Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Kenny Rogers 'Twenty Greatest Hits'
Ahhhh… It’s nice that things have now calmed down a bit. Taking a breath from busy times is something that can never be overrated. Breathing is good and I thank you for checking back for new updates.
--With my job, I sometimes find myself going to places to pick things up. It’s just something that I do and I really don’t mind it. At times, it can be a great distraction.
So far… There’s one place that has really worked my hole into a horrible lather.
My first time going there to pick up some prizes wasn’t a very pleasant experience… I will explain.
I took the email with the list of prizes that I needed to pick up along with the contact names. I had a business card with me for further proof that I was on an official assignment.
I walked in and followed the sign to the receptionist’s window. I said, “I’m Eugene Sims from Dick Broadcasting and I’m here to pick up some prizes for Rock 92. I have the email with the prizes listed that I’m picking up.”
“That ain’t no good to me,” she said before walking off without another word.
My mind went from a pleasant mood to “WTF?” faster than Gary Glitter can be ushered out of an Asian country.
She didn’t say anything to let me know that she was helping me, calling someone, or getting the prizes. She just snorted and walked away.
If anyone ever did that same sort of thing at Dick Broadcasting… They wouldn’t be working there very long.
Whenever I face such rude indifference, I usually just turn around and walk away without looking back. But something told me to have a seat in the lobby.
Three minutes later, I heard a man calling my name. I met him at the door and he took me to his office where he had the prizes.
Why couldn’t she just tell me something? Anything?
I didn’t say a word to the guy about Ms. Couldn’t Give A Sh*t.
When I told the salesperson about my experience, she said that she never had a problem. She also said that I should just let it go and blamed Ms. Apathy’s personality faults on the hellish hot weather.
Just a couple of weeks ago, I needed to go back over there to pick up some actual product for an on-air contest. And whaddya know… I get the same unsmiling, “I’d rather be anywhere but in front of you” face at the receptionist’s window.
I told her who I was, where I was from, and that I was there to pick up some product. Without saying a word, she opened a drawer, rustled a few papers, and asked if I was from Rock 92. I thought I had mentioned that I was from Rock 92 upfront… Wonderful.
She handed me a form and told me to park my vehicle in front of the warehouse door. Someone would be there to give me the product.
I backed “Perv One” (our white non-descript van) up to the huge open door. I got out, opened the back doors on “Perv One”, and asked the two guys inventorying a truck’s load where I could pick up the items.
“Sorry,” said the one man with the Dale Earnhardt face hamster on his upper lip. “That’s not our job.”
Nice. The office attitude had spread to the warehouse like a cancer. My phone rang and when I got through with my call, the guys were gone. So I decided to just walk around to look for the items I was picking up or find someone with a better and more helpful attitude.
A dude busted out from behind a door and headed towards the business offices… He didn’t even look at me or question why I was walking around his workplace.
“Excuse me,” I shoved the paper in front of him. “Where can I pick this up?”
“What are you picking up?” he asked.
Since I was standing in a beer distributor’s warehouse, I thought I would give him the clue word. “Beer,” I said. “I’m picking up beer.”
“Go into that office,” he said before walking off.
The plaque on the door informed me that I was going to enter the offices of the warehouse manager.
Once inside the office… Three guys looked directly at me, then looked at each other, and looked at me again.
“I’m here to pick up some beer,” I said while holding out a yellow form for anyone to take from me.
They all looked at each other and looked back at me before one guy said, “He’s at lunch. I’ll get it.”
I couldn’t believe the whole situation. The rude indifference of the front office. The same attitude of indifference in the warehouse. But what I couldn’t believe the most… How I could easily enter the warehouse. A warehouse filled with controlled substances… Beer! No security guard. Nothing. Not one person could’ve cared less about my presence inside their workplace. I could have walked in there with a load of dynamite strapped around my waist and no one would have raised an eyebrow.
I used to work for Capitol Records when there was a distribution center in Greensboro. The security was so tight that our farts couldn’t leave the building without permission. No one could get inside the building further than a few feet. And when we were leaving after our shift… We always felt the distrustful visual scans of the security guard.
I just don’t get it, but I am thinking about making a stealthy daylight raid in an bright orange jumpsuit to grab a few cases of beer. It should be easier than taking panties off a crack whore.