People just don't make any sense sometimes.
This afternoon, as I was putting away cds in the international section, I spied a metal object lying on the top shelf of the r-various artists rack. Curious, I picked the object up and gave it a once-over.
Y'arr, thought I in a salty dog inrernal monologue, What devilry be this?
It appeared to have been some kind of mounting plate or possible a handle from a drawer. On closer inspection, I noticed that the back of the object was covered in tape, as if to provide its user with a better grip. One end of the object appeared to have been sharpened down like a gouging chisel.
Be it the scurvey? I asked myself. No, the scurvey be disease. Be it a booty? No, booty be round and inviting.
Suddenly, I remembered my Oz.
"SHIVER ME TIMBERS!" I exclaimed, loudly (as indicated by the capitalization) "It be a shiv! A shank! An improvised prison or hobo knife used to stab inmates or railroad security guards (or in this case, assumably to cut the security tags of our merchandise and possibly tickle my ribs, should I i try to stop them)."
I took the shiv out back and showed it to Jay and Luc. They concurred. It was definitely a shiv.
So now that I work in an environment in which the customers feel the need to arm themselves with shivs, regardless of the fact that the Army Barracks Surplus Store next door sells knives, I am in the market for some soap on a rope so I can use the employee washroom without having to worry about becoming someone's bitch.
This afternoon, as I was putting away cds in the international section, I spied a metal object lying on the top shelf of the r-various artists rack. Curious, I picked the object up and gave it a once-over.
Y'arr, thought I in a salty dog inrernal monologue, What devilry be this?
It appeared to have been some kind of mounting plate or possible a handle from a drawer. On closer inspection, I noticed that the back of the object was covered in tape, as if to provide its user with a better grip. One end of the object appeared to have been sharpened down like a gouging chisel.
Be it the scurvey? I asked myself. No, the scurvey be disease. Be it a booty? No, booty be round and inviting.
Suddenly, I remembered my Oz.
"SHIVER ME TIMBERS!" I exclaimed, loudly (as indicated by the capitalization) "It be a shiv! A shank! An improvised prison or hobo knife used to stab inmates or railroad security guards (or in this case, assumably to cut the security tags of our merchandise and possibly tickle my ribs, should I i try to stop them)."
I took the shiv out back and showed it to Jay and Luc. They concurred. It was definitely a shiv.
So now that I work in an environment in which the customers feel the need to arm themselves with shivs, regardless of the fact that the Army Barracks Surplus Store next door sells knives, I am in the market for some soap on a rope so I can use the employee washroom without having to worry about becoming someone's bitch.
I hate being a cock about what goes on in our store, but, they bring their crazy in our store and seeing how all the mangers are hippies, I'm the only one that will get rid of their crazy.
I take my size as a total luxury because I can get away with a lot more than most folks. Especially women. But, if you are in a retail store and have no shopping agenda, I can't get with that.
Mainly, it's the junkies that shoot up in our bathrooms. Fuck those guys.. Kids go in there ya know?