A lot of my co-workers leave the pawn shop for their half hour lunch breaks. I, on the other hand, rarely leave. I tend to bring homemade lunches and eat them in the break area, primarily because lunches are cheapest this way. Having said that, the actual eating of my lunches does not generally take all of the thirty minutes I am allotted, but you would be wrong if you assume that I would just clock back in early and then return happily to work with a stomach fool of semi-nutrious food. I need every minute of down time I can get by that point in the day. Besides, there are many things I can do with my few extra minutes of lunch freedom--text friends, make necessary phone calls, play on my iPod, read something, collapse onto the break table and try to gather my strength to face the endless stream of pawn shop patrons, or shop.
There are definite good and bad points to seeing all of the stuff that comes into the pawn shop before it's put out on the floor to sell. It's great to have first dibs on a lot of things, but this is very detrimental to my meager budget.
Today, I had several Playstation One games I wanted to purchase along with three Game Boy games (Darkwing Duck, Ren & Stimpy's Space Cadet Adventures, and Ren & Stimpy's Veediots!--yes, you should be jealous. I found two, count them two, Ren & Stimpy games.) and I decided that before I purchased these items that I should look over The Wall once last time (this is a wall, hence the name, in the back area where new merchandise is placed until it is either 1) put out on the display floor to sell, or 2) stored away in our storage area as it waits to be put on display for sale). Who knows? Maybe I'd find more unnecessary items that I would compulsively decide to buy.
As I was picking over The Wall, I found what appeared to be a 4 GB SD card that was still in it's original packaging. I was very excited as 1) this was marked at the low, low price of $9.99, and 2) my employee discount would slash that already generous price down to UNBELIEVABLE SAVINGS!. I was, however, disappointed soon after my discovery of this item.
Upon closer inspection, it was made clear that someone had scammed the pawn shop. They had very carefully cut the plastic around where the SD card should have been so that the plastic casing flipped open as if on a hinge. And, as you may have guessed, the actual SD card was missing. The tricky thing about this was that there was a picture of what the SD card looked like where the actual card should have been. It was a very good picture and had even fooled me into thinking it was there until I noticed that the plastic had been cut with surgical accuracy.
There were actually two of these SD cards, both of which were mere packages that had been cut open and raped of their actual product. I showed them both to the pawn manager and he was very upset. At first, he couldn't believe the items were gone. He squinted at the picture of the card and then I showed him how the plastic flipped open. He grunted, looked away, looked back at the package, reopened the plastic, and then tossed the packages away in disgust. He had been the one who had completed the transaction which had brought the useless packages into possession of the pawn shop.
For me, this is funny because of several reasons. 1) It was rather clever. 2) It was very ballsy to bring in two empty packages, knowing that someone would be inspecting them. 3) The picture fooled us, much like how Wile E. Coyote was consistently fooled into believing the rock wall is an actual tunnel. 4) The trick worked. It actually worked.
We were tricked like a freaking Looney Toon. But, at least, the trick involved SD cards and not the sides of mountains.
26 February 2011
24 February 2011
Cool Check Backgrounds
Continuing my check theme (see Fake Check Issuers, Beware!), I will share something I find highly amusing.
The other day, one of my managers was sorting through a stack of pay day loan checks. These are checks which customers write out and date for up to two weeks in advance. We hold these checks until their due dates, while charging exorbitant amounts of interest, at which point the customers must either pay off the check with cash or, if they don't pay off the checks by the due date, we will deposit and run them like normal checks.
Anyway, each day's new loan checks need to be looked over to assure their accuracy (if we deposit the checks and they bounce, we rely upon a collection agency to collect the money for us. This agency, however, is very finicky and requires that everything--date, amount, even the signature--are just so. There are many rules which I will not bore you with, but rest assured that they are extensive. If anything is unsatisfactory, the company will not collect the money and we are out of the money the customer owes.) and my manager brought up how ridiculous some of the backgrounds of checks can be.
We started to joke back and forth about burly men having checks with kitten backgrounds and the annoyance their significant others may have about that. And then my brain switched gears.
I revealed how I've always been dissatisfied with all of the check backgrounds I've seen because kittens and cartoon characters and floral patterns just don't do it for me. And that's when it hit me--I should make my own line of checks. But instead of depicting lame things like puppies or desserts, mine would be so more more . . . unique . . . morbid . . . shocking . . . offensive . . . in other words, all around cool.
I toyed with the idea of marketing several series of checks with these themed backgrounds:
1) Road Kill -- artistic close-ups of mangled animal carcasses left on the side of the road.
2) Festering Gun Wounds -- high resolution of all the infected and oozing glory
3) Ugly Babies -- hair lips, lumpy heads, and sickeningly disproportionate facial features
4) Cannibalistic Orphans -- imagine a combination of Lord of the Flies and Annie
5) Confused Old People in Dangerous Situations -- an old man with a walker in a cornfield unaware of the combine coming right at him, a wrinkled woman trying to open a pill bottle while inside of a lion cage as the hungry beast approaches, an old couple bickering over the remote while aliens invade through the picture window behind them
Could you imagine a cashier being handed this check? Can you see the horror corrode their fake smile? It would be glorious. And it'd be all my doing.
But it could be so much more than checks. It could be t-shirts, calendars, coffee mugs, and rubber stamps! It could be playing cards and greeting cards and wall posters! It could reach millions across the planet! It could make me rich! Rich, I say! Rich!
Or not. Because, you know, I have no idea what I'm doing. I also lack that thing, what do they call it? Oh, yeah, motivation. But if you know anyone who has a friend of a friend whose brother's ex-girlfriend has a cousin who would know how to help me get this started, have that obscurely connected individual get a hold of me.
The other day, one of my managers was sorting through a stack of pay day loan checks. These are checks which customers write out and date for up to two weeks in advance. We hold these checks until their due dates, while charging exorbitant amounts of interest, at which point the customers must either pay off the check with cash or, if they don't pay off the checks by the due date, we will deposit and run them like normal checks.
Anyway, each day's new loan checks need to be looked over to assure their accuracy (if we deposit the checks and they bounce, we rely upon a collection agency to collect the money for us. This agency, however, is very finicky and requires that everything--date, amount, even the signature--are just so. There are many rules which I will not bore you with, but rest assured that they are extensive. If anything is unsatisfactory, the company will not collect the money and we are out of the money the customer owes.) and my manager brought up how ridiculous some of the backgrounds of checks can be.
We started to joke back and forth about burly men having checks with kitten backgrounds and the annoyance their significant others may have about that. And then my brain switched gears.
I revealed how I've always been dissatisfied with all of the check backgrounds I've seen because kittens and cartoon characters and floral patterns just don't do it for me. And that's when it hit me--I should make my own line of checks. But instead of depicting lame things like puppies or desserts, mine would be so more more . . . unique . . . morbid . . . shocking . . . offensive . . . in other words, all around cool.
I toyed with the idea of marketing several series of checks with these themed backgrounds:
1) Road Kill -- artistic close-ups of mangled animal carcasses left on the side of the road.
2) Festering Gun Wounds -- high resolution of all the infected and oozing glory
3) Ugly Babies -- hair lips, lumpy heads, and sickeningly disproportionate facial features
4) Cannibalistic Orphans -- imagine a combination of Lord of the Flies and Annie
5) Confused Old People in Dangerous Situations -- an old man with a walker in a cornfield unaware of the combine coming right at him, a wrinkled woman trying to open a pill bottle while inside of a lion cage as the hungry beast approaches, an old couple bickering over the remote while aliens invade through the picture window behind them
Could you imagine a cashier being handed this check? Can you see the horror corrode their fake smile? It would be glorious. And it'd be all my doing.
But it could be so much more than checks. It could be t-shirts, calendars, coffee mugs, and rubber stamps! It could be playing cards and greeting cards and wall posters! It could reach millions across the planet! It could make me rich! Rich, I say! Rich!
Or not. Because, you know, I have no idea what I'm doing. I also lack that thing, what do they call it? Oh, yeah, motivation. But if you know anyone who has a friend of a friend whose brother's ex-girlfriend has a cousin who would know how to help me get this started, have that obscurely connected individual get a hold of me.
22 February 2011
Fake Check Issuers, Beware!
One of the many services my pawn shop provides is that of cashing checks. Not everyone has been trained to do this, but I am one of the unlucky few who is able to complete such transactions.
I say that I am unlucky because the process of cashing a check can--and usually is--frustrating, namely because of the check verification process we are required to follow. This process involves getting the number of the company which issued the check, either through the local phone book or 411 (for unlisted or out of town businesses), contacting the company, and then verifying that the check is valid. This may sound simple and straightforward enough, but there are many problems which can arise throughout this process. Firstly, the automated system 411 uses is shoddy. It often misinterprets what you say and then transfers you to workers who are unnecessarily cold and rushed. And then when the desired company is finally reached, there are dangers of additional automated systems, strings of tranfers, and closed payroll offices. There have been many occassions when I have not been able to cash someone's check because of such problems.
Anyway, my loan walking (see Loan Walking) was interrupted today when I was called out from the back to assist someone who needed to cash a check. I went out, void of any enthusiasm, and called 411 to obtain the number for the company. To my great surprise, getting the number from 411 was very easy. But also to my great surprise, I noticed something strange. There was a typo in the company's name on the check -- It said "____ ____ Corportion" instead of "_____ _____ Corporation". That was a definite red flag that something was wrong with this check, but I continued calling the company anyway. After all, it was listed in 411 and it couldn't hurt to see what I could find out.
When someone answered my call, I explained who I was--someone from a check cashing establishment who needed to verify a check--and received the response that the check was probably fraudulent and that I would need to talk to someone in the financing department.
A thrill raced through my body. I'd never encountered a fake check before. I'd called dozens of companies and always had the checks be good. How exciting it would be if the check I was holding in my hands was a fake!
When I was successfully, transferred, the individual in the financial department asked for the check number. I gladly gave it to her and was told that it was not a check they had issued. I was then informed that there had been multiple people who had received fraudulent checks under the guise of their company. Apparently, there are individuals who are buying and selling things under their name (their misspelled name, that is), and this was not the first bogus check they had come across. On top of that, I found a second typo in the company's named on the check. It read "____ Intruments Corportion" instead of "____ Instruments Corporation". And to make things even better, the company's address on the check was off one number. The check had the correct city, state, and street, but the street number was incorrect.
I thanked this person for their time and turned back to the customer, who, at this point, had been waiting for several minutes. Not knowing how to say what I needed to in a polite manner, I decided to be as blunt as possible, partially because I thought it would be fun. I handed him the check back and said "I just spoke with the company and they said this is a fraudulent check. We cannot cash this. I'm sorry." I used the word "fraudulent" because I thought it sounded scarier than "fake". I'm not sure how effective my word choice was, but the man's face went slack and he visibly paled upon hearing this.
At the start of any check cashing transaction, it it customary to ask the customer where they had gotten the check and what it was for. I did so and was provided with the answer that he was selling his guitar to someone in Florida. Luckily for this man, he had not mailed out his guitar. The man looked at the check like it was a dead child of his, thanked me, and left the store. It wasn't until this point that I realized I should have spoken to a manger before sending him on his way. Feeling very nervous, I sought out the head of the store and explained the situation.
As it turns out, we do not try to hold the customer with the fraudulent check in the store at all. We simply tell them it is a fake and then send them on their way. This is because most people who bring in fake checks are the ones being scammed and not the ones doing the scamming.
After looking at the copy of the check which I made (we make copies of every check at the start of each check cashing transaction to keep for our records), my boss pointed out several things which screamed of its fakeness:
1) The check number, 1008, was too small of a number for an actual company to use. That's a number more suited for one of the very first checks in someone's personal checking account, not a business which sends out checks across the country.
2) Most checks have the payee's name and address printed on the check, but this one one had the name and had a empty space where the address should have been.
3) In the note section of the check, it said "PAYMENT APPROVED", as if that was supposed to convince someone of its genuinity.
4) The amount of the check was exactly $1,900.00. Real checks almost never are issued in such round numbers.
5) One of the fonts used on the check was the typical "I'm a fake" font which no real companies use.
6) The front of the check stated that there was a watermark, but the only "watermark" we saw was a small off-centered blotch of discoloration which looked like it had resulted from an actual drop of water being spilled on it.
After explaining all of this, my boss commended me for stopping this fraudulent check. In all actuality, I deserved no such thanks. Yes, I followed the protocol which safeguards us against such douchebaggery, but I was not educated well enough to recognize the multiple signs that the check was a fake on my own. But I suppose I'll take what praise I can get. Fake check issuers, beware! I now know your secrets!
I say that I am unlucky because the process of cashing a check can--and usually is--frustrating, namely because of the check verification process we are required to follow. This process involves getting the number of the company which issued the check, either through the local phone book or 411 (for unlisted or out of town businesses), contacting the company, and then verifying that the check is valid. This may sound simple and straightforward enough, but there are many problems which can arise throughout this process. Firstly, the automated system 411 uses is shoddy. It often misinterprets what you say and then transfers you to workers who are unnecessarily cold and rushed. And then when the desired company is finally reached, there are dangers of additional automated systems, strings of tranfers, and closed payroll offices. There have been many occassions when I have not been able to cash someone's check because of such problems.
Anyway, my loan walking (see Loan Walking) was interrupted today when I was called out from the back to assist someone who needed to cash a check. I went out, void of any enthusiasm, and called 411 to obtain the number for the company. To my great surprise, getting the number from 411 was very easy. But also to my great surprise, I noticed something strange. There was a typo in the company's name on the check -- It said "____ ____ Corportion" instead of "_____ _____ Corporation". That was a definite red flag that something was wrong with this check, but I continued calling the company anyway. After all, it was listed in 411 and it couldn't hurt to see what I could find out.
When someone answered my call, I explained who I was--someone from a check cashing establishment who needed to verify a check--and received the response that the check was probably fraudulent and that I would need to talk to someone in the financing department.
A thrill raced through my body. I'd never encountered a fake check before. I'd called dozens of companies and always had the checks be good. How exciting it would be if the check I was holding in my hands was a fake!
When I was successfully, transferred, the individual in the financial department asked for the check number. I gladly gave it to her and was told that it was not a check they had issued. I was then informed that there had been multiple people who had received fraudulent checks under the guise of their company. Apparently, there are individuals who are buying and selling things under their name (their misspelled name, that is), and this was not the first bogus check they had come across. On top of that, I found a second typo in the company's named on the check. It read "____ Intruments Corportion" instead of "____ Instruments Corporation". And to make things even better, the company's address on the check was off one number. The check had the correct city, state, and street, but the street number was incorrect.
I thanked this person for their time and turned back to the customer, who, at this point, had been waiting for several minutes. Not knowing how to say what I needed to in a polite manner, I decided to be as blunt as possible, partially because I thought it would be fun. I handed him the check back and said "I just spoke with the company and they said this is a fraudulent check. We cannot cash this. I'm sorry." I used the word "fraudulent" because I thought it sounded scarier than "fake". I'm not sure how effective my word choice was, but the man's face went slack and he visibly paled upon hearing this.
At the start of any check cashing transaction, it it customary to ask the customer where they had gotten the check and what it was for. I did so and was provided with the answer that he was selling his guitar to someone in Florida. Luckily for this man, he had not mailed out his guitar. The man looked at the check like it was a dead child of his, thanked me, and left the store. It wasn't until this point that I realized I should have spoken to a manger before sending him on his way. Feeling very nervous, I sought out the head of the store and explained the situation.
As it turns out, we do not try to hold the customer with the fraudulent check in the store at all. We simply tell them it is a fake and then send them on their way. This is because most people who bring in fake checks are the ones being scammed and not the ones doing the scamming.
After looking at the copy of the check which I made (we make copies of every check at the start of each check cashing transaction to keep for our records), my boss pointed out several things which screamed of its fakeness:
1) The check number, 1008, was too small of a number for an actual company to use. That's a number more suited for one of the very first checks in someone's personal checking account, not a business which sends out checks across the country.
2) Most checks have the payee's name and address printed on the check, but this one one had the name and had a empty space where the address should have been.
3) In the note section of the check, it said "PAYMENT APPROVED", as if that was supposed to convince someone of its genuinity.
4) The amount of the check was exactly $1,900.00. Real checks almost never are issued in such round numbers.
5) One of the fonts used on the check was the typical "I'm a fake" font which no real companies use.
6) The front of the check stated that there was a watermark, but the only "watermark" we saw was a small off-centered blotch of discoloration which looked like it had resulted from an actual drop of water being spilled on it.
After explaining all of this, my boss commended me for stopping this fraudulent check. In all actuality, I deserved no such thanks. Yes, I followed the protocol which safeguards us against such douchebaggery, but I was not educated well enough to recognize the multiple signs that the check was a fake on my own. But I suppose I'll take what praise I can get. Fake check issuers, beware! I now know your secrets!
21 February 2011
My Twin
Since I began working at the pawn shop, there have been many customers who have been unable to distinguish between myself and one of my co-workers. Yes, we may both be the same height, we both may wear glasses, and we both may be balding--but beyond those general characteristics, I don't think we look the same at all.
Obviously, these mistakes arise because people don't take the time to really look at us. I see what they're doing. They're just remembering the general outline of our persons as opposed to the specific details that compose these two unique individuals. Rather than caring about the human beings who serve them at the pawn shop, they take us for granted and cannot even tell the difference between two people who look generally the same. It would be like confusing Barbara Streisand with Rosie O'Donnell with the excuse that they are both women who have noses! What insensitive fools! No. I am only kidding. Neither of us are offended by the ignorance of the customers--at least not in these instances. On the contrary, there have been multiple occasions when we found the mix-ups to be amusing.
For example, the other day, an older gentleman approached the counter and my twin served him. This older gentleman was purchasing something and my twin asked for his name (we offer a seven day warranty on most items to enable people to take them home and test them out to make sure they work properly, but in order to receive the benefits of that warranty, we require that they put the purchase under their name in our computer system. Hence, no name, no warranty). The gentleman, who actually turned out to not be gentlemanly at all--an ungentleman, if you will--was very annoyed by this.
A little confused, but maintaining his high level of customer service, my twin asked for the customer's name a second time. The ungentleman provided it with much hostility. After completing the transaction, my twin began to explain the seven day warranty, only to be interrupted. The ungentleman waved away my twin's words and said that he remembered what he'd said from before. He then took his item and left the store in a gruff manner.
My twin was very confused by this ungentleman's reaction. He began to wonder if he had rang up that man earlier that day and then had not remembered it whatsoever and, thus, offended the man by 1) not remembering his name even though the had just served not too long before, 2) acted like he had never met the man before in his life, and 3) given him the same information twice. My twin understood why the ungentleman would be so perturbed.
Going back into the man's account to see the previous transactions he'd completed, my twin discovered that it had not been him who had helped the man just minutes before, but it had been me! The man must have bought something from me and then saw something else he wanted to buy before he had the chance to leave the store, went to buy it, and then was served by my twin. The ungentleman had simply not realized we were different people. Our voices sound different, our faces are entirely unalike, and I am about eight years younger, yet this man saw no difference and became very cranky for no good reason. If only there was a way to let this man know what a fool he had been. That would be delightful.
Obviously, these mistakes arise because people don't take the time to really look at us. I see what they're doing. They're just remembering the general outline of our persons as opposed to the specific details that compose these two unique individuals. Rather than caring about the human beings who serve them at the pawn shop, they take us for granted and cannot even tell the difference between two people who look generally the same. It would be like confusing Barbara Streisand with Rosie O'Donnell with the excuse that they are both women who have noses! What insensitive fools! No. I am only kidding. Neither of us are offended by the ignorance of the customers--at least not in these instances. On the contrary, there have been multiple occasions when we found the mix-ups to be amusing.
For example, the other day, an older gentleman approached the counter and my twin served him. This older gentleman was purchasing something and my twin asked for his name (we offer a seven day warranty on most items to enable people to take them home and test them out to make sure they work properly, but in order to receive the benefits of that warranty, we require that they put the purchase under their name in our computer system. Hence, no name, no warranty). The gentleman, who actually turned out to not be gentlemanly at all--an ungentleman, if you will--was very annoyed by this.
A little confused, but maintaining his high level of customer service, my twin asked for the customer's name a second time. The ungentleman provided it with much hostility. After completing the transaction, my twin began to explain the seven day warranty, only to be interrupted. The ungentleman waved away my twin's words and said that he remembered what he'd said from before. He then took his item and left the store in a gruff manner.
My twin was very confused by this ungentleman's reaction. He began to wonder if he had rang up that man earlier that day and then had not remembered it whatsoever and, thus, offended the man by 1) not remembering his name even though the had just served not too long before, 2) acted like he had never met the man before in his life, and 3) given him the same information twice. My twin understood why the ungentleman would be so perturbed.
Going back into the man's account to see the previous transactions he'd completed, my twin discovered that it had not been him who had helped the man just minutes before, but it had been me! The man must have bought something from me and then saw something else he wanted to buy before he had the chance to leave the store, went to buy it, and then was served by my twin. The ungentleman had simply not realized we were different people. Our voices sound different, our faces are entirely unalike, and I am about eight years younger, yet this man saw no difference and became very cranky for no good reason. If only there was a way to let this man know what a fool he had been. That would be delightful.
17 February 2011
5 Movies You Should Know Exist
I come across a lot of movies each and every day at the pawn shop. We are constantly refilling the racks of DVDs we have, especially during this past week because they are on sale--10 DVDs for $15. Since the commencement of my pawn shop career, I have stocked hundreds, possibly thousands, of DVDs, during which time I have come across five about which I want everyone to know . . . so they can make fun of them along with me.
1) Backwoods
MY REACTION: Haylie Duff? Hilary Duff's sister? In a low-budget horror film? She must be like "the bad sister," the one who is in flims that are slathered with questionable co-ed weekend fun and excessive gore rather than sickenly sweet uplifting morals for pre-teen girls. I hope Haylie ruins family get-togethers by being so mean to Hilary that she runs off crying. I like it.
2) Zoro
MY REACTION: Zorro films are all pretty much the same, sword play, love interest, desert setting. It's very formulaic, which is fine because I don't watch them anyway. The part I love is the woman's face on the cover. She looks like she's burping for the first time in her life and she has no clue what is going on. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to find a picture of the exact cover that was in the pawn shop. The copy I found also had a review on the front. The review consisted of nothing more than three stars. I may be wrong, but my understand is that three stars means that the film was mediocre at best. Is that really the best review they could find to put on this movie's cover? The only reason they probably got those three stars was because of the confused burping lady in the picture. How depressing.
3) Santa Claus Conquers the Martians
MY REACTION: I actually bought this movie because it sounded hilarious. I thought Santa was going to rip open his red and white-trimmed suit to reveal his jiggly man-tits and break some martians in half with his bare hands. Okay. I didn't think that. But I can tell you I wasn't expecting the movie to be as bad as it was. It was painful. In fact, Santa didn't do any butt-kicking. He just made bad jokes that really weren't jokes at all and then laughed at inappropriate times. He also talked very slowly, almost as if he had a learning disability. Furthermore, there was a martian with an enormous mustach whose lines could often be misinterpreted as indications of pedophilia. After conducting a little research, I found out that this film is consistently rated as one of the worst ever made. Poor Santa.
4) Thunderpants
SYNOPSIS: The family-oriented comedy Thunderpants, directed by Peter Hewitt, concerns an unfortunate ten-year-old who suffers from nearly incessant intestinal gas issues. Patrick Smash (Bruce Cook) is shunned by much of his family and his classmates because of the unpleasant odors that are forever emanating from him. Only his nerdy friend Alan A. Allen (Rupert Grint), who has no sense of smell, will help Patrick in his goal to become an astronaut. Eventually, Patrick becomes involved with representatives of the United States space program, as well as an opera singer (Simon Callow) who needs Patrick to "play" an exact note at a perfect moment. Ned Beatty and Stephen Fry round out the cast of this quirky comedy.
MY REACTION: Is that Ron? Oh, look. It looks like that boy is farting like no boy has ever farted before. I see what they're doing. They're equating his farts to a spacecraft blasting off. Sweet metaphor. Oh, wait. It's not a metaphor. That's what the movie's about. -- This movie is sitting in the break area and I plan to buy it. Anything that can combine excessive flatulance, NASA, and actors from the Harry Potter film franchise in such a creative way has won my heart.
5) The Erotic Witch Project
MY REACTION: This movie was actually on VHS and somehow wound up behind one of the counters. I saw it and thought, "That can't be porn. We don't sell porn." Upon closer examination of the case, I concluded that it was most definitely porn, just of the soft-core variety. There were pictures of naked women all over the back and all the case mentioned was lesbian sex. I left the movie behind the counter all that day, drawing the attention of my co-workers to it when the occasion permitted so we could have a good laugh. One of the pawnbrokers rememered buying that tape off of someone, but he just thought it was a spoof and not an actual sex video. For shame. The tape ended up in the trash at the end of the day. TANGENT -- Upon looking for this picture, I discovered that there are, in fact, three additional sequels. There is one busy erotic witch out there. Beware, my friends. Beware.
16 February 2011
Overhearing Interviews
There is no official break room in the pawn shop where I work. Rather, it is a small area connected to an unwalled edge of the warehouse where we store all of our loans. It is in this designated break area where interviews are conducted, and as the sole loan walker (see Loan Walking), I get the benefit of being able to overhear these interviews as I go about my loan walking duties, supposedly unaware of the conversation the interviewing manager and prospective employee are having.
To be honest, I often hear many things that are said during interviews. I don't feel so bad about this eavesdropping (which is unavoidable yet somewhat intentional) because there really is no way to keep the interview private, as it is not being conducted in a private area and I can't help but hear what they are saying. I do, however, never mention anything that is said during the interview to any of my co-workers--partially due to the fact that it is none of anyone's business in the first place, but primarily because I don't want to get into trouble for overhearing the interview.
For the most part, the people who are interviewed seem to be normal, more or less. The background checks seem to weed out a lot of the, shall we say, more colorful applicants (see Hiring Woes). But there was one interview I couldn't help but overhearing that blew my mind.
The interviewee was a very tall man, about 6'4", and was built fairly heavy. The funny thing about this was that his personality was flamboyant to an obnoxious degree. When he spoke, he did so with the enthusiasm of an elementary school student going on his first field trip.
During the interview, I heard this tall, excitable man admit to being "obsessive". He grew very serious and his voice dropped a little as if he were embarrassed to be admitting it, but he said "It's bad. It's really bad. Almost to the point of OCD." And then he laughed nervously.
The interviewing manager laughed politely--to cover his shock and repulsion, I'm sure--and then moved on, asking a question about a time when the interviewee had been reprimanded by a manager in the past and how he felt about such reproach and how he dealt with the criticism.
The interviewee grew serious once again and then began explaining that he sometimes got "loud". It wasn't, he assured my manager, that he talked to himself, but he just thought out loud, especially when he was frustrated. He mentioned a time when he was dealing with a customer at a former job and began to say things like "What is this idiot doing?!" in front of the annoying customer.
The manager asked if he had gotten better about keeping his comments to himself or if he had found a method of dealing with his frustration.
The interviewee thought for a second and then responded with a half-hearted response that he thought he was getting better at keeping his mouth under control in stressful situations. He then revealed his coping method to be just walking away from the situation.
I couldn't believe that this man was admitting to having OCD, being unable to control the things he says, and frequently becoming so flustered in stressful situations that he has to physically remove himself until he can calm down while in an interview. Not impressive, sir. Not impressive. An interview is the last place you should be admitting to such things. I wanted to interrupt and ask the man if he really thought it was a good idea to be divulging such secrets. I imagine he would have looked at me, blinked a lot, realized he had no shot at getting the job because of his indiscretion, and then leave without saying a word.
The interview concluded quickly after he offered this mass of damning information and I doubt I will ever see this towering sack of bubbles and giggles ever again.
To be honest, I often hear many things that are said during interviews. I don't feel so bad about this eavesdropping (which is unavoidable yet somewhat intentional) because there really is no way to keep the interview private, as it is not being conducted in a private area and I can't help but hear what they are saying. I do, however, never mention anything that is said during the interview to any of my co-workers--partially due to the fact that it is none of anyone's business in the first place, but primarily because I don't want to get into trouble for overhearing the interview.
For the most part, the people who are interviewed seem to be normal, more or less. The background checks seem to weed out a lot of the, shall we say, more colorful applicants (see Hiring Woes). But there was one interview I couldn't help but overhearing that blew my mind.
The interviewee was a very tall man, about 6'4", and was built fairly heavy. The funny thing about this was that his personality was flamboyant to an obnoxious degree. When he spoke, he did so with the enthusiasm of an elementary school student going on his first field trip.
During the interview, I heard this tall, excitable man admit to being "obsessive". He grew very serious and his voice dropped a little as if he were embarrassed to be admitting it, but he said "It's bad. It's really bad. Almost to the point of OCD." And then he laughed nervously.
The interviewing manager laughed politely--to cover his shock and repulsion, I'm sure--and then moved on, asking a question about a time when the interviewee had been reprimanded by a manager in the past and how he felt about such reproach and how he dealt with the criticism.
The interviewee grew serious once again and then began explaining that he sometimes got "loud". It wasn't, he assured my manager, that he talked to himself, but he just thought out loud, especially when he was frustrated. He mentioned a time when he was dealing with a customer at a former job and began to say things like "What is this idiot doing?!" in front of the annoying customer.
The manager asked if he had gotten better about keeping his comments to himself or if he had found a method of dealing with his frustration.
The interviewee thought for a second and then responded with a half-hearted response that he thought he was getting better at keeping his mouth under control in stressful situations. He then revealed his coping method to be just walking away from the situation.
I couldn't believe that this man was admitting to having OCD, being unable to control the things he says, and frequently becoming so flustered in stressful situations that he has to physically remove himself until he can calm down while in an interview. Not impressive, sir. Not impressive. An interview is the last place you should be admitting to such things. I wanted to interrupt and ask the man if he really thought it was a good idea to be divulging such secrets. I imagine he would have looked at me, blinked a lot, realized he had no shot at getting the job because of his indiscretion, and then leave without saying a word.
The interview concluded quickly after he offered this mass of damning information and I doubt I will ever see this towering sack of bubbles and giggles ever again.
11 February 2011
Beware: Used(?) Condom Inside
One of the daily tasks at the pawn shop is stocking the showroom floor with the various items we obtain throughout each business day. There is a wall in the backroom where new items are placed. Such items remain on The Wall or sitting on the floor in front of The Wall until someone either puts it out to sell or moves it further into the back area where we keep all of our excess merchandise.
Today, one co-worker was working on emptying The Wall when she brought out a cymbal carrying case. As one would imagine, it was a soft case that was designed for carrying and storing cymbals. When she opened the bag and looked inside, she made a startled noise and then quickly closed the case. She then shoved the bag into my hands and said "I'm not cleaning this out!"
My first thought was that someone had either vomited or defecated inside of the bag and horrible images filled my mind. But I was wrong. There was neither vomit nor feces. It was something else.
A wrinkled up piece of plastic.
It took a second to realize what it was, but then it hit me.
It was condom.
And it had been unrolled.
And why are condoms generally unrolled?
To be used.
Yes, there was a presumably used condom inside of this cymbal bag.
Unsure of what to do about this, I took the bag to the head manager of the store and explained the situation. One one hand, it is disgusting that there was a condom--a presumably used condom--in the bag, but on the other hand, the bag was in very nice condition and the likelihood of it being contaminated with an STD was very low.
In the end, my manager said we would just need to clean it out very well with Clorox. I think this is an acceptable solution, but I don't know if the customer who ends up buying the cymbal bag will be very appreciative. I suppose that'll just be our little secret.
Luckily, when this bag was discovered, I was about to leave. I didn't have time to remove the presumably used condom or clean out the case. Instead, I put a note on the bag and set it on The Wall for someone else to take care of. I wish I could be there to see the faces of my unsuspecting co-workers when they first see the sign declaring "BEWARE: used(?) condom inside".
Today, one co-worker was working on emptying The Wall when she brought out a cymbal carrying case. As one would imagine, it was a soft case that was designed for carrying and storing cymbals. When she opened the bag and looked inside, she made a startled noise and then quickly closed the case. She then shoved the bag into my hands and said "I'm not cleaning this out!"
My first thought was that someone had either vomited or defecated inside of the bag and horrible images filled my mind. But I was wrong. There was neither vomit nor feces. It was something else.
A wrinkled up piece of plastic.
It took a second to realize what it was, but then it hit me.
It was condom.
And it had been unrolled.
And why are condoms generally unrolled?
To be used.
Yes, there was a presumably used condom inside of this cymbal bag.
Unsure of what to do about this, I took the bag to the head manager of the store and explained the situation. One one hand, it is disgusting that there was a condom--a presumably used condom--in the bag, but on the other hand, the bag was in very nice condition and the likelihood of it being contaminated with an STD was very low.
In the end, my manager said we would just need to clean it out very well with Clorox. I think this is an acceptable solution, but I don't know if the customer who ends up buying the cymbal bag will be very appreciative. I suppose that'll just be our little secret.
Luckily, when this bag was discovered, I was about to leave. I didn't have time to remove the presumably used condom or clean out the case. Instead, I put a note on the bag and set it on The Wall for someone else to take care of. I wish I could be there to see the faces of my unsuspecting co-workers when they first see the sign declaring "BEWARE: used(?) condom inside".
07 February 2011
The Pathetic Proposer
The other day, I answered the phone, which is always a risky ordeal as you never know what you are going to get (see The Danger of the Telephone).
This phone call was from a very concerned man. He wanted to know about the exchange or return policy we had on our jewelry.
I told him that we offer a seven day warranty on most things in the store to allow our customers time to take the item home and then test it out to make sure it is working properly, but as jewelry is a fairly straightforward you-see-what-you-get kind of deal, we do not usually offer any sort of return or exchange policy. This is partially due to the fact that people are often shifty creatures and there have been a certain number of people who have bought diamond jewelry from our pawn shop, swapped out the genuine diamonds for cubic zirconium, and then tried to return the fake diamonds under the pretense that they were still real. Similar idiots have swapped out the real diamonds we sold them for fake ones and then claimed that we sold them artificial diamonds. It's a crazy world we live in--mostly due to staggering number of the fools who live in it.
After explaining that we are not able to return jewelry, I assured the man that all of our diamonds were genuine and we'd be happy to answer any questions he had about any specific piece of jewelry. The man, however, was not concerned about being scammed into buying fake diamonds. He was worried that he would be stuck with an expensive engagement ring with no way of getting his money back if his desired fiancée turned down his proposal. When he explained this, his voice was shaking and the terror and vulnerability in his voice were prominent.
Now, I like to think that when it comes to the point that I am going to ask for a woman's hand in marriage that I will be very certain that she will answer in the affirmative. I would never propose if I wasn't positive that she would say "yes" and I think most men are that same way--if we are accurate in our assumptions or not is another story that is neither here nor their. My point is that why would anyone buy an engagement ring if they weren't sure it would be accepted?
It was ridiculous, pathetic, and heartbreaking all at the same time. It makes me wonder what kind of relationship this man had with this woman. I'd also like to know if he ever proposed and whether or not she accepted. I should have given him my phone number so he could have given me an update.
04 February 2011
"It's pronounced 'ook-uh-lay-lee'."
There was on point when I was standing behind the counter and a woman approached. She was craning her neck at the various instruments we had hanging from the wall and I offered my assistance.
The woman accepted my offer of help and asked a general question about the "tiny guitars".
I understand that guitars come in various sizes, but this woman mistook our mandolin, violins, and ukuleles for miniature guitars. I was disgusted.
I explained what each was, and when I got to telling her that two of the "tiny guitars" were actually ukuleles she promptly corrected my pronunciation. "It's pronounced 'ook-uh-lay-lee' not "you-kuh-lay-lee'" she said with obvious delight on her face for being able to provide such information.
I looked at the woman and wished I could have responded that she was an idiot and that I would continue to pronounce the name of the instrument the same way as I had been, not because I refused to believe her, but because I refused to trust the supposed wisdom of someone who was stupid enough to mistake mandolins, violins, and ukuleles for "tiny guitars", especially when they also try to correct someone of how to pronounce something when they have no idea what it looks like.
I probably wouldn't have been so angry at her if she hadn't been so snobby about it. But, as she was very obnoxious and outspoken about this thing she obviously had no knowledge of, I let the hatred in my face show.
After providing me with this pronunciation lesson, the woman pointed to one of the ukuleles and asked "does it sound like a guitar?"
I stared at her for a moment as shocked loathing consumed my body. She had no idea what a ukulele looked like and had no idea what it sounded like but she corrected me on how to pronounce it? How does something like that happen?
Once I had shaken myself out of my stupor, I told her that no, it did not sound like a guitar. She responded that it looked pretty much the same. I assured her that it sounded distinctly different. I also pointed out the drastic difference in size, the differing body shapes, and that ukuleles only had four strings instead of six. We continued to have a small discussion about the instruments and I tried my hardest to not say "ukulele" because I didn't want to say it her way but I didn't want to force her to correct my pronunciation again. If she would have, I would have been very rude, and I try ever so hard to be polite.
She accepted the obvious facts I provided and decided to buy one of the ukuleles.
When I returned home for the evening, I looked up the correct pronunciation of ukulele on the Internet, and I was very unhappy to discover that the woman was right. Native Hawaiians pronounce it as she had claimed--"ook-uh-lay-lee"--but this random tidbit of trivia she possessed does not remove the ridiculousness of her broader ignorance and unearned audacity. As for me, I will continue to pronounce ukulele incorrectly to spite this obnoxious woman. I hope she shudders every time I say "you-kuh-lay-lee" and she grows ever more suspicious that she has some kind of terminal illness.
The woman accepted my offer of help and asked a general question about the "tiny guitars".
I understand that guitars come in various sizes, but this woman mistook our mandolin, violins, and ukuleles for miniature guitars. I was disgusted.
I explained what each was, and when I got to telling her that two of the "tiny guitars" were actually ukuleles she promptly corrected my pronunciation. "It's pronounced 'ook-uh-lay-lee' not "you-kuh-lay-lee'" she said with obvious delight on her face for being able to provide such information.
I looked at the woman and wished I could have responded that she was an idiot and that I would continue to pronounce the name of the instrument the same way as I had been, not because I refused to believe her, but because I refused to trust the supposed wisdom of someone who was stupid enough to mistake mandolins, violins, and ukuleles for "tiny guitars", especially when they also try to correct someone of how to pronounce something when they have no idea what it looks like.
I probably wouldn't have been so angry at her if she hadn't been so snobby about it. But, as she was very obnoxious and outspoken about this thing she obviously had no knowledge of, I let the hatred in my face show.
After providing me with this pronunciation lesson, the woman pointed to one of the ukuleles and asked "does it sound like a guitar?"
I stared at her for a moment as shocked loathing consumed my body. She had no idea what a ukulele looked like and had no idea what it sounded like but she corrected me on how to pronounce it? How does something like that happen?
Once I had shaken myself out of my stupor, I told her that no, it did not sound like a guitar. She responded that it looked pretty much the same. I assured her that it sounded distinctly different. I also pointed out the drastic difference in size, the differing body shapes, and that ukuleles only had four strings instead of six. We continued to have a small discussion about the instruments and I tried my hardest to not say "ukulele" because I didn't want to say it her way but I didn't want to force her to correct my pronunciation again. If she would have, I would have been very rude, and I try ever so hard to be polite.
She accepted the obvious facts I provided and decided to buy one of the ukuleles.
When I returned home for the evening, I looked up the correct pronunciation of ukulele on the Internet, and I was very unhappy to discover that the woman was right. Native Hawaiians pronounce it as she had claimed--"ook-uh-lay-lee"--but this random tidbit of trivia she possessed does not remove the ridiculousness of her broader ignorance and unearned audacity. As for me, I will continue to pronounce ukulele incorrectly to spite this obnoxious woman. I hope she shudders every time I say "you-kuh-lay-lee" and she grows ever more suspicious that she has some kind of terminal illness.
02 February 2011
Paradise
At the pawn shop, there is a weekly meeting which all employees are meant to attend each Monday evening. During this meeting we discuss new policies that are being instituted or protocols that need to be rediscussed or various other things. Just before Christmas, the head manager of the store asked us what our favorite candies were and then had each of us answer. I thought this meant she was going to give each of us our favorite candy as a Christmas gift, but I was wrong--which was disappointing as I love candy but am often too cheap to buy myself any.
I now realize what she was doing. Even though there are roughly a dozen employees at the pawn shop and we all have a fairly good rapport, she was attempting to create a more light-hearted tone for the meeting by having everyone participate in an ice-breaker-type game.
Such questions aren't presented each week, but this past week we were all asked to respond with our idea of paradise or some place we would really like to go. As it is the dead of winter, many answers centered on locations with warm climates--Florida, The Bahamas, Texas. I, however, took a different route. I responded that my idea of paradise was "anytime and anyplace I don't have to work."
The head boss made a surprised noise and my fellow employees let out awkward laughs.
My answer was meant to be funny, but I was also serious. I don't hate my job, but I definitely don't love it, and even if it is a mostly enjoyable job, it's not my idea of a great career. This is definitely just a temporary gig for me and I have been very upfront about it, just usually in a more tactful manner.
Anyway, to try and calm everyone down, I responded that I didn't have anything against my job but that I just really liked being lazy. I mean, who wants to work?
The head manager laughed and then said she would only let me get away with that answer since she was "pretty sure" that I "kind of like" my job.
I responded, "Yeah. It's okay."
I didn't mean to say that. It just popped out and I know how it must have sounded, but it was the truth. My boss made the same shocked noise again and there was another round of nervous laughter.
We then moved on to other peoples' ideas of paradise.
Ironically, a few days after this meeting, a huge snow storm was expected. I was really excited about this at first but then realized that since I was no longer a student that snow meant nothing as I would still have to come to work. What a sad moment that was in my miserable life. But all is now well. The storm was actually so bad that we closed early the night that it hit and then were closed the following day. Snow days do still exist for those with full-time employment. I actually spent the night with a small group of friends and then spent the day doing nothing productive (other than digging out my car and the cars of my friends). I kept thinking to myself how I should have been at work and then feeling very elated that I wasn't. I didn't care that I wasn't making money. I was in my own personal paradise.
I now realize what she was doing. Even though there are roughly a dozen employees at the pawn shop and we all have a fairly good rapport, she was attempting to create a more light-hearted tone for the meeting by having everyone participate in an ice-breaker-type game.
Such questions aren't presented each week, but this past week we were all asked to respond with our idea of paradise or some place we would really like to go. As it is the dead of winter, many answers centered on locations with warm climates--Florida, The Bahamas, Texas. I, however, took a different route. I responded that my idea of paradise was "anytime and anyplace I don't have to work."
The head boss made a surprised noise and my fellow employees let out awkward laughs.
My answer was meant to be funny, but I was also serious. I don't hate my job, but I definitely don't love it, and even if it is a mostly enjoyable job, it's not my idea of a great career. This is definitely just a temporary gig for me and I have been very upfront about it, just usually in a more tactful manner.
Anyway, to try and calm everyone down, I responded that I didn't have anything against my job but that I just really liked being lazy. I mean, who wants to work?
The head manager laughed and then said she would only let me get away with that answer since she was "pretty sure" that I "kind of like" my job.
I responded, "Yeah. It's okay."
I didn't mean to say that. It just popped out and I know how it must have sounded, but it was the truth. My boss made the same shocked noise again and there was another round of nervous laughter.
We then moved on to other peoples' ideas of paradise.
Ironically, a few days after this meeting, a huge snow storm was expected. I was really excited about this at first but then realized that since I was no longer a student that snow meant nothing as I would still have to come to work. What a sad moment that was in my miserable life. But all is now well. The storm was actually so bad that we closed early the night that it hit and then were closed the following day. Snow days do still exist for those with full-time employment. I actually spent the night with a small group of friends and then spent the day doing nothing productive (other than digging out my car and the cars of my friends). I kept thinking to myself how I should have been at work and then feeling very elated that I wasn't. I didn't care that I wasn't making money. I was in my own personal paradise.
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