I now am in charge, exclusively, of Customer Returns in the warehouse. I don’t mind a bit, despite the fact that this is not the job I was hired for. I still do that one, too.
Returns means I’m in the sales office a lot. I have to ask a lot of questions and beg for paperwork, so I can get all the pallets and pallets of shite out of my little returns area (and lawsy me, does it pile up fast). Sometimes, the returned item is jus’fine, and can go back on the shelf for another delivery.
Sometimes it’s a broken piece of crap. That’s when I have to get the sales manager involved.
Last week, I had an item to ask him about. He needed to look it up in the computer first. I’m standing there, waiting, and I see that he’s having an issue typing in the name of the product itself.
He calls out to another office worker sitting at a desk in front of him, “Hey, how do I make the symbol for two, but it isn’t a number?”
The sales person turns around, looking baffled. Not at the question, no: trying to think of where it might be on the keyboard.
I’m standing there in my grimy steel-toe boots, grimier hi-vis jacket, and comfy many-pocketed work trousers; sweating as I can’t bear the heat in the office as compared to the warehouse. I can’t watch this any longer, not even for the craic. “It’s just two capital letter i’s. Roman numerals.”
Sales manager is all kinds of thrilled and thinks I’m a bloody genius. Says to me, “That’s brilliant, we could sure use you down here. Are you sure you don’t want to come back into the office?”
Not for all the tea in China, as my mother would have said. I mumbled something about watching a lot of old movies and teaching myself Roman numerals so I could read the date the movie was made. But that was a lie. I learned that shit in fifth grade. Maybe earlier.
It especially struck me funny when I saw this, via the Huffington Post.