Fiction: “Breaking Dawn” by Stephenie Meyer

Oh, my god, you guys. You GUYS. I’m FINALLY DONE with these stupid vampires.

I don’t even know where to begin with this. I have five-and-a-half pages of quotes from this book in a Word document. If I had thought about it ahead of time, I would have taken a picture of the book with all its little Post-It Flags throughout. Way more than New Moon did.

I guess I’ll start with the plot. It begins with Bella and Edward engaged, about a week before the wedding. Now, I’ve read a lot of books and watched a lot of movies, and let me say that I was totally expecting the wedding to result in a horrible, awful bloodbath, sent down by the Volturi, or maybe that kid from Bella’s high school who loves her, or maybe Edward would end up in a panic and just frickin’ shave his head like Marshall did on How I Met Your Mother, but as I think that I realize that would be ridiculous, because according to this “canon,” everything about a vampire is strong, which means he would break the razor on his head, and then that makes me think about Pauley D from Jersey Shore, I mean have you seen that hair? That hair is immune to nuclear bombs.

That is how my mind works, ladies and gentlemen. (You’re scared now, aren’t ya?)

Okay, so anyway, I was expecting the Battle of the Bride or something at the wedding. But it went off without a hitch. Seriously? No cold feet? No explosions of fire that aren’t fireworks? Nothing? I would be disappointed, but then I remember that I’m reading a Twilight book, and I stop being disappointed and start being awesome instead.

[Note to self: stop watching so much How I Met Your Mother.]

So Bella and Edward go on their honeymoon, which is on their own private island (well, Carlisle’s own private island) off the coast of Brazil. And there they have sex once (FINALLY, but oh it is the vaguest of vagues. It’s all “we went to bed and FADE TO BLACK and then I woke up and it was AWESOME” but NO ONE GOT TO SEE ANYTHING. And folks, there are TWO REASONS I read romance novels occasionally, and those reasons are “They’re Cheesy” and “And so is the sex descriptions.” BUT AT LEAST WE GET TO READ ABOUT QUIVERING MEMBERS), and because apparently there are bruises all over Bella’s body from teh sexing, Edward actually takes a stand with Oprah and says LOVE SHOULDN’T HURT and refuses to have sex with Bella anymore. Until she seduces him, because apparently, our little Bella, she likes it rough. (Who knew? She’s so whiny all the time, I didn’t expect that.) So they have sex like, one more time, and all of a sudden SHE’S PREGNANT.

And — how — I doo—

IF VAMPIRES ARE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD, AND THE “VENOM” IN THIS CANON “FREEZES EVERYTHING INTO PERFECTION” or whatever, then HOW THE FUCK IS EDWARD’S SPERM MOTILE?

*sigh*

So ANYWAY, Edward wants to bring Bella home to Carlisle immediately to perform an awkward vampire abortion, but no she wants it she needs it her preciousssss and she uses Rosalie, previously known as The Bitch of the Cullen family, to her advantage: Rosalie only wanted BABBIEEEES, and now she has a chance to have a BABBIEEEEE in the family, and Bella wants to keep her precious little fetus that, oh right, is also killing her slowly.

At this point, the narrative switches from Bella’s whiny emo tones to Jacob’s funny, sarcastic side. Which doesn’t really serve a purpose other than: we don’t have to hear Bella’s thoughts while the baby kills her from the inside, we only see what Bella goes through. In such awful, horrific detail, but then I saw the movie and was saddened that there wasn’t more blood.

So the baby gets born, and it wasn’t the son that Bella was hoping for, but instead a girl, and she picks the STUPIDEST NAME ON THE FACE OF THE EARTH: Renesmee, a mash-up of Renee and Esme, her and Edward’s ‘mother’, respectively. Also, the middle name is a mash-up of Carlisle and Charlie, or, Carlie. Dear god, when did Bella hit her head on something hard?

So THEN, Edward turns Bella into a vampire, and I’m like, FINALLY, but it turns out that Bella is not only a vampire, but only the bestest vampire in the history of vampiring. Apparently the vampires are supposed to go through a one year “newborn” phase, where everything is BLOOOOOOOOD and there is no logic, only thirst, but Bella wakes up and she’s like, “Where’s my baby I want my baby and also why am I in this beautiful dress ALICE oh hey honey, let’s have sex now, you couldn’t possibly break me in two.”

Oh, and did I mention that Jacob imprints on the baby? Meaning that, at some point when Renesmee is no longer a baby but a full grown person (because she’s half-human, half-immortal, I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS), Jacob and Renesmee are going to be a couple.

HA HA HA HA HA oh Jesus make it stop.

Then there’s this other coven, the Denali clan or whatever, and one of them sees Renesmee prancing about and immediately assumes that the Cullens have created a vampire baby, so she runs to the Volturi to tattle. But while Renesmee is a baby of vampires, she is not a human baby that was turned into a vampire, so the Cullens should be safe from the Evol Volturi. But they have to gather other vampires to act as witnesses, and since Renesmee is growing at, like, creepy speed (her first words after a week, reading poetry after a month, like, WTF), the other vampires can see proof that she is a different thing than a vampire baby, so they should hopefully be safe. And Renesmee also has a power: she can touch someone and show them her thoughts, which is how she shows everyone her grisly birth.

Charming.

And that’s totally where I lost interest. Seriously, it’s five hundred pages of Bella and Edward having sex then not having sex then being pregnant then Jacob turning into his own One Man Wolf Pack, then Bella giving birth and becoming the bestest vampire ever and then more sex between Bella and Edward and then … a month of visiting vampires, new talents, and talking, oh dear god so much talking.

And when the Volturi arrive, there isn’t even a fight. Lame.

Anyway. Everyone lives, nobody (that anyone would care about) dies*, and everyone lives happily ever after. The end. Thank fucking God.

*Except Irina. Poor Irina, the scapegoat. And what really makes that funny for me is that, in the movies, Irina is played by Maggie Grace, the girl who played Shannon Rutherford on Lost, which is also the sister of BOOOOOONE!, played by my favorite Ian Somerhalder, who now plays the ultimate character Damon Salvatore in that superior television program The Vampire Diaries. But really, I’m almost looking forward to Breaking Dawn II so I can see Shannon die again.

So here’s the part where I show you some quotes. I have to say that the majority of Post It’s were for the category I created called, “Edward is perfect and I am awful.” Because even as a vampire, Bella has problems with self-esteem.

This quote is, like, on page three. I distinctly remember uttering, “Good Lord,” and then restraining the urge to throw the 754-page book across the room.

… I just couldn’t reconcile a staid, respectable, dull concept like husband with my concept of Edward. It was like casting an archangel as an accountant… [6]

Let’s see, what else made me roll my eyes?

The rush was due to the fact that I was getting closed to nineteen every stinking day, while Edward stayed frozen in all his seventeen-year-old perfection, as he had for over ninety years. [16]

Sometimes it was so easy to forget that I was kissing a vampire. Not because he seemed ordinary or human – I could never for a second forget that I was holding someone more angel than man in my arms … [23]

Here, Bella forgets the Number One Rule of Weddings: No One Looks At the Groom Except the Bride:

I stared at the long counter, covered in all the paraphernalia of a beauty salon, and began to feel my sleepless night.
“Is this really necessary? I’m going to look plain next to him no matter what.” [44]

Even after she becomes a vampire, Edward is still Perfect and She is Still Awful:

The greater part of my senses and my mind were still focused on Edward’s face.

I had never seen it before this second.

How many times had I stared at Edward and marveled over his beauty? How many hours – days, weeks – of my life had I spent dreaming about what I then deemed to be perfection? I thought I’d known his face better than my own. I’d thought this was the one sure physical thing in my whole world: the flawlessness of Edward’s face.

I may as well have been blind. [390]

I could not answer immediately, lost as I was in the velvet folds of his voice. It was the most perfect symphony, a symphony in one instrument, an instrument more profound than any created by man … [391]

NO. NO NO NO. That cannot happen. There is NOTHING more beautiful than the Pastoral Symphony. Except maybe the Sleeping Beauty ballet. But COME ON. Robert Pattinson’s voice is AWFUL.

Some other categories of choice: Bella is Dumb, and also, Jacob Speaks the Truth:

“So why hasn’t Carlisle done anything?” I growled. “He’s a doctor, right? Get it out of her.”

He looked up then and answered me in a tired voice. Like he was explaining this to a kindergartener for the tenth time. “She won’t let us.”

It took a minute for the words to sink in. Jeez, she was running true to form. Of course, die for the monster spawn. It was so Bella. [177]

Even more examples of Jacob Speaking Truth (which is why Jacob’s my favorite, if I can have a favorite in this hell):

“I thought the whole point was that you wanted your vampire more than anything. And now you’re just giving him up? That doesn’t make any sense. Since when are you desperate to be a mom? If you wanted that so much, why did you marry a vampire?” [193]

“Why do you always have to love the wrong things, Bella?” [197]

And one rare instance where Bella Speaks the Truth:

I’d never done anything good enough to deserve a friend like Jacob. [60]

Now, let’s just take a moment and recognize that some things can be learned over time:

Behind the light, I could distinguish the individual grains in the dark wood ceiling above. In front of it, I could see the dust motes in the air … [387]

I DID NOT CHANGE THAT, that is an ACTUAL quote! YAY!

Renesmee, meanwhile, is a creepy little fucker:

“Renesmee is healthy and well,” he promised, a gleam I’d never seen before in his eyes. He said her name with an understated fervor. A reverence. The way devout people talked about their gods. [396]

See, and Bella’s not being ironic or creeped out about this. Devout people talking about their gods is not a creepy thing for her.

There’s also a category for “Seriously?! You guys are just messing with me now, right?”

“But he’s a smart, practical man. She thinks he’ll come up with his own explanation. She assumes he’ll get it wrong.” Edward snorted. “After all, we hardly adhere to vampire canon.” [301]

Vampire canon?! You guys acknowledge that there is a vampire canon?! Amazing!

And speaking of amazing,

“What an amazing creature she is,” Edward murmured, almost in agreement, as if Jacob’s comment was meant as a compliment. He was both dazzling and dazzled. [523]

Oy.

And speaking of vampire “canon,” here’s a tidbit that made me go all Barbara Walters on Herman Cain What?!:

Edward’s jaw clenched and unclenched, then he answered evenly, “They aren’t even werewolves. Aro can tell you all about it if you don’t believe me.”

Not werewolves? I shot a mystified look at Jacob. He lifted his huge shoulders and let them drop — a shrug. He didn’t know what Edward was talking about, either. [704]

No, really: you guys are messing with me, right?

I read the emotions as they scrolled across [Charlie's] face.

Shock. Disbelief. Pain. Loss. Fear. Anger. Suspicion. More pain.

I bit my lip. It felt funny. [506]

COME ON. ALL KRISTEN STEWART CAN DO IS BITE HER LIP. ARE YOU KIDDING ME.

And now, my favorite parts: The Crazy Random Happenstance References, which only make sense to me.

Here’s this one, from Jacob’s perspective (note: the italics are the voices of the members of his wolf-pack he can hear in his head. No, don’t ask):

They all saw the horror – Bella’s mottled stomach; her raspy voice: he’s strong, that’s all; the burning man in Edward’s face: watching her sicken and waste away … seeing it hurting her; Rosalie crouched over Bella’s limp body: Bella’s life means nothing to her–and for once, no one had anything to say.

Their shock was just a silent shout in my head. Wordless.

!!!! [198]

See, in one of my favorite short-lived series, The Middleman, the Middleman and his apprentice Wendy Watson face an evil killer that is making something called !!!!, which is an energy drink that, when drunk, turns people into zombie trout. Again, don’t ask, but this made me laugh, at least.

This did notmake me laugh; instead, it made me cry for the withdrawal I am currently undergoing:

The dark one grinned when I came into view. “Well, well, Carlisle. You have been naughty, haven’t you?”

“She’s not what you think, Stefan.” [627]

STEFAN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THE CULLENS? AND WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR BROTHER AND WHY ISN’T HE SHIRTLESS (Vampire Diaries comes back in one week holy shit I can’t fucking wait)

Here’s the quote:

Caius stood alone beside the blazing remains of Irina, the metal object in his hand still throwing a thick jet of flame into the pyre.

With a small clicking sound, the fire shooting from Caius’s hand disappeared. [708]

And here’s the reference:

And then “The Final Countdown” runs through my head and I have to run away laughing.

The final reference (da duh daa daaaa! da duh da da daaaaaa!) is actually a conversation my friends and I almost had one fateful New Year’s Eve night:

“So there are real werewolves?” I asked. “With the full moon and silver bullets and all that?”

Jacob snorted. “Real. Does that make me imaginary?” [745]

And I can’t remember where I’ve mentioned this instance before, but we were all talking about zombies versus vampires, and Jen at one point said “Oh, you’re talking about Resident Evil zombies, not real zombies.” And Emily whirls on her and says, “REAL zombies!? Did you just say REAL zombies?!”

Finally-finally, as if Stephenie Meyer knewI’d need something happy to take away from all of this, she leaves me with this quote: [Context: Bella has found that she can draw her shield or whatever into herself so Edward is finally able to hear her thoughts, or, whatever]:

“I can’t keep it up if I’m even the slightest bit distracted,” I warned him. [754]

Ahem.

THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID.

Grade for Breaking Dawn: Twilight Stars

Fiction: “The Maltese Falcon” by Dashiell Hammett

Hey, look! Two books in less than 48 hours! It’s a Saturnalia miracle!

(Incidentally, a real Saturnalia miracle would involve me finishing two books between now and 11:59 on New Year’s Eve, I’ll have actually increased the amount of books I’ve read year over year for the first time since I’ve started this blog. Everybody cross your fingers!)

I picked up The Maltese Falcon for two reasons: 1) I needed a ‘lunch break book,’ because (as I said in the entry for Retail Hell) there was no way in hell I was going to be caught reading Breaking Dawn by Brad and John and everyone else I work with. And 2), I was/am trying to write a novel with a distinct pulp fiction tone, and hey, why not one of the classics?

Now, at the risk of gaining more hell from friends and coworkers, I’m going to begin by saying that I’ve never seen the Bogart film of the same name. Although, knowing Brad and John, they could care less about me not seeing a classic film starring one of the best on-screen detectives of all time. But mention that I’ve never watched Pulp Fiction and let the skies fall down upon me in shame. So anyway, I cannot compare the book to the movie. I can, however, compare Sam Spade to that other embodiment of 1940s-era detectivery, Philip Marlowe from The Big Sleep.

The trouble begins when a Miss Wonderly walks into the office of Spade & Archer in San Francisco, and asks them to tail a man that she’s hanging around. Before the night is over, Archer’s dead, as is the man he was supposed to tail. Another 12 hours passes, and he learns that Miss Wonderly is actually a Brigid O’Shaughnessy, and she’s wrapped up in something more sinister than just being scared for her life.

Turns out, she’s a player in a gang of people playing one against the other, looking for something called the Maltese Falcon. It’s this extremely rare statuette that was originally used as payment to some king or something (look, it’s taken me about 24 lunch breaks and twenty minutes, a nap, and then another four minutes to read this damn thing, I’m not going back and looking shit up, okay?), and it’s gold-plated and practically bedazzled in jewels. So O’Shaughnessy, a “Leviathan” named Joe Cairo, and a man with overtones of Jabba the Hut(*) are all looking for this thing. And they rope Sam Spade into looking for it too.

(* — I’d like to remind the readers that I’ve never seen Star Wars in one sitting, or in chronological order. But I know who Jabba the Hut is. In short [hee!], shut up, Brad.)

Here’s the difference between Spade and Marlowe: Marlowe wears his moral code on his sleeve, and doesn’t compromise his morals for a job. Spade plays everyone against each other and just tries to stay ahead of the game and end up on top. Even after finishing the book today, I’m not sure if he would sacrifice his morals for his “relationship” with O’Shaughnessy, or if he would run away with her and the falcon. But I know that, if Marlowe were in the same situation, he’d remain aloof of Brigid and maintain his code of honor throughout the case.

In the end, I enjoyed this title, and I will look for The Maltese Falcon on TCM (I have too many movies on my Netflix queue — including the entire Star Wars series, coming as soon as True Blood is over, I promise!), and I may pick up more Hammett titles. But I know for a fact I will read a Philip Marlowe novel first.

Grade for The Maltese Falcon: 2.5 stars

Memoir: “Retail Hell” by Freeman Hall

Okay, so, I know I said the next book I was going to finish would be Breaking Dawn, but guys — I tried, okay? I mean, I saw the movie, and then got through the Part I Movie portion of the book, but dudes, Part II? Is fucking boring.

And I couldn’t exactly bring Breaking Dawn to work to read on my lunch break, because look, if Brad and John are teasing me for never seeing Pulp Fiction and Fargo and Caddyshack, can you imagine the ration I’d get if they caught me reading about sparkling vampires? So that caused me to pick up The Maltese Falcon, but that got boring too, and more importantly, work became … let’s use the term “crazy” to stand for so much more than I can get into in this space, and I needed to know that I wasn’t the only one feeling these feelings.

Enter a book I had purchased on a whim over two years ago, which (of course) was currently holding up one of the piles of books on top of another pile of books in a bookcase. Thankfully, no piles collapsed during the reading of this title: Retail Hell, by Freeman Hall.

Dear Freeman: You and I are kindred spirits. If you ever visit Maine, I would love to buy you a margarita.

Freeman’s memoir (of sorts) is about his time at The Big Fancy, a high-class department store in Burbank known for its superior customer service. (Hm, where have I heard that phrase before?) He is the first male salesman in the Handbag department, and he still believes that the only reason he was hired for Handbags is because he’s gay (and there are no openings in the Menswear section). He bonds quickly with three women — Cammie, Marci and Jules — and also has to deal with the three Sales Demons, one of whom he tenderly refers to as ‘Douche,’ mainly because she steals sales out from under his nose.

The book is a series of scenes from his life as a handbag salesman, and in those scenes we meet a variety of characters, including the Shoposaurus Carnotaurus (a heavy spender who devours everything in sight, but ends up being extremely loyal to her salesperson), the Picky Bitch, and the Nasty-Ass Thief.

The Nasty-Ass Thief is actually a character I’m quite familiar with. Being someone who is currently mid-level management in a local-yet-internationally-known retailer with a history of superior customer service and a stellar return policy, we see Nasty-Ass Thieves all the time. [Note: they are certainly not Nasty Ass-Thieves.] We may not get people trying to return extremely expensive handbags, but I’ve authorized many a return without a receipt that puts over $500 on a gift card. And of course, they always try to get cash back first:

A woman wearing a dirty Mickey Mouse sweatshirt appears at the counter with a $3,000 Marc Jacobs handbag stuffed into a plastic grocery bag. She wants to return it and get her cash back. [vii-viii]

Then there’s this quote about the type of people Freeman experienced as being shoplifters:

Like handbags, Nasty-Ass Thieves come in all shapes, sizes, and colors. There are men, women, teenagers, children, white, Black, Asian, Latino, Russian, Middle Eastern, European, and yes, even Alien. They are fat, skinny, young, old, gay, straight, ritzy, trashy, pretty, ugly, poor, and yes, even Warren Buffet rich. [123]

This line made me think of our old shoplifting video we used to show in orientation, which would make me giggle every damn time. I can’t find the transcript I made of it (and thankfully, it wasn’t unique to our business), but essentially, the narrator said something like everybody steals but then only singled out teenagers, drug addicts, and rich people. But the best was the final line: “Old people steal lots of things!” That last one is a direct quote — there is nothing that could make me forget that line.

There are also the — *shudder* — evil Sale Monsters. We will be dealing with that at my place of business in a little over a week, and I am already sick to my stomach thinking about it. There’s the idiots who can’t read:

I then spent ten minutes explaining to a woman that 25% off an original price does not mean an additional 25% off. The women kept arguing saying “But that would mean it’s an additional 25% off!” Finally I went all Sale Hell Bitch on her: “Does it say ‘additional’ on the sign? NO! They are NOT an additional percentage off. THEY ARE 25 PERCENT OFF ORIGINAL! THAT’S IT!”

Then, for the millionth time, a woman came up to me and asked, “Why isn’t everything on sale?”

I bitched back at her, “Because life isn’t fair.” [197]

And then there are the vindictive bitches who must have it i wants it i needs itwhen they could live without it five minutes ago, but that’s since changed since someone else wants it now:

From experience, I knew what was going to happen next. You see, whenever there is only one left of something on sale, and two women suddenly start eyeing it for whatever reason, the one that picks it up first wins. And even though the winner may not really want it, if she’s a bitch, she’ll buy it out of spite, just to keep the other one from having it. It’s a common occurrence in the Handbag Jungle. [201]

I could get into all the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad customers that I’ve had to deal with on a daily basis, and how they sometimes intersect with the incredibly stupid, sometimes to the point of illiteracy customers, but I’m … don’t want to. It’s not important. What is important is that, while reading it, I realized I am not alone in my complete irritation at the general populace.

But really, the one place I truly felt that Freeman and I are the same person, only he lives in Burbank and I in Maine, and also, he is a boy and I am a girl and both of us like boys, is when he talks about the stupid-ass things (stupid ass-things? [I could get fired for that]) upper management does to try and make our lives as Retail Slaves better (so they think), but ends up making our lives complete Hell.

For instance, the schedule. Speaking as a leader, I am not allowed to limit my availability. Which is fine — I completely understand that. As a leader, I need to be able to be there at any time of day to see the entire team. But what that can also mean is that, this is the schedule I worked for pretty much all of November until I finally went to my boss and asked him sweetly, “Do you hate me? Or, at least, the idea of a sleep cycle?”:

Every week my schedule felt like a vomit-inducing thrill ride at Magic Mountain amusement park, except that I was anything but amused. I’d open, then close, then open, then work a mid-shift (11-8), then open, then close. [87]

And, like Freeman, I’ve had to work the more-than-six-days-in-a-row-to-get-a-day-off routine as well:

You see, in order for me to end up with three days off in a row, I had to work eight days in a row. During those eight days of opening, then closing, opening, then closing, and opening, then closing, without a day off, all the normal living shit that needed to be done didn’t get done. I’m talking about laundry, cleaning, grocery shopping, haircut and color, tanning, and exercising. [182]

And BELIEVE ME, when this happened? I kept my fucking mouth shut and ran like hell:

In the world of retail, having two days off in a row is unheard of. Three days is like a vacation. So when the General accidentally gave me a Saturday, Sunday, and Monday off because the schedule overlapped into the next week and she wasn’t paying attention, I took it and ran like I’d been awarded a Get Out of Jail Free card. [181]

Every retail store, regardless of square footage or importance, has an employee entrance. I’ve always compared my place of business to Disney World: there’s a separate employee entrance and a Habi-trail hidden from the customers’ view, so we can go all over the store without people seeing us; when we’re on the sales floor, we are on stage in a (sometimes) completely different persona, and also, our lines are very long and our rides suck sometimes. And occasionally, there are mascots walking around. Now, my employee entrance is up a small stairway, and it’s not that inconvenient. Freeman’s is an eight-flight walk-up with no chance of elevator. He calls it Mount Fancy. And one day, his corporate bosses decided to brighten up the employees’ hike up Mount Fancy by turning it into the lamer version of Studio 54, except with only three disco songs and a single disco ball, twirling unsightly and sadly on level 3. Climbing eight flights of stairs with Donna Summers’ “Hot Stuff” blasting was enough to drive Freeman crazy:

I endured the Mount Fancy three-song disco for almost a month before I snapped. I just couldn’t take any more celebrating YMCA hot stuff. Disco Death Star had to be destroyed. I tried to reach the player, but the bastards had thought of everything. The shelf was just high enough so the volume slider and off-button couldn’t be reached.

Was that done on purpose? Did they know we would get irritated by this? I became even more irritated by the thought of their preparing for our irritation. [211]

And then there’s the morning rallies, wherein we pump up the selling force to hit our goals, create an experience for our customers, sell the credit card, and have a good day! I notoriously made a seasoned rep nearly piss his pants from laughing when, one stellar, sleep-deprived morning, my rally speech consisted of, and I quote: “… make budget, sellthe credit card, blah blah blah, be awesome!” But I have to admit, my rallies are nothing like the ones Freeman attends:

“THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT, PEOPLE!” she gloated into the mike, with an oversized, eerie cartoon grin, “DOESN’T IT FEEL GREAT! DON’T YOU JUST LOVE SMILING?” [78]

Of course, all I want to say after that is I just like to smile, smiling’s my favorite!“

One thing Freeman deals with which, luckily, I don’t, is that if someone returns a handbag he sold, he loses out on some of his commission. And when his boss warns him that he’s not making his sales goal and he replies it’s because of the high return rate, his boss just tells him to sell more. He almost hits the roof:

What next sale? Hello. We are closing! It is the last day of the pay period and Greasy’s $2,000 return is about to make my sales a negative number for the day.

I feel like a hooker who gave a ten-hour blow job and was beat up and robbed by the john, just to have the police officer who witnessed it all say, “Oh well, better luck on the next blow job.” [8]

Here’s how I described my job at one point:

“I feel that They meet me at the employee entrance with a shovel. When I open the door, They beat me repeatedly about the head, shoulders, and my upper body with the shovel. And when I’m bloodied, bruised and battered, They hand me the shovel and tell me to dig a hole with said shovel. Then They ask me to climb inside that hole, take the shovel away from me, and instruct me to pull myself out of that hole.”

It doesn’t matter who the ‘They’ in that situation is/are. It could be customers, it could be employees, co-workers, bosses, or a combination of all of the above. Regardless, when I crawl out to my car, I am a battered woman.

And it always amazes me when I get stopped on the sales floor, clearly outfitted in the dress code, wearing the sales walkie and carrying forty pairs of pants from the fitting room, and I get stopped by a customer and asked — well — :

And like the cherry on top of a shit sundae, a new customer forces her way up to the counter and shouts in my face:

“Excuse me, do you work here?”

I look like an octopus at the Aquarium of Insanity. How can she even ask me that? [viii]

I usually respond, “No, they just gave me the nametag and the outfit to raise my self-esteem. But when that failed, they gave me a job instead.”

Another thing that ties me to Freeman is that he maintains a job in retail to support his career: writing. I lie to myself and say that that’s what I’m doing — sacrificing sleep to stay up until the wee hours of the morning, banging out a thousand words a night (on a good night), working towards finishing a novel that, deep down, I’m afraid that only I will read. But I keep at it, because, as the joker said to the [Nasty Ass-] thief, there must be some kind of way outta here.

Grade for Retail Hell: 4 stars