2001-09-03 - 9:47 p.m.
#87: No Need for Supermarket Stocktaking
Note to self: You know, I was thinking about writing out an entry about how hard it is to keep ACTUAL secrets in a journal that's basically open to the public. And that even if one were to make a private entry, it would be akin to erecting a huge sign over your head saying, "Ask me deeply personal and probing questions!" to all who knew you. Yes, indeed that would have been an entry to wax philosophical on. But instead I've decided to go all out on a sarcastic entry again, based on a recent shift of volunteer work I was roped into thanks to my mother. So for all of you who were expecting "quiet, thoughtful Edwyn" for this entry, blame my mother. It's all heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer fault.
I was going to write this out and post it about a week ago when it was actually RELEVANT, but certain other things took control of my regular bodily functions and prevented me from typing out all I had wanted to say. That is to say, aliens. Yes, aliens took me up into their space craft whereupon they prodded me with strange, cold metallic instruments and inserted tubes into every orifice of my body to find out how a human being ticked. Which they don't, in my case. I sorta slosh instead. But anyway, aliens. And that's the best reason you're going to get (other than the fact that I got lazy after finishing the "note to self" entry and wandered off to examine a particularly interesting ball of lint). In fact, the only reason I'm writing this now is because of an mp3 I put on called "A Forbidden Pensee" from some anime soundtrack which was so remarkably catchy, uplifting and nostalgic all at once: that I needed to open notepad and start writing in my journal again. Even if I wasn't necessarily in a writing mood and had nothing really currently relevant to say. Stupid mp3. Now I'm all dressed up and got nowhere to go, yanno? Ah well. Let's start with the events transpired long ago (last Saturday) that forced me to use the title for this journal. Cause really, supermarket stocktaking has PERMANENTLY put me off even considering work in a supermarket for life.
It was a dark and stormy Saturday evening. Sirens were blaring in the streets, and I was marched out into the cold and wet by my mother. For that night, we had been drafted into volunteer work for the church: to sort through thousands of items worth of goods in that bastion of food and general household products known as Foodtown Pakuranga. Well that is to say: my mother had been drafted. I was just pulled along for the ride, me being the innocent, naive son who'd be cruelly scarred by the ravages of the evenings experience. But I'm getting ahead of myself. We arrived at Foodtown at 7PM, waited around for about three quarters of an hour or so for the supermarket to be mostly cleared out, and then (much like cattle) we were herded around a supermarket supervisor (hmmm.... needs another "super" word there, I feel for some reason) who proceeded to tell us the finer details of stocktaking in a supermarket environment. It sounded simple enough. Just count the number of items in a certain bay, mark it down on the price tag for that bay, and repeat ad finitum: till the entire shelf (or two, in some cases) was cleared of the count. And the shelf itself wasn't wide either.... I mean the rows CAN be long, but rows are made up of individual shelves which are manageable sections. So I thought to myself that, while I certainly wasn't going to enjoy myself, this would be a good.... something.... or other. Experience? No. Volunteer work? I guess that could work. Yes, it was a good chance to exercise my volunteer work abilities!
Which is why at this point, God heard that little voice in my head and gave me part of the pet food/wares section to enumerate. If anyone ever needs proof that God has a sadistic sense of humour, I'm it. In fact, I'm sure that if my life story were ever televised, it would convert several million people on the spot. Convert them into believing that God is an absolutely unmitigated bastard, but believing nonetheless. Now, I have nothing against pets. In fact, I once owned a pet cat in Malaysia (she got mauled to death by the dog next door) as well as some goldfish in an outdoor pond in Australia (they got eaten by a migrating pelican). It's the pet OWNERS that buy some of the crap I had to go through that I have beef with. I could understand the importance of some of the products (well.... barely. I hadn't really that many items to keep track of when I owned MY pets....) but the sheer number of variations on a single product just astounded me. "For cats" "For dogs" "For cats and dogs" "For kittens". For the LOVE of some higher purpose deity! Who ACTUALLY buys any of this junk???
And the squeaky toys! The goddamned volume of squeaky toys! Who knew there were so many variations on THEM? And don't talk to me about the chocolates and brands of kitty litter. And I haven't even gotten to the bird section of my shelf yet. Plus, the fact that some of the products were stacked-hung from hooks made it even harder to count them. Especially when they were bunched up and perched to fall. And especially even more (damningly enough) when some smartassed customer decides that taking products from a certain section and putting it in another is funny. It's not. Really. Really, it's not. And if I find any of you ever doing something like that when we visit the supermarket I *SWEAR* I will find the hardware section of the store, get a pair of pliers, and slowly HACK your FINGERS off. Not that I'm being a hyporcrite or anything. *whistles innocently*
By the time I came off that shelf an hour and a half later, my hands were reeking of some potent mix of rubber, kitty litter, bird seed and other pet ware unmentionables. I was also one of the last to finish that particular section (the pet food aisle was almost completely empty of counters by the time I finished) so I was most grateful when I was given a much easier shelf section to count up: the unchilled bottled fruit juice section. I was not only grateful for the fact that juice bottles were a hundred times easier to enumerate (well, 3 times easier at least. I finished up in about a half hour, and that was taking my time); but for a chance to take a small revenge on the supermarket as well, no matter how spiteful it may have been. For the hundreds of shoppers buying the bottles from my part of the shelf, I hope they enjoy the smell of rubber, kitty litter, bird seed and other pet ware unmentionables with their morning glass of orange juice. Ah yes.... A perfectly horrible olfactory association to ruin the start of a good day.
After this.... Well it was back to counting more picky, small stuff (this time in the health food section) with health pills that made even less sense than some of the stuff I saw in the food aisle. Oh well, I guess cures for the human condition are wild and many varied. But I still can't see what cod liver oil is for. Bleargh. In any case, that about sums up my entire first experience with stocktaking in a supermarket. I hated it rather horridly, I did. Now let us never speak of it again. In fact, I shall emphasise that declaration by starting a new paragraph with a completely new subject and style right HERE.
But first I have to say: When I get a job (which is hopefully soon) you'll probably get an entry like the above, EVERYTIME. This will, of course, scare all future would be employers off now. Darn.
So, another week passes (two) and still no word from the fourth most insane person in the AAC (and I still feel gypped). And what do I have to show for it? Rather zip, I'm afraid. ^^;;; Normal AAC Meeting on Tuesday, increased my anime collection a little bit.... Yes, life with Edwyn is becoming increasingly static. Except when it's not, of course. But that happens relatively little. Oh yes, I went to see Gemma dancing at the Indian Dance Festival along with other AACers Clara, EB, Fergus. It left me with the impression of many gyrating (female!) bodies as well as extremely loud ear splitting music. Still, it was quite a bit of fun hearing pop/techno/hip hop/gregorian chant all being done in Indian. It's just.... why do they have to be so enthusiastic and LOUD about it all the time? For the sake of our continued hearing existence we had to leave about two acts before the final one. I wonder who won overall? I actually thought the best dance troupe was the one made up of all males. And I'm saying that because they seemed to take more risky stunts and had better dance coordination, not because I'm gay or anything. @_@ Not that there is anything wrong with that. Erm. I'll leave that subject alone now. ANYway, that was quite insane, and my mother made me promise never to invite her to something like this ever again. I think it was a bit much for her senses (though how the heck she managed to fall asleep amidst the noise astounds me). And thus ends another week for me, Edwyn. Honana. *waves*
