The Mop Bucket

I have a problem with lazy people. The problem I have with lazy people is that they are LAZY. You know the type. They see something that needs to be done, they don’t do it, pawn it off on someone else, hope someone else will do it if they ignore it, or do it and half-ass. Just enough to keep their job, but not enough to actually have to do any work.

Seems that some people at my place of employment weren’t aware of the problem I’m writing about. One person knows now. Because that person, let’s call her Alexa, is now no longer employed by my company, on account of me firing her lazy ass.

At the end of every shift, housekeeping type chores need to be done. No one wants to work in a dirty environment. So, of course, they need to sweep, mop, dust, wipe things down, and keep a generally tidy area. All of that gets done daily and is carefully managed. The issue is is not being able to put things back where they go, or having common sense.

For a week and a half, someone was mopping, washing the mop out, and leaning it up against the wall with the wet mop on the ground with the mop bucket next to it. UNDERNEATH THE HOOK THAT IS THERE SPECIFICALLY TO HANG A MOP ON. I know what you’re thinking. Alexa probably wan’t aware that it was there for that. It’s an odd-looking hook, she had been doing it the she did it since she started working for us, and most likely didn’t realize that the large label above the mop hook that says “MOP” is there to make sure the mop gets hung on the hook. The hook for the mop. The hook with a label on it, FOR A DAMNED MOP.

So I approached Alexa about the problem, let her know how mop hooks work, and told her why we do things a certain way. We don’t want puddles of water seeping through a crack where the floor and wall meet and creating mold or any other issue. Alexa apologized and told me she understood.

The next day the mop was on the hook! Unfortunately, the bucket was nowhere near the mop and a large puddle had formed overnight. Again, I confronted Alexa and tried to find the root of the problem.

“I didn’t know I had to put the bucket under the mop.”

I guess that’s my bad. I should have mentioned that too. Why would anyone think to just put the mop bucket underneath the wet hanging mop, or anywhere in the vicinity of the mop, especially after having a conversation about proper mop storage the afternoon before. So I gave her an in-depth training on how mops and buckets work and told her not to let it happen again. Because I have sooooooo much time for doing that kind of thing.

Another day passed.

The mop was on the floor. The bucket was closer to the mop. Next to it, actually.

Alexa will not be returning to work.

Don’t be lazy, use your brain, and try to think things through. No one has time for dumbassery. Noone wants to lose a job over dumbassery. And I don’t want it to affect my day so much that I write a blog post about your dumbassery. I even had to call it “The Mop Bucket.” Now, that’s lazy.

Fire me.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.

The Art of the Steal

You all remember The Quitter from yesterday, right? If not, then stop reading this post and go read it before going any further.

Welcome back, this is what it feels like to be caught up you lazy bum.

As I was saying, you all remember The Quitter from yesterday, right? Of course you do, I’m a very memorable writer and you should follow me immediately.

Ok, now that you’re following me, and that you’re all caught up, we can continue. No more holding back the rest of the class.

Due to the lack of composure and ethic of The Quitter, I spent a large portion of the day making phone calls and interviewing people. One young lady in particular stuck out like a sore thumb. With gangrene.

After going through most of the interview, she asks me if I’ll be performing a background check. Odd question to ask since most employers get a background check of their employees. I told her I would be doing that if we decided to go any further with the hiring process. She then proceeded to tell me that she was fired from a job about 7 years ago for stealing.

I’m a forgiving person and I don’t judge, as I’m sure you can tell from my obvious unicorns and rainbows demeanor. Unfortunately, when it comes to work, I have zero tolerance for certain things. Theft is one of those things. Especially in a business where we have our hands on hundreds of products each day, a lot of which is unsupervised.

I let her know that I would contact her to let her know either way if I wanted to continue the hiring process. She left, I immediately got on the internet.

Turns out, Klepto McStickyfingers had a misdemeanor for taking close to $500 right out of a register in front of a camera that she knew was there. Now, I know people change, everyone deserves a second chance, and all that jazz.

I also know that I have fifteen other applicants who haven’t stolen anything. Guess who I’m going to hire?

Back to the story. During my research online and a couple of calls to her old employer to find out what the circumstances were, I discovered quite a bit. McStickyfingers not only blatantly stole from her company, but told fellow employees in the weeks leading up to the crime that she’d easily be able to do it without getting caught. She thought the cameras didn’t work because they were too outdated and for sure didn’t have any kind of audio. They were there for a scare tactic. I bet she was scared when she got arrested.

I DO NOT CONDONE THEFT OF ANY KIND FROM ANY PERSON OR COMPANY.

That being said…

If you’re going to steal from someone, come on. Be fairly intelligent about it. Don’t tell people you’re capable of doing it, how and why you are capable of doing it, or when you’re going to do it. Try to block yourself from any cameras. Don’t be obvious about it. Make it look smooth.

I wrote a post a couple months ago called The Art of the Deal. Go read it. I’ll wait.

Okay, welcome back, again. If I have to make you go back one more time I’m throwing your ass out of this class.

Now insert the wealth of knowledge from The Art of the Deal into this post, The Art of the Steal. See what I did there with the titles? That was a complete coincidence. Yet it worked out seamlessly. I told you earlier I was great at this writing thing. You should read what I write every day like Iamthesunking does. Front of the class, top marks, teacher’s pet.

Anyway. Be smart about what you do. Even thieving. Again, I don’t condone theft in any way. But if you’re going to do something, do it well, think it out, be smart about it. I’d hire a good thief over a bad one any day just out of principle.

Don’t be like Klepto McStickyfingers.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a beautiful woman in my bed waiting for me to hold her so we can pass out.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.

The Swag

I see all kinds of different people in my travels. The best part of that is seeing what those people wear. Unfortunately, that’s also the worst part.

On one particular site, I saw a young man, in his early 20’s, walking across the parking lot in an outfit that all of us have seen before. Fancy sneakers, a hoodie, chains, and jeans that were low enough to see his entire ass. The hoodie didn’t go down far enough to cover it. His pants could have easily covered it, but then he wouldn’t have been able to make his fashion statement. I’m not sure what kind of statement it would have been considering the fact that half of the population has the same fashion sense. It’s just like all the goth kids that all wear the same stuff and look exactly the same but their whole thing is that they never want to conform. doesn’t make an sense.

The main thing I don’t like about this look is that this guy was wearing a belt, a big showy belt, to hold his pants in place below his ass, and he had to keep his pants firmly held in one hand to keep them from falling. MAKES NO SENSE.

To complete the look, he had AirPods in and was holding his big fancy phone in the other hand, which was adorned with a big beautiful watch that he probably didn’t know how to read. Atop his head was a baseball cap, which is a term I use lightly, since the bill was super flat and the whole thing was sideways.

I watched Thugnificent walk out of the store, adjust his hat to make sure it was still in the sideways position, hold his hand up over his face because the sun was in his eyes and it’s not like there was a device of some kind readily available specifically invented to block out the sun, LIKE A FUCKING HAT. He then waddled back to wherever he came from with his pants in hand.

Why is it so damned difficult to dress appropriately, comfortably, and with some grace? Clothes are made to fit a certain way for a reason. Don’t be like Gangstalicious.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.

The Blob

There exists a particular chain of convenience stores in the western part of Texas that makes a beef and bean burrito that I can’t get enough of. That and their own taco sauce to top off the wonderful burrito. I know, I know. Gas station food is awful. But I live on gas station food and I’ve learned what’s good and bad. So stuff it.

I was standing in line patiently waiting for the chance to pay for my two beef and bean burritos, that’s right, two, and then and incident occurred.

I felt something brush against my back. That’s a lie, something pushed up against my back hard enough to force me to take a step forward. I turned around to see what it was and was shocked.

A man of epic proportions had “nudged” his way past me. Allow me to paint a picture.

This man was extremely obese. Gym shorts. Flip flops. A very large shirt that still didn’t cover his stomach hanging below it. Long, greasy hair. Some kind of body odor that I’ve never had the misfortune of introducing to my nostrils before.

Now, I don’t have a problem with people based on their size. A lot of people have thyroid issues, addictions, maybe something passed down through the family, or any one of a myriad of perfectly legitimate reasons for being the size of Moby Dick.

What I DO have a problem with is people who are the size of Moby Dick, don’t keep up with basic hygiene, and push people out of their way with their stomach without at least a short apology.

Adding to my frustration, this guy shows up in line with a 3-liter of Coke, 2 family-sized bags of chips, several different kinds of candy, and a bag of beef jerky. The part that really got me was that he paid for all of this with food stamps. (I know this because I stayed in the store to eat since I was working on their pumps). The food stamps thing is a whole topic for another time.

I don’t really have any way to end this. Or any kind of moral to add to the story. But it frustrated me and caught me off guard and I needed to get it off my chest. So there you have it. I was attacked by the blob, and I’m a victim/survivor.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.

The Karen: Evolution

I’ve recently posted about a certain type of woman. The name I gave this woman is Karen. The name is a catchall for the women who think they are better than the average person and treat those people as such, for absolutely no reason. Karen has an average job, an average car, ill-behaved children, a let-me-speak-to-your-manager haircut, can’t get through the day without Starbucks before work and at lunch, and goes to church every Sunday just to show everyone there that she showed up. Karen is no better than anyone else, but likes to pretend she is even though she is the same as your average human being. This is a story about an evolved form of Karen: Sharon.

Sharon is a name we are going to give to the Karens of the world who, instead of treating people like garbage for no reason, do so because they actually are of a higher stature than the rest of us. Sharon has the let-me-speak-to-your-manager-so-I-can-get-you-fired haircut, drives a luxury SUV that is way too big for her, has very spoiled children who get everything they want, doesn’t have a real job but makes turquoise jewelry to sell at local markets, gives back to the community by writing a check, knows all the local politicians but doesn’t actually know anything about politics, and wouldn’t be caught dead in a Starbucks even if her cappuccino machine at home was broken.

The easiest way to spot a Sharon is by her bracelets. All of them are shiny, all of them are too big, none of them actually go together, and they are the loudest bracelets on the face of the planet.

I had the misfortune of meeting a Sharon around 4 o’clock this morning. I was just wrapping up a site and was inside the store when Sharon walked in.

Gas stations that are open 24/7 are not usually the kind of please you want to be. Sharon is the last person who wants to be there.

Sharon had been driving her Audi Q7 for the last few hours on her way to a Mary Kay sales convention and needed to use the restroom. The clerk directed her to the restroom in the corner of the store. About 2 seconds after the restroom door closed it opened right back up again and Sharon stormed to the counter.

How could that clerk expect her to use such a terrible facility?! Not only is it unisex, but it was filthy. Clearly some man has sprayed his DNA all over the place and she would be calling the district manager to let him know how she was being treated.

I was the last person in that restroom, it was spotless before and after I used it. Very clean, smelled good, and was fairly spacious. So I don’t know what the hell Sharon was talking about, and seeing as how the clerk was the one who cleaned it, he was as perplexed as I.

Not only did Sharon display her disgust at such treatment, but she exclaimed that she will never visit one of these gas stations again. As she walked out the door she could be heard muttering that she should have just flown to her conference.

Good riddance.

Karens are awful people to deal with. Sharons are worse. I have dealt with many Karens and Sharons in my day. This particular Sharon was on the tame side. I’m sure it won’t be long before I get to experience another. Can’t wait.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.

The Tourists

Traveling for work means dealing with tourists on the road. Sooooo many tourists. Young and old, every time of day or night, every day of the week. It’s as if no one goes to school, has a job, a life. Or everyone I come across is super rich and has no need for any of that.

I end up traveling down a lot of 2-lane roads when I drive. Lots of curves, no room to pass, low speed limits, and tourists. There is no frustration greater than being stuck behind a tourist going 5 or 10 miles under the speed limit when you can’t pass them. The reason they drive so slow seems to be so they can look out every window except the windshield to take in the scenery, completely unaware of anyone around them. Or they don’t care.

This is something that happens several times a day. This is something that happens regardless of location. This is something that happens no matter what time it is. This is something that happens even if I beg God to run either me or the tourists off the road.

These same tourists don’t appear to have ever eaten in any restaurant anywhere, ever. They don’t understand pictures, lines, how to order food, how to be polite to those in front of or behind them, or that they are the only ones who are not under a time-constraint.

My favorite tourists are the ones who stop in doorways to chat to the other tourists whether they know them or not. These same tourists also don’t know how to park, but I don’t have to patience to get into that right this second.

I love traveling and looking at the scenery of new places I’ve never explored. I do the speed limit, or more, I use the mirrors in the vehicle, I pull over safely to allow others to pass me so I can stop and look around. I order quickly when in a line and I don’t stand in doorways to talk about the fucking roadrunner I saw run across the road last week. We get it. It was a roadrunner. It ran. It ran across the road. Get out of my way, Dr. Seuss, I have things to do.

If you’re reading this and you are not a tourist, I’m sure you know exactly what I’m talking about. If you’re reading this and you ARE a tourist, I absolutely mean no disrespect. But that means you should be respectful as well. Be mindful of those around you on the road, in restaurants, in doorways, and in parking lots instead of parking so close to my vehicle that you don’t know how to get out of your car so you stare at me until I move because you screwed up and don’t understand how to back up and park again without taking 20 minutes to get the car in gear.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.

The J’Accuse!

I’m not sure why I haven’t written about this yet. It should have been one of the first posts I wrote. Basically, I did my job, did a good deed for the day, got spit on, and didn’t kill anyone.

Let’s dive in.

Gallup, NM. The dead of winter. Strong wind, snow, 6 degrees, and hard work. I have 4-foot manhole covers open, large orange cones everywhere, I’m a large guy in a bright orange work shirt, jacket, and safety vest. All fuel dispensers are bagged off in bright yellow caution bags that say “OUT OF SERVICE.”

Enter Karen. I’m using the name Karen because everyone knows a Karen, and knows that Karen is a terrible person. Karen drives a white 2016 Honda Civic. Karen has a “let me speak to your manager” haircut. Karen is roughly 65 years old. Karen hates the world, specifically, hard workers named Michael.

Michael, the hero of our story, is diligently working in terrible weather and trying to stay positive. All of a sudden, a white 2016 Honda Civic speeds through a section of large orange cones that are surrounding 4-foot manholes.

Any vehicle, especially small, white 2o16 Honda Civics, don’t do well when driven through 4-foot manhole covers. In fact, they do so poorly that they can even get a flat tire.

Karen now has a flat tire.

This is very clearly my fault, as my large, brightly-clothed frame and large orange cones don’t scream “DO NOT DRIVE THROUGH HERE, YOU MORON.”

Karen decides that the only way to diffuse and correct this situation is to get out and yell at Michael. “You don’t have the right to shut down a whole gas station! I’m on empty, and now I have a flat tire! I want your name, company name and phone number, and your boss’s name!! I’m going to call and report this!”

Naturally, Michael gives her all the information she wants, knowing full well that this is entirely her fault. The cones, cameras, and witnesses were proof enough.

In an effort to calm Karen down, Michael offers to change her tire for her and apologized for the travesty she has experienced, because Michael is a nice fucking guy. Changing a tire is easy enough, but still a frustrating task. Added insults and rants from bitchy old women like Karen don’t help.

The tire is changed, all is well, and Karen is back in her white 2016 Honda Civic without so much as a “thanks.” The store employees and manager even come out to offer help and ask what happened. Karen very eagerly explains in full detail what transpired and why she is so upset. The store employees and manager, who witnessed everything from inside the store, have been on the side of our hero from the beginning and just shake their heads in disbelief.

Karen, either exhausted from this catastrophe she has experienced or anxious to berate some other poor human being at another location, decides it’s time to race off and test that new tire.

Our favorite 65 year old degenerate circles back around the fuel pumps to find an exit and pulls back around next to me as I’m kneeling down besides a 4-foot manhole to yell at me one last time and remind me that I must not know who she is, she can’t wait to call my office first thing Monday morning, and that she’s glad she doesn’t to do such a lowly job and work with the likes of me.

Then, the climax of our story occurs. Karen musters up a tiny bit of spit from her dusty, wrinkly old mouth, and launches it right into the side of my head.

Michael, the super heroic and hard-working man that he is, is ready to lose his shit. This is the first job of the day, he hates the cold and snow, New Mexico is one of his least-favorite states, and he has a low tolerance for rudeness, especially since he almost always respects his elders.

Karen speeds off immediately after her display of emotion, never to be seen again. The store manager watches this go down and comes back out to see if Michael is okay after what Karen did.

Honestly, this is a fairly normal day in Michael’s life. People are rude, have bad days, want to take frustration out on the guy messing up their routine, and are usually not awful people. Michael drinks a coffee and goes on about his day, and cut it a couple hours short to find a hotel.

Don’t be like Karen.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.