So as per usual every couple of weeks, ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cleverthylacine and I went on a shopping run. We arrived at the final leg of the tour all caffeinated and ready for entertainment, so we naturally stopped through the Halloween section. The first part we looked at was the part with the colored hairspray, and I grabbed a bottle of the blue and silver glitter, because, hello, blue hair + Azz = yes.
We made a double circuit of the section, first chattering about the lovely Spider Girl outfit that was totally age-appropriate and cute and neither "sexy" nor OMG PINK (though there was also a pink Spider Girl outfit, but together with the red and blue one that meant, you know, CHOICES) and then looking at the other costumes, trying to figure out where the cutoff was where the women's costumes were all SEXY VERSION WHERE MAN'S COSTUME IS NOT SEXY. Pirate, sexy pirate. Ninja, sexy ninja. Doctor, sexy nurse. I saw a "vampiress" (sexy) costume and pointed it out to Tif, who was righteously disgusted. "You know what, if I dress as a vampire this year, I'm going in FLANNEL," she said. "Flannel and GLITTER." We agreed that Halloween in the Castro is no time to be wearing one's good clothes. "And if someone asks you where Edward is, you can say 'I divorced his ass twenty years ago and went to college'," I added.
We swung back for a third look at the shelves, this time with intent, looking for vampire teeth. Flannel is relatively easy to come by, Tif has sensible shoes she can wear, she already has plenty of glitter, she just needed teeth, and maybe -- maybe -- some fake blood. I spotted the party favor kids' teeth, $2~ for a 10-pack, but those wouldn't work. "I saw the makeup over this way," I said, and we examined the shelves. I eventually did spot one pair, in a package with some grease paint, but those were not satisfactory. I stared at the shelves while Tif poked around in more detail, and suddenly my eye caught on the colored hairspray display.
I did a double-take. I stared. I could not believe my eyes at first. I was struck by the absurdity of it all first, and then horror as I imagined the inevitable end result.
"Tif, can you spot what's problematic about this display?" I asked, pointing.
She looked. "Wait, is this the [social justice] kind of problematic, or the LOL FAIL kind of problematic?" she asked.
"The latter."
"There's ... pink paint on the shelf?" she hazarded.
So there was, and some was blobbed on one of the cans, but that wasn't it.
I will now share the pictures that I took, so everyone at home can play along. (I shared this in #dreamwidth and on Twitter earlier.) For those without images, there are six images; the first five are incompletely described, and the sixth is a repeat of the first image, with annotations drawn on the picture and also described fully.
( Full Shelf )
( Medium close )
( Close-up: blue )
( Close-up )
( Close-up: Side-by-side )
( Full shelf: annotated with explanation )
Tif did not actually register the real problem until I pointed it out, at which point she joined me in alternating between horror and snickering.
( I located an employee. )
cleverthylacine and I went on a shopping run. We arrived at the final leg of the tour all caffeinated and ready for entertainment, so we naturally stopped through the Halloween section. The first part we looked at was the part with the colored hairspray, and I grabbed a bottle of the blue and silver glitter, because, hello, blue hair + Azz = yes. We made a double circuit of the section, first chattering about the lovely Spider Girl outfit that was totally age-appropriate and cute and neither "sexy" nor OMG PINK (though there was also a pink Spider Girl outfit, but together with the red and blue one that meant, you know, CHOICES) and then looking at the other costumes, trying to figure out where the cutoff was where the women's costumes were all SEXY VERSION WHERE MAN'S COSTUME IS NOT SEXY. Pirate, sexy pirate. Ninja, sexy ninja. Doctor, sexy nurse. I saw a "vampiress" (sexy) costume and pointed it out to Tif, who was righteously disgusted. "You know what, if I dress as a vampire this year, I'm going in FLANNEL," she said. "Flannel and GLITTER." We agreed that Halloween in the Castro is no time to be wearing one's good clothes. "And if someone asks you where Edward is, you can say 'I divorced his ass twenty years ago and went to college'," I added.
We swung back for a third look at the shelves, this time with intent, looking for vampire teeth. Flannel is relatively easy to come by, Tif has sensible shoes she can wear, she already has plenty of glitter, she just needed teeth, and maybe -- maybe -- some fake blood. I spotted the party favor kids' teeth, $2~ for a 10-pack, but those wouldn't work. "I saw the makeup over this way," I said, and we examined the shelves. I eventually did spot one pair, in a package with some grease paint, but those were not satisfactory. I stared at the shelves while Tif poked around in more detail, and suddenly my eye caught on the colored hairspray display.
I did a double-take. I stared. I could not believe my eyes at first. I was struck by the absurdity of it all first, and then horror as I imagined the inevitable end result.
"Tif, can you spot what's problematic about this display?" I asked, pointing.
She looked. "Wait, is this the [social justice] kind of problematic, or the LOL FAIL kind of problematic?" she asked.
"The latter."
"There's ... pink paint on the shelf?" she hazarded.
So there was, and some was blobbed on one of the cans, but that wasn't it.
I will now share the pictures that I took, so everyone at home can play along. (I shared this in #dreamwidth and on Twitter earlier.) For those without images, there are six images; the first five are incompletely described, and the sixth is a repeat of the first image, with annotations drawn on the picture and also described fully.
( Full Shelf )
( Medium close )
( Close-up: blue )
( Close-up )
( Close-up: Side-by-side )
( Full shelf: annotated with explanation )
Tif did not actually register the real problem until I pointed it out, at which point she joined me in alternating between horror and snickering.
( I located an employee. )
Tags:
- bad ideas,
- bad shelving moments,
- blue hair,
- crackheadeness,
- dangerous equipment,
- disasters,
- disturbing things,
- gawdawful crap,
- hone my rage and hatred,
- i am a trained professional,
- i have a bad feeling about this,
- illustrated,
- just plain wrong,
- my day,
- omgwtf,
- omgwtfbbq,
- on crack,
- subversive holiday messages,
- that was a bad idea,
- that was really a bad idea,
- the wrongest tool possible,
- things that are wrong,
- vitamin wtf,
- wacky adventures,
- wtf,
- you hold on for your life
Don't be like this individual.
This individual sent a text to their partner: "OMG I'M DYING!"
They returned home to their partner, who had not received any such text, nor the subsequent texts.
Further details ensue, after the expected amount of back-and-forth debate and showing of phones.
Individual had received a rather rightly concerned text back inquiring were they all right.
Individual replied with the details, phrased in a fashion appropriate for sending a text to long-term committed partner: in the pink of health, but had just passed a very large crowd of nubile 18+ people of all genders including the appropriate one(s), dressed to the very scanty nines, and was accordingly in a state that a long-term committed partner might appreciate a heads-up on, that said partner might take the opportunity to prepare for a partner coming home in such a state.
No response. Meanwhile, noticing that the phone was lagging as it was full of thousands of texts, the individual takes the opportunity to CLEAR THE ENTIRE MESSAGE HISTORY.
Needless to say, the text? Was not sent to the partner. No immediate way to see to whom it had been sent, see above: cleared message history.
Partner is attempting to not break down in hysterical tears of laughter and be supportive. Individual is meanwhile freaking out at all the possible people it could have been. Partner helpfully asks about further people who could have been in the address book. (Loving. Dear. Supportive. Partner.)
There is a collective scramble for the service provider's site, which keeps track of outgoing texts. Service provider, upon the eventual login, helpfully shares that (entirely likely due to the HURRICANE) they are having a few days' lag time on some of the generally-unimportant shit like to whom one has sent an outgoing text message.
The top suspects to whom this text could have been sent are all people who had been texted after the partner. The consequences of any of them getting it would be ... awkward, especially as the phrasing did not necessarily indicate the relationship of the person receiving the text, just the individual's current status, and the implication that the recipient of the text could probably have a hand in relieving that status.
Some of the top suspects have been informed that there was a mis-aimed personal text sent out, so now the individual is getting a certain amount of razzing from them (and they didn't get it). So the recipient is still on the loose.
The moral of the story is: PLEASE DON'T TEXT WHILE DRIVING.
This story has been posted with the knowledge and consent of at least one of the parties directly involved in this situation.
Also, Bwahahaahah!
This individual sent a text to their partner: "OMG I'M DYING!"
They returned home to their partner, who had not received any such text, nor the subsequent texts.
Further details ensue, after the expected amount of back-and-forth debate and showing of phones.
Individual had received a rather rightly concerned text back inquiring were they all right.
Individual replied with the details, phrased in a fashion appropriate for sending a text to long-term committed partner: in the pink of health, but had just passed a very large crowd of nubile 18+ people of all genders including the appropriate one(s), dressed to the very scanty nines, and was accordingly in a state that a long-term committed partner might appreciate a heads-up on, that said partner might take the opportunity to prepare for a partner coming home in such a state.
No response. Meanwhile, noticing that the phone was lagging as it was full of thousands of texts, the individual takes the opportunity to CLEAR THE ENTIRE MESSAGE HISTORY.
Needless to say, the text? Was not sent to the partner. No immediate way to see to whom it had been sent, see above: cleared message history.
Partner is attempting to not break down in hysterical tears of laughter and be supportive. Individual is meanwhile freaking out at all the possible people it could have been. Partner helpfully asks about further people who could have been in the address book. (Loving. Dear. Supportive. Partner.)
There is a collective scramble for the service provider's site, which keeps track of outgoing texts. Service provider, upon the eventual login, helpfully shares that (entirely likely due to the HURRICANE) they are having a few days' lag time on some of the generally-unimportant shit like to whom one has sent an outgoing text message.
The top suspects to whom this text could have been sent are all people who had been texted after the partner. The consequences of any of them getting it would be ... awkward, especially as the phrasing did not necessarily indicate the relationship of the person receiving the text, just the individual's current status, and the implication that the recipient of the text could probably have a hand in relieving that status.
Some of the top suspects have been informed that there was a mis-aimed personal text sent out, so now the individual is getting a certain amount of razzing from them (and they didn't get it). So the recipient is still on the loose.
The moral of the story is: PLEASE DON'T TEXT WHILE DRIVING.
This story has been posted with the knowledge and consent of at least one of the parties directly involved in this situation.
Also, Bwahahaahah!
Tags:
Death isn't good enough.
Mar. 9th, 2006 10:00 pmBill Napoli is the sound of me saying things inside with my outside voice. My shocked, scared, and furious outside voice.
I want to believe that he's doing this because he believes that it is the right thing. But once you're a legislator and you start saying, "You're not religious and you weren't a virgin, so your rape wasn't bad enough to traumatize you enough to not have to bear your rapist's child" ...
...![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
garnetdagger would like a word with this man.
I want to believe that he's doing this because he believes that it is the right thing. But once you're a legislator and you start saying, "You're not religious and you weren't a virgin, so your rape wasn't bad enough to traumatize you enough to not have to bear your rapist's child" ...
...
garnetdagger would like a word with this man.
A very sweet conspiracy
Jan. 21st, 2006 03:01 amToday's moment of OMGWTF at work was brought to us by none other than the intrepid One-Man Bald Nudity Crusade. He somehow managed to induce malfunction in the really damn nifty ice cream vending machine, which is possibly the most reliable vending machine in the building.
This caused a hissy-fit to develop, and the security guard had to deal with it. The security guard is someone, who really ought to have been mentioned before because he's just a regular background character in the fabric of the workplace. He knows pretty much everyone by sight and gets along with pretty much everyone. (He knows who I am because I am usually getting out of the building very late at night. This causes some bogglement in him, especially when I reveal that I have actually spent upwards of ten hours at work. )
I overheard the security guard telling one of the people with an actual office about the hissy-fit. Alas, I didn't stick around for the complete story, but the beginning sounded promising.
It started as being a conspiracy on the part of the vending machine company to get people's money and not give them the goods that were paid for. Knowing the guy, it probably developed further along those lines, because the people who give refunds over the vending machine are the front office. The front office is -- surprise! -- closed after 5 in the evening, and the front office also won't be back until Monday. So this means that the welcome desk won't give him a refund, and the Shift Ops Supervisor won't give him a refund. Clearly conspiracy time.
"You might as well buy from drug dealers! At least there you get what you pay for!"
Indeed.
Indeed.
The security guard asked if we could please give him some warning on these people, so he knows what to expect.
This caused a hissy-fit to develop, and the security guard had to deal with it. The security guard is someone, who really ought to have been mentioned before because he's just a regular background character in the fabric of the workplace. He knows pretty much everyone by sight and gets along with pretty much everyone. (He knows who I am because I am usually getting out of the building very late at night. This causes some bogglement in him, especially when I reveal that I have actually spent upwards of ten hours at work. )
I overheard the security guard telling one of the people with an actual office about the hissy-fit. Alas, I didn't stick around for the complete story, but the beginning sounded promising.
It started as being a conspiracy on the part of the vending machine company to get people's money and not give them the goods that were paid for. Knowing the guy, it probably developed further along those lines, because the people who give refunds over the vending machine are the front office. The front office is -- surprise! -- closed after 5 in the evening, and the front office also won't be back until Monday. So this means that the welcome desk won't give him a refund, and the Shift Ops Supervisor won't give him a refund. Clearly conspiracy time.
"You might as well buy from drug dealers! At least there you get what you pay for!"
Indeed.
Indeed.
The security guard asked if we could please give him some warning on these people, so he knows what to expect.
Within the past couple weeks, I had a very unusual call in.
There's an 800 number that rings directly to the bullpen in the field department of the call center. All the phone goons have a notice in their booths with the number so that they can give it out to respondents when the respondents feel they need to speak to someone who's perhaps over the rank of the general supervisor who you'd be able to find when asking a phone goon to get their supervisor.
The other day, someone called and wanted my number. Not the company's number. My number. When I told him that I couldn't give that out, and I'd get in trouble if I gave it out, he asked me to take down a number. I did. He said, after I'd taken it down, that this was so I could call him and we could go out to dinner together.
Leaving aside the fact that it was a Baltimore area code, I told him that I was throwing the number out now, and this conversation was over.
... the hell?
There's an 800 number that rings directly to the bullpen in the field department of the call center. All the phone goons have a notice in their booths with the number so that they can give it out to respondents when the respondents feel they need to speak to someone who's perhaps over the rank of the general supervisor who you'd be able to find when asking a phone goon to get their supervisor.
The other day, someone called and wanted my number. Not the company's number. My number. When I told him that I couldn't give that out, and I'd get in trouble if I gave it out, he asked me to take down a number. I did. He said, after I'd taken it down, that this was so I could call him and we could go out to dinner together.
Leaving aside the fact that it was a Baltimore area code, I told him that I was throwing the number out now, and this conversation was over.
... the hell?
