This SHALL BE, unquestionably, my last Sunday at TJ Maxx. Hell yeah.
They already screwed me over, and tried to screw me over further--originally, I was told my last day would be the 11th. Now it's the twelfth. I noticed this on the schedule last week, and when I pointed this out to the manager, I asked, "So then is the twelfth my last day?"
"Well, you agreed to the fourteenth as your last day actually, since you quit on the first. But okay, the twelfth's your last."
This easy acquiescence seemed bizarre to me at first until I realised that this conversation--quoted above--was taking place on the first! Basically, it seems she had planned to keep me later and, knowing I have a bad mind for dates and such, use the excuse that my two weeks noticed began on the first. She was taken offguard by my bringing up the subject this early, so she automatically refered to her pre-planned view of reality, realising in mid-sentence that things had collapsed. So ha! In this battle of wits, I am the one who is victorious!
...
Walking through the mall as I often do, a smile and even, occassionally, a giggle comes over me when I notice Victoria's Secret's "Look, I'm topless but you can't see my tits!" ad campaign. The looks these women have on their faces is priceless. They seem to be saying, "This is the dead serious game of woman power, do not defy me, and I bet you can't see my nipple!"
While we're on the subject of ubermench (uberfrauline?) femininity in the media, I've realised that there are few things more glamourous for a woman than to appear in a Vagisil commercial. Seriously, those things crack me up. Something about the spanish guiatar in the soundtrack, the sensually billowing white dress hems of purity, whilst laughing, mature woman faces suggest to us that, er, difficulties in the genital area are adventures of the most profoundly romantic variety, and that they're all part of the sacred cycle of being mamma-little-girl.
People take themselves way too seriously around here, I swear.
No comments:
Post a Comment