(no subject)
So, it's a work rant/ letter. Haven't done one of these in a while, but with the Christmas spirit upon me, I felt the need. My apologies to those who've run across this multiple places
Dear Parents, Especially of Children Age 4-14:
I hate your kids.
I'm sorry, it's nothing personal against you or your spawn. I'm sure they're lovely urchins 10 months of the year. It's just that I happen to be working in retail (specifically in the backroom), in a large chain store, and it's the holiday season.
And at this point, it looks like the toy section of our storage room somehow managed to kill and consume some smaller, weaker toy store, some poor shop lower on the retail food chain. If the back room rose up in rebellion and seceded, I'm fairly sure we could establish our own toy store. Maybe nothing as large as a Toys 'R' Us, but definitely larger than a KB Toys.
And the toy section? It's still growing, like a cancer. It's already taken over the storage space for two other departments, and filled those up in the first day, the first hour. The next time I go in to work, I expect it to be solid toys all the way down to domestics, at least. So the next time you go to the store, and we don't have the sheets you want? Don't ask us to go check in the back room- someone will go back, stand in G. I. Joes up to their kneecaps, and then come out and repeat that we don't have it. So really, it'll be like any other day of the year, except they'll have the added irritation of wading through action figures.
I'm sorry. On some level, I know I shouldn't be mad at your kids. I tried being mad at the toys, but hell, they're just inanimate objects. It's like trying to be mad at a rock- it is what it is, and had no choice in the matter. I tried being mad at whoever is doing the ordering for the store, but I can only conclude they have a brain defect- they only have the evolutionary base of a brain, the reptile part. You know, that part in all of us that recognizes the four F's- Fight, Flight, Feed, Fuck. So they only know how to grab and acquire and make as much as possible (pretty much all 4 F's in one irritating cycle). But whatever higher thought processes this Reptile Brain Manager has, it definitely lacks spatial reasoning, because we are already stacked to the ceiling. No exaggeration there, if we want to go any higher, we're going to have to rip out lighting.
So I tried to hate you, dear parents. And that sort of works, but really, you just want to make your kids happy, and who can blame you for that?
Thus, we get to your kids- and sweet Buddha, there's so much potential there, but they're young and dumb and just want what the TV says they should want. And I end up hating them, anyway, because we've kind of reached the end of the line.
So, please, your friendly local box monkey begs you- do everyone a favor, and buy your kid a book for Christmas. Maybe even read it to them.
Dear Parents, Especially of Children Age 4-14:
I hate your kids.
I'm sorry, it's nothing personal against you or your spawn. I'm sure they're lovely urchins 10 months of the year. It's just that I happen to be working in retail (specifically in the backroom), in a large chain store, and it's the holiday season.
And at this point, it looks like the toy section of our storage room somehow managed to kill and consume some smaller, weaker toy store, some poor shop lower on the retail food chain. If the back room rose up in rebellion and seceded, I'm fairly sure we could establish our own toy store. Maybe nothing as large as a Toys 'R' Us, but definitely larger than a KB Toys.
And the toy section? It's still growing, like a cancer. It's already taken over the storage space for two other departments, and filled those up in the first day, the first hour. The next time I go in to work, I expect it to be solid toys all the way down to domestics, at least. So the next time you go to the store, and we don't have the sheets you want? Don't ask us to go check in the back room- someone will go back, stand in G. I. Joes up to their kneecaps, and then come out and repeat that we don't have it. So really, it'll be like any other day of the year, except they'll have the added irritation of wading through action figures.
I'm sorry. On some level, I know I shouldn't be mad at your kids. I tried being mad at the toys, but hell, they're just inanimate objects. It's like trying to be mad at a rock- it is what it is, and had no choice in the matter. I tried being mad at whoever is doing the ordering for the store, but I can only conclude they have a brain defect- they only have the evolutionary base of a brain, the reptile part. You know, that part in all of us that recognizes the four F's- Fight, Flight, Feed, Fuck. So they only know how to grab and acquire and make as much as possible (pretty much all 4 F's in one irritating cycle). But whatever higher thought processes this Reptile Brain Manager has, it definitely lacks spatial reasoning, because we are already stacked to the ceiling. No exaggeration there, if we want to go any higher, we're going to have to rip out lighting.
So I tried to hate you, dear parents. And that sort of works, but really, you just want to make your kids happy, and who can blame you for that?
Thus, we get to your kids- and sweet Buddha, there's so much potential there, but they're young and dumb and just want what the TV says they should want. And I end up hating them, anyway, because we've kind of reached the end of the line.
So, please, your friendly local box monkey begs you- do everyone a favor, and buy your kid a book for Christmas. Maybe even read it to them.