Brooklyn or bust!

As mentioned in the previous entry, the Picture People's reserve of Petco photographers is slight. So far this quarter, I have worked without my partner 3 out of 4 weekends and I was sent away to Baldwin, Long Island once. The weekend they sent me away was anything but ideal (I missed a party my family was hosting that I and many others look forward to all year and consequently, I'm holding an impenetrable grudge that will last a lifetime). This weekend I'm being sent with my supervisor to Brooklyn, New York. As Brooklyn is the only area of New York that I've ever gone out in, the thought of this borough conjures up really pleasant memories--memories that will all shortly be overshadowed by what is certain to be an unsatisfactory weekend. 

My 20-something supervisor, PPH, lives on coffee and nicotine (shout out to Sheryl Crow!). She takes a myriad of prescription drugs to stabilize her constantly-changing moods, and to fix other things I can't recall at the moment. She contracted chlamydia from her boyfriend of 8 years, but didn't break up with him until later when she snooped through his things and discovered an old college paper he wrote (for some reason) about how he didn't see himself ending up with her. She openly admits that she has no friends because she lives for her job. She's in debt because she makes major purchases when she's feeling depressed. She obviously has some vitamin deficiencies because one day, while biting into a pita chip, a big chunk of her molar cracked and fell off (hardest chip ever or softest teeth ever, you decide). She has the hots for our territory manager, PPJ. PPH is really excited to go to Brooklyn this weekend with me, and that only makes it worse.

Wow. And sorry.

Hey! It's been a while.

My last shift at the diner was the day before Thanksgiving. I think giving two weeks' notice confused the managers, since most people quit during a spur of the moment temper tantrum or get fired for doing something really dumb. 

On the day before my big finale, I got into an explosive argument with the only waiter on staff because he accused me of knowingly stealing his silverware. I rarely get angry and I seldom raise my voice, but when I felt that this waiter blatantly belittled my moral integrity in the manner of a 14-year-old girl, my mind went foggy and I unleashed a verbal fury upon him while menacingly waving a barbed bread knife in his face. He looked scared. It was thrilling.

During my last diner shift I was overwhelmed with tables, which was really annoying. At the very end of the night, when I still had three very demanding tables going at once, I slipped on a wet patch of cole slaw (and you know how I feel about that stuff), did a split (that I wasn't aware I was capable of), smashed my shin into a booth (ruining my stockings forever), and yelled "Jesus Christ!" in front of all my customers (thus dashing my prospects of receiving decent tips). I thought of really sticking it to the man by shirking my silverware wrapping that night, but I'm too much of a goody-goody conformist. I didn't care about how much money I made that night, I just wanted to celebrate the time-honored tradition of Thanksgiving Eve. 

I'm still taking pet portraits for the Picture People at Petco. (Say that ten times fast!) It's still a ridiculous job. I don't know if I believe the economy is in shambles if people are more interested than ever in spending money on "professional" photographs of their animals. 

The Petco contract is actually expanding and not enough people have been hired to cover the new territory yet, so the big bosses have been sending us peons to faraway, exotic store locations such as Long Island. Because of this expansion, I haven't been working with PPL nearly as much--usually we are on our own somewhere. At first I was terrified of being alone on this job, but after being by myself three times so far, I have come to realize that it's so much less stressful without my partner. The positives of her absence simply outweigh the negatives.

Pros: 

• Her shameless and lyrically incorrect renditions of Petco radio's songs is entertaining, to say the least. 
• She has become one of the most interesting people in my life at present. Every day I learn about something new--for instance, the pot leaf tattoo she has been getting surgically removed from the middle of her chest. 
• We have a good system worked out where I take the pictures and edit them, and then she does the sale. I'd prefer to never conduct a sale; I hate seeing the look on the customer's face when they realize the needlessness of what they are purchasing. 

Cons:

• She thinks everyone walking into Petco is a secret shopper sent to catch us doing something wrong.  
• She sits the whole time balancing her checkbook and typing up elaborate, useless logs for our bosses about the weekend.
• If our supervisor calls me instead of her, PPL gets paranoid that it's because she did something wrong.  
• She leaves her open drinks next to valuable electronics on our wobbly sales desk.  
• She can only focus on one thing at a time, so if she's trying desperately to establish a nearby wireless connection when a customer comes in, logically, attaining an internet connection takes priority. 
• She's never there at the right time. Usually PPL is late, but sometimes she makes up a completely different, nonexistent start-time and wonders why I'm not there.

I realized that I've never provided an actual visual for what it is that I do. So now as I conclude this entry without further delay, I present you with two prime examples of my work (keep in mind these are phone pictures taken of a computer screen).

This one I call "Adorable,"

...and this one I call "Rats!"

A Big Ol' Recap #1

Ardmore, PA
This was the king of Petcos. Because of its location in the affluent Pennsylvania region known as the Main Line, this Petco was run more like a department store rather than a glorified pet shop. It consistently garnered the most sales in the region. For all the establishment's obvious advantages, it was home to the weirdest customers ever to walk the earth.

• Let me preface this by saying I believe myself to be a very open-minded and unbiased individual. I relish the idea of shattering hateful stereotypes, yet stereotypes in general fascinate me--there's some comfort in knowing you're not alone. Where do stereotypes come from? Do people know when they're following one? Do I adhere to any? Anyway, customers at this Petco had more stereotypes than Disney's Epcot. For fear of appearing intolerant, I'll leave it at this: a Jewish man was forcibly teaching his son the value of coupons. 
• A very elderly woman dressed head to toe in faux fur was confused and screaming ridiculous commands in the middle of the store. 
• I had no idea there were so many Hasidic Jews in Ardmore, Pennsylvania. 
• A sketchy foreign woman with no purse carried her money and credit cards under her shirt in her bra. When she took a credit card out, her boob came with it. She didn't seem to notice or care.
  
• For some reason, this Petco was constantly the approximate temperature of an ice box and as I was unprepared for this, I was freezing on Friday. Try as I might to appear warm, my cold misery was incredibly evident:
• Man (in a creepy voice)- "Want to know how I know you're cold?"
• Me (quickly becoming increasingly self conscious that he's talking about what is commonly referred to as smuggling peas, headlights are on, turkeys are done, highbeams, or erect nipples.)- "How....?"
• Man (suddenly quite scholarly)- "I can see your goosebumps. The hair on your arms is standing up. You know what that's called? It's called piloERECTION."
  
• Me (exhausted from getting creeped out, then relieved, then enlightened, then creeped out again)- "Thank you."
• There was a Panera Bread right next door. I know what you're thinking, "AWESOME!" and you're half right. I was thrilled to order an amazingly satisfying meal from enthusiastic workers for three days straight, but I was also terrified about the kind of trouble PPL would find herself in with the world wide web at her disposal. After yet another wonderful Panera lunch break, I came back to the store to find my partner smirking devilishly and typing on the computer. Turns out she was having a Facebook chat conversation of questionable morality with a 32-year-old she's never met before. Due to this chat, she had me take a picture of her with her cell phone so she could send it to this stranger (not the first time I've done this for her).
• At the very end of Sunday's shift at Petco, a female customer mistook me for a Petco employee. Upon realizing her dire mistake, she complimented my eyes. Then my face. Then my entire everything. She told me I looked like Karen Allen and Denise Richards (only she called her "that woman I never liked who was married to Charlie Sheen"). Somehow the conversation turned to how she's a germaphobe and won't go near any of her sick friends and then she stressed the importance of hand-washing this time of year. She took up 20 minutes of my time.
• On Friday, I talked a man into letting us photograph his dog. On Saturday, he brought his dog back for a session but then couldn't decide on a photo so he said he'd come back after he deliberated at home. On Sunday, he approached me, quickly flashed a USB flash drive and a wad of cash from his breast pocket, and said, "I want to make a deal with you and your partner." A grown man tried to bribe me for photographs of his dog.
  

"Hey, girl..."

I'd hate to see my partner's phone bill. PPL makes at least twenty calls per day, each one starting with one of these phrases:

• "Hey, girl..."
• "Hey, bitch!"
• "Hey, baby."
• "Hey, Holly-Bolly!" (That's her greeting for our supervisor.)

On Fridays we arrive at the weekend's Petco venue at 11am and on Saturdays and Sundays, 9am. Usually, by the time I arrive punctually (and PPL arrives late), I have received three to five phone calls from her with various questions:

• "What's the address of the Petco?"
• "I just plugged the address into my GPS and it's not coming up. What should I do?"
• "Do you know if there's a Sun National Bank near the Petco? How about a TD Bank?"
• "Can you call me back once your paycheck is direct deposited into your account?"
• "I think I'm on the wrong road...there's a lot of construction around here and I think I've been on it too long. Where is the Petco again?"
• "Do you think there's a Taco Bell near by?"

On a happier note, my favorite thing about this job is Petco's consistently close proximity to Chipotle chains. I spend my weekends packing on pounds with delicious soft shell barbacoa tacos, and the rest of the week working it off at the diner by running away from dirty old men's lecherous looks.

Cue Stereotypical Early 20s Existential Crisis...

I've realized that both my jobs are perpetuating our society's downward spiral. After a lot of thought (probably too much thought) I've narrowed my jobs' evil contributions down to gluttony and materialism. I know there's nothing I can do; we have to work with what we are given, and so I am forced to profit from America's desire for stuff. 

There are about five "healthy" options in the diner's entire menu and so few people want them I don't even know where these meals are in the computer database I use to place orders. Diners are known for providing quick and greasy food, so I'm sure most dieters and members of the health conscious community steer clear of these establishments all together, but still, some things people order are just absurd. Sometimes I'm impressed by the creativity people use to turn a healthy meal into a delicious explosion of calories. You would be astounded by the amount of people I've witnessed struggling to squeeze themselves into diner booths and on several occasions I've had to try to tactfully advise customers to change tables for the sake of their own comfort. The looks on the faces of these people are incredibly heartbreaking, but my feelings for them become torn when they still order a chicken cheesesteak with extra provolone cheese and mayonnaise...but don't forget the diet Pepsi!

This week's Picture People conference call was thoroughly scathing. Territory manager was "deeply disappointed in this past weekend's performances." This weekend will likely include a surprise visit from this boss that I've never seen before, so rest assured I will be constantly on edge, dreaming anxious dreams, skipping lunch break so that I can babysit my partner, PPL, and on my best, overcompensating behavior from Friday through Sunday. Territory Manager feels that anything less than ten sessions per day in unacceptable, so from now on if we don't reach our goals each day he will call and assail our ears with more insincere business tactics and terminology. It's my opinion that Petco's contract with the Picture People is a last, dying attempt to garner more revenue--so, that being said, here's my valid, supportable question: what if my Petco only gets about ten customers per day?


I'm sorry if I offend any animal lovers, but I truly think that if you buy anything more than food, essential care items (flea medicine, etc.) and the occasional toy for your pet, you are mindlessly complying with the well-oiled machine that is the pet supply industry. Seriously, do you really need: 

• doggy rain coats,
• doggy life preservers (I do believe it's called the "doggy paddle" for a reason),
• toy mice with "realistic mouse sounds!",
• ferret t-shirts with phrases like "Grin and 'Ferret'",
• holiday pet toys (I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I don't think animals follow religion or celebrate holidays),
• Bed Head, a high-end hair product company's animal equivalent, Pet Head,
  
• or professional pet portraits by the Picture People? 

"Can I get a diet water, please?"

Saturday:  
 Absolutely nothing happened at Petco. Seriously. It was Halloween, no one wanted pictures taken, and all I wanted to do was go home, become Cleopatra, and celebrate with friends.

My Halloween transformation was more drastic than I ever could have anticipated. The bar's manager selected me for a VIP costume contest--A.K.A. a rump-shaking competition involving silly guys in creative costumes and hot girls in smutty costumes. I feel bad that the manager mistook me for a hottie and in an effort to show that I'm a classy broad (as exemplified below) I chose to not take part, but I kept my invitation to the contest for written proof that I'm better than you.

Sunday:
If it was super hard for me to wake up and get going the morning after my sex, drugs, and rock n' roll-ish Halloween, it must have been nearly impossible for my Picture People partner. When she showed up about an hour late, she looked like death and I was all, "Helloooo...Halloween was yesterday, duh." PPL told me that her night was terrible because her friends that she was so excited to see "ditched me for blow" (I have to put that in quotes because I can't take myself saying "blow" seriously, but that's exactly how she put it). This is also about the time when all my suspicions about her turned out to be completely justified--she admitted she was in recovery for cocaine abuse. I'm a regular Sherlock Holmes!!

The good and bad thing about this job is that there's a lot of downtime. If you're having a bad day, like PPL obviously was, you have time to cope with and try to solve your problems because you have a partner to pick up the slack and there are lots of times when there are absolutely no costumers in the store. On this day, however, PPL took this downtime just a smidge too far by:

•  arriving an hour late,
•  falling asleep at our makeshift sales desk for twenty minutes,
• disappearing for an hour during what is supposed to be her thirty-minute lunch break,
• and admitting that the cause of her long break was that she took a nap in the backseat of her car.

Monday and Tuesday:
These were days one and two of my sheer stockings experiment at the diner. Not to toot my own fabulous horn, but I made more money than I've ever made before (besides the time my family came in and tipped me $50)--like three times more. Though I have noticed an increased amount of ocular attention in the direction of my legs, I'm sure there's no actual connection between the increased visibility of my limbs and customers' generosity, because that just seems silly...but I will continue to wear sheer black stockings for the remainder of my employment there. Today marks day three of the experiment. I will keep you posted.

This week I planned to give the diner my two weeks' notice. Don't cry; I still want to continue serving, I'd just prefer a classier, higher-paying venue. After this week's shifts though, I have mixed feelings. As previously mentioned, I've been getting better tips than ever (though I know I could get even better tips elsewhere), the past few days have brought some really great customers, and I've had people ask for my name so they can request me in the future (this may sound like a sickeningly sweet Sally Field Academy Award speech-type thing to say, but it touches me to know that they like me, they really like me). One table said I was a great waitress and assumed I had been working there forever; they also said they hoped I kept getting promoted...but really, isn't quitting and finding a better job basically a food industry promotion?

A man at my last table on Monday night supplied a few corny gems that are necessary to share:

• "Can I get a diet water, please?"
• "Could you spill me some more coffee?"
• "Would you get me the Shepherd Special? That's coffee and a piece of 'ewe'."

"I hate pretty girls. How much longer do you guys have to stay?"

This weekend's Picture People gig brought me to a dying Petco on a busy commercial highway in Montgomeryville, Pennsylvania. Last week, the staff at the dying Petco in Willow Grove assured us that customers were plentiful, nicer, and looser with their money in Montgomeryville--you know that old saying, "the fur is always softer in the other Petco." This pet store was anything but prosperous, so needless to say, my days there weren't fruitful.
Friday:
No one showed much interest in pet portraits (surprise!) and we had one photography session all day. It involved 3 huge dogs--I snagged the customer, I took the pictures, I made the sale...did I mention I have a partner? 
At the end of the night, while we were packing up, the manager's 18-weeks-pregnant daughter came over with a coworker from her job next door for a smoking break (I know). Her coworker, Abe--he was dressed like Abraham Lincoln--asked for my name and said I looked familiar, so I told him that I get that all the time (which is absolutely true). He asked what our purpose was there and what the photo packages were, talked about all his many animals, said it was nice to meet us, and left to go smoke some more with the pregnant girl. The door had barely closed behind Abe when the manager, Beth, ran up to me and this is what followed:

Beth (gruff voice, abrasive tone)- "Yeah, so he's interested."
Me (fully aware of what was meant but completely opposed to admitting it)- "Oh! He wants a portrait?"
Beth- "No. He's interested in you. Ugh, God, does this happen everywhere you go? I hate pretty girls; you make me look bad. So, what's your deal? Are you seeing someone? Care to mess around on the side if you are?"
Me (knowing full well I have two more days to spend here and trying to diffuse the situation)- "Oh, how nice of him...!"
Beth- "He's super tall and works next door with my daughter!"
Me (wondering why she's telling me things I just saw with my own eyes...)- "Where do they work?"
Beth- "Oh my god, are those your real eyelashes? Ugh, when are you guys leaving? I hate pretty girls. They work at 6th Avenue Electronics. You could get a free television out of this...oh, and he drives a Mini Cooper."
Me (packing up my photography equipment at record speed)- "If I ever move out here to Montgomeryville, it's nice to know I have someone."