<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196</id><updated>2011-08-19T10:21:13.711-04:00</updated><category term='liars'/><category term='&quot;in defense of marriage&quot;'/><category term='the young'/><category term='mannerless dolts'/><category term='just plain gross'/><category term='thieves'/><category term='the elderly'/><category term='idiots'/><category term='usury'/><category term='the just plain dumb'/><category term='crackpots'/><category term='consumer culture'/><category term='entitlement'/><category term='fraud'/><title type='text'>WHAT? *sigh*</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>30</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-7201913693454134147</id><published>2009-11-21T17:21:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-05-18T18:29:30.882-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mannerless dolts'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the elderly'/><title type='text'>It's That Awesome Time of Year Again!</title><content type='html'>Just kidding--it's not, really. Ha HA!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good gravy (notice how timely that expletive is), it is nearly Thanksgiving. I can't believe I've withheld ridiculous customer service stories since August. Well, no time for that now! It's turkey time, and you know what that means. People are starting to fall off of their fucking nut.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, a customer got rabid with one of my associates because the blue cheese she had him custom cut didn't have enough mold in it. Hey, take it or leave it, lady. He didn't do anything to the cheese, he didn't make the cheese, so I'm not sure what you think yelling at him is going to do for the cheese. I thought the wheel of Valdeon was one of the best looking, best tasting wheels we've seen in literally YEARS. Supple, luscious, creamy. I guess she'd grown to love the rank, dried out crud we're usually stuck with most of the year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just before I clocked out, I answered a phone call from an elderly lady. She was terribly sweet, and patient, but holy moly, I thought just keeping the old folks off of the road was enough. Silly me forgot that if you can't drive no more, the only thing left to fill the time is to call the local market and ask the same questions 50 different ways, each.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Old Lady: Hello, could you tell me what Thanksgiving service you'll have next week?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Do you want to know what food we'll have on our hot bar? On Thanksgiving?&lt;br /&gt;Old Lady: Yes, for take out. How much will that be?&lt;br /&gt;Me: We do have seating inside the store, if you'd like. On Thanksgiving, we'll have various Thanksgiving type dishes on our hot bar. It will be for the same price as every other day, $7.99/lb. Have you been to our store before?&lt;br /&gt;OL: Oh, yes. We eat at the salad bar sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;Me: OK, well then you know we have the hot bar too, right? We'll have the usual Thanksgiving items, like turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, etc. I don't know exactly what will be available, but we should have the bases covered.&lt;br /&gt;OL: Will there be vegetables?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Yes.&lt;br /&gt;OL: And turkey?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Yes. I'm not sure if we'll have dark meat, but there will be sliced turkey breast.&lt;br /&gt;OL: There won't be turkey?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Uh, yes. We will have turkey on the hot bar. There will NOT be a turkey carving station, so in all likelihood, the turkey will be limited to sliced boneless breast.&lt;br /&gt;OL: Will there be green beans?&lt;br /&gt;Me: ...most likely..?&lt;br /&gt;OL: And how much is that?&lt;br /&gt;Me: The hot bar is $7.99/lb.&lt;br /&gt;OL: How much is it for 2 people?&lt;br /&gt;Me: That depends on how much food you choose to take.&lt;br /&gt;OL: No, how much is your 2 person turkey dinner for take out?&lt;br /&gt;Me: That is $29.99, but the turkey will need to be cooked by you when you get home. It is a raw turkey that is included in that setup. It is not the same as our hot bar take out.&lt;br /&gt;OL: OK...thank you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, she was perfectly nice, as I said earlier. What makes this call particularly fantastic is that about 5 minutes earlier, I'm pretty sure her husband called and interrogated one of my co workers using the same questions. I could hear him prompting his wife over the phone during my turn. After I got off of the phone, my co worker told me that the (probably) husband? Had called her two separate times in the last 30 minutes, like it was a quiz and she might have changed her answer. For Pete's sake, people: we don't want to fuck with you, WE WANT YOUR MONEY. You don't get repeat business by effing around!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-7201913693454134147?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7201913693454134147/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=7201913693454134147' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/7201913693454134147'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/7201913693454134147'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2009/11/its-that-awesome-time-of-year-again.html' title='It&apos;s That Awesome Time of Year Again!'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-7421692275250351477</id><published>2009-08-08T19:45:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T19:49:09.075-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the just plain dumb'/><title type='text'>It's Somewhat Comforting that Some Things are Universal</title><content type='html'>I love this, not only because of the style, but because of the subject matter. LOL, no matter what kind of business you're in, people will request the ridiculous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="400" height="225"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=2362113&amp;amp;server=vimeo.com&amp;amp;show_title=1&amp;amp;show_byline=1&amp;amp;show_portrait=0&amp;amp;color=&amp;amp;fullscreen=1"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=2362113&amp;amp;server=vimeo.com&amp;amp;show_title=1&amp;amp;show_byline=1&amp;amp;show_portrait=0&amp;amp;color=&amp;amp;fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="225"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://vimeo.com/2362113"&gt;Photograph of Jesus by Laurie Hill in association with the Getty Images Short &amp;amp; Sweet Film Challenge&lt;/a&gt; from &lt;a href="http://vimeo.com/user979164"&gt;Hulton Archive&lt;/a&gt; on &lt;a href="http://vimeo.com"&gt;Vimeo&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-7421692275250351477?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7421692275250351477/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=7421692275250351477' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/7421692275250351477'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/7421692275250351477'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2009/08/its-somewhat-comforting-that-some.html' title='It&apos;s Somewhat Comforting that Some Things are Universal'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-7790384163050758882</id><published>2009-07-12T09:30:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T09:31:55.523-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='just plain gross'/><title type='text'>Huagh</title><content type='html'>But wait, there's more for July 12th.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Late last night, I was checking up on my Flickr pages and I noticed that someone had "favorited" one of my photos. Kewl. Except the photo they had chosen--out of over 2700 photos--was one of my father, asleep in a recliner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WTF?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So naturally, I clicked on the Flickr member's profile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I very much wish I had not. Now, I normally do not care what gets people off, but I have a new line now. And that line is right before you pick out a photo of my old dad because you have an old man foot fetish. And a grandpa fetish. *full body shudder*&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-7790384163050758882?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7790384163050758882/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=7790384163050758882' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/7790384163050758882'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/7790384163050758882'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2009/07/huagh.html' title='Huagh'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-4178097551459845441</id><published>2009-07-12T09:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T09:18:22.763-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the just plain dumb'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crackpots'/><title type='text'>A Two Parter, to Make Up for Lost Time</title><content type='html'>I've got two from yesterday. Woo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exhibit A:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Customer: Do you have more of this? (The customer is clearly holding something in one of her hands, but she is holding down low near her waist.)&lt;br /&gt;Retail Clerk: More of what, dear?&lt;br /&gt;Customer: This. Do you know if you have any more of it?&lt;br /&gt;Retail Clerk: I'm sorry, I can't see what you've got there. Could you show it to--&lt;br /&gt;Customer: If you can't &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;SEE&lt;/span&gt; it, then you don't &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;KNOW&lt;/span&gt;. (walks off)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exhibit B:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Customer: I wanted to know which cheeses are made by people who don't kill their cows when the cows are finished giving milk.&lt;br /&gt;Retail Clerk: ...&lt;br /&gt;~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Man, I would have given my eyeteeth to have participated in Exhibit B. If you don't know that pretty much all cows go to the knackers when their milking seasons are over, your reality needs more adjusting than we're capable of at the market.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-4178097551459845441?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4178097551459845441/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=4178097551459845441' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/4178097551459845441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/4178097551459845441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2009/07/two-parter-to-make-up-for-lost-time.html' title='A Two Parter, to Make Up for Lost Time'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-6687792891352144719</id><published>2009-07-10T10:20:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-10T10:35:02.703-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the just plain dumb'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crackpots'/><title type='text'>Let Me Tell You an Oldie But Goodie Today</title><content type='html'>We have a catchphrase at work: "How could this have happened?!?" You say it like you're on a soap opera, or with a heavy dose of faked incredulity. "HOW could this have HAPPENED?!?" No dramatic pauses, though, please.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It started with (surprise) a customer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day, my boss was summoned to the customer service desk. There, an older woman waited for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Boss: Hello, how can I help you?&lt;br /&gt;Woman Customer: Well, every day I come here for lunch and buy a beef samosa and a drink and go back to work and eat there.&lt;br /&gt;MB: O.K.&lt;br /&gt;WC: I walk over to your sandwich case and pick up the samosa from the same place it always is.&lt;br /&gt;MB: Yes.&lt;br /&gt;WC: Well, yesterday I got back to my desk and bit into my samosa &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;and it wasn't a beef samosa!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MB: The package was mis-labeled? I am terribly sor--&lt;br /&gt;WC: No, no, it had the correct label. It's just that the beef samosas weren't where they ALWAYS are. Someone had put the chicken samosas in their place!&lt;br /&gt;MB: What...?&lt;br /&gt;WC: I want to know HOW could this have HAPPENED?!? I walk over to the sandwich station every day, and every day, the beef samosas are right there, in the same row, but not yesterday. They were put out in the wrong order.&lt;br /&gt;MB: But you say they were properly labeled.&lt;br /&gt;WC: Yes, but I shouldn't have to read the label if they're put in the same spot every day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...and that is why "HOW could this have HAPPENED?!?" is uttered every time something stunningly stupid happens at work.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-6687792891352144719?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6687792891352144719/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=6687792891352144719' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/6687792891352144719'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/6687792891352144719'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2009/07/let-me-tell-you-oldie-but-goodie-today.html' title='Let Me Tell You an Oldie But Goodie Today'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-3829588082399650932</id><published>2009-05-13T17:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-13T17:21:46.452-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the just plain dumb'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mannerless dolts'/><title type='text'>My Parting Gift from Today</title><content type='html'>I was buying milk after clocking out when the cashier at the register behind me paged for my department. So, I turned around and said to Crazy Kate (the cashier), "Hey, I'm right here, what's up?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CKtC: Hey, this customer wanted to talk to a manager about the coffee.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Sure.&lt;br /&gt;Customer: I was wondering why it is so difficult to buy coffee here.&lt;br /&gt;Me: ...coffee?&lt;br /&gt;Customer: Yeah, I'm not allowed to mix the coffees, and apparently you have to write down a 3 digit code so the cashier knows how much to charge? I don't have time for that.&lt;br /&gt;Me: &lt;looks&gt;  &lt;notes&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Customer: Why is it so hard to buy coffee here?&lt;br /&gt;Me: &lt;mind&gt; Well...it isn't.&lt;br /&gt;Customer: It *isn't*?? It's all priced differently! Why? I can go down the street to Fresh...Fair?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Fresh Market.&lt;br /&gt;Customer: Yeah, I can go down there and buy and mix any coffee I want, and it's all $8.99 a pound. I BUY KONA THERE FOR $8.99. Why don't you guys do that?&lt;br /&gt;Me: We have more single estate coffees than they do, and we pay a fair price to the farms, and it costs more depending on how far it travels and how much transportation costs.&lt;br /&gt;Customer: They have Kona! Do YOU have Kona??&lt;br /&gt;Me: No. It's a little expensive right now and the quality isn't as good as it should be for the price they're asking right now.&lt;br /&gt;Customer: I just don't understand why you don't do what they do, and just make all bulk coffee one price. I had to put this poor woman &lt;gestures&gt; through looking through her little book there, looking for the code for this coffee because she needs it to charge me correctly. How much is this coffee?&lt;br /&gt;Me: I don't know, because "rainforest" isn't a specific coffee we sell.&lt;br /&gt;Customer: It said it right on the bin!&lt;br /&gt;Me: Yeah...that's a separate sign letting you know that that coffee is part of the Rainforest Alliance group. There are four different coffees with the same insignia. I'd have to know which of those four you have here.&lt;br /&gt;Customer: &lt;stunned,&gt; WHAT? JUST PRICE THEM ALL THE SAME!&lt;br /&gt;Me: I'm sorry. We want to be more truthful about the pricing, so they are priced individually based on their landed costs. Have you considered that while you're buying Kona for only $8.99/lb, Fresh Market is overcharging you for less expensive coffees at lower quality?&lt;br /&gt;Customer: I buy *Kona*. For $8.99/lb.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Well...I'm sorry you have to go to Fresh Market for it.&lt;br /&gt;Customer: Here. &lt;shoves&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WTF? If you can't follow simple instructions, I do not know what to do with you, it's official.&lt;/shoves&gt;&lt;/stunned,&gt;&lt;/gestures&gt;&lt;/mind&gt;&lt;/notes&gt;&lt;/looks&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-3829588082399650932?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3829588082399650932/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=3829588082399650932' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/3829588082399650932'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/3829588082399650932'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2009/05/my-parting-gift-from-today.html' title='My Parting Gift from Today'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-6445792143821014238</id><published>2009-05-05T21:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-05T21:50:49.732-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='thieves'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='liars'/><title type='text'>At Least Have Some Conviction</title><content type='html'>If you've decided that you're going to shoplift, and you still decide to go through with it even after a sales clerk has had an awkward conversation with you where you BOTH KNOW what you are about to do, then at least do us the service and follow through. I mean, honestly. At that point, it's a game of will and nerves: we're on to you, and you're looking for the thrill (if I'm to believe the psychologists) and I'm competitive; there are few things I hate more than being disappointed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So when this somewhat flustered older man decided to stuff 4 bottles of wine into a paper shopping sack, my associate started up a conversation with him. My associate offered the man one of our complimentary wine bottle bags (on purpose, as a way to start a conversation.) Because if you have a conversation with someone who is showing signs of wanting to thieve, you a) have an excellent view of their face without being skulky or obvious about it; and b) you tend to remember more details about their description, in case they do slip through and get out of your establishment and you need to alert other employees about possible future endeavors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I digress. This slightly frumpy older man proceeded to the front of the store. My associate alerted me to what was going on, so I split for the front of the house. My favorite spot for scoping out thieves-in-action is from the other side of the registers, either near the baggers (sometimes I'll even bag for the person in question) or somewhere between the cash stands and the exit. It gives me an unobstructed view of every person involved in all transactions, without blocking egress or drawing much attention. Except, this time he saw me looking at him. He hadn't done anything wrong yet (aside from putting the wine in the bag--that's concealment in our state, and technically shoplifting--yes, that's right, it IS possible to shoplift before ever passing the point of purchase) so I found it amusing that he was already nervous. I decided to keep looking right at him. So, he pulls out his cellphone and pokes it a few times, opening and closing it, holding it up to his ear like he's listening to a voicemail or whatever--and he abandons his cart just as the person in front of him finishes up their transaction. He walks right by me and out the door. Chickenshit!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So for fun and for further info for my warning email later, I step outside and watch what car he goes to. What luck! A front spot. I don't even have to leave the sidewalk to write down his license plate # and make and model of car. And that's when he saw me writing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Theivus Interruptus: *shouting from a distance* Do you have a problem?!?&lt;br /&gt;Me: *ignore* *pretend not to hear/pretend not to know the question is directed at me*&lt;br /&gt;Me: *scribble scribble*&lt;br /&gt;TI: *walks up to me* Do you have a problem, Michele?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Are you...talking to me?&lt;br /&gt;TI: Yeah, I am. I saw you writing down my license plate number.&lt;br /&gt;Me: I don't know what you're talking about.&lt;br /&gt;TI: Right there--you were writing down my license number.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Uh, I'm standing here getting a breath of fresh air and writing down some notes for next week's schedule. *unfolds last week's schedule and shows him*&lt;br /&gt;TI: No, well, no, you were writing it down in that-- *points to note pad*&lt;br /&gt;Me: What? This? *flips it open, it's full of scribbled notes from meetings and phone lists*&lt;br /&gt;TI: Uh. Well. Anyway.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Oh, since you're back, I wanted to ask you: are you going back in to buy that wine, or should I put it back when I'm done here?&lt;br /&gt;TI: No, no I'm not going to buy it. I have to take this call, and I don't have time. That's why I walked out. This call is important.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Ah. Well, you know, you could have taken the call in line. People do it all of the time.&lt;br /&gt;TI: It is too loud in there! I had to leave!&lt;br /&gt;Me: Oh, good point. Well, have a nice day.&lt;br /&gt;TI: Since I'm here, I might as well go get the wine.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Oh, great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The exit door could not have picked the perfect time to slam shut. LOLOLOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TI: How am I supposed to get back in?!?!!&lt;br /&gt;Me: ...this is the exit door..? Here, I don't usually do this, but...*pries door open with hands* ...there. Go ahead inside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lord. He did end up buying that wine. I talked to the cashier afterwards to find out if he'd said anything to her. She said that she told him that if he bought two more bottles, he'd get the 10% discount. He said, "Oh, I don't have enough money for that."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, I bet you don't. Why bring money to a store you're planning on ripping off?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS Yeah, I shouldn't have lied to the guy about writing down his plate, but man, I had just worked a 9 hour shift without a break. It would have gotten SO MESSY if he had gotten up in my face more than he already had.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-6445792143821014238?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6445792143821014238/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=6445792143821014238' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/6445792143821014238'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/6445792143821014238'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2009/05/at-least-have-some-conviction.html' title='At Least Have Some Conviction'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-7191788856770792004</id><published>2009-05-02T16:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-02T16:47:48.567-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mannerless dolts'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='thieves'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='entitlement'/><title type='text'>TWO Posts in One Day?!?</title><content type='html'>Yes, it's hardly fair of me to skip posting for 3 months only to post more than once in a single 12 hour period.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But now that I have a semi-decent camera on my new-every-two phone, it is too hard to resist showing you what I see on a daily basis. This, my friends, is why that surly retail clerk was so surly:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SfyvcI-PryI/AAAAAAAAAIc/OgV3-Y738p0/s1600-h/004.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SfyvcI-PryI/AAAAAAAAAIc/OgV3-Y738p0/s320/004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331328956879580962" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Do you see the shrimp carcass? This is how people treat their surroundings at my nice, clean, cared-for, retail establishment. Nevermind that we have 14 trashcans stationed around the store. Nice, shiny, chrome bullet cans. You can't miss them. This person couldn't be bothered to walk another two feet, though. I wonder what their house looks like--do they just stash wrappers in their bookcases? I mean, assuming that people like that actually bother to read? Or maybe when they finish something, like a carton of milk, they just shove it back in the fridge even though the garbage can is right behind them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And let's not even get into how there was nobody demo-ing shrimp in the store today. This fucker felt entitled enough to grab one of the serve-yourself steamed shrimp off of the seafood bar. Probably used their hands. Hopefully after another of the skanky masses used *their* hands and touched that particular shrimp.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope they get the Mexican pig flu.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-7191788856770792004?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7191788856770792004/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=7191788856770792004' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/7191788856770792004'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/7191788856770792004'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2009/05/two-posts-in-one-day.html' title='TWO Posts in One Day?!?'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SfyvcI-PryI/AAAAAAAAAIc/OgV3-Y738p0/s72-c/004.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-8343965180194787602</id><published>2009-05-02T12:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-02T16:34:20.756-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mannerless dolts'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='entitlement'/><title type='text'>Of Course You're Invited</title><content type='html'>Earlier this week, I was part of a tour group made up of people from work. We were congregating out on the sidewalk of one of the area stores, waiting for the last stragglers to arrive. Since the tour was going to be outside, we were all dressed like civilians, and looked much like our average customer base. As we were waiting, a customer walked into the middle of our group and asked, "Are you going on a tour?"&lt;br /&gt;"Yes," a few of us replied enthusiastically.&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, how nice! What kind of tour?" she inquired.&lt;br /&gt;"We're going to a local dairy farm," Mike said, smiling. "It's going to be cool."&lt;br /&gt;She paused for a moment and then turned her head away from him.&lt;br /&gt;"Hmm...not interested," she sniffed as she went into the store.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry, but...YOU WEREN'T INVITED. What the fuck, lady?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, who does that? Passes judgment, invites themselves and then declines the non-existent invitation? I almost wish she had been interested...I would have charged her $50 for the ride out. Sheesh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-8343965180194787602?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8343965180194787602/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=8343965180194787602' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/8343965180194787602'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/8343965180194787602'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2009/05/of-course-youre-invited.html' title='Of Course You&apos;re Invited'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-5141396928090215301</id><published>2009-02-21T09:11:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-21T09:25:26.192-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='idiots'/><title type='text'>I Do Not Care For Infotainment</title><content type='html'>So, I'm watching the CBS Early Show this morning. Well, "watching" is probably not really what is happening: I have a bad habit of turning on the television when I'm in the living room, even if I'm really reading email, or making breakfast in the kitchen, or doing laundry. So, the tv is on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kind of can't wait for the local stations to turn off their analog signals. I don't have any converter boxes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, my attention was grabbed this morning by the CBS Early Show. They had a nutritionist type on and she was analyzing the co-hosts' lunches for dietary value. This is what went on between the female host and the dietician impersonator:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Host: So, how did I do?&lt;br /&gt;D: You both did very well, you're both hydrating sufficiently, I like it.&lt;br /&gt;Host: Really? Sometimes I feel like I eat too much lean protein and raw vegetables and I don't get enough carbs.&lt;br /&gt;D: I think the whole wheat bread in your sandwich is enough, you're OK. I would maybe watch the smoked turkey, because it's smoked...&lt;br /&gt;Host: Oh, I don't usually eat smoked turkey, it's just what came home from the store this week. Usually we have peppered turkey, or turkey pastrami...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uh, yeah, lady? I know what brand of deli meat you're talking about. And that brand? The peppered turkey is SMOKED. You're a dumbass for not being able to taste it, and also you're a dumbass for not being able to PUT BLACK PEPPER ON YOUR SANDWICH YOURSELF. I will never understand the peppered turkey phenomenon. I like black pepper on turkey sandwiches just as much as the next person, but I do it myself. I mean, wtf, people?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then the dietician person pointed out that most deli meats are high in sodium, so I'm sure that female host will be yelling at her personal assistant later this morning anyway. Lord.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-5141396928090215301?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5141396928090215301/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=5141396928090215301' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/5141396928090215301'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/5141396928090215301'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-do-not-care-for-infotainment.html' title='I Do Not Care For Infotainment'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-401632759760314393</id><published>2008-08-19T19:48:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-19T20:01:33.499-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mannerless dolts'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='entitlement'/><title type='text'>Observe the @sshole in a retail habitat</title><content type='html'>We have a self serve coffee station in the store. There are 4 steaming hot urns of coffee going at any given time. Today, this happened:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Customer: Excuse me, you're out of ______ coffee. Is there more?&lt;br /&gt;Coffee bar guy: It's almost done brewing. I'll get this empty urn out of the way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CBG reaches over the counter and lifts the urn. Unfortunately for him, Customer had left his half-full cup of steaming hot coffee on the spill guard of the urn. As CBG brought the urn and the unseen hot cup of coffee towards himself, the cup tipped and drenched CBG with very hot coffee. CBG did sustain very minor burns from this, and his shirt and jeans were drenched. He had to go home to change. But CBG told me, that wasn't the worst of the whole deal. This was:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Customer: That looks like it hurts. Is the other coffee ready yet?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I was embellishing. What in the hell is wrong with people?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-401632759760314393?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/401632759760314393/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=401632759760314393' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/401632759760314393'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/401632759760314393'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2008/08/observe-sshole-in-retail-habitat.html' title='Observe the @sshole in a retail habitat'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-1205811847359496002</id><published>2008-08-18T10:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-18T11:02:54.442-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crackpots'/><title type='text'>I don't even want to know.</title><content type='html'>This past Thursday afternoon, two women were shopping with an inflatable doll. I am not kidding. They asked me for cheese assistance. They were a little too proud of their shopping venture, I guess is the best way to put it, to believe they were serious (about the doll, not the cheese.) If I weren't so deft at the eyerolling, I might have asked them WTF was up. But, as we all know, sometimes attention only encourages people like this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later, I found out that one of the hippies that works on another team asked them WTF was going on. They didn't say, but they said the doll's name was Flossie, and that the hippie was welcome to shake "her" hand. I'm going with: they are psych students over at one of the universities doing some kind of paper. My alternate: they're going the cheap route before committing to spending thousands on a bona-fide Real Doll. I kind of hope it's the latter.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-1205811847359496002?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1205811847359496002/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=1205811847359496002' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/1205811847359496002'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/1205811847359496002'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-dont-even-want-to-know.html' title='I don&apos;t even want to know.'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-7068563453639104796</id><published>2008-08-10T15:41:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-10T15:53:35.669-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crackpots'/><title type='text'>True Story...</title><content type='html'>&lt;pre style="font-family: arial;" wrap=""&gt;Customer: Do you sell raw goat's milk?&lt;br /&gt;Me: No. It's not legal in this state.&lt;br /&gt;Customer: So I'd have to have my own goat to get some?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Well, yes, that's one way. You could find a farm that would be willing to sell it to you labelled as "pet food." It's sort of a loophole that some farms have found.&lt;br /&gt;Customers: Oh, but that's what it's for.&lt;br /&gt;Me: What?&lt;br /&gt;Customer: I need it for pet food. I have six cats...&lt;br /&gt;Me: No...kidding?&lt;br /&gt;Customer: Yes, there was an article in Natural Cat magazine that said that raw goat's milk has all the vitamins and minerals that cats need. I have six cats...&lt;br /&gt;Me: Uh. Well. The only place I know that sells raw milk to individuals is a place called Organic Pastures out in California. They only sell cow's milk, though, and it's like $8/gal plus shipping. They label it as pet food so they aren't breaking the law.&lt;br /&gt;Customer: Maybe they have goat's milk.&lt;br /&gt;Me: ...maybe. Have you considered maybe giving the cats some other kind of supplements or diet that will accomplish the same thing? I mean, I'm not sure what it is about cow's milk that makes it not good for cats, but it's possible that quality is shared with goat's milk. Plus, by the time you spend the money and time trying to procure raw goat's milk, it might be less expensive to get the cats what they need in another way.&lt;br /&gt;Customer: Oh. I suppose so? But the article said...&lt;br /&gt;Me: Yeah...but I mean, when do adult cats drink milk in nature? I mean, if you're going to go all natural with the cats' diet, maybe milk isn't the way to go, right?&lt;br /&gt;Customer: *brain freeze*&lt;brain&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lord. "Natural Cat" magazine? Is that a real thing? I weep for society.&lt;/brain&gt;&lt;/pre&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-7068563453639104796?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7068563453639104796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=7068563453639104796' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/7068563453639104796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/7068563453639104796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2008/08/true-story.html' title='True Story...'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-7908659074230895126</id><published>2008-07-23T17:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-24T09:11:40.077-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crackpots'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='liars'/><title type='text'>An Update on the Angry Beer Customer from a Previous Post</title><content type='html'>Most of the update is actually in the comments section of that post, but here is the icing: since the original post, I found out definitively from Coors &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that this beer has not been brewed since 2001. &lt;/span&gt;Yes, that's right, Angry Beer Customer was completely lying. He did not buy it at our NYC locations, he did not have it on draught anywhere IN THE WORLD since 2001, because COORS BOUGHT THE LABEL AND DISCONTINUED IT. The last cans were sold sometime in 2002, when the supply was depleted from beer warehouses in this country. They felt it would compete too much with the other "Irish" label they own: Killian's. The Caffrey's label was part of a multi-label buyout of/from another global beer importer/distributor/brewing group. It's a mean thing to do, but it happens. This is why you should stop supporting the global beer system and buy local...until the local guys get so big they attract the global beer companies and get bought out. Then it's time to find another local to attach yourself to, and repeat. Or you know, pick up some rudimentary chemistry skills and brew your own fecking beer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's talk that supposedly you can still find it in Canada, but I am not driving up there to find out because there is far too much tasty beer &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;closer to home.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-7908659074230895126?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7908659074230895126/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=7908659074230895126' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/7908659074230895126'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/7908659074230895126'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2008/07/update-on-angry-beer-customer-from.html' title='An Update on the Angry Beer Customer from a Previous Post'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-8744434595803725877</id><published>2008-07-21T14:04:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-21T14:16:39.035-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crackpots'/><title type='text'>For Real</title><content type='html'>I have been WHAT?*sigh*ing so much lately, I haven't had any desire to post why. Well, after my neighbors went out of their way to help me out this week, the suction broke. I now return you to your regularly scheduled programming:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080721/ap_on_re_us/fire_standoff_5&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h1&gt;                                         Firefighter killed in St. Louis-area standoff                &lt;/h1&gt;      &lt;div id="ynmain"&gt;                       &lt;!-- BEGIN STORY BODY --&gt;      &lt;div id="storybody"&gt;                      &lt;div class="storyhdr"&gt;                       &lt;p&gt;                                 &lt;span&gt;                                 By CHERYL WITTENAUER, Associated Press Writer                                &lt;/span&gt;                                 &lt;em class="recenttimedate"&gt; 51 minutes ago&lt;/em&gt;                             &lt;/p&gt;                                                &lt;/div&gt; &lt;!-- end storyhdr --&gt;                          &lt;p&gt; MAPLEWOOD, Mo. - A gunman shot at firefighters responding to a report of a burning pickup truck early Monday, killing one, then opened fire on other emergency workers, wounding two. &lt;/p&gt;                        &lt;p&gt;The incident began at 5:40 a.m. with a report of a pickup truck fire in &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1216660055_0"&gt;Maplewood&lt;/span&gt;, a suburban town just southwest of &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1216660055_1"&gt;St. Louis&lt;/span&gt;. When firefighters arrived, someone began firing shots.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;St. Mary's Hospital spokesman Eric Clark said a firefighter/paramedic from Maplewood was killed. The city identified him as 22-year-old Ryan Hummert. Officials said he was shot to death as he got off the fire truck.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Hummert, the son of former Maplewood Mayor Andy Hummert, began his career in August 2007 after graduating from paramedic training. He graduated from the St. Louis County Fire Academy in March.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;"He had been with the fire department for only 10 months but knew it was his calling," Fire Chief Terry Merrell said at a brief news conference as he fought back tears. "It's impossible to say in words the emotion and pain we are feeling right now."&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;A Maplewood police officer also was taken to St. Mary's Hospital, where he was being treated for a gunshot wound to the right shoulder. Clark said his injury was not considered life-threatening.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;The third injured emergency worker was taken to another hospital. There was no immediate word on his condition.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Besides the burning truck, a house across the street was on fire. The suspect was believed to be inside the house. Dozens of police officers from Maplewood and nearby communities surrounded the brick bungalow, pointing their rifles at the home as smoke poured from it.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Around 10:30 a.m., the fire suddenly intensified and loud popping sounds could be heard, neighbor Lamira Martin told &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1216660055_2"&gt;KSDK&lt;/span&gt;-TV.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;"Oh my God, the windows are blowing out," Martin told the TV station.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Sanyoz Rai, who works at a 7-Eleven store nearby, said he heard three or four shots at around 5:45 a.m., then saw a police officer go to the ground holding his shoulder. Rai said he then saw a firefighter on the ground behind the truck. He said the firefighter remained there for an hour before authorities could get close enough to remove him.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Utterly insane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-8744434595803725877?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8744434595803725877/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=8744434595803725877' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/8744434595803725877'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/8744434595803725877'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2008/07/for-real.html' title='For Real'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-3799712617303795587</id><published>2008-07-08T21:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-08T21:42:43.985-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='idiots'/><title type='text'>Since I've Got Beer on My Mind Tonight</title><content type='html'>I would like to address all of the beer geeks out there that pooh-pooh green and clear glass bottles. "Light destroys beer!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK, campers, huddle in close. I'm going to tell you a secret.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beer comes packed in windowless cardboard boxes. And those boxes come in windowless box vans and trailer trucks. And they are stored in climate and light-controlled warehouses. The first time those bottles are exposed to light is when the cases are cracked open and the bottles are put on display in the store. How long do the lights stay on? How much time does it take your store to turn over (sell) their beer? These are the real questions you need to ask. Don't buy beer from a shop that displays it in direct sunlight. Yes, I've seen that. If you do, don't buy it, don't support their stupidity. Don't buy beer from shops that have dusty bottles. Dust is quaint in a wine cellar, but it has no place in a retail environment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the next time someone turns their nose up at a green glass or clear glass beer that you may be enjoying, just nod and smile.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-3799712617303795587?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3799712617303795587/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=3799712617303795587' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/3799712617303795587'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/3799712617303795587'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2008/07/since-ive-got-beer-on-my-mind-tonight.html' title='Since I&apos;ve Got Beer on My Mind Tonight'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-2355827813681640182</id><published>2008-07-08T14:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-08T15:43:04.859-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='idiots'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='entitlement'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crackpots'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='liars'/><title type='text'>God Invented Beer to Keep the Irish from Taking Over the World</title><content type='html'>Finding your favorite beer after moving out of state, or finding a new favorite after a fabulous vacation to a different city or country or continent can be difficult. The reasons are many, but they all boil down to volume and demand. If only one person wants the beer, but they can buy at least a pallet's worth at a time, that person has as much of a chance of getting the beer they want as 240 people who would buy one 6 pack per week. That is, if the distributor has a truck with space on it going by that brewery already. And if the label has been approved by your state's alcoholic beverage commission (takes time and money) and if the beer meets all of the other criteria your state may have (like alcohol content limits, for example.) And if the beer is even being imported to the contiguous 48 states. It surprises people that many beers in the world aren't trucked/shipped long distances. "Why??" they ask. "It's SO GREAT," they say. Well here's why: beer is 98% water. Water weighs 8lbs per gallon. Glass is also heavy. Beer doesn't like to get too hot. Glass is fragile. All of this contributes to expensive shipping. Who pays for that shipping? The customer. How much are you willing to pay for a 6 pack of your favorite beer? Because it sure won't be as cheap as it was where you were the first time you had it. "Oh, I don't care, I'll pay whatever the price, it's THAT GOOD." *sigh* If you say so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A man came into my store a week ago and asked for Caffrey's Irish Ale. He had just moved to the area from New York City, and was able to buy it at our sister stores there. He left his request with one of my minions on Friday. On Sunday, he came in again to see if it was in stock. Uh, yeah, no. We don't get deliveries on weekends. He came in on Tuesday and talked to my beer minion. Beer Minion had just arrived to work, and so hadn't had the chance to look over the special requests yet...which infuriated the customer. WTF? The guy proceeded to yell at Beer Minion. "I bought it at your store in New York! Why won't you get it for me here?" Holy crap, dude. It isn't that easy. Secondly, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;nobody said anything about not getting it for you if it can be gotten.&lt;/span&gt; But he was so angry at this point, convinced Beer Minion was lying simply to deny him his beer, that he was done listening. He then called Beer Minion a prick and demanded to see the store manager. Lovely. Store Manager got barked at for a few minutes, gave the man a $25 gift certificate for his trouble and promised him that we would find out exactly what the supply issue was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then the bastard called our regional office to complain that Beer Minion had called HIM a prick. LOLOL, holy shit! This is not how you get what you want. *sigh* Why is this man lying? Is it going to make his beer get here sooner or at all? No. What it will do is burn a pretty big fucking bridge made of beer. You do not make Beer Minion your enemy if you love beer. DUH.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-2355827813681640182?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2355827813681640182/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=2355827813681640182' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/2355827813681640182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/2355827813681640182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2008/07/god-invented-beer-to-keep-irish-from.html' title='God Invented Beer to Keep the Irish from Taking Over the World'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-7587309894504701804</id><published>2008-07-05T19:41:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-08T15:45:36.012-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='idiots'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crackpots'/><title type='text'>Sometimes it Doesn't Pay to Be Good</title><content type='html'>It's been a quiet week on the western front (work.) We did have one man become terribly indignant when one of my best minions asked if he needed help with the wine department.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I most certainly do not. I have an &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;excellent understanding of wine&lt;/span&gt;. I simply need to know if you carry a certain label."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK, Slappy, let me get this right this time...what you're saying is: "I need help with the wine department."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*shakes head*&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-7587309894504701804?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7587309894504701804/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=7587309894504701804' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/7587309894504701804'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/7587309894504701804'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2008/07/sometimes-it-doesnt-pay-to-be-good.html' title='Sometimes it Doesn&apos;t Pay to Be Good'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-6344798303848279099</id><published>2008-06-29T10:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-08T15:46:13.444-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the elderly'/><title type='text'>Quiz Show</title><content type='html'>Sometimes that's what working the counter feels like. People will walk up, not say "hi" or "hello" but will get right to their question. "Where is the bathroom?" is far and away the most popular. I don't think it's because of humanity's fascination with feces, though I think it is. It's just one of those questions people tend to ask after they've gotten 2/3rds of the way around a store full of free food samples.&lt;br /&gt;Other common questions are:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I am having x number of people over, how much *insert item here* will I need?"&lt;br /&gt;"Where is your parmesan?"&lt;br /&gt;"Where is your fresh mozzarella?"&lt;br /&gt;etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some don't pose questions at all. Some make statements:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"A half pound of maple ham." Well. Aren't you friendly?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, one of the people I helped was a nice old lady who was obviously shopping for someone else--most likely a grown son or daughter. At the end of our transaction, she paused and said, "Wait, I do need one more thing..." She held up a bag of coffee in one hand and a paper-clipped stack of small note paper in the other hand. "Are these the same?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I...what? So I said, "One is a stack of paper and the other is a bag...of...coffee?" Hey, you never know when you're going to be on Candid Camera. That show scarred me for life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It turns out that she had an old coffee bag label in that stack of paper. Which, now that I think about it, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I should have known. Because I am a mind reader in my spare time. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-6344798303848279099?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6344798303848279099/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=6344798303848279099' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/6344798303848279099'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/6344798303848279099'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2008/06/quiz-show.html' title='Quiz Show'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-4012647537135115420</id><published>2008-06-22T23:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-22T23:51:04.386-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crackpots'/><title type='text'>Maybe I'm crazy, maybe you're crazy</title><content type='html'>When two Customer Service minions were leaving work on Saturday afternoon, they sang the Gnarls Barkley song "Crazy" as they left the building. Unfortunately, at that moment one of our long-time for-real crazy customers was coming in to shop. She overheard the two singing and assumed they were singing about her. She proceeded to chase them into the parking lot and yell "If I hear you call me crazy again, I will have you fired!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, how we laughed and laughed. Poor minions--they had no idea Madam Crazy was even present, much less within earshot.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-4012647537135115420?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4012647537135115420/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=4012647537135115420' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/4012647537135115420'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/4012647537135115420'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2008/06/maybe-im-crazy-maybe-youre-crazy.html' title='Maybe I&apos;m crazy, maybe you&apos;re crazy'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-3751534173815677565</id><published>2008-06-22T20:20:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-22T20:37:36.941-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mannerless dolts'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='idiots'/><title type='text'>Tell me--when you buy an iPod, is part of the price giving up your manners?</title><content type='html'>Friday night, a fellow walked up to the cheese counter and caught my eye. We stood there, looking into each other's eyes--not in a romantic way, but because a) I can't look away when a customer makes eye contact like they are about to ask a question, and b) this man obviously wanted my attention. I nodded and smiled, yet he didn't make a move or a sound. Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll tell you. He was wearing an iPod. He had both ear buds planted firmly in his ears. OK, when someone walks up to you like that, what do you do? I figure, the iPod must be on. So, I'm not going to do much beyond give a visual cue that yes, I can see you and yes, I am available to you for assistance &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;if you would only take those cocking things out of your ears.&lt;/span&gt; Finally, he spoke. "Hi. I need some wine help." OK, then. We walked over to the big wall of wine. He told me he was looking for red wines that still retained some sweetness. He did not remove his ear buds. Not even one. For fuck's sake, it's an iPod. It's not like you're going to miss anything if you turn the fucker OFF to give someone a polite level of attention.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I shouted every single recommendation to him, for fun.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-3751534173815677565?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3751534173815677565/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=3751534173815677565' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/3751534173815677565'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/3751534173815677565'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2008/06/tell-me-when-you-buy-ipod-is-part-of.html' title='Tell me--when you buy an iPod, is part of the price giving up your manners?'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-1841115382778208835</id><published>2008-06-20T10:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-20T10:29:18.376-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The generation that will be taking care of you and I when we are oldies.</title><content type='html'>I can't even form a coherent sentence to say about this news story. I can't. From the AP:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h1&gt;                                         Reports: Teen girls made pact to get pregnant                &lt;/h1&gt;      &lt;div id="ynmain"&gt;                       &lt;!-- BEGIN STORY BODY --&gt;      &lt;div id="storybody"&gt;                      &lt;div class="storyhdr"&gt;                       &lt;p&gt;                                 &lt;span&gt;                                                                 &lt;/span&gt;                                 &lt;em class="recenttimedate"&gt; 29 minutes ago&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;GLOUCESTER, Mass. - A pact made by a group of teens to get pregnant and raise their babies together is at least partly behind a sudden spike in pregnancies at Gloucester High School, school officials said. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;!-- end storyhdr --&gt;                          &lt;div class="lrec"&gt;&lt;noscript&gt;&lt;/noscript&gt;Principal Joseph Sullivan told &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1213969692_0"&gt;Time magazine&lt;/span&gt; in a story published Wednesday that the girls confessed to making the pact after the school began investigating a rise in pregnancies that has left 17 girls at the school carrying a child. Normally, there are about four pregnancies a year at the school.&lt;/div&gt;                         &lt;p&gt;Sullivan told Time that nearly half of the expecting students, none over 16, were involved. Sullivan said students were coming to the school clinic multiple times to get pregnancy tests, and "seemed more upset when they weren't pregnant than when they were."&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Some of the girls reacted to the news they were pregnant with high fives and plans for &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1213969692_1"&gt;baby showers&lt;/span&gt;, Sullivan said. One of the fathers "is a 24-year-old homeless guy," Sullivan told the magazine.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Superintendent Christopher Farmer confirmed the deal to WBZ-TV, saying the girls had "an agreement to get pregnant."&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;He said the girls are generally "girls who lack self-esteem and have a &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1213969692_2"&gt;lack of love&lt;/span&gt; in their life."&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Christen Callahan, a former &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1213969692_3"&gt;Gloucester High School student&lt;/span&gt; who had a child when she was 15, said on NBC's "Today" show that some of the girls would ask her about her own &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1213969692_4"&gt;pregnancy&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;"They would say stuff like, oh, I think my parents would be fine with it and they would help me, stuff like that," Callahan said.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;But she said she had no firsthand knowledge of a pact between the girls to get pregnant.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;"They were just kind of like curious about it, they never actually came out and said it," &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1213969692_5"&gt;Callahan&lt;/span&gt; said.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;The first reports of the students' apparent plan to get pregnant were in the &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1213969692_6"&gt;Gloucester Daily Times&lt;/span&gt; in March, when Sullivan said students were reporting that the girls were getting pregnant on purpose.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;The rash of pregnancies has shaken the seaside city about 30 miles north of &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1213969692_7"&gt;Boston&lt;/span&gt;. Last month, two officials at the high school health center resigned to protest the resistance from the local hospital to the confidential distribution of contraceptives. The hospital administers the state money that funds the clinic.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-1841115382778208835?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1841115382778208835/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=1841115382778208835' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/1841115382778208835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/1841115382778208835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2008/06/generation-that-will-be-taking-care-of.html' title='The generation that will be taking care of you and I when we are oldies.'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-9151689485022989352</id><published>2008-06-16T21:55:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-17T22:58:18.300-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='thieves'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fraud'/><title type='text'>Are you kidding me?</title><content type='html'>#1. As soon as we opened this morning, I was summoned to maintain visual contact with a woman in SpongeBob SquarePants scrubs who was seen stuffing bottles of vitamins into her large purse. She knew she was being watched, eventually, but instead of the two normal responses to being observed* she continued to shop in a most erratic way for 30 more minutes. Bizarre. Also, just because your pediatric nurse/dental assistant wears cute scrubs, does not mean she is not a huge but inept thief.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#2 Just before lunch, I was called to Customer Service about a customer with a "credit card fraud" issue. Customer claims to have been double billed on his credit card from lunch on Friday. It's certainly within the realm of possibility, and I was all ready to investigate further, but...he didn't bother to bring in the receipt OR the credit card statement. OK, seriously? What can I do without either of those things? At least bring in the statement--with a little time and the credit card #, we can search for the transaction and get a new copy of the receipt. But to just walk into a store and claim to be overcharged..? Maybe I ought to try that some time. "I bought tires here but I was charged an extra $300. What are you going to do about it?" That's it! That's my elusive step 2!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#3 After lunch, I was asked to observe another customer. She was witnessed stuffing two large cookies into her purse. OK, Customer Service, how will I know which woman to follow? Oh, the one assisted by an OXYGEN TANK, of course, of course. *sigh* I found her sitting in our cafe, eating a plate lunch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Hello.&lt;br /&gt;O2: Why, hello. Is my cart blocking the way too much?&lt;br /&gt;Me: What? No. No, it's fine. I was going to ask you something else.&lt;br /&gt;O2: What, dear?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Do...you have a receipt for your lunch?&lt;br /&gt;O2: Why yes, I do. (shows me a valid receipt)&lt;br /&gt;Me: You were seen putting cookies into your purse. They're not on the receipt...&lt;br /&gt;O2: Oh, these? (pulls out a bag of two cookies) I was going to pay for them after lunch.&lt;br /&gt;Me: I see. I should tell you that in this state, concealment is shoplifting. You have shoplifted.&lt;br /&gt;O2: Oh, my. I had gone through the line and paid for my lunch, but then changed my mind on the cookies. I had been waiting for a table to open up, so I took one as soon as I saw it. But I was going to pay for the cookies after I ate this.&lt;br /&gt;Me: But this area is beyond the registers. It's not OK to take things you haven't paid for beyond the registers. Or to hide them in your purse.&lt;br /&gt;O2: Oh, OK. I will pay for them.&lt;br /&gt;Me: ...&lt;br /&gt;O2: What, now?&lt;br /&gt;Me: *sigh* That would be ideal.&lt;br /&gt;O2: ...would you pay for them for me?&lt;br /&gt;Me: No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, when I related the story later to other people at work, I told them that I had pinched her oxygen tube until she agreed to pay. I have to keep up my reputation, you see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;1. Confront the observer by yelling that you're being falsely accused (even though nobody has said a thing.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Move quickly, ditch the stuff you were trying to steal, and leave the premises without making any purchases at all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-9151689485022989352?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/9151689485022989352/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=9151689485022989352' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/9151689485022989352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/9151689485022989352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2008/06/are-you-kidding-me.html' title='Are you kidding me?'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-4978419150813124492</id><published>2008-06-15T14:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-15T14:53:36.501-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='idiots'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the young'/><title type='text'>Salumitorium, or the one where I discover the italics feature</title><content type='html'>The news about Pamela &amp;amp; Tommy Lee made me temporarily forget my salami stories from yesterday!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A guy asked Zac about the different salami in the case. Zac went down the list and when he got to our latest additions, the Fra'Mani stuff, the customer asked if Zac would "pull it out" for him. The others behind the counter LOST it. The guy was oblivious. Zac held it together and did indeed "pull" the salami out for him. Honestly, I can't remember the rest of the details of the event. I know there were more questions from the customers that just got more and more sexually suggestive and yet &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;the guy appeared to have no idea he was soaking my team in a creamy broth of double-entendre&lt;/span&gt;. It reminded me of the older man who asked Leigh Ann and I for &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;parmi-gina&lt;/span&gt; (40 Year Old Virgin fans, I'm looking at you) cheese.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, later on, another person started asking for the salami list. Herbed, turkey, Genoa, hard, two kinds of soppressata, pepperoni...oh and yeah, some new stuff from Fra'Mani. Nostrano, Gentile, Piccante and a regular, dry Salametto. "What's that?" she asks. "They're aged and cured in the traditional manner, so they've got a natural casing on them with that funky white mold growing on the outside. Pretty funky stuff." Says she, "Oh...extreme."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WTF. NO. It's not extreme, you Gen X twat.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-4978419150813124492?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4978419150813124492/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=4978419150813124492' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/4978419150813124492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/4978419150813124492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2008/06/salumitorium-or-one-where-i-discover.html' title='Salumitorium, or the one where I discover the italics feature'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-5333128289466244032</id><published>2008-06-15T10:30:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-15T10:37:05.820-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='idiots'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='&quot;in defense of marriage&quot;'/><title type='text'>In Defense of Marriage</title><content type='html'>&lt;h1&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Tommy Lee, Pamela Anderson rekindle romance                &lt;/h1&gt;      &lt;div id="ynmain"&gt;                       &lt;!-- BEGIN STORY BODY --&gt;      &lt;div id="storybody"&gt;                      &lt;div class="storyhdr"&gt;                       &lt;p&gt;                                 &lt;span&gt;                                 By Alex Dobuzinskis                                &lt;/span&gt;                                 &lt;em class="timedate"&gt;Fri Jun 13,  5:29 PM ET&lt;/em&gt;                             &lt;/p&gt;                                                &lt;/div&gt; &lt;!-- end storyhdr --&gt;                          &lt;p&gt;                         LOS ANGELES (Reuters) -  The on-again, off-again love affair between &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1213392702_0"&gt;Motley Crue drummer&lt;/span&gt; Tommy Lee and his ex-wife, actress &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1213392702_1"&gt;Pamela Anderson&lt;/span&gt;, is back on again, according to Lee.                                                 &lt;/p&gt;                        &lt;p&gt;"Pamela and the kids have moved in with me," Lee told Rolling Stone in a story published on the magazine's website on Thursday. "It's awesome, man. It's definitely working. You can tell on the kids' faces -- they're happy when we're together."&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Anderson's representative, Peter Asher, declined to comment.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Lee, 45, and Anderson, 40, married in 1995 and went through several breakups and reconciliations before finally divorcing in 1998. They have two sons together.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;"We've only given it a try 800 times -- 801, here we go," Lee told &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1213392702_2"&gt;Rolling Stone&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;While apart, Anderson also married and divorced singer &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1213392702_3"&gt;Kid Rock&lt;/span&gt;, as well as married then annulled her marriage to entrepreneur Rick Saloman.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;She rose to fame as a model and actress on TV shows such as "Home Improvement," "Baywatch" and "V.I.P." She also has appeared in movies and posed for Playboy magazine.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Apart from playing in &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1213392702_4"&gt;rock band&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1213392702_5"&gt;Motley Crue&lt;/span&gt;, Lee appeared in the 2005 reality TV show "&lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1213392702_6"&gt;Tommy Lee Goes to College&lt;/span&gt;."&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;The pair also recorded an infamous &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1213392702_7"&gt;sex tape&lt;/span&gt; that became public.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Reuters/Nielsen&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I can say is: thank goodness the gays aren't mucking up marriage in America. WHEW!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-5333128289466244032?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5333128289466244032/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=5333128289466244032' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/5333128289466244032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/5333128289466244032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2008/06/in-defense-of-marriage.html' title='In Defense of Marriage'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-2764141546073408376</id><published>2008-06-13T19:38:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-13T19:45:36.102-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crackpots'/><title type='text'>Seriously?</title><content type='html'>Man: (or Borg, hard to say...he was wearing a Bluetooth) I can't remember which of these I bought last time. Can I try them?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Sure.&lt;br /&gt;Man: It was fabulous with red wine.&lt;br /&gt;Me: That's...neither of those really match well with red wine. Are you sure it was one of those two?&lt;br /&gt;Man: Uh, no. Hmmm. It had little holes in it. It was pretty hard cheese.&lt;br /&gt;Me: How about the aged Asiago?&lt;br /&gt;Man: Yes! That's it. Can I taste it to make sure?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Of course.&lt;br /&gt;Man: I also want to taste this one...and this one.&lt;br /&gt;Me: OK.&lt;br /&gt;Man: And this one.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Anything else?&lt;br /&gt;Man: No, I think that's it.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Alright, here's the Asiago and the Montasio.&lt;br /&gt;Man: (hands me a piece of Manchego) I want to taste this one too.&lt;br /&gt;Me: ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's time for this guy to keep a notebook of what he's tried and not tried. Nobody needs to try 7 different aged cheeses inside of 5 minutes, for real.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-2764141546073408376?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2764141546073408376/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=2764141546073408376' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/2764141546073408376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/2764141546073408376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2008/06/seriously.html' title='Seriously?'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-796891696999464225</id><published>2008-06-13T08:08:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-13T08:31:23.565-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='thieves'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='consumer culture'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='usury'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='liars'/><title type='text'>I'm not cheating by cutting and pasting NY Times articles</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="timestamp"&gt;I'm behind on my link-reading this week. This article was recommended by NancyF.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Few things burn my biscuits more than thinking about fiscal irresponsibility. Now, I am no financial brainiac. I have the genetic benefit that 25% Scottish blood brings. Not only did my mother and maternal grandparents set the example of frugality and thriftiness, they drilled it into my head. Scared me to death, you could say. So I am totally aware that I am not being fair when I throw up my hands and wonder WTF are people thinking when they borrow, borrow, borrow, not understanding how compound interest works, what APR means, what a good rate is, and then spend that borrowed money on frivolous things that don't (in the long run) help to create more wealth. No, it's more complicated than that. As the guy below will say better than I can, there are far more factors. Number one is the consumer culture in which we live. Number two is the despicable practice credit card companies have, of setting up tables on college campuses and signing virtual children up for credit. People talk about predatory lending and think mainly of the mortgage crisis we're in. Unfortunately, it starts with credit cards in the hands of the newly legal adult. I wish all public high schools would have compulsory personal finance classes. Just one semester could do it. Of course, I also think there should be a required class before people exercise procreation, so don't mind me. I love tests.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like how he passes on the term for state  lotteries:"the tax on the stupid." Ah, I've bought a few in my day. LOL.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;June 10, 2008&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div class="kicker"&gt;&lt;nyt_kicker&gt;Op-Ed Columnist&lt;/nyt_kicker&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;h1&gt;&lt;nyt_headline version="1.0" type=" "&gt; The Great Seduction &lt;/nyt_headline&gt;&lt;/h1&gt; &lt;nyt_byline version="1.0" type=" "&gt; &lt;/nyt_byline&gt;&lt;div class="byline"&gt;By &lt;a href="http://topics.nytimes.com/top/opinion/editorialsandoped/oped/columnists/davidbrooks/index.html?inline=nyt-per" title="More Articles by David Brooks"&gt;DAVID BROOKS&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;     &lt;nyt_text&gt; &lt;/nyt_text&gt;     &lt;p&gt; The people who created this country built a moral structure around money. The Puritan legacy inhibited luxury and self-indulgence. Benjamin Franklin spread a practical gospel that emphasized hard work, temperance and frugality. Millions of parents, preachers, newspaper editors and teachers expounded the message. The result was quite remarkable. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; The United States has been an affluent nation since its founding. But the country was, by and large, not corrupted by wealth. For centuries, it remained industrious, ambitious and frugal.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; Over the past 30 years, much of that has been shredded. The social norms and institutions that encouraged frugality and spending what you earn have been undermined. The institutions that encourage debt and living for the moment have been strengthened. The country’s moral guardians are forever looking for decadence out of Hollywood and reality TV. But the most rampant decadence today is financial decadence, the trampling of decent norms about how to use and harness money.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; Sixty-two scholars have signed on to a report by the Institute for American Values and other think tanks called, “For a New Thrift: Confronting the Debt Culture,” examining the results of all this. This may be damning with faint praise, but it’s one of the most important think-tank reports you’ll read this year.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; The deterioration of financial mores has meant two things. First, it’s meant an explosion of debt that inhibits social mobility and ruins lives. Between 1989 and 2001, credit-card debt nearly tripled, soaring from $238 billion to $692 billion. By last year, it was up to $937 billion, the report said. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; Second, the transformation has led to a stark financial polarization. On the one hand, there is what the report calls the investor class. It has tax-deferred savings plans, as well as an army of financial advisers. On the other hand, there is the lottery class, people with little access to 401(k)’s or financial planning but plenty of access to payday lenders, credit cards and lottery agents.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; The loosening of financial inhibition has meant more options for the well-educated but more temptation and chaos for the most vulnerable. Social norms, the invisible threads that guide behavior, have deteriorated. Over the past years, Americans have been more socially conscious about protecting the environment and inhaling tobacco. They have become less socially conscious about money and debt. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; The agents of destruction are many. State governments have played a role. They aggressively hawk their lottery products, which some people call a tax on stupidity. Twenty percent of Americans are frequent players, spending about $60 billion a year. The spending is starkly regressive. A household with income under $13,000 spends, on average, $645 a year on lottery tickets, about 9 percent of all income. Aside from the financial toll, the moral toll is comprehensive. Here is the government, the guardian of order, telling people that they don’t have to work to build for the future. They can strike it rich for nothing.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; Payday lenders have also played a role. They seductively offer fast cash — at absurd interest rates — to 15 million people every month. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; Credit card companies have played a role. Instead of targeting the financially astute, who pay off their debts, they’ve found that they can make money off the young and vulnerable. Fifty-six percent of students in their final year of college carry four or more credit cards. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; Congress and the White House have played a role. The nation’s leaders have always had an incentive to shove costs for current promises onto the backs of future generations. It’s only now become respectable to do so.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; Wall Street has played a role. Bill Gates built a socially useful product to make his fortune. But what message do the compensation packages that hedge fund managers get send across the country?&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; The list could go on. But the report, which is nicely summarized by Barbara Dafoe Whitehead in The American Interest (available free online), also has some recommendations. First, raise public consciousness about debt the way the anti-smoking activists did with their campaign. Second, create institutions that encourage thrift.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; Foundations and churches could issue short-term loans to cut into the payday lenders’ business. Public and private programs could give the poor and middle class access to financial planners. Usury laws could be enforced and strengthened. Colleges could reduce credit card advertising on campus. KidSave accounts would encourage savings from a young age. The tax code should tax consumption, not income, and in the meantime, it should do more to encourage savings up and down the income ladder.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; There are dozens of things that could be done. But the most important is to shift values. Franklin made it prestigious to embrace certain bourgeois virtues. Now it’s socially acceptable to undermine those virtues. It’s considered normal to play the debt game and imagine that decisions made today will have no consequences for the future. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-796891696999464225?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/796891696999464225/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=796891696999464225' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/796891696999464225'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/796891696999464225'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2008/06/im-not-cheating-by-cutting-and-pasting.html' title='I&apos;m not cheating by cutting and pasting NY Times articles'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-7283134994870345565</id><published>2008-06-12T22:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-12T22:37:18.737-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='thieves'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='entitlement'/><title type='text'>Things happen in threes.</title><content type='html'>I'm posting for the third time today. I guess I should have started this blog years ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm actually only here killing time while the count out person finishes up today's books. Nothing much happened at work tonight--a few people made some receipt-less returns. What made them uneventful is: they brought things back that clearly were faulty in manufacture. One lady did try to return $40 worth of vitamins, but she is one of our habitual returners and she knows the rules--any return worth more than $20 requires a receipt. We offered to trade them out, but she wanted cash. OK, come back when you find the receipt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We did find a $7 candy bar that was half eaten and abandoned on the shelves. This is one of my biggest pet peeves. Our store is CRAWLING with clearly labeled employees, and our company is famous for being very liberal with the sampling. I mean, hello, $7 candy bars! Who wants to risk putting that kind of money down for something they may not even like? So we offer to open anything and nearly everything (clever alcoholics with $50 bottle addictions, I'm looking at you) to be nice. Isn't that nice? I'm not going to lie to you--giving out free samples of crazy things saves us a lot of minor headaches. So yeah, anyway. The $7 candy bar. If that person had only ASKED to try it, we could have done it in a sanitary way and used the rest of the bar to let OTHER people try it too. Instead, they greedily stole half for themselves with their dirty, dirty mitts and now the other half ended up in the trash. Wasteful bastard.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-7283134994870345565?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7283134994870345565/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=7283134994870345565' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/7283134994870345565'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/7283134994870345565'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2008/06/things-happen-in-threes.html' title='Things happen in threes.'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-5161255678234711650</id><published>2008-06-12T18:48:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-12T18:56:43.575-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='entitlement'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crackpots'/><title type='text'>I don't particularly care for Ben Stein</title><content type='html'>I thought he was funny and smart when he had that game show on Comedy Central, but in the last few years, he really bugs. Oh well. So imagine my surprise when I read his little thing in the NY Times and found myself agreeing with it. O, you brilliant kids:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;June 8, 2008&lt;br /&gt;Everybody’s Business&lt;br /&gt;When You Weren’t Looking, They Were Working&lt;br /&gt;By &lt;a title="More Articles by Ben Stein" href="http://query.nytimes.com/search/query?ppds=bylL&amp;amp;v1=BEN" inline="'nyt-per" fdq="19960101&amp;amp;td=sysdate&amp;amp;sort=newest&amp;amp;ac=BEN"&gt;BEN STEIN&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MOST business journalism is about investments and the people who make them, usually on a large scale. Or else it is about the big dogs who run the mighty earldoms of American business and the agencies that regulate them. This is fair enough. As Calvin Coolidge said, “The business of America is business.”&lt;br /&gt;We all want to read about money and how it’s made and lost. But for young people who might have no idea of what business involves, or even what work beyond flipping burgers or selling DVDs might mean, here is a little primer on what it is and why it means something as Father’s Day approaches.&lt;br /&gt;A few days ago, I came across a draft of a memoir my father was working on before he entered immortality in 1999. After reading it carefully, I realized that I knew almost everything in it except for one huge thing: how hard his work — his “business,” as one might say, for it surely kept him “busy” — had been for a number of years in middle age.&lt;br /&gt;To me, as a child and as a teenager, in Silver Spring, Md., he simply got up in the morning, packed his briefcase and went to a fine office at Connecticut Avenue and K Street in Washington — or, if he had business in New York, he packed his suitcase and went to the train after work. When he came home, he had stories about the elegant restaurants he had tried near his office, maybe Duke Zeibert’s or Harvey’s, or, if he had gone to New York, about his room at the St. Regis at 55th Street and Fifth Avenue and how outrageous it was ($30 a night), and how his sleeper car on the train had not really allowed him much sleep.&lt;br /&gt;He never, and I mean never, talked about making money, and he always seemed to have enough of it for a middle-class or maybe upper-middle-class lifestyle. So, frankly, I just assumed that he was having a good time down at his office and was secure and happy in his work.&lt;br /&gt;His memoir told a different tale. There were arguments and power struggles at the Committee for Economic Development, where he was research director. (It was and is an organization of high-ranking business people who put out papers on social and economic issues. My father, for about 20 years starting in the mid-1940s, was the author of many of these papers.) Yes, my father was able to socialize with the heads of the major corporations in America and live on an expense account the way they did, but it was always clear who was the boss. Yes, he got to fly first class, but it was always a struggle to be shown some respect by certain of his colleagues and he often considered quitting.&lt;br /&gt;He also wondered, if he quit, what he would do next and how he would pay the bills, and he did not want his children to have to worry about money, as he did when he was a child of the Great Depression.&lt;br /&gt;I think of this as I shlep through the airport security line with my heavy bags (Willy Loman style), as crazy people sit in front of me on the plane, trying to break my nose by throwing their seatbacks onto me, and as I wake up early to travel to the next destination. Then, as I look at all the other middle-aged (and sometimes older) road warriors in the security line, on the plane or checking into the hotel, I think of our children in school.&lt;br /&gt;I picture our kids bravely taking moral stands on &lt;a title="Recent and archival news about global warming." href="http://topics.nytimes.com/top/news/science/topics/globalwarming/index.html?inline=nyt-classifier"&gt;global warming&lt;/a&gt; and the polar bears, refusing to “sell out,” get a job or learn anything useful. I think of what I could write to them about their parents’ work. I would start with a short phrase from Hart Crane, the genius poet.&lt;br /&gt;“O, brilliant kids, I was a fool just like you. I was in my mid-40s before I properly thanked my father for his decades of hard work — paying for me to laze around in the cars he bought me, to get drunk in the frat house whose dues he paid, to spend the afternoons with my girlfriends looking at trees and rivers while Pop worked and got so anxious that he took up smoking three packs of Kents a day.&lt;br /&gt;“O, brilliant kids, you get to put on the garments of the morally righteous and upstanding while your parents work — because mothers work now and always have worked — and your parents must say, ‘Yes, sir,’ or ‘No, sir,’ to those who hire them. O, golden children, you get to talk about how you’ll never ‘sell out,’ and meanwhile your parents stay up late in torment, thinking of how they can pay your tuition. Because, brilliant kids, work (business) involves exhaustion and eating humble pie and going on even when you think you can’t. And you are the beneficiaries of it in your gilded youth.&lt;br /&gt;“Be smarter than Ben Stein ever was. Be a better person than I ever was. Right now, today, thank your parents for working to support you. Don’t act as if it’s the divine right of students. Get right up in their faces and say, ‘Thank you for what you do so I can live like this.’ Say something. Say it, so that when they’re at O’Hare or Dallas-Fort Worth and they’ve just learned that their flight is canceled and they’ll have to stay overnight at the airport, they will know you appreciate them.&lt;br /&gt;“Get it in your heads that if you throw away your moral duties to your parents, you are thieves. You were born on third base and your parents put you there, and you think you hit a triple. It’s not true. It’s time to give back.&lt;br /&gt;“ `Attention must be paid,’ as &lt;a title="More articles about Arthur Miller." href="http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/people/m/arthur_miller/index.html?inline=nyt-per"&gt;Arthur Miller&lt;/a&gt; said. So start now, and make it a habit to be grateful to your parents. Say you’re grateful and mean it. Do it now, however young or old you are. Do it on Father’s Day, Mother’s Day, every day.”&lt;br /&gt;How I wish I had done more of it. Now it’s too late — but it’s never too early.&lt;br /&gt;Ben Stein is a lawyer, writer, actor and economist. E-mail: &lt;a href="mailto:ebiz@nytimes.com"&gt;ebiz@nytimes.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway. I think I'll go stand on my front porch and yell at the neighbor kids now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-5161255678234711650?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5161255678234711650/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=5161255678234711650' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/5161255678234711650'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/5161255678234711650'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-dont-particularly-care-for-ben-stein.html' title='I don&apos;t particularly care for Ben Stein'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4430703493886349196.post-2063041211455854684</id><published>2008-06-12T11:30:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-12T12:35:57.954-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='liars'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fraud'/><title type='text'>Stupidity is not a valid defense.</title><content type='html'>Yesterday, I had to deal with a woman who wanted to return 4 small dead plants for a refund, with no receipt. She claimed that the plants had just up and died.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It had been over 100F for the previous week, and the plants looked suspiciously dry. She claimed she had watered them twice a day, along with her other plants that were all flourishing--and that these 4 were only dry because once they looked dead to her, she had put them in a plastic bag outside. Upon further conversation, she told me that she wasn't completely sure that she had bought the plants at my store; AND that she had kept these small, 4" potted plants in a southeastern exposure: in other words, in full sun. Because the tag on the plants said they liked full sun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, yes. They like full sun when they are larger and planted and not in tiny, tiny plastic pots that dry out in an hour. Young plants should not be in full sun in 100F heat. The customer was shocked to hear this. I was shocked that it wasn't common sense, especially for someone older than me. She still insisted on a refund.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked closer at the plants. Two of them were still alive, but heat stressed. The customer was also surprised to learn that when a plant still is fleshy and green at the stems/branches, it's still alive. It would take some good care, but the plant might survive. Still, she wanted a refund.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the person working the customer service desk turned to this same customer and handed back a jar of black bean dip. It seems that it wasn't in our system--which means it did not come from our store...or any store of ours in the multi-state region. I'm sorry, but it has always boggled my mind when people who are so particular and have the highest of standards, can't seem to be particular about where they return their products. AT LEAST REMEMBER WHERE YOU BOUGHT YOUR STUFF before you try to return it. I don't think it is unreasonable for me to point out that this is fraud. This customer actually got annoyed at me for refusing to refund her money on a product we don't. even. carry. The hell? She turned the subject back to the plants. "So you're not going to give me a refund?" No. Hell no. No receipt, no care taken for them...stupidity is not a valid defense when you are returning products for refund. And all you get when you then let loose with "This place has CHANGED" and "I mean it, you all have changed" and "I'll just take them back to your other store, they'll give me my money back" and "I'll be taking all of my business to that store from now on, too" is a small crowd of people looking at you like you're off your nut. Don't make a scene. Accept that you got caught lying and move on quietly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*sigh*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes you break things, or ruin them. Life sucks that way. It must suck that your parents or guardians didn't teach you to take responsibility for your actions. It really sucks that you're OK with blaming other people and entities for your mistakes. You're making the world a very crappy place for the rest of us, and I wish you would stop it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4430703493886349196-2063041211455854684?l=crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2063041211455854684/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4430703493886349196&amp;postID=2063041211455854684' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/2063041211455854684'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4430703493886349196/posts/default/2063041211455854684'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crankyoldladyblog.blogspot.com/2008/06/stupidity-is-not-valid-defense.html' title='Stupidity is not a valid defense.'/><author><name>MLL</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10580345348836085656</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YUSYYTQjVzQ/SldZDhRnMlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/RkXs8aLYy9g/S220/wildwoodNJ%2776.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry></feed>
