More Than Just Tasty on Chips

Two nights ago, I took a salsa class.

I know, I’m even shocked.

It was in order to fill part of a cultural requirement for my Spanish class this semester, and, let me tell you, if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have gone.

Now, I already know that I’m no expert dancer, but, you know, I can get down with my bad self every now and then if I want. I just, uh, happen to look like a chicken without a head when I do.

Time to backtrack for a moment, though, and put my lack of rhythm aside; I feel bad that I wouldn’t have gone if it weren’t kind of required. I mean, I had a genuinely good time there. Sure, I was basically the worst one in the room, but it was still both hilariously and amazingly fun. Honestly, it was a once in a lifetime experience that I am beyond grateful for, and because I’m an introverted home body, if it wasn’t required, I would never have experienced it. Isn’t that crazy?! If it wasn’t required, I wouldn’t have found out what it’s like to just lose myself in the moment and stop caring in order to do something incredibly freeing. If it wasn’t required, I wouldn’t be able to (kind of) participate in a huge part of one of the largest cultures in the world. If it wasn’t required, I would never know what it’s like to be able to dance, which is a quality I admire a lot in a person!

Okay, so I still don’t know what it’s like to be able to dance, but that’s beside the point. What I’m trying to get at is that I learned more the other night than just how to do a true Latin American salsa. I really learned how to come out of my shell, let go, and have fun. I also learned that I can’t do everything, and that that’s okay. And, finally, I learned that I should get out more. Just thinking of everything I’ve missed in life because I’ve been too shy to get up and salsa (so to speak) is making me go crazy. I can’t stop kicking myself over it! If I just let go and did whatever I wanted, I could be a billionaire!

Or not, but you get my point. I’m far behind in life because I’ve held back. But I’m not going to do that anymore. No, sir! From now on, I’m grabbing life by the Che Che Cole and salsa-ing my way through the world! So watch out!

Cause I’m probably going to step on your toes along the way… Sorry in advance.

Crushing Once Again

Because who doesn’t always have some cutie on his or her mind?

That’s right. I’m crushing, and I’m crushing real hard. You know, you’d think it would get easier to deal with the feels as time went on, especially considering the fact that I’ve been boy-crazy literally my entire life. Like, I used to make family and friends and stuffed animals pretend to be my boyfriend and take me on “dates.” I used to get yelled at for staring at the attractive boys in the grocery store for too long. I used to try to assuage my mind from the monsters under my bed every night by thinking up “films” where I was starring as an adult who just so happened to meet the love of her life (most often Nick Carter) on that month’s trip to the beach or that morning’s daily run. Gosh darn it, my first (and, uh, only) real boyfriend was even when I was in kindergarten! And we dated for two years! Two years!!

I was bad.

Simply put, I was in love with boys and men and love and dating. And when I say in love, I mean in love. I was simply born with a soft spot for romantics and sexiness–as proven by the fact that the events of the last paragraph are basically all of my first memories of life itself. Yeah.

I’ve simply always had love on my mind, and I always will. For me, it’s natural and never going to go away.

But as I get older, even though my affinity for the opposite sex stays just as strong, my love of love is, oddly enough, changing quite a bit. Now, romance has become a little less “aw”-inducing and a little more, well:

Yes, romance is no longer as romantic as I once thought it was. Now, I’m simply in love with the idea of being in love. Everything in the films and on TV and in books and in my head is perfectly okay, but the thought of actually finding someone who loves me, too (who is not Barney), however, terrifies me, grosses me out, and makes me do like Lucy above. When thinking of being swept off my feet, I go completely blank for a second–and then suddenly get the urge to back away slowly into the corner and drop into the fetal position so I can silently rock and cry away reality.

For some reason, people liking me in a more-than-friends way just creeps me out, which definitely isn’t normal, I know, and is most certainly not helping out the fact that this single pringle is beyond ready to mingle. Like, if someone doesn’t come for me soon, I’m gonna go stale.

Okay, yeah, yeah, I know; pringles come in packs of 90 and therefore aren’t single.

But I have about 90 other single friends right now, which therefore does make me a pringle, and as we all know, I am single, so, therefore, my above analogy and its internal rhyme are correct: If I don’t find someone soon, I’mma end up like this:

Well, that plus really red eyes and a chronic cough and lots of hives cause I’m ridiculously allergic to cats.

It’s just a huge mess, I know! That’s why I’m here!

Although, I do like the girl’s glasses.

The point is, though, that there are so many beautiful boys in this world, and I am still so alone! I desperately want a relationship! I look around, and I see happy couples doing happy couple stuff, and I want it. I want to go on candlelight dinner dates and stay up late talking about life and run away for a weekend to the middle of nowhere and have sporadic picnics and receive cute texts every here and there…

But then it comes to the hand-holding, hugging, kissing, and general skin-ship part, and I, well, start making like Lucy again…

I just don’t like to be touched, okay! It’s simply a weird thing for me! But in a relationship, you’re kind of supposed to touch. I mean, that’s the whole point! So, uh, as we all know, I can’t have a real relationship if I don’t want my significant other touching me.

Which is why my future is looking very furry.

Ugggh, the struggle is too real…

Is this normal? Is this a sign that I’m going to be alone forever? Or is it a sign that I just haven’t met the one yet? Cause there are definitely guys out there who I would totally be okay getting jiggy with, like:

Orlando Bloom,


G Dragon,

James McVey,

young Leo,

Tom Hiddleston,


Peter Pevensie,

(#SexyAngryPeter4Lyfe! Although his sister doesn’t seem to approve. Pshhh, whatever.)

Kevin Woo,

Torrance Coombs,

(“For being too sexy.”)

Beau Bennett,

And Jeon Jungkook, to name only a few.

(No judging, okay?)

But then there are the guys I meet in real life, the guys who I legitimately develop feelings for and want to spend the rest of eternity alongside but with whom, for some reason, I could never imagine myself getting romantic. Ever.


And this is a problem, for I can bet you any money that I’m never going to meet any of my celebrity crushes, have one of them fall madly in love with me, and then end up marrying him. So, that leaves me with all of the adorably nerdy characters I know who are perfect for me personality-wise but who make me dry-heave when I think about getting even a kiss on the cheek.

Gah! Whatever am I going to do??

Am I hopeless? Or am I just being dumb?

Oh, I don’t know! I’m not going to give up, though. Maybe there’s someone out there for me, someone who isn’t a celebrity. Or maybe I’ll accidentally stumble into Orlando Bloom one day while wandering around campus. Or maybe Beau Bennett will coincidentally waltz on into the store I work at some time. Or maybe I’ll just so happen to stay at the same hotel as Jeon Jungkook. Maybe, one day, I will have one of my celebrity crushes.

Or maybe I’m simply destined to be

But, you know what? If that means I can have the crazy cat chick’s glasses as well as the freedom to do whatever the heck I want whenever the heck it please me (including, but not limited to, buying ridiculously expensive clothing just because, adopting all the Asian babies, writing seven billion novels, owning two labs, visiting each country in the world at least once, making my own major motion picture starring only Leonardo DiCaprio, hoarding dark chocolate, and singing k-pop/dancing around like a maniac to it all the time), then I’m game. Sure, being “forever alone” would very much so suck, but if that happens to me, I’ll just do as John Milton’s Satan did and make a Heaven out of Hell.

…And a Hell out of everyone else’s happily married Heaven, muahaha!

Thinking of What the Future Holds (If Anything)

It’s venting time.

I feel so insignificant. I know that’s probably a very invalid feeling to have right now, especially because there are many people out there who find me a worthy person, but I just can’t help it. I have so much I want to accomplish, and none of it I can ever get done. I want to change the world, to be a real writer who’s actually making a difference, but I feel like I’m stuck running in place. It seems as if every move I’ve ever made towards my dreams has led to nowhere but nothing. My life is a dead end right now. Not to be dramatic, but I feel completely pointless. I’m just a student going through the motions, trying to build credentials and get a degree so she can be taken seriously in the professional world. But why do I need a degree to show that I can write, that I can successfully convey emotion through the application of prose? Shouldn’t my actual work prove that? Isn’t this whole degree thing a waste of my time? I mean, right now I’m stuck reading ancient philosophy and putting myself in hundreds of thousands of dollars of debt when I could very easily be out there actually applying myself and making a difference. Instead of being like all of those other young adults who’ve given up everything to become successful in their fields and achieve their dreams, I’m busy digging myself a hole, writing pointless rhetorical analyses on Greek gods and entering silly little competitions that have never and probably will never work out for me. It’s beyond frustrating. I want to do something with my life! I want to make a difference! I want to matter!  But how can I ever do that when I’m stuck in class all day and at work all night? What on earth am I going to do? How could any of this ever end well? Is this even worth it?

But I guess since I still want to write more than anything in the world despite all of these doubts, it is worth it–or will be one day, maybe. I guess that since the pain that comes with the thought of quitting writing altogether is worse than the pain that comes with the thought of never becoming a successful writer at all, it must, in fact, be my destiny, so I must keep going with it. Yes, being a depressed writer is certainly better than never writing again; writing is my life, after all, and I’d certainly rather be depressed than dead.

And, speaking of death, at least with writing, I’ll still have a chance of postmortem recognition.

Yes, everything in its own time. I just have to stay hopeful. Maybe some chocolate can help with that.

Actually, come to think of it, a future wallowing in chocolate doesn’t sound half-bad–as long as the chocolate doesn’t have nuts, that is.

Faith in Humanity Restored, Confidence in Myself Diminished (then restored, as well)

Today, I’ve had my faith in humanity fully restored.

The first thing that did it was a school bus I passed by on the state route I drove home on from class today. It had “Jesus rocks” written in a child’s crooked handwriting in the dirt of the rear emergency door.

Wait, you mean no profanities, vulgarities, explicit drawings, or general insults? Rather, it said Jesus? And, nonetheless, the fact that he rocks?

Where am I, and what happened to the Jesus-free schools that my America so wholeheartedly promotes?

Mind = Blown

You go, sassy child who said no to censorship and stuck it to the man!

The second thing that caused my revelation was this article from Grist, an environmental and political online news magazine (my description, not theirs). Its headline reads, “This 14-year-old will fix the planet before she graduates.”



You have to read it. (I can’t emphasize “have” there enough.) The story about little Maya Penn is incredible and will both inspire you nearly to tears and make you feel like an insignificant imp who has done nothing with your life.

But don’t worry. If you feel bad about yourself once you finish, just read over Maya’s words of wisdom once again, and you’ll feel infinitely better about your inaction…until, of course, you remember that she’s a 14-year-old Super Woman. Then the cycle will simply repeat.

But I’m okay with that. To me, such a cycle seems almost necessary. I mean, maybe it–a kid outdoing us all–is simply the motivation that us adults (lol I’m fooling no one) legal adults need in order to finally wake up and utilize our best asset: our legality.

Cause let’s face it; that’s really all that sets us apart from kids, anyway.

Well, most of us.

Anyhow, we all can agree that this world is in desperate need of reform, especially because of its ever-increasing smallness (you know, like, “Iiiiiiit’s a smaaaaaaall wooorld, aaaaaaafter aaaaaaaaallllll!”). Everyone is closer to each other than we’ve ever been throughout all of human history. Crazy, right? It’s yet another first for the books, which means that, like with all other firsts, major changes need to come–and they need to come everywhere.

No matter what you feel is most important on the long list of issues that exists, what counts is that you feel something needs to be changed. Which brings me to what I’m here to ask: If there’s something you want to change, why aren’t you doing so? Why am I not doing so? What are we so afraid of? I mean, we all have everything we need in order to push forward and bring change. No matter who you are or where you live, you have some sort of cause, some sort of voice, some way to express it, and some kind of willing and open audience waiting to hear it. Because of how globally connected we are, everyone everywhere can have a say in what’s happening if they really want one. So why aren’t we taking advantage of it? What’s holding us back?

Is it the fear of persecution? Because that same legality that gives us a right to speak up also gives us a right to be punished for speaking up. I know that’s what stops me sometimes from following my passions. Heck, if I ever tried to start my own charity or publish my own book or bring Jesus back into public schools myself, I would have to jump through seventeen billion hoops just to get through the first step out of the twelve that make up only the legal process, which is simply the very first step in the whole series of how you even begin to make a change officially (as in without ending up in jail) in my home country. That’s a lot of work (which can all be credited to the fact that I’m legally an adult), and it, at times, makes me want to give up.

But just think if I ever even dared try to change something big–and tried to do it on a big scale, too; if I went after what I think is wrong with society as a whole, well then, let’s just say that there’d be a huge bunch of angry people at my doorstep (including several federal agents) trying to throw me in jail or down a well or into the electric chair.

And I supposedly live in the land of the free.

So I can only begin to imagine what it’s like for people in other places where no rights exist at all, where so much as looking at the wrong person at the wrong time can get you chopped into bits–or worse–that evening. How do those people speak up? How do those people bring about change?

Well, I unfortunately can’t answer that for you–for many reasons. But I can say this: If something fires you up so much that you at times don’t think you can hold your opinions back on the matter, then chances are others are feeling the same, too, which means you should be doing something about it. It only takes one to spark a revolution. Just like if when you have a question you aren’t alone, if you want change, you’re not alone, either. So, if you’re not alone, then why are you waiting? What’s holding you back? Why not draw out your comrades by being the catalyst to your movement? There’s strength in numbers, and when you make your cause known, the numbers will come. So why not speak out for the changes you want to see? I mean, if little kids can do it, if 14-year-old Maya Penn and an elementary student on his way home from school can make waves, caring more about the probable changes than the possible punishments, then why can’t you? What’s holding us back?

Front Row, All Alone

Semester two of college has officially begun, and I think I’m going to love all of my classes–save for Spanish. I have a very old, barely audible, extremely slow-talking professor who literally has one tone of voice. Literally. I thought I knew what monotone was before today, but nope! No one knows what monotone is until they meet this man.

Needless to say, it’s gonna be one big espresso fest before that class, and I don’t think I’m going to enjoy it.

But that’s not the point of this post. I’m writing tonight because I’ve noticed something over the past two days that really concerns me: In every single one of my classes, I’ve either been the last person to be sat next to or not sat next to at all. In every class!

What? Why??

Do I smell funny? I mean, I wear deodorant, perfume, and scented lotion every single day! I’m seriously trying not to!

Or maybe…am I ugly? Are people scared to sit by me because I’m hideous?

Or is it like the episode of Spongebob where I think it’s because I’m ugly but really it’s because I’ve gone nose-blind to my own stench?

Or do I simply give off the aura of being a total freak? I swear I’m not a freak!

Or maybe I’m intimidating. A cheesy teen magazine once told me in a quiz that I won’t really have a love life because I’m intimidating. What if that was right? What if I really am intimidating?

What if it’s seriously me, and there’s nothing I can do? What if I’ll forever be the last one picked for friendship, and I can never change it?

It’s like gym class all over again!

I don’t know why I’m asking you all these questions, for you can’t really tell me any answers. But I guess I’m just concerned and need to vent. Is this normal? Am I over-thinking it? Does this happen to everyone, and I just have never noticed? Or is it really me? Am I really that bad? Should I even be concerned?

It’s really got me freaked out!

But, like with everything else in life, I will get used to where I sit, even if it’s all by my lonesome in the front row. I will roll with these punches and keep standing tall. If the people behind me can’t see, who cares! I’m never gonna let the hate and neglect bring me down!

Lol, I’m kidding. Kind of.

I should shut up now and stop worrying/rambling. Hopefully it’s nothing. Hopefully I’m not secretly a freak. Hopefully this isn’t foreshadowing a future of being cast out from society.

But if it is, at least I’m being prepared, I guess.

Retail Me Not

Please. I beg you.

Never, ever, EVER work in retail. Ever. If you have the choice, avoid it. Choose anything else but that, for if you do, you’ll regret it the second you start. Trust me; it’s advice from a retail worker herself. Don’t get sucked into the black hole of selling stuff to others. The negatives outweigh the positives by far–well, unless maybe you’re working in a Gucci shop. Buuut, I’m pretty sure you have to be Italian in order to do so, so…

Anyways, those of you who either are currently working or who have worked at some point in time in retail know exactly why I’m advising against it: 99.999% of the time, it’s a nightmare. Literally.

Most of the time, it’s laborious and irksome work that just isn’t worth it. Even if you love what you’re selling, the everyday encounters you have ruin it. They’re frustrating and frequent, and they just get old. There are much better ways to earn money than slaving in a store!

Like stripping.


But enough of me simply telling you how much retail sucks. Let’s get some real evidence up in here! Some proof! Support! Yeah!

I’m gonna stop nerding out over persuasive techniques now.

Note: The following is not merely me complaining. Below are the facts. THIS STUFF HAPPENS, and it happens every single day. Consider it wisely before applying at the retailer nearest you!

1. People

I love people. Seriously. I love people. Being around others and making others happy is incredibly enjoyable for me. Actually, it’s one of the biggest joys of my life, which is why I thought retail would be good for me.

But no. I was wrong.

Sure, there are a lot of great people in this world. And any given day, some of them will wander their way into your store. But for every awesome person, there is also an equal and opposite human being to match him or her (Newton!). And they seem to end up shopping more often than any of the cool ones who you wish would come in everyday.

Many people are grouchy or angry or impatient or irritable (for whatever reason), and they take it out on you. They can’t find their size in that new shirt or there’s no more orange juice with pulp, and suddenly the whole world is ending, the entire sky is falling, and you–yes, you, the closest worker to the travesty–is now Satan himself, the cause of all of this first-world evil as well as every other evil that’s out there.

How dare you let there be no more size twelves? How dare you let there be no more pulp??


And even when you try to reason with said angry customer, things only get worse, most likely ending with a very one-sided and awkward conversation that leads to an extremely loud, “I’m never shopping here again!”

They then storm out like the Big Bad Wolf himself in a flurry of huffs and puffs–only to return a few days later.

What, you couldn’t find another store in the area with your favorite orange juice? 

Capitalism: 1. You: 0.

But, honestly, I would take the angry, unreasonable customer ANY DAY over the other type of people who frequent stores: the weirdos.

Yup, working in retail is just like high school; you have the few nice guys, the many bullies, you, and the weirdos. There’s always the weirdos…

Oh, the weirdos are just the worst!

They make everything awkward and unmanageable and inappropriate, and you just want to run away and hide in a corner until they give  up and go home. But you can’t, firstly because it’s your job to not do so and secondly because they find you. THEY HUNT YOU DOWN AND MAKE THEIR PRESENCE KNOWN.

Oh, do they make their presence known…

I’m not even gonna go into details. I’m getting the heebee jeebees just thinking about it!

So, needless to say, after about a month, you come up with a very long mental list of faces to avoid. You see them coming from a mile away, and you brace yourself for the unpleasantness that is bound to ensue (and try to avoid them at all costs, even if futile).

Just for some insight, here’s a few of the lovely individuals on my list: A dude who won’t stop hitting on me no matter how much shade I throw; a middle-aged blonde woman with a stick up her butt who doesn’t keep anything for more than a week and complains about everything she possibly can (yet still keeps coming to our store!); an old Indian woman who barely speaks English, apparently works at Sears, and doesn’t understand that haggling prices does not exist in Big Momma America; and a strange, strange man who talks about crotches every time he buys a pair of pants.

People aren’t as fun as they seem, my friend. They’re weird and mean, and when you work in retail, you can’t even do anything about it!


My frustration is great.

2. Cleaning

Because, apparently, stores also double as garbage cans!

Yeah, even if you like cleaning, you’ll hate the cleaning that you have to do in the store. It isn’t so much the dusting and mopping that I don’t like; that’s easy and okay. What I hate is having to clean up after the rest of the human population that was APPARENTLY RAISED IN A BARN.

No, that shelf is not where you should leave your grimy, grody, empty Starbucks cup.

No, the floor is not where that shirt gets hung up.

No, the size twelve is not in the middle of that pile. It’s on the bottom with all the other labeled size twelves.

No, that pile that you just destroyed in your search for the twelve does not belong on the other side of the table in a ball.

No, that blouse you no longer want does not get draped across the suit jackets in the men’s department.

Seriously, are people really this rude? I have never, ever, not once in my life left a store messier than when I first came in! Maybe it’s the type-a in me, but if my coffee was empty, I would throw it in the trash bin inside/outside of the store or ask a worker if there is a trash in which they can throw it into. Because that’s their job. That’s my job, to be asked if I can throw something away and then either do so or direct you to the nearest trash can.



And as for everything else, take the two extra seconds to put it back! Literally, picking up the plastic vase you knocked down or re-hanging the coat you tried on takes two seconds! Put it back! Be considerate and just put the gosh darn thing back! Or don’t touch it in the first place! Or ask a worker for help! But don’t just leave it on the floor or set it in a random spot hoping that the little elves will fix it later. Gaaah!!!! THERE ARE NO ELVES! IT’S JUST US WORKERS!

Newsflash: It is not a retail worker’s job to reinforce laziness. It is our job to make you buy things, to be nice to you and help you in your shopping journey. There is nothing in that description that says we must pick up after inconsiderate individuals! SO DON’T BE INCONSIDERATE!

But that’s wishful thinking. People will never not treat stores like trashcans–which is why I’m telling you to avoid employment in one.

3. Fitting Rooms

I would kill to work in a store without fitting rooms. KILL.

Because, like I said before, apparently EVERYONE ON EARTH WAS RAISED IN A BARN!

You’ll get annoyed at fitting rooms on your very first day. They’ll irk you on your second, and by the third, you’ll completely despise them. Fitting rooms are what my nightmares are now composed of. No joke here.

People throw their clothes in a ball on the floor. Like, all of their clothes. Every single garment in the whole freaking store ends up in a ball on the floor of the fitting rooms, with the hangers scattered and tangled among them.

Oh, and don’t forget the empty Starbucks cups!

Who in the world ever said that was okay?

Again, it is not my job to pick up after your horrible manners, lazy disposition, and general ignorance. It is my job to take care of those clothes that you so rudely dropped onto that filthy floor. I am supposed to love them and make them look nice so that others will buy them. It is not my job to clean up after your disgusting habits. Fine if you do that at home, but this is not your house, and I am not your mother. Hang your clothes back up, and place them on the racks that are in the fitting rooms. That’s what they’re there for!! It takes ten extra seconds per garment. TEN!

Is that really too much to ask?


But if this whole fitting room dilemma doesn’t turn you off from retail, then keep this in mind: Fitting rooms, apparently, to the general public, also occasionally double as rest rooms.


You learn right quick to never take your shoes off when you try on clothes.

4. Shopping for Others

Now, I’m not talking about helping someone find their size or advising what the best appliance is or showing someone a shirt that matches their new shoes. I’m talking about the people who come in and say, “Excuse me, do you sell shoes?”

Um, well, maybe if you turned your head slightly to the right, you would see the wall full of shoes.

You kindly point out the shoes and add that there are more sprinkled in throughout each section.

“But, do you have, like, shoes. You know, like, that I could wear out?”

I’m sorry, but aren’t all shoes for wearing out?

You kindly ask the customer if they mean out at night, say, for clubbing.

“Yeah! Like that!”

And, again, you point out the shoe wall, saying that you carry some very stylish flats as well as a few pairs of heels.

But, of course, the customer demands you–yes, you–help her pick out this next new pair–all of which she hates, of course–because you are the stylish slave employed in this facility to help the hopelessly lost souls who probably couldn’t even find their way around a paper bag.

“Where are your dresses?”

Right in front of your face.

“Do you sell men’s clothing?”

Do you not see the left half of the store?

It gets very old very quickly.

My other favorite instances of shopping for others when you should be doing your actual job are the people who try to describe something either from the online store or from a completely different store altogether to try and see if we have it/anything similar.

“There was this black skirt online. Do you think you have it?”


But, looking around? That would be too hard, now wouldn’t it?

In other words, if you don’t have patience for laziness/stupidity, don’t work in retail.

5. Babysitting

Side Note: Not only are you responsible for taking care of the whole store and all that is within it, including the grown adults, but you are also responsible for the children and babies that they bring within! You’ll get very used to using (but also very annoyed with) the phrases, “Excuse me, sweetie, but you can’t climb on the mannequin/tables/racks/in the window. You’ll hurt yourself,” and “Go on, go get your parents!”

You’ll also become very familiar with the intense feeling that goes along with holding back the words, “MY STORE ISN’T A FREAKING JUNGLE GYM, YOU ANIMAL WHO IS CLEARLY BEING RAISED IN A BARN!”


I’m seriously thinking about charging a five dollar fee for every family who lets their kids run around my store.

Consider how much you like unsupervised babies doing whatever the heck they want before applying.

6. Payments

As if everything leading up to the transaction wasn’t already heck enough!

Checking people out is the absolute worst. You have your rude individuals who don’t say hi back or acknowledge your compliments. You have the little awkward kids who are clearly making their first transactions and have no idea what to do, which only ends up prolonging the line and making even more angry customers who will be rude and ignore your hellos. You also have the awkward mumblers who you have to keep asking to repeat themselves–as well as the clearly intoxicated, who you must do the same for. And, finally, you have the people who try to use other people’s credit cards and proceed to throw a hissy-fit when you don’t let them.

Yes, I’m looking at you, children with your parents’ cards. Stop crying and get a job! Who even let you into this store alone anyways?

Ringing people up is the worst, especially when those ones who just spent the last hour destroying your store suddenly become micromanaging perfectionists. Because heaven forbid their items aren’t beautiful!

You need really high tolerance levels to not rage quit at the register.

7. Theft

Why spend money when you could get the five finger discount?!

There’s four reasons why I hate theft. One: We lose money and look bad, which affects my job/salary. Two: The garments that they don’t take then have huge holes/stains in/on them where the sensors were and therefore can no longer be sold. Again, my job/salary is affected. Three: Stealing IS A SIN. Four: Ink packs on sensors don’t only stain the clothes. They stain the hands of the person who has the joy of removing them from the scene of the crime.

I hate it when I get blue smurf hands.


My favorite, though, is when young parents bring their toddlers into the store and try to get them to steal for them.

People literally are raised in barns…

Well, there you have it: The cons of working in retail. Like I said earlier, they outweigh the pros. Don’t do it if you have a choice.

And, I don’t mean to bust the economy or boost unemployment or anything like that, but, uh, there is this thing called “online shopping,” you know.

I’m just saying.


New Year, New Life

Resolutions will only be broken.

Promises made to oneself in private are merely words and time wasted. They will soon be forgotten, eased, talked out of. They are okay to break, for we very easily forgive ourselves and are more than willing to say that tomorrow’s another day.

Contracts, however, are binding.

Promises physically written down, statements consigned permanently to tangibility by the twitches of your myofibrils and the ballpoint of your pen, are remembered. When set into stone, words become far less easy to go back on, for now they have weight, substance, definition, meaning. They have been brought forth to others; how could anyone find it easy to go back on words that have been both spoken and agreed upon?

Which is why this year, rather than resolutions, I have created a contract.

Sure, I still have a list of resolutions that will go up in my bedroom, but I’ve realized that I’ll never get them all done if I simply rely on the fact that I promised myself I would. The contract I’ve created to accompany them will ensure that I cannot stab myself in the back and fail at making a better me once again.

Here is a picture of the real-life, handwritten-and-signed, self-made contract.


And here is what it says in case you either, a.) can’t read my handwriting, or b.) are too lazy to click to enlarge:

Life Contract: 2015

“I, Leah D——, hereby declare that 2015 will be my most productive year yet. Through sickness, health, stress, happiness, tragedy, triumph, failure, and all else that can happen, I will not–will never–stumble, falter, hesitate, or pause. I will not get lazy or relax or take a break. I will remain determined through it all, determined to dream and achieve like never before. This new year will not be another one that passes idly by, leaving me in the dust to wonder where my time was spent and why I’ve still gotten nothing done. No, this year will not be another dull chapter that merely sets the scene, that is only wasted space I barely remember, pointless filler not worthy of retelling. It will be exciting, brilliant, vibrant, and vividly remembered. It will be retold over and over again with just as much gusto as when it first occurred. Yes, 2015 will be ferocious–in all ways. I promise. I declare.

“And while I do have personal goals I’d like to achieve, such as maintaining my GPA, eating better, walking my dog more, being more tolerant (specifically of stupid/ignorant behavior), socializing more, praying more, and getting published, none of those matter to me as much as just staying motivated and keeping moving. For if I don’t give up, how could the rest not come true?

“So I, Leah D——, hereby declare to not quit. This year will be rough, but it will be worth it. And I, Leah D——, also declare that if I hesitate, am lazy, etc., come January 1, 2016, I will punish myself by spraying Dior Essence on my pillow before sleeping that night. I will therefore have to inhale the essence of the elderly all night long, a horrible, horrible punishment, indeed–especially for someone sensitive to smells.

“And so it must be, for so it is written.


“Bound by contract to her promises. Will be penalized if she breaks.”

And there we have it: motivation to achieve as ensured by contractual law. Succeed or else be subjected to the worst smell humanity has ever created.

But what about a reward?

To that I simply have to say merely achieving is reward enough for me.

Here’s to 2015! God bless, and good luck to all!