He was actually rubbing on hand sanitizer at the moment, making the wound look especially moist and disgusting. I asked the man if he'd gotten into a fight. As it turns out, the only fight he had was with gravity while upon a ladder. As you could imagine, he lost the battle with this eternal law of nature, but as you probably didn't anticipate, he fell into a dumpster and scraped his hand open. I have since repeatedly played a dramatization of this event in my mind.
On the other hand, there are some people who are not so willing to talk. For example, I once handed a woman a pawn contract along with a yellow pen so that she could finalize the transaction with her signature. This woman, however, stared down at the pen and harshly demanded that I give her a different one. Taken off guard, I asked her to repeat herself. Without removing her eyes from the pen, she told me she needed a different color of pen. Recognizing something ridiculous, I asked her why. She responded that yellow was an unlucky color. I continued staring at her while she continued to stare at the pen as if it was a rattlesnake about to strike and asked "Really?" She said it was and I gave her a green pen. I wanted to push this topic further, but I dropped it. The way the woman was acting made me fearful that inquiring deeper into her superstitions would get me stabbed, most likely with an unlucky yellow pen.
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