Adventure Tourism

Fresh from her week of frolicking in the hinterlands with her boyfriend's friends, my roommate is back with a vengeance. For reasons beyond me, she is fixated on obtaining her Class M (Motorcycle) license and may have broken her foot in her driver training class today.

Cue dramatic traipsing around of apartment while hobbling, cursing, soaking foot, cursing some more...

I didn't really care to hear the gory details of her mishap since human contact is not high on my priority list after the day/week/month from hell.

I slept poorly because I was overtired and couldn't actually fall asleep even when I tried. I hadn't slept much the night before, mostly due to excessive Red Bull consumption and alcohol. I got the misguided idea that I was closing, and scheduled a delivery attempt from my good friends at DHL (hello!). I woke up at 7 and planned on napping in the spare bedroom while I waited. I had gone to bed quite late the night before thanks to The Aftershow and sporadic thunderstorms.

I was also planning on syncing/charging my iPod while I napped, but I couldn't really sleep once I got out of bed.I had to do thte schedule for work so I got up to start making a new one when my eyes fell on the days date. By this time it was around 8:20 am, or 20 minutes before I have to leave to catch my bus on time, expet I was still in my pyjamas and hadn't showered yet.

Fuuuuck! I muttered to myself as I frantically went through about half-a-million scenarios in my head. I finally decided that I should just take my time, put on a pot of coffee and just take a cab to work as I hyperventilated and narrowly avoided a nervous breakdown.

I called DHL to reschedule my delivery (again!) and went on with my day. M cab arrived shortly thereafter and I had to get the chattiest cab driver on today of all days. My phone rang and it was my cellular provider but it was super loud in the car (construction season) and I couldn't hear a thing.

I arrived a little later than normal but still before the store opened and took my time (chainsmoking , so much for quitting) and stalked into work.

You work at Urban Outfitters, Therefore you are...

So I broke down and went to Urban Outfitters to buy shoes, and as promised, there is a story involved.

I went in before my shift on Friday and was half-assedly greeted by this guy wearing a toque indoors (how ironic, asshole) who's folding shirts and looks up briefly to mumble a weak "Hey" but barely any sound comes out so I'm just assuming that's what was said. I admittedly haven't been in UO in awhile, so I pause momentarily to look around and familiarize myself with my surroundings before venturing any further into the unknown.

I spot some shoes over by a fake hearth (cozy) but they aren't the ones I'm looking for. Still looking, my eyes start to glaze over and finally I look past the hearth an see shoes in the distance, my line of sight partially obstructed by a stark white leather couch (because people who dress like bag ladies can afford leather couches).

I stride over confidently and pick the display model up and hold it in my hand for a couple of minutes running my fingers over the seams, exploring every nook and cranny with my curious fingers. After a few moments I collect myself and start looking around for the boxes, cursory glances here and there, but no dice. I have to find a sales associate to help me, except I can't quite positively identify anyone who is actually in their employ.

I make my way over to the disaffected greeter/t-shirt folder extraordinaire, but I am foiled by the arrival of one of his friends (or a really friendly customer, sometimes it's hard to tell). I try to wait it out, but who knows how long the convo will last and I don't want to interrupt in case it is another customer but I'm still kinda on a deadline so I leave, somewhat dejected and try to find someone else who can assist me.

I see an oddly dressed fellow poring over a clipboard by the till island but I can't quite tell if he works at UO (he's wearing a hideous soccer jersey) or if he's a delivery person and I refuse to ask the dreaded "Um, do you work here?" so I make my way back to the greeter. He's free now and I ask if someone can help me get a size in a pair of shoes. He looks at me, rolls his eyes and sighs (he's busy, I can see that, and t-shirts don't just fold themselves) as he walks away. He motions another girl and she rolls her eyes too (I think) but ambles over nonetheless. I show her the shoes I want and ask for my size. She grabs the box and half-tosses it on the table at my knees. I open the box and try on one, it fits so I just tell her I'll take them and she puts the lid on the box and hands them to me.

I make my way over to the till island and have to choose between two lines, one with 12 people in it (no joke) and one with 2 being manned by the soccer jersey guy (who knew). I decide that the soccer jersey guy is probably a safe bet and assume that his line is shorter because he just opened up. I grab my spot in line and wait. By the time the person in front of me has been served the other cashier has rung through all 12 of her customers and a few extra on top of that. I'm still waiting for the soccer fan to pick up the pace and stop delicately creaming his pants over ugly floppy hats.

Finally it's my turn and I have to remind the soccer fan to please take off the security tag from my shoes lest I have to return for its removal and actually spend more time in this godforsaken place.

After picking up lunch for The Pansy, I show off my latest acquisition and notice how oddly they fit for the first time. I've got ample room in the toe area and I'm wearing a half-size down from what I normally wear as it is (I like my shoes to fit tight, and slips generally stretch out a ton, so a little discomfort at first is for the best in the long run). At this point, I'm already at work and refuse to go to UO twice in one day but a couple hours later The Goth Girl comes in and agrees to exchange them for me.

Of course she had her iPod earphones in one ear so wasn't really paying attention to my instructions and thought I just wanted her to check to see if they had my size. She calls back to report they do, and I'm having a nervous breakdown. The Pansy explains that I had already bought the shoes and I just need her to exchange them for a smaller size. She makes her way back to the store, picks up my shoes and regales me with tales from UO.

It seems when she went there to inquire about my shoes, the guy was super rude to her and asked

"Do you even know who Mark Gonzales is?" "Um, no, but the shoes aren't for me, they're for a friend" was her response

"Typical. We had a bet going that most people ho bought these wouldn't even know who he was" was his snide retort. "Like I said before, I'm just picking them up for a friend and I'm pretty sure she known who he is" "Well, what do you think of [the shoes]?""They're sweet. I like the robot. It's cool" "Point proven" the sales associate spits as he walks away and The Goth Girl just stands there in total disbelief.

I'm incensed

"Who the fuck does he think he is, God's gift to retail? He works at fucking Urban Outfitters!"

as she recounts the story, she seems likes he's near tears with rage. I demand that she complain when she goes back to return the shoes and that if she doesn't I will. There's really no need to be rude, I get that he probably has to deal with total fucktards all day but don't bite the hand that feeds you.

She returns and confronts him and he's taken aback and apologizes because he was caught off guard so no harm no foul, but still. Long story short, I got my new shoes and they're rad, but I probably won't be going back to UO, but it's their loss, not mine

Seeing Red

and no this is not a mushy Valentine's Day post because for some reason I hate all holidays (illegitimate or not).

This girl was trying on shoes at work today and refused to even accept the fact that despite the fact that she normally takes an 8, a 7.5 might just fit her as all shoes fit differently, from brand to brand and within brands from one style to another.

Since she's an expert on skate shoes (she was wearing running shoes, so...) I got kinda annoyed that she wouldn't get past a tiny little number (I, for one, would kill to have a smaller shoe size) and angrily put the shoes away as she left, while griping to a coworker about it.

"Argh! I just want to use [her] eyes as ashtrays. I hate people like that!" came her embittered response.

Sadly I too feel uncontrollable rage when customers (and friends alike, The Goth Girl can attest to this) refuse to try different sizes.

I was in a bad mood already, probably because I got no sleep the night before because I was at work until almost 4 am helping our guys store move (they're doing renos and had to move all their shit to a temporary location. The Gentle Giant had the genius idea of scheduling a staff meeting as a ruse to get as many people as possible to show up to help the move go quicker) but it just got worse as the day progressed and as I listened to what seemed like a million voice mail messages from The Engineer something pushed me over the edge.

As soon as The Pansy and I finished watching The Hills, I jetted because I could feel the all-consuming rage coming and she didn't need to be in th warpath. When I'm angry, I need to be alone to seethe or else I just end up dragging someone else down with me, that's just how I roll. Naturally, I called The Engineer because another thing I like to do when I'm angry is see how angry I can make other people - selfish, yes, but it makes me feel better. Somehow I got roped into a late night movie screening so I'm off to watch ...As If! (a snowboarding film, it's a link to the teaser)/catch up on episodes of Ugly Betty with The Engineer, little does he know that we're probably going to get into a huge fight because I'm also quite argumentative when I'm angry.

The voice of reason

The Archaeologist: Wow, I don't think I've ever heard you swear before...

Team Gingerbread: Are you fucking kidding me?! Every motherfucking second word out of my mouth is a swear word.

I just wanted to know exactly when it became acceptable for people to tote their dogs around with them everywhere they go. I mean, I shouldn't really have to explicitly state that unless you're fucking blind, you don't need a dog at your beck and call while shopping, no?

Just who do you think you are, Paris Hilton circa 2002?

The Pansy: Unless you're towing your dog around in Louis Vuitton, leave it at home!

An open letter to that couple on the bus

...you know who you are!

So yeah, I'm super stoked that you two felt the need to grace this world with another child, and all before the tender age of nineteen no less, but please spare us the visuals.

It's really not necessary to openly grope you little man friend (the baby's father I presume?) in full view of both commuters and your impressionable child. I really don't need a play by play re-enactment of exactly how your child was conceived (less the alcohol that was clearly involved, of course).

"Oh sure", you say, "just don't look", but that's really not possible this time as everyone on the bus, myself included, are also pretending not to notice the fully-grown man sobbing tearfully into his coworkers shoulder abotu the customers who were mean to him (grow the fuck up!). So no, it's really not possible for me, or anyone else, to look elsewhere.

Save the penis to hand contact for more private quarters, or at least an area of the bus that's slightly less well lit (they were near the front with their child in a stroller), or better yet, let him focus his attention on the PSP in his hands instead of on you, lord knows you probably don't need another child running around.

-------

In other news, I made 'mad claims' as the Archaeologist would say at work yesterday selling a complete snowboard (all high end equipment too!) to one girl whose dad was footing the bill and 2(!!!) jackets and snowpants to this mom and daughter and a handful of less expensive items.

Detached - in every sense of the word

So this weekend started off really well, there was obviously a boy involved, and everything was running smoothly. My sexual drought was quenched, albeit temporarily, and I couldn't help but see the world through rose-coloured glasses - and if you know me well enough ,this is as close to elated as I get.

Until it all came crashing down this morning.

What, me happy? That's un-possible.

Naturally, I was in a foul mood, so I ditched out on classes and went shopping. Probably not the brightest thing I've done but the situation called for some retail therapy, because that's what shallow people do.

I bought that $200 Franklin&Marshall hoodie that I had my eye on for ages (at 50% off no less) and some jeans as well as a bright pink vest (because the purple one looked horrid on me).

I even treated myself to some Starbucks coffee, that's how down I was (I've tried to stop spending so much money on coffee because my coffee tab was approaching $30/week).

And then The Space Invader called in sick; and by 'called in sick' I actually mean just plain old didn't show up for her shift - I was livid, and plan on going out of my way to get her fired. The only reason that she still works at our store (everyone hates her) is that she's a good upseller and when you're dealing in hardgoods (snowboards, bindings, and boots) that's a very good thing.

(breathe in)

Tomorrow is another day, and there's no way that it could get any worse right?

There's more to the story...

This made me laugh when I saw it on my personalised Google home page.

The Coles Notes version of last night:

* Laguna Beach
* Shitty wings - seriously, worst.wings.ever.
* Free beer/shots ("Do you guys need more to drink?" was the theme of the night)
* Peer pressure
* Arguing in the rain because you're both far too stubborn to go in first for 2+ hours
* No sleep

Maybe I'll elaborate more once I get home from work, but for now I'm just trying to remain awake for the next 11 or so hours. This whole working on my days off from school thing is burning me out.

Easy as 1,2,3?

...not so much. I thought my new phone was great until I realized that it's not setup for anything that I need it to do, such as checknig my voicemail and downloading new ringtones/background images to replace my old ones. Boo!

I called the customer service line for my phone company, they're usually pretty good and answer questions efficiently and I've never had to wait on hold for more than a few minutes. They gave me the voicemail number the first time I called, no sweat. Then I go to download pcitures and my phone tells my there's a connection error. Since that's happened once or twice before, I think nothing of it, and retry.

No dice.

Ok, call #2 to the customer service line. They tell me that Motorola will help me set up the browser and everything, but they can give me the dns #s and the username etc.

Fine.

I hang up the phone and call Motorola, after waiting on hold for what seemed like an eternity listening to the shittiest music known to humans, I'm connected with this dimwit who proceeds to talk my ear off for the better part of 5 minutes.

"This is a customer service help line" I want to yell at him, "shouldn't you be asking me what you can help me with?". He finally pauses to take a breath and I ask him my burning question - his response: "Oh, yeah we don't/can't do that. You'll have to take your phone in to your service provider kiosk and they'll program it for you."

I was about to let him have it when Pancake/Latte, start yelling in the hallway. They're normally the loud ones so it doesn't really surprise me, but this was literally right outside my door at this point, and I open the door, and just start yelling.

[rage-blackout gingerbread is back]

I don't even know what I said, but I was pissed. Doors were slammed, so that I could get back to yelling at the CSR. Somehow I was able to maintain my cool, and simply told him that it was obvious that he couldn't help me so I wasn't going to take up any more of his time.

Then I hung up the phone before he could respond.

Later, I notice that there's this weird crackling sound coming from the living room, kinda sounds like popping bubble wrap. I think to myself, "Ha, maybe the living room's on fire!". Funny thing is that Latte actually started a fire because she was so cold.

The Angrymaker

Someone once asked me why I don't really drink, and I was unable to answer. Other than the fact that I drank way too much when I lived in rez, the fact that I work at a bar - and consequently work all weekend, and that I didn't really like the loss of control, I didn't have any real reasons behind my abstinence.


Until Tuesday.

When I realized that I'm REALLY impatient, possibly the most impatient person in the world. I've actually suggested tasering slow-walkers at the mall (no joke). I'm talking rage-blackout type impatient. I'm impatient all of the time, but when I'm inebriated I no longer have the resolve to stifle it. Then I turn into Brutally Honest Gingerbread, and no one likes that. Seriously, you should hear some of the shit that comes out of my mouth when auto-censor is off.

Anger Management

I'm so ANGRY right now! If only I had just listened to my instincts and skipped class yesterday afternoon, I would have been cradling the RAZR as I type this, instead I'm in my room clutching the 'sorry we missed you' door hanger from Canada Post that let's me know they have my phone, I just can't pick it up until after 1pm.


Of course the package could be the camera my dad is sending me, but I've worked myself up so much that I'll actually be disappointed if it is the camera.


So I'm warning you in advance Dad, the camera might have been 'destroyed in the mail' already and I might have return it to Future Shop once I regain conciousness from my Motorola RAZR-induced rage blackout.

Anger Management

I'm so ANGRY right now! If only I had just listened to my instincts and skipped class yesterday afternoon, I would have been cradling the RAZR as I type this, instead I'm in my room clutching the 'sorry we missed you' door hanger from Canada Post that let's me know they have my phone, I just can't pick it up until after 1pm.


Of course the package could be the camera my dad is sending me, but I've worked myself up so much that I'll actually be disappointed if it is the camera.


So I'm warning you in advance Dad, the camera might have been 'destroyed in the mail' already and I might have return it to Future Shop once I regain conciousness from my Motorola RAZR-induced rage blackout.

The Arts Mindset

I was filled with rage as I chatted with one of my co-workers about the 'evils of corporate america'. I'm just so sick of these university (primarily arts, but they're not the only ones afflicted) attitudes regarding earth-raping multinational conglomerates.

I KNOW that the atrocities that these companies commit are horrible and occur with far more frequency than I am comfortable with, but I can't stand hearing about it from people who have all directly benefited from it. This attitude is way too simplistic, and smacks of naïveté.

As much as I hate capitalism, I can never escape the fact that without it, neither of my parents would be employed (my mom is a market research exec and my dad is a ca at a major firm), I wouldn't be going to university, and I might never have been adopted.

so please, just spare me