Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Supply Drop Needed

Remember that one episode of Band of Brothers where "Doc" Roe keeps running around the battlefield, constantly asking fellow medics if they've got scissors?

That's where we're at with Sharpie pens. You lose your Sharpie, you'd better pray you're not on register. Otherwise it's off to the back room to scour the desk, the shelves, the bathroom--all the while vainly hoping you'll see a permanent marker somebody missed. And there's always one guy--in this case, our Supervisor--who knows where he can get one or two more. But maybe there's a price. Maybe he's gotta bum a pack of smokes from ya, or maybe you've gotta take night watch tomorrow so he can get some real sleep--

Okay, getting too into Band of Brothers. Remember that show? What a great show. Why wasn't The Pacific nearly as good? Anyway. We've all taken to bringing our Sharpies home with us, stuffed inside our aprons. It always feels vaguely like stealing. If I ever get in trouble for something else, I think they'll show a damning videotape of me stuffing my pockets with sharpies as evidence I cannot be trusted.

Other supplies run out. I've worked in stores where the manager feuded with the supervisors over daily ordering, so sometimes crucial stuff like milk suddenly be unavailable. Borrowing a CVS shopping cart in order to haul 12 gallons of 2% down the block is an experience I won't soon forget. Calling sister stores at least once a week to plead for extra whipped cream chargers and garbage bags, driving to the hardware store for replacement brooms...

In the end, you gotta hustle for what you need, and then hold onto it with an iron fist. Who knows when the command structure could come tumbling down, and suddenly it's just you, facing down a thousand customers, and they're whittlin' at your supplies--

Right. Sorry. Postcards. Here we see the Grand Courtyard of the Wangs, a lovely place which I will refrain from joking about in any way whatsoever. There's nothing funny about the word "wang." It's a highly common surname,  and without it we wouldn't have the greatest single of 1986.
Oh. Condoms. Um. Complimentary condoms from the minibar (or does "uncomplimentary" imply they're not free? Makes sense, it is a minibar). Condoms featuring everyone's favorite vampire slayer. I wonder if I can find the actual brand on google--

Yes I can. Thanks, Engrish Brog!

I like how Buffy doesn't even seem excited to be all skimpy on these condoms. They found Sarah Michelle Gellar doing her--badass face? Disapproving face?--whatever, some kind of frowny face. And now you're picturing her. Looking at your junk. Making that face. Thanks for ruining all my adolescent Buffy fantasies, China.

No comments:

Post a Comment