Nixon Said it Too

Dillard’s Daycare Inc.
24th St. West
Billings, MT 59102

To whom it may concern:

Effective two weeks from today, January 17th 2011, I hereby resign my position as sales associate. I would like to take this opportunity to thank lower-management for treating me like a special-needs toddler.

I would also like to thank the company for not training me, yet expecting me to know every in and out of retail sales and when I fail to get something right, encouraging my co-workers to give me a, “hard time.”

Thanks for setting impossible goals for one person to achieve as well as ignoring my requests for the Sabbath as my day off. Also, thank you for not giving me an inconsistent day off something like every 8 to 9 days.

It has been a great experience working here, and my therapist will be billing you within the month.

Have a nice day,

Naomi J. Myrick



P.S. Celexa and Valium are not cheap.

Fighting for 'Family'?

I recently read an article by Fox News writer, Todd Stames, titled, "'Mother,' 'Father' Changing to 'Parent One,' 'Parent Two' on Passport Applications/"

It is about how the government is changing the U.S. passport applications from using the terms, "mother," and, "father," to, "parent one," and, "parent two," in order to be more "precise" in describing a personal background as well as accept all types of "families."

The State Department website had this to contribute.

“These improvements are being made to provide a gender neutral description of a child’s parents and in recognition of different types of families.”

This sickens me.

Thankfully, in the article, Family Research Council president Tony Perkins is quoted in a statement to Fox News Radio:

“Only in the topsy-turvy world of left-wing political correctness could it be considered an ‘improvement’ for a birth-related document to provide less information about the circumstances of that birth,”

“This is clearly designed to advance the causes of same-sex ‘marriage’ and homosexual parenting without statutory authority, and violates the spirit if not the letter of the Defense of Marriage Act.”

These are excellent points. Yet, I can envision activists sniffling over their ruffled feathers after reading what Perkins had to say.

Why are the feelings of one group valued over the feelings of another?

Is it because they're the minority, no doubt with unfathomable hardships for a Conservative Christian to understand, or because we don't want to offend anyone by posing a dissimilar viewpoint?

But, wouldn't changing the passport terminology be insensitive to Tony Perkins and like-minded individuals? As well as our founding fathers. Oh, forgive me, I meant to say our founding Parent Two's. Just doesn't have the same ring to it.

In my opinion, this whole "parent one and two" shenanigan is just anoter passive-aggressive "soft" ploy to disagree with the Moral driven conservatives. And unfortunately, it works because, due to Political Correctness' protective wing, reaping a rebuttal is damn near impossible.

I think the change (had enough change yet, America?) is a mistake, and not one soon mended. Whoever wins the 2013 election, especially if it is B.O., would be far to fearful of the political uprising that reverting "Mother" and "Father" would bring.

How much is this going to cost us, financially as well as ideologically? Will I be wishing my mother a, "Happy Parent One Day," come May?

Hall Monitor

In 9th grade, I had a control-freak English teacher, Mrs. Gohla. She wouldn't even let anyone use the potty, unless you cried, like my friend Anna did. 85 min. classes are excruciatingly long when your bladder is stretching.

Other students referred to her as, "The Gohla-Monster." Like Gila monster, I guess. While I was a good student, I was definitely not an ass-kisser. However, I dealt with the Gohla regime by following the rules, or, not getting caught breaking them.

I graduated high school—in the top of my class—over six years ago. I also graduated pre-school without too many incidents and never maimed or killed a baby-sitter.

Today at work, a high end clothing department store, my floor manager said, and I quote,"I'm going home for the day. 45 more minutes of scanning, and then work on signing. And, no standing around or talking. I'm going to have someone come check to see you're working."

As well as after introducing friend or boyfriend to the manager she says, "I'm the manager." Just had to get that out there, didn't you?

Now. Most pof my co-workers and myself are actually OLDER than the manager, but even if we weren't, I really don't think that's anyway to talk to other adults.

Again, I survived babysitters, high school and, oh yeah, college. I think I can handle putting clothes away, giving myself breaks, and carrying on conversations. I wonder if she realizes how ridiculous she sounded? Probably not.

I've been postulating about what would bring someone to act in such a Nazi, "I'm watching you! Eyes and ears everywhere!" sort of mentality.

It's simple: she never got to be hall monitor. No. Really. The control-freakery in people like this starts early, the first chance of power was passed to someone else. In the control-freak's mind, someone inferior. She has an Iago complex. Seeing the rest of us as potential Cassios.

I understand that said person has had a rough personal life, and I surmise that she has lost all sense of control. But taking out anger from personal issues on employees is not only unethical, but also unhealthy. I'm not so much annoyed as I just feel bad for the girl.

Maybe I should bring her a special badge tomorrow?

Stuck It

Imagine Ralphy from the movie, "A Christmas Story," with his tongue stuck to a flag pole, mumbling, "Stuuuuck."

That's exactly how I sounded this morning, only I wasn't stuck to a flag pole; my mouth had frozen shut after 10 minutes of shoveling off my car in the balmy 2 degree weather.

I sat in the drivers seat after trying to reverse, brake, forward, brake and shifting my weight to try and rock the car out of it's parking spot. That's funny. My "parking spot" was on sheer ice surrounded by 5 inches of snow. It was as if I had parked in the middle of Milacs Lake and was about to go ice fishing—from the driver's seat.

Putting the car in park, I looked out the windshield and noticed it was snowing harder than before.

"Stuuuuck." I said, or was it something else.

I got out of the car and went back inside, not caring how cattywampus it looked next to the curb. I had enough snow in my boots to frost bite an army and still couldn't move my mouth.

"Stuuck it." I mumbled and called work.

Pretty embarrassing for a Minnesotan to get her car stuck in the snow, isn't it?

I thought so, too. So, I googled how to get rear-wheel drive car unstuck, and got a multitude of remedies.

None of which I felt like attempting in a blizzard. Not to mention that I don't own snow-chains, have a rope or tree to tie it to (yeah, I read that physics solution, too), have a bag of salt/kitty litter or the patience to get the car unstuck, only to get it stuck again on the unplowed roads.

How a city of 100,000 people functions with only one snow-plow—presumably shared with the neighboring small towns—is beyond me. But if they would like to drive me to work, that'd be swell.

Sure, Blame Me

In my month of retail experiance, I've encountered many a surly customer. Some blame you for not having the ability to slow time, while others think that it's your fault that the jeans seem (haha seam) too short for the designated size of 29 Short. Let me get on the phone here, whoops, dial 9 first, and get in contact Brazlie in Guatemala, who sews—mostly chinsy—denim for 11 cents an hour, and I will see how much he cares.

Even more customers blame sales associates for their malfunctioning printed-from-my-home-shitty-pc e-mail, "10% off shopping pass coupons." Frankly, it's not my freaking fault.

Please talk to Customer Service. What's that? You're on a hurry? You don't have time? And, oh my, you already said that 5 times? I know you already said that 5 times!

I'm giving you a solution to your damned problem. You need not remind me, again, that you're in a hurry.

It doesn't help.

Pumpkin Ball

I've started to refer to basketball as Pumpkin Ball. And, not to bury the lead, let's face it, I hate Pumpkin Ball. Who wants a pumpkin thrown at them anyways? It's scary.

That being said, I've created a list of reasons why I hate basketball. Did you know that my boyfriend's family is in love with basketball? I only bring this up because one, blogging is my only outlet for what should remain unspoken irritations, and two, I will be meeting them again next week. We will probably even go to a pumpkin ball game, too. Not that I have a problem cheering, it's just that high school games don't serve beer, then again it is Montana, so here's hoping.

Reason # 1. The squeaking shoes. Nuff' said.

Reason # 2. The technicalities. So many rules! I always scream at the tv when watching football (Screw you, Favre, but go Vikings). because the reffs won't let them play the game. Basketball is like ballerinas tossing a pumpkin around while doing quantum physics. White board? Seriously?

Reason # 3. It simply isn't violent enough. Basketball was the first sport I played, and I was always sitting out because I fouled out for decking people. I still find myself asking, why can't you knock someone over for the pumpkin?

Reason # 4. Pumpkin Ball lacks any real-life skills or application. At least in football or hockey you learn how to fight? How the hell is putting a pumpkin in a net going to perpetuate humanity? At least throwing and swinging a bat are forms of self-defense.

Reason # 5. Although I respect the athletes and their ability to perform pumpkin ballet or whatever, I do not respect the basketball groupies. They're just annoying. Especially girls who figured they should like a sport, so they chose basketball. Trying to impress boys with specific team allegiance morphed into romanticizing 6'7 basketball players and thus eventually naming pets after their favorite player, i.e., "this is my toy poodle, Colby." Hmm, Colby, isn't that a cheese?

Hating The Process

"Let's see, white, check, female, check, no, I'm not a felon, but if this simple automated application lasts any longer I might just become a felon... diabled? not yet..."

Yes, I just wasted another two hours of my life filling out an, "easy automated job application." And by wasted, I mean that the company will probably never even e-mail much less call me or, hell, even read my damn application. Automated, my ass.

Maybe it's because I use a big-fancy iMac, but every time I try to upload my awesome CV or resume' I receive a, "failed to load" page. No, your server is not too busy, I will not check back later—I'm just too awesome for your server. That's right. I checked that self-confidence box on your "assessment" (which took another 43 minutes and 19 second of my life.

That's ok, though, I'm sure it was precious time I would've spent working for people who do not wish to work. Well, I do wish to work, world.

I want to have the pre-work dread. Then I can yell at myself to be grateful for employment. But, alas, I'm a slave to the automated process...

I'd like to think that most people find me charming and likable, but, it is difficult to see that on a stupid application.
if they won't interview me, how will they become susceptible to my thrall and irresistibility?