o tempora, o mores!

Alright, so I spent more than I wanted to on that gown that only ended up being worn for a few hours. I’m not the type of arse who tries to return it afterward, but I doubt I’ll really have any occasions to wear it again myself.

So, my options:

1. Save for little sister.
2. Give to a similar-sized friend.
3. Donate to whatever charity.
4. Sell or have a consignment shop sell for me.

Now, sure, it’d be all well and cute if Jerrica wore it when she got older, but as ridiculous fashion waxes and wanes, she likely won’t have the same taste at my age. She’s probably going to be a slender young lady like me, but we aren’t built the same, and there’s the chance that it wouldn’t fit her properly regardless.

I have very few similar sized friends, and one of them has a stigma with the whole ‘hand-me-down’ bit. Well, understandable, I suppose. That, and most of my similar-sized friends prefer short gowns for such occasions. I feel that formal events like that ought to be more classily dressed, but hey, whatever.

Eh…I mean, yes, that would be all well and noble, helping someone.
But I’m not gonna lie. I’m an asshole. It isn’t that I’m against helping, but I’d rather know who/what it was going to.

Probably the most likely avenue of attack. I dunno, maybe it sounds bad that I’d like to get something back from it, but as stated, it was more pricey than I’d like, and it would be pretty nice to have some sort of return AND know that someone will be able to obtain it for much less/with more ease. ^_^
And if I do go this route, I have a couple other dresses…one from a formal at the end of my [gasp!] seventh grade year that I have done nothing with [regarding moving it along] all this time, a homecoming dress from last [tenth] year. :3 And I have a bunch of stuff in very good condition that I’ve simply outgrown [fucking hips...] and could move along this way. Hoorah.

Well, I guess this was to ask for opinions on the matter. So…yours?

I am not always punctual and/or prompt with things, but when it comes to work, I am. I was never late at Papaya, and more often than not was I early. I came back from my breaks early. I rarely requested days off–I needed April 8 off to babysit my sister because my parents had plans, and I gave ample notice–and when I did, I gave at LEAST two weeks’ notice. I notified my manager of days I didn’t have school so that I may work if needed. I was generally cheerful [unless otherwise provoked, which was been once...well, twice, by the end of this post.] Three or four times a shift would I take a rack out and reorganize the store so it is tidy and respectable. I didn’t put things in the wrong spots, and I relocated things that are in the wrong spots. I didn’t argue or complain about having to sweep, mop, or having to clean the restroom in the evening. I didn’t sigh when asked to dust the obscenely high racks simply because I was one of the tallest. I didn’t go back perpetually during a shift to get on the phone or to play with my hair. I didn’t have ten friends come in during my shift wanting to talk and/or preventing me from working.

And somehow, despite being what is almost the antithesis of the rest of the employees, I get treated like shit.

Saturday, May 3, I was to work a 12-7 shift. Yay! However, a newer coworker who was scheduled to close last night complained of how it, “wasn’t fair,” that she had to close that night and then open and close the next day. [Saturday 3-9:30, Sunday 11-6.] So, without consulting me to ensure I could make it or acquiring my consent, after she bitched to Chan, he just switched our shifts. This wasn’t even with a whole day’s notice [done the evening of Fri. the 2nd], but a couple hours. What the fuck? I told him that was pretty messed up; he’s aware that I do not yet drive and that I rely on my father for transportation…and that I cannot play musical shifts because of that.
What’s better is, I came in at 2:30 on Saturday, and the girl was gloating about how she was leaving in 2.5 hours. “Sam, aren’t you off at seven?” “Oh, well, I have to go blabla..” “…You took my shift and now you aren’t even going to stay for it? Shut your damn mouth and get out of my sight.”
Just…grr.

So, the prior week, I left a note for Chan, my manager, with some stuff about my availability. It noted that since I had an early dismissal on Friday, the 9th, I was able to work a 12-7 shift if he so chose to put me on as such. Furthermore, it stated that if I was to work on Saturday [10th], that I needed to open, as it was my little sister’s birthday and that my mother required that I be home in the evening for the festivities. [That, and I was to help with the cake. Mom always over-bakes them, and I want to learn how to do my flowers better.] So, that’s two weeks’ notice for those days

The schedule for the week including the ninth and tenth comes out; he put me on for an opener’s position on Friday and a 12-7 on Saturday. I came to him saying that I couldn’t work those shifts, that I simply wasn’t going to avoid school for it, and that the tenth is a family thing that I need to have the evening for.
“Seven is the evening.”
“No, Chan, seven is getting into nighttime, and I need to be home to help prepare. That, and my dad would have to leave in the middle of what all’s going on to come get me…that isn’t right. I gave you more than ample notice, more than what’s required.”
“Well, how about 11-6?”
“No, Chan…if I can’t work from open to four, then I can’t work on Saturday. Period. I need to be home in the afternoon to prepare for her party.”
“You’ll work eleven to six.”
“I will do no such thing.”
“That’s what you’re down as.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t negate these plans. Nor will I. If you have such a problem with it, you’re more than welcome to call my home and tell my family how you seem to think you’re the reigning authority in my life.”

Also, in the aforementioned note, I mentioned that I would not be available from the 16th-18th due to Prom and other personal things. [Three+ weeks' notice for those.]
“Why do you need the weekend off? Prom is on Saturday.”
“Personal business, simply.”
“Like what?”
“That’s personal, and I’m not obligated or at liberty to discuss that with you.”
“Well, I want a reason.”
“Go listen to the Rolling Stones.”
“What?”
“Nevermind. I’m going to have homework, and I will have a guest coming down that weekend who I am obligated to entertain. That’s all I will tell you.”
“Well, why can’t you just–”
“Because I have already made these plans and given you almost a month’s notice. My absence that weekend is not going to end Papaya.”
“What about Friday? Can you open then?”
“Chan, my availability is non-negotiable. I told you this when you interviewed me. My life does not revolve around my job. I cannot open; I have school.”
“There’s no reason why you can’t work Sunday.”
“Yes, there is.”
“Then tell me.”
“I already have: Because I said I cannot. I have plans and I’ll have been out all night before…not to mention my out-of-state company and homework. Sorry.”
“This is big.”
“You act as if I request paid vacation.”
He then walked away.

I’m not really certain where the managers of the stores whose employees work for barely above minimum wage get off on thinking they can regulate the lives of said employees. I don’t understand how they think that if you say you are not available, that, well, if they put you on the schedule, you’re just going to cancel your plans and come into work, because you’re on the schedule.
Sorry, what? I’m nobody’s bitch. Especially not for that wage.

But, as always, it gets better.

I was to go on break at 6:40. The girl whose break preceded mine ended up running a few minutes over. And you know, that’s fine. The group I was working in that evening is all on cordial terms, and we’re understanding of how hectic things can be, with lines, etc. So I don’t end up clocking out and going on mine until almost 6:50. It’s a really busy night, even for a Saturday, and the mall was packed. Any food place had a line from hell, but I was starved. So I got a piece of pizza and a latte and as I’m sipping my caffeinated delight, I realize, “Fuck, the time!” So I walk as quickly as I can without running to spare my pizza and latte, walk into the store, place my things in the back, use the restroom, clock in, and return to work. As I’m punching back in, Chan goes, “You’re LATE.”
And I was, indeed. Like three minutes past the [illegal for minors!] twenty-minute mark. Already annoyed with him and as detestable as I find pointing out the obvious, I just put a smile on and continued walking to the fitting room to sort out the mess of a rack and return things to their proper places.
“I’m TALKING to you.”
“[turning] No, Chan, you’re yelling at me; there’s a difference. One I will tolerate and one I will not.”
So then he starts screaming at me about how I’m violating store policy and how I’m going out of my way to be disrespectful and how I’m making him look bad in front of the rest of the employees and customers. You know, aside from the fact that he’s the one screaming at me in the middle of the store like a damn fool. So, I told him that I had no intention of arguing with him over it and that I would take it up with him once he had calmed himself.
About a half-hour later, he pulls me aside saying he needs to talk to me. He continues to rant about how I’m making such an effort to violate store policy and be rude, etc.
“Chan, if I was making an effort to violate store policy, this store would be enveloped in chaos. I don’t care enough to make it hellish. I wasn’t trying to do anything but eat, which I didn’t even get to do yet. I’m never late. I don’t call out. So one minor issue…does not warrant such treatment.”
He continues as if he didn’t hear me, saying how disrespectful I am.
“Respect? No, respect is a mutual thing, and now that I see that I have none, you receive none either. Not only do you lack respect for your employees do you lack the responsibility and maturity with which to deal with them. Sensibility would have dictated that if you had something to say to me, it would’ve been in the back, away from everyone else…unless you’re just trying to embarrass or shame me into submission, which won’t be done.”
At this point, I was trying not to chuckle at his forced stern expression and his mock intimidation. Obviously it wasn’t working. Shame I’m not other girls, huh? He went on to say that if I can’t follow the rules, then I can’t work there.
“Are you firing me, Chan?”
“No.”
“Only because you don’t want to face a lawsuit or have to fund unemployment, should I file, right?”
He’s laughs. “Lawsuit? Haha, what for?”
“Your blatant violation of the law that dictates breaks for minors.”
“Oho, I know state law. State law says that you get half hour for eight hour shift. You don’t even get one for less, but we give you one. We’re generous.”
“Do you know state law, Chan? Do you really? Because FIRST of all, that is a FEDERAL law–yeah, that’s the people in Washington who can slam you for tax fraud if there’s any of that going down–, and minors–that’s people under age 18–get a half-hour break for every five hours they work, period. But again…I wasn’t trying to break your precious rules. I’m not trying to make you look bad. But if I have to deal with this preposterous bullshit to work here, then to hell with it, I won’t.”
He laughs, thinking I’m bluffing about the breaks. Absolutely not, I’m in the process of gathering all the proper numbers and departments as I type.

The following Monday, Payday, I went in to collect my check. After securing it, I reinforced the idea that I refused to tolerate his attitude and manner of dealing with things.
“Oh, when’s your next scheduled day..?” he asks.
“Perhaps you didn’t understand me because you can’t understand English. Well, I don’t speak Korean so you’ll just have to cope. I quit, I don’t work here, there are no more scheduled days.”
“Oh, no notice?”
“Would you have given me more than five minutes’ notice if you were firing me? No? Alright then.”

And so it ended. :D.

My little sister is absolutely captivated by this show about a little mouse who does ballet. I mean, obsessive. For Easter she got posable dolls of the two main characters [Angelina and her friend, Alice], and a DVD [aside from all the other stuff she got].

Our mom asked her what kind of cake she wanted for her Happy Fifth Birthday [which, now, happens to be a week from today]. Jerrica replies, “Mommy, I want a chocolate Angelina cake…wiiith…white and pink frosting!”

Mom, the eBay fiend, logs on and searches and finds a seller with an edible image of Angelina pirouetting with the words, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” in violet in an arc over her head. The seller’s store said that personalization of the images could be done, and just to leave a note in the proper section in PayPal. Cool, $8.75 for the image [not bad for something that hard to find plus customization.] and jack the shipping from $3 to $5.75 for Priority Shipping to make sure it got here in time.

The image arrived on Thursday, April 30th, and mom excitedly opens the package to inspect it.
Her face falls.

First of all, the image did not have, “Happy Birthday,” on it as advertised. There was no mention of this being a customized part of the image. Secondly, it WASN’T personalized as requested. Thirdly, the image was blurry to begin with, as if it was blown up with poor software to much larger than it ought to be. Fourth, aside from the blur from the printing, it was smudged in places! WTF.

I dash down here to email the seller asking about the state of the product and to see what corrective measures could and would be taken.
No response, no response, no response.

So now, I’m annoyed. Still no response, it’s almost noon two days later. Jerrica turns five in a week and there’s no way a fixed one can get here on time.
Lovely, my first PayPal dispute and first need to leave negative eBay feedback.
[Well, the PayPal account is mine, but the eBay account is my mom's...but I do all the dealings, so...yeah.]
I hope this, too, gets fixed. I’m decidedly tired of being fucked over by merchants and banks and…yeah.

EDIT: About a half hour after the dispute was opened, the merchant issued a refund. She had nothing to say, literally.

The tellers at the branch of the bank I normally go in to do business are always pleasant. No, my dad and I are anything but big customers, but they see us often, and so they know and greet us by name, and often carry out appropriate conversation. They’re efficient and quick to notice and/or fix any mistakes they can.

The issue of my overdrawn balance, though, was not an issue for those ladies, rather, for Ms. Amy White, with an office and a desk, etc. Her title is, “Relationship Banker.”
Wednesday, I went in and calmly explained the situation [by the time I had gone in, another $35 fee had been tacked on, making me in the hole over a hundred dollars]. She basically had the attitude of, “Well, what do you want me to do about it? You overdrew. Pay me.”
Absolutely not. The fault was on the behalf of the bank. I’m not making strange demands, I just requested that it be handled in a timely manner so I could return to using my account.
I showed Amy my figuring [triplicate!] and the printout of my statement via my online banking dealings. She was reluctant to enter the system and look at it from her end–which would provide much more information than mine.

I am not a patient person. I am not a patient person. I am not a patient person.
But I tried to be, because I somehow doubt making outlandish threats would get me anywhere. Unlike, of course, my father, who was along with [as the co-signer of the account being as that I am a minor] who was itching to have volume escalate, etc. He opened his mouth a few times, but I shot a pretty effective glare at him…it is, after all, my issue to deal with. So pft, shh.

She then reluctantly agrees to ‘do some research’ into the issue and that she’d contact me ‘later.’
‘Later’ arrives, and she calls my house [I had to work] to tell my dad that nothing could be accomplished until “tomorrow.”
I don’t like that answer. Procrastination is not a wise business practice.

Having heard nothing beyond that, I went in on Thursday [by then ANOTHER $35 had been tacked on... so $-140!] to ask if any progress had been made.
“My boss, Anne, and I went over your account…and you were right. If it weren’t for those holds, your balance would be in the positive…”
“Amy, you needn’t tell me that. I don’t need a calculator to do to basic arithmetic, and I did it in triplicate. What you need to tell me is how it will be dealt with.”
“Well, Anne is in a meeting in Loudon.”
“That has what to do with me and my account?”
“I don’t have the clearance to deal with it.”
“Frankly, I don’t believe that. How can you not have the authority, access, etc. to do your job?”
She stares at me, blankly then asks if I want Anne’s business card.
“Will it yield results?”
“What?”
“Will giving me her card reverse these falsely-based charges?”
“Well, no.”
“Why would you offer it to me?”
“Her number is on there, see.”
“Is she not in a meeting in Loudon right now? Is her office not right next to yours? How will that help me?”
“Oh…well, I can’t do anything.”
“Again, I can’t say I believe that all that much. The fact of the matter is that it is this bank’s err, and it is yours to make right. If you don’t want to click a few times and fix it, I have no qualms with taking my business elsewhere. Needless to say, I won’t be happy…but then again, I’m not as it is.”
“Well, Miss Leonard, I understand that this is frustrating. However, you aren’t the only client with this issue, so just bear with us. They have to deal with it, too.”
“I honestly cannot believe you just said that to me. First of all, obviously you don’t. Second of all, how dare you belittle this issue. Third of all, one of the last things I want to hear is how BB&T has inconvenienced its other clientèle in a similar fashion and is just as dilatory in dealing with it. That says a great deal about this bank, you know.”
She is silent.
“This needs to be rectified today. If my account is not made right by midnight, I will be in here first thing, closing the account, and taking my business elsewhere. Count on it that my father will as well just to avoid the possible hassle from you all.”

I neglected to mention that they would be receiving wonderfully bad press over the ordeal as well, had it escalated to me closing it so abruptly. I have a tendency to have my letters to the editor published…out of the fourteen I’ve written since I was eleven,  twelve have been published.

It was fixed by six o’clock…but the fact that I had to speak to her that way is a little annoying. It shouldn’t have to take such caustic speech to yield some damn results. :/
I might go elsewhere anyway…there are other banks in the area who are open seven days weekly until seven in the evening, and that is massively convenient for me. :D

I most certainly am NOT overdrawn!

On a whim, I checked my bank account balance online.

Not gonna lie, I expected it to be really low, what with my clothing purchases recently, the purchase of my gifts to my sister for her birthday, some fun stuff, and maintaining my [shitty, expensive] prepaid phone. Being a teenager with a barely-more-than-minimum-wage job tends to allow for checks that aren’t huge…and I set a good chunk of them aside for savings, so I don’t have much to play with. I expected around $25, really.

Instead, I find $-70.92.
Bull. Fucking. Shit.

I will not make a purchase unless I am absolutely certain I have the money for it. If I’m not certain, I don’t buy it, period.

So I went a few months back in my records, because every now and then I go through and tab up to my current balance to make sure everything adds up properly…I bust out the pen and paper and get to my figuring.

After triple-checking, I found that, indeed, I did have much less than I thought I did [had forgotten a couple lunch trips from work], but still not enough for it to be considered overdrawn.

However, within the past not-too-long [couple weeks, maybe? if that.] my bank has this really weird habit of, whenever I add money to my Verizon account, putting a one-dollar hold on my account. I did not know this was the fault of my bank until this morning…as I had emailed Verizon to ask why they were making holds in increments of $1–or at all, really–on my account. There were two of these such holds [which doesn't make sense due to the fact that I had only one pending]…which plunged my account into the red–seriously, I only had like $1.08 in there…sis’s presents and my phone = expensive–leaving my account at $-.92. Funny thing is, though, is that my bank employs a $70 overdraft fee.

Really? When I opened the account, I was told $30. There was no, “Policy subject to change without notice,” line. Secondly, those holds are unnecessarily on my account and were not my doing. Also, as it is a debit card I use, if there wasn’t enough fucking money for something, then it shouldn’t allow for overdrafts…unless, apparently, they have some stupid Courtesy Overdraft shit so people don’t feel embarrassed by a denial. It isn’t a courtesy to me to charge me $70 for a fuckup on behalf of the bank.

I have to go in there tomorrow after I take my history final…this sucks, I’m going to be all distracted and pissed over this bank stuff during it! x_x

As I am a minor and have a student account, there is a one-time overdraft waiver…however, since it’s their issue that caused mine, I should be exempt from that–or at least I should be in my eyes. If they want to give me hell, I’ll use my waiver, close the account, and take my business elsewhere.

No, not McDonalds…instead, iPod earbuds…in speaker form!

Cute novelty, they’re really big. I don’t plan on buying them because they’d be pretty out of place here [lack of Apple shit...you know, iPod excepted, of course].

fredflare happens to carry some other neat trinkets…such as bandages that appear to be strips of bacon.

Obscurity is fun.

It sucks!

Just a little rant about how I hate shopping…xD It is, again, another girly one.

Pants, for example. For me, they’re impossible to shop for. It takes me forever, and not because I’m typical–I prefer to be swift when looking for clothes–but because my sizing is “odd.” I wish they sold such things by actual measurement like they do with men’s pants and such. I need a 3 waist-wise, a 5 rear-wise, and usually a 5 or a 7 in length. 5s, however, are often too loose in the leg and waist, while 3s are too short. Finding long sizes is like finding snow angels in Hell. Oh, and of course each goddamn manufacturer has their own standards regarding their sizes…in a few rare breeds, I’ll find a three or a five that fits perfectly. They’re usually a bit too expensive, though… :|

Tops, shirts, blouses, what have you, are also hell for similar reasons. It’s usually a fight between XS and S…S usually winning on such matters as length. Bleh. And I hate having to use so much care in the handling/washing/etc; most of them shrink oh-so-quickly… :[

Bras, too. I’m by no means endowed generously, but it’s HELL to find what I need. I have to buy 34As simply because 33s don’t exist…and yeah. Growly growly. I think I’ve ranted about *this* before. Also, such things suck because less-generously-endowed people are met by products produced by companies who think that all women of that nature are interesting in padding and pushing and shaping and falsely advertising…Honestly? It has been years since I’ve seen an A that wasn’t either a push-up or padded or a combination of the two. Sports bras don’t count–also, they’re a joke.

Growly-growly!

Thanks to their new machine that doesn’t lag terribly, mom has unrestricted access to [insert 9th symphony here] eBay.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s a neat idea. There’s a whole bunch of nifty things you can buy on there. But for someone who has little restraint in regards to splurging on nonsense [for example, my mother] it is…bad. Even if she isn’t actually planning on BUYING anything, she spends so much time browsing for trivial things. Example: I come home from school, and my little sister is either pleading or yelling for her to get up and get a drink for her. [My sister will be five in May...but she's too small to be handling 'heavy' jugs, cartons, bottles, or pitchers and she is nowhere near tall enough to reach the cabinet containing cups, glasses, etc.] Mom’s response? “Jerrica, hold on a sec, lemme look at these.”

It truly disgusts me. So, I get Jerrica her juice or milk, and she chugs it, thanks me, and scampers off to play in her room or something.

Granted, a pretty hefty percentage of what she’s looking at is stuff for Jerrica…regardless, that doesn’t make it okay. Not only that, the little one is incredibly spoiled and she has an obscene amount of toys, most of which she never touches. She hardly needs more thirty-dollar Angelina Ballerina plush dolls.

When she isn’t looking for things for Jerrica, she’s looking for decor. Our house isn’t conventionally decorated, in fact it is rather plain, but all the sudden, thanks to eBay, she has this fever and the only cure is more cowbell overpriced junk. “Oh, it’s only ten dollars, five dollars shipping!” “Oh, it’s only four with five dollars shipping.” “Look! She combines shipping, so I could get this and this…” I wonder if she actually grasps the concept that money is a vanishing resource and that there is not an unlimited supply for her to expend on trinkets? “Only,” however much adds up after a while.

She’ll come home from work at night and flock to the computer to see if she’s been outbid on things and to prolong her perusal of the auction site. She often snaps at anyone who ‘bothers’ her while in the midst of this.

My dad asked me if I could block access to eBay on their computer, today. x3

More Victoria’s Secret shenanigans.

Alright, so, generally the bras from Victoria’s Secret run a little small. I’ve been fortunate enough to have pretty good luck without having to play musical sizing with them, but not some friends of mine. [One is convinced that she's a D-Cup because one of their skimpier pieces was a little tight. Well, no, VS is just retarded with their sizing.]

So, when buying clothing from them, I applied this rule. I bought [ordered, of course, because I'm almost a recluse] a couple tops and a hoodie in Small, fearing that their apparel would run small as well.

Wouldn’t it be just my luck that it is just the opposite and I should have stuck with the XS that I’m used to? They arrive here and they’re a bit looser than I expected them to be. As clearance items, though, there was no returning them.

Fortunately, though, they’re susceptible to high washer-and-dryer heat. So after a few rounds, they’ve shrunken down to an appropriate, non-ill-fitting shape. [I don't want them to be *tight*, but they sat oddly here and there.]
Good to know that, though, for future purchases.

I love commercialized holidays. Really, they’re fantastic.

Someone really thought, “Okay, the chocolate industry doesn’t have enough business from PMSing women…so let’s invent a holiday that revolves around chocolate. Also, the card industry doesn’t make enough from birthdays and Christmas, so…let’s combine them!” Cover, let simmer for 7-10 minutes or until al dente, and voila!

Anyway, though, pseudo-cynicism aside, happy Valentine’s Day, folks, regardless of whether or not you have someone right with you to celebrate with…someone loves ya.