Stacy Kidd is a 20 year old fantasist who enjoys writing about videogames, society and gadgetry. She hopes one day to work in the creative industries, although she can't quite tell you exactly what she wants out of life yet.
This blog contains the remnants of shop-based life, though owing to up-and-coming Internet posting laws, I will probably stop soon seeing as I do not want to lose my million-pound contract.
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I must say, I've completely ran out of bloggism. The reason surprisingly not being that I've suddenly made a Circle of Peace prototype in my workplace involving customers and me holding hands in a large oval flower-filled world of peace and Air-wick inspired fragrance whilst chanting "goodwill to all men" and carefully avoiding shop stock. No, it's because, legally, I can't, and if I want to, I'll have to find myself a damn good lawyer and be prepared to say bye-bye to my millionaire-paying shop-assistant income as a result.
I can't say I'm surprised. In fact I have a niggling feeling many workplaces will be instigating the same e-disclaimers for the protection of their own safety, as well as customers and staff alike. The down side being I can no longer rant about the very things that I should be free to rant about. I mean no harm nor malicious intent - in fact I tend to never mention my workplace by name, location or specific descriptions of people I see - I aim merely to teach the general public some manners, and perhaps give some people thoughtful scenarios to mull over whilst coffee-drinking.
Of course, I can always see a positive side to things - even corporate-induced rubbish that I will rarely, if ever, agree with. I can understand how important a company's reputation is. I do not disagree whole-heartedly with the point being made. I can understand the difference between 'e-bullying' and some random slagging of a company (e.g. "<company name here> sux da cawk").
However I don't believe I should be made to refrain from informing the wider world when I'm not happy with something. Some companies already enjoy controlling their employees by enforcing "no visible piercing/tattoo/brightly dyed hair" crap (though it must noted that not all do, and some do for hygienic reasons which is fair enough).
But I work to live, not live to work. And it sucks, knowing that I'm just another individual, another no-one, and if I get fired, who the hell cares? There's a huge line of sheep bleeting behind me anyway.
However, rules will be rules, and I'll now have to think up other amazing games-related nonsensery to amuse with. I....er. Yeah. Humteetum. *twiddles thumbs*. The 21st century is rubbish.
Warning:if you find talks of PMS (Pre-Menstrual Syndrome) icky, please do not read on.
A slightly off-the-ball topic of 'hormones' is plaguing my thoughts on this (rainy, miserable, dull, go-back-to-bed) day. Yeah, I have a lovely bout of PMS heading straight in my direction.
Currently all pleasurable thoughts are stacked as high as a collapsing Jenga tower, replaced by a few days of mood swinging, irritability, and good ole' fashioned swearing at those who do not sympathise with my pain.
This is a slightly awkward time for work, because although I am pretty good at keeping my emotions separate from the countless, faceless morons who do not know how to read/walk/think, I still find that in my head at least, I am swearing at them, and notably less happy-go-lucky than usual.
Perhaps working with so many male colleagues makes me feel like I stand out even more, and I sometimes wonder if they notice my changing of moods.
Still, should I ever lose the bottle and lash out at an unsuspecting customer (with involvement of a very very heavy PS3 and maybe a few HD-DVDs to hurl afterward), I can always get off the hook with the age-old excuse of "sorry, I was pre-mesntrual" :D
I am sick of organizations and people pointing the finger at the games industry for violence, obesity rates, car accidents.........when will they learn that the blame game is childish and far out-dated?
What disturbs me the most is that the Advertising Standards Authority (ASA) has recently banned Stranglehold adverts for their "realistic voilence and constant gunfire". Shut up, morons. You don't hear me complaining when McDonalds show clips of people eating their disgusting fat-filled cow vagina - something which I find offensive and harmful to society - so there.
Paper is a fantastic invention. Paper is used in books, bags and boxes. Paper is used for art. Paper is money. Paper is origami. Paper is used to contain still fruit drinks and to wrap fish suppers.
Paper is also biodegradable and is often used by retail establishments the world over as proof of purchase.
Unfortunately paper is also highly under-rated. It can often fulfill these wonderful deeds, yet is shunned with a disgraceful par of respect akin to that of our current nonentity love affair(s) (or is that just me?).
I can't say I'm a huge fan of a nostril-flaring equation charging plastic-bag-first into my designated till area, thrusting a video game down my tits and grunting urgently before my face like a badly constructed porno metaphor.
Aforementioned nostril-flaring will inevitably subside, followed by a boom of 'WANT MA MONEY BAK'. Yes, Sir, all right Sir. Now, do you have your receipt Sir? Carrying on the slight-porno theme, there is what one might call a "pregnant pause" between thought and answer to this simple question.
I have heard various responses in my time: "was given as a gift/lost it/threw it out/can't you look it up on the loyalty card?" and my personal favourite "you didn't give me one".
I cannot stand customers who blatantly lie. I like to nickname them 'cuntomers', and believe that most have never worked in a retail environment in their life. White lies I can deal with, but fibs which tie blame directly to a member of staff makes me wonder how people can be so heartless. Most of the time I know they are simply not thinking, but given my general think to talk ratio, I fail to understand wht most people can't copy my example, think before they speak, and keep their slobbering chops closed.
Sadly jaws tend to gnash violently, even although most of the time the conclusion is a simplistic "Well, how do we know you bought it from here if you have no proof?"
And a note to consumers: I do not have a fucking photobank memory. I can't recall your ugly mug from my mind almost instantaneously, even if you reassuringly pat me on the arm, look me in the eye and insist "You served me dear". Wank off.
I often witness situations like these disintegrate into metaphoric political debates. Coming to a suitable agreement - or alternatively sticking the finger up and saying "bite me" - can take anything up to fifteen minutes of my working time. That's fifteen minutes I could have been tidying. Or pricing. Or eating, sleeping, drinking or wanking. That's fifteen minutes of my life that I won't get back, and that sucks.
Individuals with an honest nature don't trouble me: they can have my fifteen minutes, and I will gladly mend any misunderstandings. But face me with a coward spouting the 'but-I-haven't-even-taken-it-out-the-box' drivel, as I stand grimacing at the food/scratch/DNA/unknown substance coating the product, and I'll most likely explode violently over the disgruntled customer (and hopefully the disgruntled customers unwanted purchase too).
It doesn't take a great effort to hang on to a receipt. It is infuriating to imagine the countless personal bags of the population, stuffed with rubbish and bottom-lined by old receipts steadily turning to a papier mache mould.
Receipts are - in my opinion at least - the backbone of retail society. Without one, your unwanted PES 2008 (of which I am duly informed you have two copies of, bought by both your auntie and your granny) is of no use to anyone. So please, give us a break and save us the hassle of pointless arguing, rehearsing store policy, and having to spend un-natural periods of time staring at your mugshot until you finally get the hint. Please, consumers, sponsor a till monkey today, and hang on to your proof of purchase.
A ranting little ditty I constructed a week or so before the 25th, when poor games store staffing such as myself were contemplating SUICIDE, and such things
No sooner than the Nintendo Wii bares its magical arse on UK store shelves once more, than the DS disappears mysteriously from what appears to be the face of the planet. Where are all these consoles rendezvousing? Stripper clubs, maybe. Or maybe they're quaking in their chemical-filled plastic shells because Greenpeace have waggled their green finger at them for being...well, chemical-filled plastic shells, I suppose.
Lucky for their delicately-finished casing then that customers don't really seem to have noticed. Speaking of which, I wish you would make up your fudging mind you bunch-of-bananas consumers. Do you want a DS or do you want a Wii? Or do you want a kick up the hoo-haa because you can't ever make your mind up? I'll administer all but the first two, free of sodding charge.
The days are getting longer, ladies and gentlemen, and I'm sick. I'm sick of long nights and even longer days. I'm sick of Christmas songs that make me want to beg my practitioner to book me in for an ear-decapitation. I'm sick of seeing cut-price advent calendars and being tempted to buy them and sit on my couch in a depressed manner, scoffing them all in one sitting. And most of all, I'm sick of the false hype, sold out products and price changing, because my nails are starting to break.