Upsell gone wrongSam's Club, an exclusive club headquartered in Bentonville, Arkansas of which I am a member, uses that God-awful touchy feely internal jargon that is supposed to make their employees, er . . . I mean "team members" and "associates" feel better about their jobs. I want to strangle someone everytime I hear on the P.A. system, "Coach Jones to tires please. Coach Jones to tires." He's not a coach, he's a retail manager.
How do you know he's not a coach?
Italicized Bastard! What are you doing here?
I got tired of my regular gig. I haven't interrupted that moron since before Y2K07.
You can't just leave one guy's blog and jump to another.
I can do whatever the fuck I want. Now answer the question.
I've never heard you use foul language before.
That's because he runs a class joint over there. He doesn't use that kind of language on his blog. I was a figment of his imagination. Now I'm a figment of yours. Therefore, I don't think you've ever actually heard me say anything before, dipshit. So how do you know he isn't really a coach? Maybe he coaches his kid's soccer team.
What? It's obviously positive-reinforcement put-it-in-a-memo corporate psychomanagement jargon. You know, to get everyone to feel like they are part of a "team" and not just some minimum-wage-earning shopping cart wrangler or slow-as-molasses cashier. The corporate shills in Arkansas probably feel like it promotes loyalty.
What's wrong with a little loyalty? Don't you think Brian Piccolo had a loyal friend in Gale Sayers, played with convincing honesty in Brian's Song by Billy Dee Williams?
Yeah, sure, but they were on an actual team. The Chicago Bears. The guy had cancer. He was dying. Of course his friend was loyal. What does that have to do with corporate double-talk?
Did you cry when he died?
Brian Piccolo, played flawlessly by a young James Caan. Did you cry in that part of the movie at the end when Brian Piccolo died?
Sure. Every time.
I don't remember you ever being quite this mean and vulgar over at that other place. What's the deal?
It's for your own good. You used to write some really great shit here. Women, liquor, blowjobs, world travel. Now you don't do shit. I'm here to shake things up a little bit.
I can't really tell those stories anymore. I used to tell those stories when I was anonymous. Now it's really easy to find me. I run a highly visible business. My mother reads this stuff. How can it be for my own good?
Look, you were on the verge of writing another one of your uninspired, uninteresting, undeveloped bullshit four-sentence posts about the drive thru at Krystal. That's the equivilant of a stand-up comedian saying "What about that airplane food, huh, folks?" Have you even looked at your Sitemeter stats lately? You get more hits from people Googling "naked girls" than you do from people who come here to read your crap.
Well, that is true. But how does you being here help?
This is the most you've written in a long time, chief. And you can thank me for that. Plus, you have a Billy Dee Williams and James Caan reference. If I can somehow work in Charles Nelson Reilly and Erik Estrada, my work will be done.
You just did.
Of all the policies that corporate lackies of the world foist upon us, the drive thru upsell has got to be one of the most annoying. When I got to the order box today I was greeted with "Welcome to Krystal, would you like to try our honey mustard chix?" I automatically said no, as I always do. But as I perused the menu, it turns out that was exactly what I wanted to try. But since I had already said no, I didn't order it, so thier upsell actually backfired.
That story sucked worse than an Ally Sheedy biopic narrated by Bob Crane with music by Tim McGraw.
Bob Crane is dead.
No shit, dumb fuck.