Sleep is for the weak, and I'm a weak man!

It was today that I took the opportunity to sleep in. Such a long awaited event my body requires but I never yielded to until today. I'm full of pep, I tell you.

Yesterday morning Sarah and I went to the cheesecake factory. I'm not sure if you know this or not, but they sell mostly cheesecake there. I'm happy to report that, although it contains a form of cheese, the oreo cheese cake slice I had didn't taste like Velveeta. I'm odd, but I prefer my cakes and cheeses to be a separate being.

We took these delectable items to the beach and watched the people tanning in the rare spots of sun that appeared, desperate to quit using the lotions that look so obviously fake and return to peeling layers of skin off. Afterward, the obligatory trip to a clothing store did happen, whereupon I spent a good half and hour decided if I needed to buy a hoodie. I didn't.

That night, Charlie and I exited our dorms to a DJ set, which was fantastic. It was, though, barren. But it comes with the territory of having it be 21+ only with the additional anchor of making it on a Wednesday. It was that day that I realized hump day is not party day, and is instead a day of staying home for further pursue of being a ninny.


But hey, the guy at Dunkin' Doughnuts happened to be a true bro and gave me three extra doughnuts. Not only that, but when Charlie forgot his camera, he rushed out to hand it to him with a smile on his face. A man among men indeed.

I'm indifferent to you, Spring.

Spring break is extremely close, and I can taste it thoroughly. I'm not tired of this school, but the pressure of getting more and more into a career. Rebooting, re-editing, reconfiguring, and reorganizing things makes it so I'm hardly ever on one path for as long as I'd like to be. It's not a bad thing, just work. There have been quite a few times I'll degrade into the sanctuary of my Dreamcast emulator, and I don't regret that either.

Before that, though, I must endure a visit from my parents for the weekend that actually delays me from coming back Friday as I wanted to. I'm grateful for the free food that may be provided, but I feel that being at my other home would be more filling.

Things I plan to do on my vacation:

-Visit ICC, both to see my friends in their current, temporary habitat and give myself another reminder as to why I should keep doing swell in school.
-Acquire my present from Amelia. I was told cookies and something that cost money, but you know women.
-Bring back tons of useless items I don't need, and make sure that my bag has no room for items I do.
-Pick up some CD's and cheap clothing.
-Eat Jeff.
-Bro night
-Visit my old job and pretend to work.
-Burn down at least one

Excited!

Columbia!

Columbia carries a different format than other schools, at least from what I can place currently. It's as if you can mold this to fit your will, treating the teachers as co-workers rather than beings of higher power. I'm not the only one who has found this cheat code, but we are a minority.

I'm a man of chaos in my classes. I am the student's choice for snaky, yet relevant potshots and questions that many don't hope to ask. If I'm spending $15,000 a semester, you can bet I'll wring this school of it's valuable time and effort while being as much of a dickhead as I care to be.

It's both redundant and necessary to mention: Plastic Beach: Gorillaz is an amazing album. For me, every track fits perfectly in line, and each get a equal amount of alone time with my ear. Lucky are they, since I haven't done such a thing since Bloc Party and Inkwell. Trash accordingly, but keep in mind I don't give a shit.

The progress on my magazine jumps from a staggering amount of work done within minutes, to days without even touching the virtual pen and paper. I still don't think I'm fully situated with my idea, much less have a layout for each page. The process of gathering data on how to creating something effect and semi-bearable to look at takes a precedence over slopping this all together. We will arrive at some point.

But in the immortal words of 3D Realms when they were/still are creating Duke Nukem: It will be released when it's done.

Bringing Down The Hotel: Part one

I could formulate this event into a news article, but I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet. Properly, at least.

Along the route to the bookstore, I noticed people holding a strike, circling the entrance with signs. Most passerby's didn't give notice to it, but why would they? How would a strike at a random hotel interest or pertain to them? My curiosity got the better of me, and while I was in the bookstore I picked up some paper and a pen to get information.

I walked up to one of the strikers and introduced myself as a journalist. He gave a surprised look, and I could tell the man wasn't normally talked to here by random people, much less about the strike. With this in mind, I assume he was mildly annoyed with me at first because he probably thought I was mocking him. It would have been easy to come to that conclusion since I don't know much about the situation, and when I heard one line I felt kinda bad that I hadn't known.

This strike has been going on for 6 years. After the hotel froze wages and slashed benefits, people took to the streets. A good portion of the people at this strike were people of family members. As I walked along the circling parade of strike signs and huddled people, Jose (the striker I approached) revealed more and more personal things. His voice lost the stiffness and I was trusted. He revealed they do this from 8-1 in the mornings, and then 4-9 at night. With the cold weather and blistering winds that Chicago proves, this is surely an admirable feat. I felt I was bothering after a bit, so I left to look up more and hopefully return to this cluster.

When I hit my dorm, I immediately searched this issue. Sure enough, they have their own website detailing all of the issues and links to others who feel the same way. In fact, without too much bias, their page suggest you look at people who've stayed at the hotel. Many don't like this place, and it begs the question: why the hell are they still in business if they've garnered so much hate? Are people that ignorant of these user reviews? When it comes to where I'm staying, I'd surely ask those who've stayed previous to me. There's more to this, I know, but first impressions of this place and reaction from those who've stated and don't know anything about the strike are not good.

This is still a boiling issue. It's not going anywhere for quite a while. Congress hardly makes moves to please the strikers. I'll return to the scene with better equipment and better foreknowledge.

Because using a map is for poor people.

I've come to the conclusion that by walking around aimlessly, you'll find the exact area you want. Now, I wasn't much of a believer before but now, after finding each and every spot that I wanted in Chicago by aimless wandering, I think GPS's should be thrown away. All of that was a lie: If it wasn't for the random people around me that I gained the courage to ask, I wouldn't have a clue where I was even standing. Chicago, you are a big man.

It's not to say that getting lost is a terrible thing, at least before the sun sets. Chicago is a city of sprawling buildings, and hopefully hidden opportunity. Enough about this boring stuff though, I saw hobo's!

And I fed those pigeons anyway, despite the sign above the bird and I saying not to. Take THAT City Laws!

Under a bitter tree.

I don't welcome Christmas week with open arms. No, find myself trying to welcome it with a closed fist, aiming directly towards a softer, easily fatal spot. I'm a bitter man when this season walks through my door, doesn't take off his shoes and decides to drink the last soda. But I can't tell him to leave; his girlfriend just broke up with him so I have to be nice.

Retail is the center of all this. My irrational anger towards a holiday should be focused upon the people who inflict the malice on me. If it wasn't for these cattle like shoppers with fake smiles painted that I wouldn't be so darn unhappy on what is suppose to be the happiest season. I hardly get a real smile out of them, and these people worry about minor things!


I can't find my kid this game because I waited till the last minute. I'm not being helped fast enough even though I wasn't first in line. Me. Me. Me.

And the way their eyes piece you. Oh how those eyes get to you. They have this glazed, pre-pissed off stare that doesn't change in their visit to my store. They snootily demand a game from a list urgently, without taking a look in the most obvious of places. We have those signs that say "360" and "PS3" for a reason, but not for them. No, these people would have me wipe their very ass for them. And only them, as the conception of time is now null when they enter my shop. They toss out question after easily answer questioned, displaying the full lack of forethought and research in buying whatever gift they need to buy. Who needs that anyway?

When we don't contain the gift, we are the dickheads. We are the asshats, the morons. We should have had such a product in far before their arrival, prewrapped and held just for them. But for some reason, our psychic powers failed us that day, and we are the biggest cocksuckers in the world at this point. The greatest is when they ask me if I'm sure I don't have it.

Yes, I am sure. My outlook on if you are getting your product or not will not vary within the 4 seconds of your previous questioning.

If there is any truth retail customers can take when they entire my store, it's this:I thrive off of your misfortune. I love the fact that you can't get that game you have been desperately searching for. I dine heavily when I realize that you won't be getting your item in and that your child will have a horrible, ruined, mess of a Christmas when he finds out he won't get that item till much later.

Santa has failed you, children.

Shelter Skelter.

Yesterday was the first time I reported on something, at least for the class room of ICC. After halfway getting lost, I finally found the building that the public meeting I was to view took place.

I was met with four puzzled looks, and I could see why. There were chairs, but no audience. From what I could tell, nobody attends these meetings besides those who actually head this operation. Later, this idea would be further cemented. After explaining who I was and what I was doing, they gave their introductions and continued in the useless banter that I had apparently interrupted. They were nice people, don't get me wrong, but quite a bit of their time was spent blabbing about the trips they were taking, one woman's credit card woes, and I think I even heard a TV show mentioned. This meeting could have concluded a half an hour than the scheduled time.

The depth of this meeting was lost upon me. Many of the terms flung around weren't ones I was familiar with, even with some preknowledge of HUD and such. The department of Housing apparently doesn't have a lot of issues ongoing. But there's something more to this. There is one group I haven't questioned: those living in houses this department heads. I haven't talked to them and found out what they think of the operation and how they handle the money, but I plan to. Oh do I plan to.

Because as it stands, this information will be regurgitated stuff you can find anywhere.

The craziest of drivers

I understand that I haven't updated in a while. I almost forgot of this blogs' existence. Whoops!

Anyway, I've just returned from a too short two day trip in Chicago. I won't lie: I want to go back. Everything about that place is beautiful. Everything do the cityscapes to the hobos, as a whole it all works perfectly and without missing a beat. It's constantly interesting, busy, and fast. It's as if life itself was meant to be this off the wall. Of course, I speak from the sense of an unfortunate country man: my "city", if you'd like to call it that, doesn't contain the sprawling business as Chicago does.

The most interesting aspect I've found was the taxi cab driver. These men are not bound to the rules of the road. They, indeed, are far above it. I'd even venture to say that they didn't touch the ground as they weaved through car and person alike. As terrifyingly close we came to death by high speed collision every other three minutes, it was kinda fun. In a morbid sense, mind you.

Happy Juice.

Maybe it's the composition of my body and how it reacts to the un-sobering elements, but I don't find drinking to be that enthralling. I assume since it brings out the inner most thoughts and feelings - like that of a truth serum, only tastier - that the night will only carry how you are truly feeling. And if you are feeling grumpy because the party is filled with failure, drinking probably won't make it that much better. Maybe for me anyway.

I am not a fan of the generic party set up: drinking, stupid people with nothing but standing around sipping syrup. But I decided that I'd once partake in an event, just out of curiousness and the fact that I would be staying the night. I wish I hadn't.

First of all, bros were invited. Not the cool guy bros. Oh, I wasn't fortunate to have those attend. What I got instead was the party hopping, worthless flesh bags that populate every bad party. Lucky me, I got two of them at this party. Unlucky them, they talked shit about my friend and I. We will get back to that later.

The second piece of this torrid night came from one of my friends' continuous stream of downing alcohol. His tolerance was low for this night, and thus later lead to puking. More on that later.

Third was the lack of vagina. Anyone knows that parties are ten times better when there is a larger girl to guy ratio. This one was a sausage sword fighting festival that I didn't want participate in.

Fourth came from my overall attitude towards that entire day. A week of being sick, unhappy, and generally a grumpy man simply does not make for an all around good mood. Continuous chains of events that transpired didn't help that at all.

A good portion of the motivation to attend this party came from the prospect of my band playing. Our very first show. Canceled. Which was fine at first, but as that night grew regret since the party was mostly dull and that could have given spice. Speaking of music, that was crap. The musical jam derailed from awesome music to tunes that only a drunk girl could sing horribly to and still enjoy herself. The music list created was soon changed to something horrifying and ear raping. I stayed away from this area because of this.

My first drinks were something of rum and apple cider. Apparently from that and a few other things I drank, people believed me drunk. I wasn't. Buzzed is a more appropriate, but not 100% accurate word. I was coherent, but since the others were drunk they thought I was just as well off as they were. And drink they did. At least most of them. Nothing else beyond dancing randomly occurred. This was not fun. Nothing happened. Just people drinking a substance.

Around the middle of my night, my friend barfed. Woofed. You know. Contents resembled something of cat puke lay in odd proportions on the floor and couch. Rose, the owner of the fine household, did nothing to clean up the mess and instead thought it better to complain to the party-goers as they did the same. Fitting in is tough work. At one point, she looked at me and asked if had cleaned it up. I snapped at her and walked away. Eventually, a man so wasted he was not to be disgusted conquered the ejected substance happily. He asked for an inspection, which I gave.

He did good.

The night wandered and slowly ticked by, with more people coming in, and the drinking continuing. And more and more people getting obnoxious. Being already irritated at the lack of things to do and the sense lost of the people around me didn't contribute to the good pile. But the night wasn't without good people. Gretchen and I discussed various things as guys creeped on her all night as usual. My friend Erin was decidedly the funniest drunk there: never even approaching the border of annoyance, but gracefully talking in a hilarious, drunken stupor. And before my friend Mike let loose his lunch, he and I bonded.

The night finally ended with a 2 hour long cry fest and Rose throwing up in the toilet, throwing out random compliments. Please, someone inform me how this is suppose to be fun.

Of course, the next day I had a headache. Not from the contents of what I drank, but more of the fact that I'd only gotten 3-4 hours of sleep. Wow, so much fun. That scene can burn for all it's worth.

Money money.

Money is such an easy thing to spend. In the course of a few days, I've deteriorated my paycheck to almost nothing. I am curious to see how I will survive for the upcoming days on limited funds of about nothing. Scratch that, I wish I could be curious about something else. Like how I got all this money. Or how I will spend this large amount of money. Not the same conditions.

I've spotted Where The Wild Things are twice, and the movie was just as good the first time down. I'd venture to state that the movie is not a kids movie, with such obvious, morbid tones being delivered. Such things are wasted on children, and I'm certain more could have been done with the movie had it been PG-13. Maybe I'm looking too far into a simple movie, but coming out of the theater made it seem like I wasn't alone. Both friends I went with felt the same, as did other people in the theater.

Despite those few who said it sucked and contain no good taste in movies. We are allowed to ignore such useless and baseless babbling.

And I think that recently, I find myself not wanting to go to parties that much. The generic, let's-stand-around-and-drink-and-not-dance-and-have-fun-type of parties that people host just to get smashed and say they did kind. The kind that get busted eventually and you have to time your leave just right.

I brought along two cohorts, one that didn't want to go originally, and one that didn't want to go when he found out the mythical beast Bigfoot would be attending as well. I carried a sound reasoning. A plan, if you will, that sadly never blossomed into fruition.

So the night was peppered with one friend standing against the wall, unhappy but extremely tolerate with the amount of drunk men draping themselves over her, my other friend getting advances from what I thought was a sloth (it was a costume party, but the fur was so real...), and me only able to dance for a short period before people gave the look of disapproval. No fun allowed. Finally, we left, and finally, the cops were called.

Days are counting down till halloween, and pumpkin hill doesn't seem to be ready for me.

"Frank", and his short lived return.

Oh, "Frank". Your stalking ways have moved far past the realm of humor and enchantment, and now warped into full on creepy. Apparently, Frank decided to approach Gretchen with the intent of either apologize or rape. Who knows. Regardless, she escaped into the bathroom unharmed while blabbered on and on about how her boyfriend is keen to beating those calling him Johnny Boy. Still, he approached her, and I warned him previously that it wasn't such a good idea. Unless he enjoyed a painful existence.

When I was walking into the lunch room, Frank was, by some twisted fate, beside me but hadn't noticed. Infront of us was Gretchen and Johnny. He stared at them, and I at him. I passed him, and he took this as an excuse to talk to me, since we somehow become great friends in the span of a few days. Lack of any talking does that.

He told me that he wanted to just be there for me, he even asked for a hug. How thoughtful! I decided to be thoughtful to, but this was more for Gretchen's sake. I pulled him aside, and his nervous smile immediately left.

I warned him that if he ever agitated Gretchen in any way shape or form, I'd tear off his skin and drape layers of salt over every orifice of his body. Of course, the obligatory "I'll kill you" came into play, but I think he got the general idea.

With that, I walked away, and he stood there with an emotionless face. The few times he walked back in the lunchroom all I've had to do was look in the general direction, and he'd dodge those stares like he was jumping away from bullets.

Welcome to community college/high school. Fun times.

Oh, where I could have been.

Right now, I'm sitting at borders, waiting for Ryan Hill and maybe some others. This is nice and all, but not of my original plan. Instead, Ryan Hill and I were to attend Ryan Murphy's concert today, with Jessica being the ride giver as punishment for skipping plans the day before.

Ah, no. Reality is that I am not joining my friend and dancing like an idiot, and now am faced with no clue of what I can do today. I usually thrive in this area, but I'm just not in the mood for it. At least not since Jessica called and told me that she had once again forgot about previous happenings interrupting our hanging out. I feel that it's a small annoyance, but it's also an annoyance at the end of the day. I've never really been a fan of having plans canceled near the time of arrival.

Lately, the weather is getting everyone down, probably contributing to theirs and mine mood. Dreary weather that I thought once suspicious is now depressing.

At least snow, that way it will be beautiful.

How to lose a pregant girl in 30 seconds.

Stalkers have been doing it wrong. So many times you will see a stalker let their obsession be known. Whether it's obvious advances, or just approaching the stalked with that information. Frank (because I don't know how to say his name, he will be dubbed this for the moment) is one of those horribly idiotic stalkers that is bad at what he wants to do best.

I have a friend who is pregnant. Still gorgeous, heads still swivle her way. Of course, this draws a few of the odder crowds. Frank certainly is creepy enough for 4 girls.

To explain Frank is to explain the generic features of a common stalker:unwashed, unibrow, sports the same clothing apparel everyday you see him, and an odd collection of batty habits and mumblings. Frank is also Indian, and enjoys pregnant women. It's nothing new to hear him spout something about how he has a crush on my pregnant friend, and insinuate that it's indeed hot that she is.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think my friend is ugly at all. She's radiate. But when you bring in the fact that she's having a baby and that turns Frank on, we get a whole truckload of awkward. It's the way that he lets his fetish be known that makes all of this even better to deal with. For instance, yesterday Frank told my friend that he should let his dad be the gynecologist for her. What joy, what rapture! Now his dad can check out my friend and run home to tell his son all about it!

Less awkward, and more on the jerkass side of things, is his ability to not care what comes out of his mouth. For instance, Frank loves to tell my friend that she shouldn't have gotten "knocked up" by her baby's daddy. That's not offensive and totally okay to state, right? These sort of impressions never sit well. And at the base of this? He was never a friend to her at any point. He just kinda started calling her "sunshine" and then rolled into the whole insults of getting knocked up uselessly. You know what they say about assuming!

But not to fret; my friend has friends, including me. When I had first heard that Frank was coming around constantly, I was elated to meet and piss him off to the fullest. Opening meeting, my friend told me to give her a massage, and thus he would not approach. Oh, but he did. He even went so far to tell me "wooaahh buddy, back off". Guess what? I did it even more! He left and returned, with a pie. Thinking it was some sort of trade for my friend, I took the pie from him and ignored the fact that it was offered for my friend. Flustered, he soon walked away. I drank his rage that day, and it was good.

Other exchanges were to follow soon after, and eventually I became more comfortable about being a dick to him. Sometime during this, one of the earlier enragements (yes, you read that right) of Frank, he begin to complain that the US gov't put his father in the hospital because they forced him to drink. I quickly shut him down and then drank the atmosphere of awkward. It was filling. I'd feel partly bad for him if he didn't leave open his weak spots like a bad contra boss. He informed me that he gives his father back rubs, and vice versa. With that, I didn't have to say anything, even with his constant questioning of why that was bad.

Just recently though, my friend finally snapped. Good reason, many agree, since the guy tried to kiss and hug her after she told him how annoying he was in his continuous advances. He tried to say sorry, bowing like something from Naruto and trying to explain that he didn't grasp the concept of no touching. I don't know folks, I usually get it when a person yells at me the day before for a good 10 minutes straight.

He tries to talk to me and I ignore him. My friend, tired of his shit, explodes in a way only a pregnant lady could and basically tells him to fuck off. He gets up, smacks his head on a sign nearby, and leaves for the rest of the day. Nobody misses this man.

Twitter, and the hell that follows.

Funny, I just got rid of my myspace because I felt my life cluttered with all these social networking items and now I obtain a Twitter.

I hated that thing for the longest. I guess the idea of a simpler Facebook that notifies people what I'm doing at all moments of the day about all things I preform during that duration rubs me something unhappy.

But, like any good drug and MMO game, it's partly addictive. It's lined with a sense of gloating that comes with it. In a skewed way, it's comparing e-penis for casual internet users.

Go ahead. Add me. Make me feel worse about this whole prospect of hopping on bandwagons and following in the same suit.

http://twitter.com/MSpoilerAhead

Throw a stone as high as you can.

Guess what? It's not last Monday, or the Saturday before that. It's not January, or a year ago. Time is faster than you even realize, because if it wasn't, then those thoughts would be in your head at the moment.

I'm not going to fight over silly things anymore and waste those days I hardly even know are there.

Damn you Facebook!

I don't hate Facebook, I just hate what social networking online has made me into. On the internet, I'm refined. In person, I've become somewhat of a babbling fool when I try to form coherent sentences close to what I write online. That's a bit of a exaggeration, but honestly, Facebook has made it so offline interaction feels like a secondary minor.

To other news, I attended the Pumpkinfest in Morton. I've made it a goal in life to be a ticket seller. It must be a gratifying job. Just think of all the people who groan looking at the prices, but yet have to lay down the cash since they won't have anything better to do besides walk around in odd smelling tents. Or even a food vendor, charging 3 bucks for a small Lemonade shakeup that is halfway filled with a rotted lemon and ice. I guarantee these people sleep happier at night than I.

Today I go again, with tickets I hadn't used up yet since my friends don't contain the iron stomach I have. I don't blame them in the least, because the feast I've done with my stomach are damn near mystical. Like eating seafood that's been left outside in the garage in 70 degree weather for a few days. In my defense, it was some great seafood.

It's like he's really from Final Fantasy.

Coolest hairstyle, or coolest hairstyle? I'd say "You be the judge", but you could potentially be wrong. Excuse my cheek, I had bread in it. English bread.

I'm tired of your shit.

On my last day, if you could consider it that much, I drove to work dreading going in. But this isn't the sort of dread normally surfaced due to general work. This isn't because of something new happening at that hell hole, or just a general day. No, this is a dread that if I went in that day, I'd be stuck there. I'd never exit the walls of clothes, never quit servicing people undeserving with products I know nothing about. Really, when it comes right down to it, I hardly know what the fuck a polo is, much less the different types. And you know what? I don't really care what that difference is.

Thoughts like that bounced around relentlessly. It wouldn't end. Every different form of music I blasted couldn't overtake this aching feeling not to go in through those automatic jaws. When I reached Borders and sat down to kill the time before I was scheduled, I felt that any drive stored in me since my birth would be nullified if I continued to work at that place.

And then it decked me in the face. What the fuck am I doing? I can get more hours at Gamestop! A place more dealing with my profession than anything. A place where I don't have to worry about wiping an elderly person's ass every line of hello I give. And no more magnetic name tags that get caught on things and get lost easily.

As I wrote about the scam (I will divulge that information all too soon, just give me time), time flew by and, when I looked at the broken clock, it signified my lateness by 2 hours. No regrets to this choice at all. I feel liberated, and it's something I will never fall into again. I will try my hardest to find jobs I like and not settle for a place I never wanted to step foot in.

I think myself old enough to finally start my career. To do things related to my job and not piddle around in clothing retail shops that aren't enjoyable.

And me?
Fashion?

I wore mismatched ties almost every day. Though, as one person put it: "It's okay, because you are edgy like that." Uh huh. Edgy.

What was once the main course is now taken off the menu.

The biggest obligation for a journalist is to provide the truth to the readers. To deliver an unbiased opinion to the public. These people can literally control the world through information; people rely on the news a window to the world around them. Why is it then that journalist would switch the location of the room for their own gain?

The wrong kind of battle.

Certainly, it's a horrible idea to demean and threaten your workers. At least, in such a noticeable, ill-meaning way that makes things uncomfortable. It was today that I found out just how far the separation was between the foot soldiers of Bergners and the generals. Oh, also the intelligence of my bosses as well.

Tim walked up to me with displeasure painted all over his face. For anyone else, it would be normal to have that happen, but he was a man of permanent happiness. He usually bounces around the store, spouting encouragement and such with helpful tips that every manager is suppose to state. But he does so with a kind of excitement that he is genuinely happy working here.

So for him to drop by my area with a face unlike the usual means something was up. And the way he stared at me meant he wasn't going to give me a positive term.

“Ryan,” he told me, “have you gotten any credits lately?”.

Credits/credit card sign up's are most important thing at this store. In most retail shops, they have something that keeps their customer coming back to them. Bergners has a credit card of sorts. But there are issues with that system, which I will detail in a second.
I replied that I haven't. I'm not sure why I even was asked that since he already knew.

“Well, you see....we are going to start cutting the hours of those with lower credits than the others...”

Oh! A threat! This is bad management right here, since what he did at that moment was basically take a swing. Someone needs a lesson in management!

Good management is when you sit down with your workers and tell them what has been going on, and see why there is an issue. Together, with team work, you figure it out and if later, more drastic measures are to be taken, then such can be performed.

They skipped that part, and decided to do bad management.

That is when you make your workers the enemy and treat them like cattle. If you are going to do that, do it like good management does and veil it with “assistance”. I didn't respond to this. I just kinda titled my head during his awkward explanation. When he left to tell the other departments about this new “policy”, I discussed with my coworker how much bullshit this is.

You see, getting a customer to sign a credit card is flawed by two things in our system:

1.Most customers already contain a Bergners card. In one week, I've maybe seen 3 people pay with something not the store credit card. And since these suckers don't expire (at least, not for a while), no one already containing one has no reason to sign up again.
2.There just isn't enough incentive to get one. Sure, you get a 10% off on the day you sign up (on select items, mind you), but what else? It doesn't help those that don't want to deal with the high interest rate this card radiates. It doesn't really help those in hard times because they have to pay it off eventually, and fashionable clothing just isn't a necessity in comparison to things like food.

The bigwigs at the corporate offices could easily correct those problems, but that would cost money. So, they attack the middlemen. The higher middlemen, the managers, threaten the smaller ones in return. And things like this could be avoided by simply having a sit down with everyone and figuring things out. But who wants convince?

So, I thank you Bergners'. Now I shall find a job twice as fast. No point in working where the employees aren't even liked.

{Note: Wrote this yesterday, posted today. Forgot to put that in here.}