After watching that stupid episode last night, I dreamed about Saitou, so that’s one benefit, I guess. It wasn’t entirely coherent, since I slept very badly, but it started out with me and a party in a dungeon we were too high-level for.

It’s only natural for me to dream about dungeons I’m too high-level for, since that’s almost the only way I ever do them in WoW. In this case, we’d done the main path through the place, like to the boss or whatever, and we were going back through the rest of the rooms quickly clearing them out. Sano was a member of this party, and he was particularly concerned about getting to this one part of the dungeon where Saitou was being held prisoner. Yaa Saitou/Sano.

So then the dream shifted to our world, where Saitou was stuck (having traveled there from a parallel dimension). I was helping him, and at one point made romantic advances on him, which he rejected. This too is no unusual theme, since I’d rather see him with Sano than be with him myself, but Sano didn’t appear to be in this story.

Anyway, then we somehow got back to the world Saitou came from, which was essentially the same as this world. So now I was stuck there. He took me to his house, where I met Tokio and their little daughter. The latter seemed to be about three, and she liked me very much. I was playing with her, and we watched a cartoon until bedtime. When she had fallen mostly to sleep, I was putting her to bed. She partially woke up and started fussing at me that I couldn’t leave her, so I promised to sleep right there on the floor in her room. I was waking up over and over all night last night (and the night before), and this was happening in the dream too, though at least there I had the excuse of trying to sleep on the floor of an unfamiliar house in another world.

Then I started to wake up for real, and the dream hastily summarized what would have happened if I’d managed to experience the rest of it: evidently Saitou had only rejected my advances because his wife wasn’t around, and he and she were fully planning on seducing me together and making me a member of the family. And, you know, if I can’t have Saitou/Sano, Saitou/Tokio/me is not a bad second choice. Tokio was, of course, a badass, too. MmmmTokio. So that was about it for my dreams that were coherent enough to make sense of in writing.

As hinted during the above description, I’ve had pretty bad insomnia for the last few nights. Part of it has been the usual psychological bullshit, but I think part of it has been the fact that, with Mostle and Jakebii here, I didn’t get much treadmill-walking done. That is to say, I missed Friday, Saturday, and yesterday. Despite the fact that teh walkins don’t appear to make any positive difference when I manage them, there does seem to be a significant negative difference when I neglect them. And that’s terrible.

Still, Mostle and Jakebii were here, and that’s far from terrible. We had fun times and watched stuff and played games and talked about item. Mostle got that translucent sparkling Pinkie Pie in the first blindbag she bought; what kind of luck is that.

Cantata went well, so good jobon that. I am relieved that I don’t have to deal with practices anymore. Now to see if I can get out of here before next year so I don’t have to sing again. Ah, it is sad to say that when I still love so many aspects of participating… I’m just become too much of a grouch, I’m afraid.

Speaking of grouchy, I was downright rude to a customer yesterday, and I still feel bad about it. I don’t usually mind people wishing me a happy Christian holiday, but somehow the idea of someone asking someone else if she had a good Easter without any clue whether or not she celebrates Easter seems to be taking it a step further, and one step too far. Or maybe it was just because I was so grumpy after three nights of poor sleep.

The fact is, whether or not I partake of the somewhat dubious Christian aspect of appropriated holidays like Easter and Christmas, I generally do celebrate them in a secular sense. I celebrate discount candy and tacky decorations, and at this time of year I celebrate my mom writing badass music and using her mad directing skills to turn a volunteer choir that always includes a couple of legitimately tone-deaf people to an astonishingly good performance. But it’s not about Jesus, and being asked, “Did you have a good Easter?” by a complete stranger at work doesn’t leave a lot of room for explanation of what it is about.

So I said something like, “Sure, except I don’t celebrate Easter.”

The lady said, “Well, at least you got a day off, right?”

And I was like, “Yeah, we’re closed on Sundays.”

I’m sure she left going, What the hell was wrong with that woman? I don’t even remember who she was, so I won’t be able to apologize next time I see her. Aahh, what the hell is wrong with me lately? I think I’ll blame it on the airborne allergens, which are particularly vicious this year XD Seriously, though, I need to stop being so damn grouchy. I’ll get it out of my system now and then stop making so many endlessly-complaining posts. I’m really a very happy person, but you’d never guess that from my livejournal lately.

So obviously the first thing to do is to keep complaining about customers. Starting with three things customers do that they think are helpful that are actually extremely annoying.

1. Coming in at all ever Being too specific about clothing types

For every order, I have to note what different types of clothing there are. Customers naturally know their own clothing better than I do, so it’s extremely helpful if they list the items they’ve brought for me rather than making me examine each one to figure out what it is. It’s great when they do that, but I wish I had a dollar for every time I have to go through this:

Customer: And here’s a sports coat.

I: *write “1” in the “jacket” slot*

Customer: And a blazer.

I: *scribble out the “1” and write “2”*

Customer: And two two-piece suits.

I: *scribble out the “2” and write “4”*

Customer: And a lady’s jacket.

I: *stand back and wait to see just how many Poe-damned jackets are on this order*

Customer: Oh, and a suit-coat…..

2. Telling me what’s in their order

Customer hands me her pick-up slip, which says “1 pants, 5 shirts.” I go to the rack and start looking through the orders in whichever letter the customer’s name starts with. Customer, I guess, decides that I must be having a hard time finding her order, for she calls out to me, “It should be five shirts and a pair of pants!”

This would not be a problem, except that I can’t make out what people in front are saying from back there among the clothes racks. So the result is that I, probably just at the point of locating the order, stop what I’m doing, return to the front of the store, and ask the customer to repeat herself… only to have her reiterate what’s written on the paper in my hand and start worrying because obviously her order is missing.

3. Telling me where to stop the rotating clothes rack

Customer hands me her pick-up slip, which I then match to a green piece of paper with the same number. On this green piece of paper is written the number on the rotating clothes rack where the order is located. I push the button to make the rack rotate until the appropriate number comes to the front.

Of course the customer may not know the precise method I use to discover where her order is located, but doesn’t it seem logical to assume that I do, in fact, have some method of discovering where her order is located? That I’m not just watching the rotating rack rotate at random hoping I’ll spot her order by luck? Then why will customers insist on shouting out when their clothing appear? Not in excitement, like, “Ooh, I see it!” but as if they’re helping me out, like, “Hey, stop the thing! It’s right there!”

Once again, it wouldn’t be a problem, except that I’m watching the numbers go by waiting for the one I need, and a sudden shout in my ear distracts me and often causes me to miss stopping the rotation, so the order actually goes past — which then probably confirms the customer’s opinion that I have no idea where the order is and definitely need her to point it out for me NOW AND FOREVER.

And all of these are, as I mentioned, things customers do trying to be helpful, and for that reason and also because I would have to explain about a billion ticky little points, there’s no use telling the customers not to do them. Ah, well.

There’s one thing, though, that some customers do (and this is less of a customer thing and more of an old man thing, because I’ve never seen anyone besides an old man do this and he doesn’t necessarily have to be a customer). He’ll ask, “How are you?” And I reply, “Pretty good.” And he will say, “Just pretty good? Not better?” Or, “Oh, is that all? Just pretty good?” Or my personal favorite, give a disdainful laugh and say, “That good, huh?”

Now, it may be just me, but “Pretty good” is an automatic default response to “How are you?” because people don’t actually want to know how you are. I’m pretty sure nobody wants to walk into the dry cleaner and ask the counter woman how she is and get a reply like, “Well, I’m tired, as usual, with the standard attendant level of frustration, and congested and sneezing pretty frequently because of the stupid allergens this year; but as far as mood goes, I’m happy enough, I guess — though not terribly pleased to see you.” Why on earth would you demand a more thorough or genuine response to a question like that?

For one thing, what if I’m not actually good? What if my grandmother just died and I’m actually very unhappy, but putting on a professional smile for the sake of my customers? I wouldn’t want to open up about that to every damn old man that thinks he’s hilarious, so of course I’d be giving a generic answer.

For another thing, to me “Pretty good” seems… well, pretty good. Not ecstatic, not unhappy, just… pretty good. What’s wrong with being pretty good? It’s not infrequently an honest answer, if not necessarily complete.

This concludes my ranting about customers for today.

(I probably won’t post this entry for several hours, but just now as I was typing it, a couple of cars smashed each other right up in the intersection in front of my work building. Given the damage on the car in front, it looks like there should be a third car; I’m not sure precisely what happened. I could see both airbags up, and no human movement, from within the car in front, and we’ve got three cop cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance out there.)

Speaking of which, I got rear-ended on the way home from work yesterday by a car full of hobos. OK, well, actually, out of interest, I looked up “hobo” and discovered that it has a specific definition that probably doesn’t fit these people I met, but they looked precisely like the mental image I get at the word — ragged, dirty clothing; long, unkempt hair and beards; general unwashedness… kinda like hippies, only less about peace and cosmic balance and more about smoking the butts of other people’s cast-off cigarettes and not giving the person they just rear-ended their names.

Fortunately, it was a very light collision, and there’s no apparent damage to my mom’s car. If there turns out to be something wrong, I got the hobos’ plate number, at least.

All right, I am super tired of this forever-long entry. Time to do something else.