Texting

My job is quite boring. I sit at a desk/booth/kiosk all day and watch people walk by. I am supposed to answer questions, but kids these days are afraid of real people and so they avoid me like the plague. Except of course, when they are meeting 25 other teens/tweens/adults/family members. Large meetings of this sort are always RIGHT next to me, which despite allowing me prime eavesdropping real estate, is really just annoying.

I totally have this phone. Don't let it fool you
though, it is totally blue despite being named "Charcoal."

Anyhow, in the midst of these here boring days, I like to text people. It gives me something to do, and someone to relay the events of the day to. Normally, I desperately text everyone in my phonebook hoping that someone will bite and be willing to carry me through the day via text-versation. Today though, was unlike any other day. Among three other conversations, my step mom decided to text me a 6 page long response to my reciprocated "how are you?" My response was "i am good. working a lot."

Needless to say, my phone is now near dead and I have 6 more hours left in the day.

Is this ironic ironic, or Alanis Morissette ironic?

get happy, 

amg

Complaints

Today, I received a transfer call at work.

Anytime a call is transferred to me from another department, it means that the transferer couldn't handle the transferee, and so I, being the lowly concierge have to deal with whoever is on the line with no hope of being rescued by the transfer button and all the escapism that comes with it.


Today, it was an older woman who said she was looking for an expensive restaurant. I was informed that she had already been read a list of all of the restaurants that we have here at the mall. Without a name, or cross streets, Google then became my only ally as I looked for this elusive "expensive restaurant." She said that "everybody seemed to know the restaurant, except the people that needed to," namely me. And so I was already on this old woman's bad side for not being a psychic phonebook: Able to determine what restaurant you want to eat at with the vaguest of parameters!

I swear this is who was on the phone.

After my probing questions in which I desperately tried to cling to some sort of specificity about this restaurant, she mentioned that this restaurant was open late, until at least 3 am (Taco Bell?), and served every kind of food (Hometown Buffet?). Later in the conversation, she said that the restaurant might not even be in this city at all, which was definitely the most helpful thing she could have said. After listing off a half dozen restaurants that met one or more of her criteria, she settled on an Asian restaurant called New Moon that is neither open late, nor renaissance in its menu options.


I really don't know what the point of writing all of this was except to complain about a particularly difficult customer today and share her stupidity with my loyal fan(s?). Likewise, I wanted to pepper this anecdote from my day with witty comments and dry humor so that when I inevitably share it with everyone I meet for years to come, I will have jokes built in to the foundation. Consider this a test run for this syndicated story!



get happy,
amg

Mall-evolent

In the Summer Season, our mall has seen a uniquely diverse population. And so, prepare yourself for another installment of

The Top Mall Patrons of my Career!

(in no particular order)

7. In almost every situation, I hate tourists. I hate looking like a tourist, I hate things that cater to tourists, and I hate the uniform of the tourist. Almost everything about tourists is deplorable. Except, ironically, their behavior in malls. For some reason, tourists often treat my mall as if it is a museum. I have seen entire families line themselves up in front of the most mundane of scenery, with the sort of grinless obligation only seen in depression-era photos, in order to preserve their family memories forever on 35mm. These families are entertaining to watch because of their complete lack of "American-ness," but are also appreciated because they are the only people that truly admire our malls 1992 era paint scheme and fake palm trees. 

8. While it isn't unusual to see a 30, 40, or 50 something walking around the mall in his/her gym clothes, usually because they are too lazy to actually get dressed in the morning, mall walkers are a different phenomena entirely. Mall walkers are usually much older, say in their 70s or 80s, and they literally walk laps around the mall. They are often overweight and clearly haven't heard of sweatpants, made obvious by their lack of gym attire. While they are supposed to limit their mall-walking to 7-10am, a few can be seen at later and later times of day. The best part about the mall walkers is watching them dodge the clusters of 15 year old loiterers while maintaining their swift mall-walk pace. They usually take mall walking pretty seriously and will trample anyone who gets in their way. Don't let this guys smile fool you. Mall walkers are a serious mall subculture.

get happy,

amg

Mall-y Mall-y Oxen Free!!

Since I am recently out of school and have very little motivation to write ANYTHING, the best I can offer to you blogitarians, is another installment of my observations on mall society.

The Top Mall Patrons of my Career!

(in no particular order)

5. Dog people are an evolving and more visible mall population. Recently at my particular mall, a restaurant opened up called The Lazy Dog Cafe in which they openly allow dogs to sit with their human counterparts in the patio section. For some reason, however, dog owners have taken this to mean that the entire mall is actually in fact a dog park and they let their dogs roam freely. Despite the fact that we have a "no dogs on the floor" rule, I never reprimand this people for their annoying habits. That isn't my job and some dogs are really cute. Anyhow, some of the craziest dog owners in the city find themselves in the mall with their dog strollers and matching haircuts. My biggest problem with this trend is that dogs are animals, (we are too, but that is a discussion for a different blog entry) and they really have no part in such a humanly place. They can't poop, eat, bark, run, or do any other doggy things in a mall. But, they also can't shop, converse, loiter, or do any of the humanly things that malls allow for. So, to all dog people, if you love your dogs, take them to a park. If you love the mall, get some human friends.

6. Chatters make me really despise my job. These are the people that think my job is to listen to them complain about their problems. Really though, they are just becoming one of my problems that I need to complain to someone else about, thus perpetuating a really unfortunate cycle of gloom. What people need to understand is that I am essentially a receptionist. I answer phones and do office work and give people directions. I really don't care if you are having financial woes, or if your husband died, or if your mom is sick. Even if I did care, I make very little money and can't do anything about it. You will not gain anything by talking to me. I would rather just be left alone to work, and to blog, of course.

get happy,
amg

Darth Mall

Welcome, blog-stalkers, to another issue of

The Top Mall Patrons of my Career!

(in no particular order)

3. Tween Boys are such a joy to watch amble through the mall with that "I-wish-I-could-shave-so-bad" lust in there eyes. They usually travel in packs with hair that is far longer than it should be and wearing clothing articles where they shouldn't be (i.e. ties around their waists, socks on their arms, and shoe laces around their wrists). They think they are really cool, and yet there are a few of them that I have seen every weekend. In other words, they ONLY hang out at the mall, which makes you about as cool as a mall employee, which speaking from experience, is NOT cool. (P.S. Why do the kids up on the left there have pink hands?)

4. Young, entrepreneurial parents are an annoying breed. In their attempt to live the postmodernist American Dream, they plan their family to the last detail. I can only bet that somewhere buried on their Macbook Pro, is a spreadsheet with each pregnancy planned to the day and a reminder to hit up that hip baby website for one of these puppies -------->.

Which only reminds me that the worst part about these couples are their crappy, foreign strollers that look like they were made by Ikea. The young, post-hipsters' infinite mediocrity has led them to overcompensate with space-aged strollers that look like everything Walt Disney put into TomorrowLand in the 1950s; utterly useless. I don't understand the point of these overly-complicated strollers that they drop $1000 on, despite the fact that little Poe and Italia will only even use it for 2 years.

Well, that's all I got.

None of these photos are mine. I googled them. NOT MINE. Don't sue me.

get happy,

amg

Slam!

I have a love for slam poetry. The first time I ever went to a poetry slam was the first time I ever experienced one of those weird, defining moments were the world stops and you look around and think "this is awesome." That feeling didn't come from a person or love or death or anything like that, but from a room filled to the sweaty brim of people, all focused on one person telling everything about themselves or calling everyone to action using a combination of words that you never even knew existed. 


And yeah, people snap in real life. 


Basically, I just wanted everyone in the world (or the 2 people that read this blog) to know how awesome slam poetry is.


Here is a good one.
It was tough for me to choose.
That is how good slam poetry is.
get happy, 
amg
 

words

There are good words and bad words. Words that you are expected to say at church and words you are expected to say to your friends. Some words are for kids and some words are for parents. Everyone uses words. This page is covered to words. 


And now, I am expected to write 2,500 words about a topic I don't really care about and call it an essay. 


Sometimes, essays are useless. I know the material, the teacher knows I know the material, and at this point, this particular essay just feels like punishment. I wish I could just pull a Breakfast Club and write an essay about how the essay topic is too confining and I would rather not write it. 


I can poem all day, blog all day, text all day, and of course I can talk all day, but writing an essay that I don't want to write is the most painfully annoying process in the world. Please make the hurt stop. 


Dear Dr. Cheng-Levine,
I accept the fact that I had to sacrifice a year of my life to attend community college because the United States doesn't know how to budget well enough to give me a free education, despite the fact that I am entirely deserving, but I think you are crazy for making me write an essay telling you what I think American Literature is. You see it as you want to see it, in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what I found out is that American Literature is Post-Modernist, New Historicist, Feminist, Eco-Critical, Deconstructionist, and Multiculturalist.  
Does that answer your question?


Sincerely yours, 
amg


[This message was brought to you by procrastination. Helping me write profound things on the internet, when I should be essaying since 2004.]


Embedding on this was disabled, and I couldn't html cheat the system. Blame Washington.
Breakfast Club speech that I stole

Works hard for the money

Once again, lack of funds has prevented me from doing something awesome.
Tomorrow night, in Los Angeles, Garfunkel and Oats are performing for the nominal fee of $25. I have very little to say on the subject except that they are awesome, and I am sad that I will not be able to see them.


I could go on and on about how awesome it is to see truely talented and hilarious female comedians. I could issue a formal middle finger to Jerry Lewis who in 2000, told an audience at a comedy festival that he “[doesn’t] like any female comedians.” But I won't do either of these things because Kate Micucci and Riki Lindhome stand on their own as utterly hilarious women.




[viewer disgretion is adviced.]



get happy,
amg

bane of my existence

I hate when good things happen to stupid people.


I have applied to dozens of scholarships and maybe received one or two. I was reading the "Previous Winners" section of one of my rejectors only to discover that the girl who won has the grammar of a 5th grader!


And now, I understand her story was sad- her grandmother is sick and her mom is depressed and that really sucks- but that doesn't mean she is allowed to be illiterate!


Anyone out there who frequently writes essays and applies for scholarships knows that conversational phrases are OFF LIMITS.


Dear Students,
Use common sense when writing essays. You aren't talking to your best friend or you mother or your cat. Approaching eloquence, or even feigning literacy, is highly appreciated.
Love,
amg


Dear Scholarship Judges,
Do not reward bad writing, especially when your website claims that your "judges expect you to use correct spelling, grammar, punctuation, and sentence case."
Love,
amg




(During this rant, I allude to a specific scholarship. I have omitted any hints as to which scholarship I am referring to in order to preserve the privacy of those involved. I wouldn't want someone to not get a job because their potential employer discovered that person's stupidity.)


get happy,
amg

Mall Patrons 2.0

eh hem.

In case you didn't know, I am a mall employee. I sit in a little faux-wood booth in the center of the commodified hustle and bustle, and I direct people to where the bathroom is located. I also answer phones to long winded individuals asking about the subtleties of Santa Clarita Valley, who in reality, probably just want someone to talk to. Now with this front row seat to civilization, I get to do a lot of people watching, which is both hilarious and depressing. And so we have now, for your entertainment...

The Top Mall Patrons of my Career!

(in no particular order)

1. Tig

Tig is this guy who, according to his Facebook fan page, is "A Friendly Guy We See all Around Santa Clarita" (sic). He has 1000+ Facebook fans.

Now, my experiences with Tig are very different than his loyal fans. When he's banned from the mall, which is quite frequently, I get dozens of phone calls a day from this man, asking for phone numbers to overseas toy stores, which of course, I need to look up for him. If you see Tig, he will inevitably tell you "sometimes people like to write on my hand. it feels real good."

2. Metal Head Guy

I love walking contradictions. Metal head guy prances around the mall with his long hair, his ripped jeans (with matching torn, jean vest), and a black t-shirt with the name of some morbid band name on it. Of course, metal head guy is also about 45 years old and sports Sketchers Shape Ups. Didn't know they were so popular with such a Motley Crue.

(This is an ongoing series that I will basically rely on to fill in the inevitable gaps in my blogging correspondence)

get happy,

amg

new kid on the block

Like every new user on their first post to an online medium, I am going to go on about how I don't know how to use this site yet, and I am going to promise frequent posts and updates. "Once a week," I will say, but as life gets busier, and I run out of interesting things to say, my posts will become few and far between. I can only hope that between now and when that happens, I will say a few interesting things, and maybe a person or two will continue to check my deserted blog frequently in hopes of a resurrection.

get happy,

amg