(http://moiramanion.blogspot.com/2008/09/invasion-of-rnc-part-2-how-to-spot.html)
It's to contrast the behavior of the overwhelming majority of customers I encountered who wanted to purchase RNC merchandise.
Like any service and retail worker, I've experienced more than anyone's fair share of rude, sarcastic, and downright abusive customers. If you're lucky, you run into bad behavior once a day. What amazed me about the seven days when the store I work for offered RNC merchandise was the incredible concentration of demanding, whining, snarling assholes. After the third day, I asked myself, "What the $@*&? Is there some sort of Asshole Convention in town?!" I paused and answered myself, "Well, duh."
Let me illustrate using delightful exchanges with people who either sought to purchase or did purchase RNC liscened merchandise. Some of these pleasantries occured in the store, many at the RNC product tables our store set up in the airport's Main Concourse. I took notes immediately after these encounters (on my handy-dandy FlipNotes pocket notepad), so what follows is verbatum. In italics is what I wanted to say, but didn't.
People tore into the piles of neatly folded shirts, tossing them aside in heaps. Those that fell on the floor were ignored. Ceramic mugs were grabbed, examined, then put down two tables away from where they belonged. Pins were dropped into bins full of plush elephants. These people made a Kmart Blue-Light Special look like a Society Benefit.
A man in a dark blue suit and red, white and blue tie asked about the Convention Floor signs we had on display. The signs stood two feet tall, had McCain and Palin's names, and were meant for waving for the cameras during the convention. They were sturdy and had polished, professional graphics. They didn't look like someone had whipped them out with Crayola Markers in the back room.
By the by, none of these customers began with "Excuse me, ma'am," or "Hello. I'd like to know..," or "Pardon me for interrupting while you're struggling with that nine foot high white metal display unit that's attempting to decapitate you, but I have a question..." Nope, they all of them launched straight into whatever the hell was on their tiny minds.
"How much are the signs?" Mr. Suit demanded, in an accusatory tone. They all spoke with an accusatory tone. Apparently Republicans, especially white Conservatives from Indiana, Illinois, Texas, South Dakota, and Montana, are a mite defensive, because they've suffered injustice after injustice. They've been forced to sit at the back of buses, had their places of worship desecrated with Swaztikas, had the land of their ancestors stolen while they've been deported to reservations, and not been allowed to marry the people they love, even if they've lived with them with fidelity and loyalty for thirty years. OH, the agonies Conservative Republicans have endured on the loooong Trail of Tears to the RNC.
cough.
"Twenty dollars," I said.
He snorted. "That's a lot for a piece of cardboard."
Considering the cardboard is covered with a graphic design someone had to create, and laminated for sturdiness, and someone in China was paid 50 cents an hour to make it, and then it was shipped to the U.S., then shipped to this airport, where I had to unbox the suckers and haul them from the upstairs storage area to down here, what the hell did you expect they'd cost?
He said sarcastically as he left the store, "I'm sure it's a nice piece of cardboard."
I can dig a flattened box and half-dried-up Sharpie from the dumpster, and you can make your own classy sign for free, howzabout that, Mr. CheapAss? People will think McCain's got the Homeless Vote.
We received Champion golf balls with the RNC logo on them. They came in individual boxes of three balls each, and six boxes came in a larger box. I mistakenly priced the large boxes $18, when that price was meant for the smaller boxes.
A husband and wife grabbed one of the large boxes and snapped, "These are all $18, right?"
"I'm sorry, my mistake. That price is actually for the small boxes of three balls each."
"That's not what it's labeled!" snarled Wifey.
"Then I guess you have to give the big box to us at that price, don't you?" snarled Hubby.
"I'm sorry, I can't."
"Eighteen dollars for three balls!" yelled Wifey. "That's a rip off!"
"We can get these cheaper at a golf store!" yelled Hubby.
So go there and dazzle them with your charisma and charm.
"You have to give us the BIG box for that price!" Wifey had a poisonous smile. "The sticker says so!"
"Uh, no, we aren't going to do that."
They literally threw the box on the table, knocking over a glass elephant and breaking its trunk.
A man waved an RNC water bottle at me. "Why is this eight dollars?"
I dunno. Why is there war, pestilence, the suffering of the innocent, people who watch "Entertainment Tonight?" Evil exists. So sue my sizable DFL Feminist Free-Thinking Ass.
"It's not worth it!" he said. "What'll you give me for it?"
Give you? While I'd just adore paying you to get that thing out of my sight, my manager and the company's owner would be ticked off. And would you point me to the sign that says FLEA MARKET? I gotta get rid of it.
"It’s eight dollars, sir."
"It’s not worth it!"
True. And yet, you want to possess it. "I’m sorry, sir, prices aren’t negotiable."
He snorted (a lot of them snorted) and bought it. He signed the credit card receipt (his ID said he was from Texas) and threw it at me, then stomped off.
Y’know pal, some of my friends work for TSA. One word from me, and you'd discover the true horror of the words "Cavity Search." But since I don’t want to slime my way down to your level on the evolutionary scale, I’ll spare you.
A man in a suit, with glasses and a moustache, smacked two pins onto the counter. As I rang him up, he spat, "They’re selling Obama’s books! Why is that allowed?"
"Sir?"
"The store under the banner that says WELCOME. They’re selling Obama’s books. That’s not very welcoming!"
I wanted to point out to him that the store was, ironically, a FOX News convenience shop. "Some people want those books, sir."
"They shouldn’t have those books in the airport! That’s not welcoming!"
Oh, so since you find those books offensive, you want them removed completely, even though other people want to buy them. I bet you’re the kind of person who demands that books be removed from your local public library because you don’t like them, even though you’ve never read them. YOUR opinion is the only one that matters. So since YOU don’t want to read these books, you don’t want ANYONE to read them. Well Zieg Heil, Sunshine. Why don’t you tell the airport bookstores to get rid of David Sedaris' books –he’s THAT WAY, y’know—and Harry Potter -- all those witches!--, and Charlotte’s Web –did you know Charlotte DIES?—and Goodnight, Moon, which is clearly Pagan. I’m sure they’ll happily fill the spots with Ann Coulter’s latest sane and methodically researched literary gem.
Three times I had to call after a person who came over to the RNC table, grabbed something, and began to walk off with it.
"Excuse me! You have to pay for those!" I yelled after a man.
"They’re free!"
"No, they’re not."
"There’s no sign with prices!"
"The prices are on the items."
"I’m a delegate! I should get these for free!"
"They’re not free."
"I’m here for the convention!"
"They’re not free."
"Fine!" He paid for them. He grabbed his bag. "Bitch."
I wanted to yell, "I don’t care if you think cute Senator Craig was framed, I’m not telling you where that bathroom is." I regretted not letting him walk away without paying, then siccing the airport police on him.
A woman dug through the stacks of polo shirts and tees, which I’d refolded for the hundredth time that afternoon, like a pig rooting in a trough. I tried not to stare at her dome of shellacked chestnut hair. This hair could defy wind, rain, and Gamma Rays. As she squinted through her glasses and picked up and dropped clothing, I watched with horrified fascination as a fly buzzed around her head, probably attracted by the putridly intense scent of White Shoulders. Much as I loathe flies, I didn’t want to witness this one land on the dome, and have its feet sucked into the coating of White Rain, where it would die slowly, screaming in a tiny fly voice, "help me, help meeee!!"
"So what’s happening at the convention?" she suddenly barked, startling me.
"I’m afraid I have no idea."
"What? Why not?"
"I’m not following the convention, ma’am."
"Why not?"
"I’m not Republican, ma’am."
"Why not?!"
Because I think the Initiation would involve ripping my Humanity and Reason out through a hole drilled in my forehead, and the insertion of the belief that rural white people and Fringe Christians are victims at the hands of darkies, Jews, Humanists, Foreigners, and Intellectuals; that drilling oil wells in wilderness which should be saved for future generations is actually saving the wildreness; that dissent is best met with burning at the stake, pressing under boulders, or simply gassing and beating people in the streets and private homes of St. Paul; that His Holiness the Dali Lama is going to burn in Hell for all Eternity; and that Obama is really a cunning Arab scheming to turn the White House into a mosque. THAT’S why.
"Ma’am, I don’t discuss politics, I just sell the merchandise."
She dropped a polo shirt on the floor and walked away.
These are just a sampling of what I experienced. I’d find it very difficult to believe that Democrats acted like this during the DNC.
Once the RNC was over, the number of rude, abusive customers plummeted from three per half hour to the previous norm of three per day. Coincidence? HA.
And this, dear friends, leads directly to my next post concerning Al Franken and Norm Coleman, and to the old saying, Show me your friends, and I’ll tell you who you are.
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COMING PRETTY SOON, REALLY: The Feminst & Al Franken
