Looking for T-shirts related to the Britcom Black Books, I found this photo--not only is Manny wearing a Flipper Dolphin Steaks T-shirt (want), but the chalkboard behind him reads:
That'd make a good T-shirt for anyone who works at a desk in public.
I'd written yesterday about difficult customers because Steve had blogged about how annoying it is when people (not, to be clear, the students using his library) insist on talking at him while he's trapped at his desk in public, trying to get work done.
This isn't a problem in my BOOK's section because I can walk away––"Nice talking to you, gotta go to the back now!"––but it was a problem when I was cashiering.
The hardest were people who phoned and gave the lngest possible version of whatever they were calling about--usually furniture pick-ups.
I sensed the phone-callers were lonely and wanted to talk––and of course they couldn't see I was at the cash register, where I usually had several people in front of me too. (I didn't answer the phone when there were customers in line, but as soon as I picked up the receiver, customers would materialize.)
But some people talk at you even if they can see you're busy.
The worst annoyance is a former coworker who got moved to our other thrift store across the river.
A sad, toothless, older white man, his stomach hanging over a truss for his bad back, he comes and "volunteers" a couple mornings a week, which means he hangs out and talks to whoever is cashiering.
By "talk to" I mean "talk at"--
he spouts forth information about his life that means nothing to you. "My landlord finally got that window replaced."
"I'm waiting for the forms from the health department."
Luckily it's trivial stuff like that, not political rants, and rarely anything disturbing, mostly just painfully boring--and insidiously demanding of your attention.
The saddest is when he brags about pitiful successes, like when his attempts to gain social approval by telling jokes go well: "I got her to laugh."
It always sounds a little creepy, like he manipulates people to get some emotional energy out of them.
Once I asked, "Why are you telling me this?"
He looked confused. "I don't know," he said, and kept talking.
Trying to get him to talk about something of some interest, another time I asked him, "What's the best thing that happened to you?"
"This job," he said, and went on to tell me how he was picked on as an epileptic kid.
Ohgod.
I don't have much sympathy for him though. I'd also asked him if he had kids, and he said yes.
"Do they live here?" I said.
"I have no idea," he said.
He's the sort of guy who is sorry for himself but not sensitive to others.
Come to think of it, it's almost like I'm describing Gollum.
As for T-shirts, the ones with the Black Books logo won't do--too much like Black Lives Matter, which is not the point.
NO
ANECDOTAG
E
That'd make a good T-shirt for anyone who works at a desk in public.
I'd written yesterday about difficult customers because Steve had blogged about how annoying it is when people (not, to be clear, the students using his library) insist on talking at him while he's trapped at his desk in public, trying to get work done.
This isn't a problem in my BOOK's section because I can walk away––"Nice talking to you, gotta go to the back now!"––but it was a problem when I was cashiering.
The hardest were people who phoned and gave the lngest possible version of whatever they were calling about--usually furniture pick-ups.
I sensed the phone-callers were lonely and wanted to talk––and of course they couldn't see I was at the cash register, where I usually had several people in front of me too. (I didn't answer the phone when there were customers in line, but as soon as I picked up the receiver, customers would materialize.)
But some people talk at you even if they can see you're busy.
The worst annoyance is a former coworker who got moved to our other thrift store across the river.
A sad, toothless, older white man, his stomach hanging over a truss for his bad back, he comes and "volunteers" a couple mornings a week, which means he hangs out and talks to whoever is cashiering.
By "talk to" I mean "talk at"--
he spouts forth information about his life that means nothing to you. "My landlord finally got that window replaced."
"I'm waiting for the forms from the health department."
Luckily it's trivial stuff like that, not political rants, and rarely anything disturbing, mostly just painfully boring--and insidiously demanding of your attention.
The saddest is when he brags about pitiful successes, like when his attempts to gain social approval by telling jokes go well: "I got her to laugh."
It always sounds a little creepy, like he manipulates people to get some emotional energy out of them.
Once I asked, "Why are you telling me this?"
He looked confused. "I don't know," he said, and kept talking.
Trying to get him to talk about something of some interest, another time I asked him, "What's the best thing that happened to you?"
"This job," he said, and went on to tell me how he was picked on as an epileptic kid.
Ohgod.
I don't have much sympathy for him though. I'd also asked him if he had kids, and he said yes.
"Do they live here?" I said.
"I have no idea," he said.
He's the sort of guy who is sorry for himself but not sensitive to others.
Come to think of it, it's almost like I'm describing Gollum.
As for T-shirts, the ones with the Black Books logo won't do--too much like Black Lives Matter, which is not the point.
2 comments:
"No Anecdotage" -- LOL! I love that. I always try to be respectful of talkers because, as you said, they're often lonely or otherwise need the interaction. But at the same time you've got to have limits. There's a guy who comes to my desk and talks "at" me as well, usually about politics. It just makes me want to die.
STEVE: Yes, to offer an ear for a few minutes is to do a good deed in a naughty world.
But when it goes on and on (and on) (and on...). Well, it's fair to set a limit, for sanity's sake!
Ugh, and your guy talks about politics? That can be extra painful. Even when I agree with the person's politics, interminable talk about it makes me want to scream.
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