Rantings of a seasonally employed rockstar

Well, as the frequency of my postings may have implied, the title of this blog is now incorrect: I am currently employed. Seasonally, that is. While I won't disclose to you the name of my retail workplace, I will tell you that working there for the past few weeks has been both hilariously and ridiculously demoralizing.

Case in point: during my last shift, I was placed at the front of the store, to greet people as they walked in, and to be, as I like to refer to it, pleasantly pushy. So I was slowly pacing my selling domain, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting customers, when my manager walks up.

"Um, Tara, could you look at the ceiling for me?" she asks with the inflections that a Pre-school teacher uses with 3-year-olds.

I look, and don't feel the need to correct her -- she's been calling me Tara for weeks, so why ruin the dream? With these people, it's best to just play along.

"You see those blinking sensors?" I do. "Well, those sensors count the number of people coming in and out of the store, and help us determine whether or not we're fulfilling our selling quota. So when you walk under them, it's counting you as a customer. So you're going to have to start standing back here..." as she gestures about two feet into the store.

Okay. I can do that.

My manager walks nervously back to the stock room (she's always walking nervously... maybe she's reason for our 60% internal theft stat), and I go back to rearranging products so that all the labels are facing outward (a great way to appear busy). After a few minutes, customers start to trickle in. I take a step towards them, preparing myself mentally for the customary greeting spiel, when suddenly I take notice of the overhead sensor above, blinking red. I pause mid-step, and quickly retreat, but it's too late - I've just been recounted as a non-buying customer.

Oh well, I shake it off - I can do this. I can do this! Other customers enter, and I remain stationary, greeting them awkwardly from behind a display table. At this point I start to feel like a dog wearing an electric shock collar. As I contemplate this, a woman walks in with a question about the coupon that she is in the process of digging out of her purse. She beckons me over to her, but she is outside my roaming zone, passed the sensor! Panic strikes. I begin a slow walk, hoping she'll come into the store just a few more steps, but she holds her ground. She recovers the coupon, and offers it to me, obligating that I finish the approach. Step (zap!), step (zap!), and I am there, explaining the inclusions and exclusions of her discount card. She nods and begins shopping while I scurry back into the store, but it's too late - I can see my manager bustling towards me, the condescending smile already plastered on her otherwise nervous face.

This is not how a rockstar should be spending the holidays.

Students like technology, and The Man should too

Funnily enough, I found this video through a link on Facebook. But it makes some great points about integrating a new system in with the old. While my collegiate experience was generally small classes and individual attention, mine is unlike most who graduate from a Big Ten university (also keep in mind that I escaped with a liberal arts degree). And I spent many a lecture browsing mini-feeds.

Check out The Vision:

But trust me, on the sunscreen

So today's big question: what to do when soap operas fail to entertain, and you just can't catch a break playing Bejeweled? Well, eating is an option (I recommend cinnamon waffles with apple butter topping). Exercise is an option (I recommend tension bands -- minimal effort & movement, but still produces results). Or sitting in the computer chair obsessively checking Gmail for the email that will decide your future. Ah, wait, that's my life.

This afternoon I was reminded today of Baz Luhrmann's "Sunscreen" song via a YouTube music video via a Facebook link. The song, in case you don't remember this 1999 graduation hit, dispenses life's great advice from what I assume is Baz's wonderfully soothing voice. I mean, this voice rivals the narrator on Pushing Daisies (on ABC tonight at 8!), the Arby's commercials, and the Harry Potter books on tape. Anyway, the tune includes the ever popular catch phrase, "Do something every day that scares you." I've been pondering this for the last, oh, 20 minutes, and so far nothing Baz-worthy has come to mind. I could go take a hike in the woods, or clean the bathroom, both of which are frightening prospects. But those aren't really productive, in a learning-a-lesson kind of way. Or are they? Well, maybe if I got lost in the woods, was without food and water for days, and had to be helicoptered out when a fox or raccoon finally stumbled upon by unconscious body and dragged it to a relatively open clearing.

Ah, fuck it. I'm toasting a bagel.

Just another Winona

Well, lots of excitement for a Tuesday. Around 1pm, I made the decision to watch Little Women for the upteenth time, hoping I would be able to sustain my exercise routine (see: riding leisurely on a stationary bike) through the duration of the film. I was unsuccessful (see: sobbing at Beth's "I'm-not-afraid-to-die" scene in unmatched pajamas was a huge blow to my glamorous workout facade), but I burned over 100 stationary bike calories, so that's something. Also, I am consistantly amazed at how emotionally invested I am in this particular movie. I never understand why Jo would refuse Laurie's proposal to start with (although she makes up for it by getting with Friedrich -- "your heart understood mine" -- who wouldn't fall for that line??), but even further than that, why Jo is okay with Amy marrying Laurie in the end?! I certainly wouldn't give my blessing to an annoying little sister who burned all my original manuscripts, stole my dream of Europe and eloped with my best friend and faux-former-fiance. "Well, I had it on good authority that our Teddy would never love another" is really code for "Sure, take my leftovers, bitch.. and at least I have one cool sister." Maybe it's because I secretly see myself as Josephine March. I mean, I write by candlelight, have a sister, am becoming more naturally brunette each day, and would totally chop my hair to by a train ticket for my mom so that she could see my wounded Civil War veteran father. The similarities are decidedly uncanny.

/LW diatribe.

Adding to the thrill of the afternoon was a friend calling me (!) to ask me to leave my house (!) and meet him at Qdoba (oohhhh really, Qdoba? but this was looking so promising). Normally I would've gone regardless of destination (the walls of my house have begun to suck away my soul, and leaving is the only chance of recovering small portions of it), but I also had to take into account the time sensitive issue at hand (he wanted to meet in one hour). Alright, so, a math lesson, if you will: time it takes to shower and look presentable/impressive + 25min drive to Qdoba > 1 hour. So I declined, and we rescheduled for Thursday, where I have made a high-priority note in my Google calendar to shower at least 16 hours beforehand. It's hard being a rockstar.

Lastly, I have decided to be proactive in my search for freelance work. Since months of experimentation has proven that it does not, in fact, come to me, I am on the hunt. Well, okay, maybe not hunt. I don't want to spend countless hours freezing my ass off in a tree stand dressed in Obnoxious Orange, waiting for editing work to frolic my way only to shoot it in the gut and later pose by the corpse for a new Facebook pic. No, I take a more metal-detector-on-the-beach approach. I'm a sweeper. It's a talent.

Here's hoping for a beep.