So, I work in one of those mailing/shipping/printing stores as the graphic designer/basic retail grunt. It’s my dad’s store. There isn’t much upward mobility other than my dad’s version of a promotion, “When I die, this can all be yours.” But I can bring my son when I need to… I’m late more often than I ought to be… I can work on my blogs while at work… I can email prospective freaks on OkCupid inbetween jobs…
It really is a sweet gig.
The only REAL downside is that I have to work with the public. As I get older, I think I’m figuring out that I kind of hate people. This job is reaffirming that notion. I run into some of the most … God, I can’t even choose one word to describe the customers that I have there.
Suffice it to say, the idea of impaling customers crosses my mind on a weekly basis.
Posts under the category Biznasty will be about my run-ins with stupid clients. I’ll change names of them, for sure. And some of them will be recurring characters…
- Like the 80+ year old mailbox customer that ONLY gets sex toys and catalogs in his box.
- Like the FedEx driver who always seems like he’s got a shipping tube up his ass.
- Like semi-sexy older mailbox client who is always friendly to me in a, “If I were only 15 years younger,” kind of way.
They’ll all get nicknames, eventually. You’ll become familiar with them in ways that you probably wish you didn’t have to — but fuck it, if I have to handle a 10″ dildo in a padded envelope and what appears to be a box of chains for a cardigan-sweater grampa type, then the least you can do it read.