Shop Boy Explains…why “what are you doing now” are the five worst words for a graduate to hear

…why “what are you doing now” are the five worst words for a graduate to hear

“So…what are you doing now?”

Is there any worse of a sentence?

Shop Boy Explains…why I want to marry my Dyson

…why I want to marry my Dyson

A few weekends ago, when we began moving into our new place, we realised that we would soon be without a vacuum.

This was an unsettling realisation.

Shop Boy Explains…why I gotta cut loose

…why I gotta cut loose

Footloose.

Yes my friends, I am about to kick off my Sunday shoes.

Shop Boy Explains…why coming back from leave is torture

…why coming back from leave is torture

I have just gone back to work after six days off for moving / a wedding and can easily say that there is nothing worse, in the entire world, than your first day back at work.

It is absolute hell.

Shop Boy Explains…why being on the phone at work makes me busy

…why being on the phone at work makes me busy

Let me start this post with a disclaimer; I am not talking about hanging out on the selling floor on my mobile talking to my mum. When I say being on the phone makes me busy. I am talking about when I am on the work phone talking about something relating to work.

Now to begin…

Shop Boy Explains…why I don’t need an explanation of how to process a sale

…why I don’t need an explanation of how to process a sale

With new technology, comes new ways for paying for goods.

With new ways of paying for goods, come new techniques for processing sales.

Shop Boy Explains…why you gotta get down on Friday

Like parfait before it, everybody loves Friday.

Whether it is of the TGI variety, the Ice Cube film series or one that is Good or on the 13^th, Friday is a day that I strongly believe needs to be celebrated. While I believe this, one girl had a dream to spread the joy of Friday to all that could stand to listen…

Rebecca Black (or as I like to call her Becky…it feels more personal).

Shop Boy Explains…why I can’t bounce back like I used to

…why I can’t bounce back like I used to

This could easily have been included as my RDOs post for yesterday, however I felt had an important enough message to warrant something more than a mere recap.

I can’t bounce back like I used to.

Shop Boy Explains…why 9 to 5 is my preferred shift to work

...why 9 to 5 is my preferred shift to work

Attention future employers (I’m looking at you Helen McCabe), my preferred hours of work are 9 to 5. Whilst I am willing to be flexible on this, allow me to explain why this is my desire in the hopes that you see how truly important this is to me.

Most mornings I struggle to wake up, generally because I set the alarm four hours before I start work, so this results in my tumblin’ out of bed and stumblin’ to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, first and foremost. Whilst this doesn’t have anything to do with actually working, it is the foundation of my day and enables me to yawn and stretch and start to come to life. After this I have the power to get the blood pumpin’ in the shower to the sound of the other folks like me, who are already stuck in the commute on the roads outside.

Shop Boy Explains…the laws of turf

…the laws of “turf”

I was having an issue where someone I really didn’t want to see kept popping up at work. Yes, I work in retail…this is bound to happen. I understand that. It was when my locales in the vicinity of work, like my coffee shop, were overrun that I decided I needed to open up the discussion at work.

What’s your stance on turf?

Working in retail, a lot of time is spent talking about…anything. Throughout the fifty thousand conversations I have in a week, one or two are bound to end up as shop floor hot topics. Turf was definitely one of them.

Like the Jets and the Sharks before us, turf and what constitutes our ownership of said turf, has caused many a headache. I mean if two people used to frequent a certain place, who gets to stake their claim on the location and who has to forgo ever visiting it again?

I’ve always been of the belief that once a relationship or friendship dissolves, there are certain places that one immediately gets as their turf, a safe haven where the other person cannot go. In this belief, there are two very clear places that constitute turf, home and work. Now yes, I know this could get a wee bit tricky if you say lived or worked with this no-longer-acquaintance, but if you don’t, hooray! You have some immediate turf…end of story!

Things should only get difficult when the turf in dispute was a mutual location. Should one person be forced out of a place they like? I would love to say, yes…get them out of here, but I can’t. Survey says that if it is a mutual location, discussion is the rational course of action. You need to decided who’s it is or set up visitation rights.

But what do you do if someone is ignoring the laws of turf? If we were in the beat of Schrank and Krupke, of course it would be a rumble to finally end the fighting. However what do you do if you, a) aren’t from rival gangs, b) one of you isn’t Puerto Rican or c) aren’t really into fighting, and just want to live in peace? Do you talk to the person and explain the laws of turf or do you live through your life worrying you would have to see a person you’d really rather not.

Upon discussion at work, responses were many, but far from varied. Everybody clearly feels that each person has a right to a place that is his or hers, where the no longer acquaintance cannot venture. Now I understand, there are places that this can become tricky. Say, you work in retail; people need to buy clothes, should they really have to go without? We no, that’s kind of unfair unless you say, work in a major department store where pretty much everything is stocked in other outlets.

So with a general consensus reached (I’m saying it is a simple, stay away unless the person who’s turf you are encroaching upon gives you a verbal ok), we turned our hand over to the other issue. What if your coffee shop (or other regular haunt) is invaded? For me, this was the major cause for my stress. Losing the safety of a place I go to twice daily, every day, and have for four years was like watching the entire shop get raped and pillaged. All that was sacred was being ripped away, right before my very eyes (we’ve discussed my tendency to exaggerate…right).

I can hear you screaming at the computer screens, “it’s coffee you fool, get a grip.” But I’m sorry, this place to me is my non-alcoholic version of Cheers where everybody does know my name and I don’t even have to bother ordering. You can hate me, you can lie to me or you can say I’m a fuckwit; you cannot, however, get between me, and my coffee.

Shop Boy Explains…why six days on I’m still obsessed with the Royal Wedding

You could argue that I’ve lost any remaining shred of journalistic integrity by not writing about it sooner, but honestly, I couldn’t gather the right words to do justice to what I was witness to.

Yes my friends, I’m talking about the Royal Wedding.

Growing up we were bombarded with images of Princess Diana and her wedding to Prince Charles. As I child, it was something I didn’t realise had actually happened, simply thinking it was another fairytale (I didn’t spend much time in reality as a child…also thought I was Spiderman for a brief period). To be able to be witness to the reality of one such wedding was exciting and filled me with the nostalgia of childhood dreams.

Being Friday, I was already pretty pumped thanks to some sing-a-longs to Rebecca Black, coupled with the wedding; I was so excited, so so excited. The selling floor was ablaze with talk of the nuptials; who would make the dress, would Fergie show up drunk and try and get in, would Gai Waterhouse call Channel Nine to say Julia Gillard looks like crap, what flavour gum would Kate…I mean, Catherine’s mum be chewing? Needless to say, we were overrun by the fever, Royal Wedding Fever (not related to Bieber Fever).

The clock struck five (you see I was working Nine to Five, what a way to make a livin’), and I was out of there! Goodbye Porpoise Spit, hello Nigella Bites. I had decided that as the wedding was a little bit fancy, at home we should indulge in some British delicacies of a more trashy variety to celebrate. Bangers and Corn Pudding were the menu I had planned on…and wine. I like wine.

After the first bottle of wine while we watched guests file in to the Abbey and decided Chelsy Davy was going to create some sort of scene due to her dishevelled appearance. I got the first glimpse of my new Lady Crush, Pippa Middleton. Sitting in the car surrounded by what looked like an aristocratic crèche, Pippa shone as a beacon of hope and joy for the commoner.

A glimpse of McQueen (fitting for a royal wedding…just saying) later, I remembered who the real beacon of hope was. Catherine looked beautiful and this was the first point I welled up. I then welled up again when the Middleton sisters had that beautiful moment when Pippa was fixing the train just prior to the entry to The Abbey.

The ceremony went by, so did another bottle of wine and with it, the attempts to contain my emotions. Yes, shamefully, tears were flowing.

“They are married…it’s so beautiful”

“Poor Camilla…why didn’t the Queen just let the get married in the first place? She seems kind of sweet to me.”

“How cute are all the little ones…even the one with the bags under her eyes?"

A short carriage ride to Buckingham Palace and the opening of a third bottle later, my focus turned to the hilarity of some of the guests. While Chelsy was likely swinging off a bell in The Abbey, the who’s that of aristocracy, that didn’t make the after parties, were jostling for attention in front of the world’s media. It was evident most of them had never met the couple.

Back at the Palace, the time came for the balcony kiss and fly past. Cue my sixth set of tears.

“It’s…just…so…nice. They…seem…so…nice.” (I was drunk…forgive the limited vocabulary).

I can ramble for days about how lovely the wedding was, but luckily for you I will quote the newly minted Duchess of Cambridge in simply saying “Oh, wow”, about the wedding. It was fantastic.

In the following days I have greedily gobbled up the Royal Editions of all the glossies and can not advise you enough that you HAVE to buy The Australian Women’s Weekly. Far and away the best, in content and cover shot; plus it may or may not have bought back some welling for my. Pure class.

Shop Boy Explains…why a closed door is a no go in the fitting rooms

...why a closed door is a no go in the fitting rooms

My manager describes me as laidback and relaxed with customers, most of the time I would simply describe it as me being lazy. An example of said laziness is when I direct people to the fitting room; on walking them to the entry of the fitting room I tell them to take their pick of the rooms. At least once a day someone approaches a door that is closed (next to an open room), opens it and is shocked to find another customer in there. Am I missing something here, or is this as stupid as I think it is?

I mean, when we enter a public toilet we first look for an open cubicle, then we check if it’s empty. If we find this, we then inspect it to make sure it isn’t filthy; this should be the rule with fitting rooms too, but it is not. Why go for a closed door when there are five open ones for you to choose from? I just don’t get it.

I can almost understand people opening a door on a fellow customer if all fitting rooms are closed, they could think it is just how the store operates (and I’m sure many do). I however don’t understand why people wouldn’t knock before simply barrelling through. I mean it’s not like you live there and can just walk in and out as you please…knock, if no one says anything, then you open it. I’d put it in the basic etiquette around doors category.

I will end this rant with two hot tips…

1. If you see an open fitting room, it is empty, then jump in and take it, and

2. Lock the damn door so people don’t just walk in on you. There are locks on them for a reason people!