The One About I Don’t Work at Kmart

Category: weekleez

The One About I Don’t Work at Kmark
January 14, 2003

hi kids,

three in a row. that’s practically a blue streak.

first of all i should start this weekly out by saying that i don’t work at kmart. That’s not to say that all you shemps out there who work for kmart are lazy, shame-faced morons. nay, nay! you have a job. be proud of that. you probably won’t have one in six (6) months.

never be ashamed of your job. unless you are a shifty, smartass shemp that works at kelly signs. you should be ashamed! sitting on your duff all day, laughing at customers, and promising signs out knowing that you’ll never make the deadline! what sort of godless cretin are you?!

that being said, i would just like to mention that i don’t work at kmart.
so why is it that last monday night, after a notebook paper fiasco, did i find myself suddenly working at kmart?
perhaps i should ‘splain?

monday is grocery shopping day. the day when food is bought and brought home and put away and totally forgot about until next monday when i go to the store and wander down each aisle wondering what the hell i need and did i buy granola bars last time? while at the store i remembered that i needed to pick up a pack of notebook paper. unfortunately for me, and later kmart, the store did not have any college rule notebook paper.

what’s the big deal you ask?
well, obviously you’ve never seen my handwriting. it’s in teeny capital letters. which is funny ‘cos when i type it’s all lowercase. well hey, whatta ya know? i’m a paradox!

anyway. if i write on wide rule paper my notes look like they’re double spaced. so i need college rule paper, y’know, for like conservation purposes. it just looks funny otherwise. see, with wide rule…it’s like, half the paper doesn’t get used. y’see, what i mean is basically, listen. the store didn’t have the paper i needed so i had to go to kmart after shopping for groceries. feh.

well, actually it’s a toss-up right? i mean, kmart or walmark? which is the lesser of the two evils, dig? i thought it would be kmart ‘cos there’s always less cars in the parking lot.

so i go to kmart andpick up some paper and some other stuff like socks, a shirt, hair gel, a toothbrush etc. ‘cos i’m not going in there for just paper. heck no. ya gotta make a trip to kmart count, y’know?

right, so now i’ve got my arms full of junk, and i’m ready to check out and go home and chill out with a book and a beer or a movie or just something. something that involves me wearing my comfy jammies and not driving or shopping.

and just to recap what’s been said before:
i do not work at kmart.

so there i am arms loaded and looking for an open register… and there isn’t one.
da hell?! yo, i need a cashier all up in this piece!

there was not to be a cashier in my future, nay! in fact, i was to be the cashier, and welcome, jaimie, to the future!

they now have these special designated machine areas where you go and check yourself out. and after dark that’s the only available checkout option. this is of course the only time of day that they can do this, because old people don’t drive after dark. and trust me, old people cannot do this. well, in any case i’d hate to be behind an old person at these evil check-yourself-out-because-it’s-so-damn-convenient-for-us–
what-with-that-whole-bankruptcy-thing-we-had-to-downsize
-and-hire-these-machines-that-work-for-peanuts-no-literally-
they-actually-work-for-peanuts-oh-for-the-love-of…

so there i am, arms full, staring at this ghastly vague machine and i said to the screen, “i don’t work here.”
it responded with, “please scan first item.”
me: “you don’t undertand. i don’t work here. perhaps you could, i dunno, buzz someone over…”
machine of the future: “please scan first item.”
me: “heh heh. i mean, heh, what i mean is, this isn’t my job. i have a job and all…”
MOTF: “please scan first item”
me: “why you little…*insert yosimite sam cursing here*
MOTF: “please scan first item.”
me: *scans the shirt
MOTF: “boop!” “place first item in bag. now.”

so i take my time and fold the shirt all nice so it won’t get wrinkled up ‘cos it has mostly cotton and all and…

MOTF: “place first item in bag. now.”

holy smokes! the machine knows i haven’t put it in the bag?! i just know that the wizard of k is somewhere in the store, behind a curtain, watching me struggle with his evil new machine minions.
so i quickly place the shirt in the bag and mumble, “it puts the lotion in the basket.”

MOTF: “please scan second item.”
me: *scans second item
MOTF: “boop.” “please place second item in a bag. now.”
me: “yeah, hal. i gets it.”

so anyway, by the third time i’m scanmaster p baggy.
word up in the big k, yo!
i’m bizaggin’ and scizzannin’ my items with a beat like drum, uh! yeah uh huh! werd to my homies in aisle 2 scizzanning it up wit all my hoes at the big k! wassup my ni-

sorry.

actually, it took me a long time to scan everything and put it in a bag. i was sweating bullets. i just knew i was going to screw it up and some kind of siren was going to go off and i’d be accused of shoplifting or something because the machine could sense my imperfect DNA like in that movie about the future because i mean, y’know, this was the future and all. and then the robot police would come and take me away and my friends would never know what happened to me and my disappearance would be blamed on the degenerate former night shift employees who hang out at the drink machines outside hoping someone will leave a quarter in the change return. y’know, like in that movie.

so then it’s time for the money part.
these machines are so vague that i’m not sure where the money even goes. and i’m thinkin’ that i don’t want to pay with a twenty buck ‘cos i’m scared i’ll get like $13.00 in change, y’know? ‘cos i’m picturing a blue light spinning and the word “JACKPOT” flashing on the screen and the unmistakable sound of 200 nickels hitting the floor, and then all the former night shift workers killing each other trying to get my change.

so obviously paying with cash is out.

yeah, so usually i pay with a check but i mean, how the hell is the machine going to know if i filled out the check right? and where does the check go? why isn’t anything on this piece of futuristic nightmare labled?! cheese’n’crackers i hate the future!

it’s so obvious they want you to pay with a credit card. fine. i swipe my card through the only thing that looks remotely useful and the machine of the future says, “verify signature.”
me: “wha..? derp. i broke the machine…”
MOTF: “verify signature.”
me: “what signature? where do i sign…?”
MOTF: “verify signature.”

“ma’am? oh ma’am? ma’am. MA’AM!”
“wha…huh? voice?”

i turn and there’s this high school kid standing at this podium and she says, “ma’am, i need to verify the signature on your credit card.”

jesus in god. that’s her job. to look at credit cards.

listen, this is not the future i had always dreamed about with flying cars and robots and and… actually, i saw a commercial the other night, a commercial on TV and it was real and jimmy saw it too so i know it’s not dream. and it was a commercial for a robot. i shit you not, honda has a robot. an honest to goodness robot. it waved to the paper boy. heh, reminds me of robot insurance.

anyway kmart. apparently after dark all of we John and Jane Q. Finlaysons* out there become kmart employees. and we’re not on the payroll either. and for the record, i too would trade all of my tomorrows for one single yesterday.

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