Yesterday, something at work was worthy of note (and thus it goes on my blog).
Round about six o'clock, I get taken out of shoes and shipped over to "home fashions" to cover a half-hour dinner break. This is all well and good, if excessively boring. There is nothing real to do in home, or more likely, there is something to do, I just don't know what it is. So I'm doing my thing, walking around making sure nothing looks out of place, taking people's money, giving them stuff in Mervyn's bags and such. The usual.
Well, about 6:25, some woman comes up and says, "Okay, I'm ready to check out now." Normally, this would not be odd, however, she was looking straight at a large pile of towels that had been sitting behind me on the wrap desk. "Great, all that is hers. Wonderful," I think. So I smile and start ringing stuff up. I end up piling towels all over the wrap desk so that I can bag them all together later. I get everything totaled up (I think it was around $260) and start bagging it. She pays with a credit card, so I give her the audit copy of the receipt that she signs and gives back to me. Well, I'm busy bagging stuff, so she sets it on the front of the desk.
I finally get it all bagged up, hand it over to her, and realize there's someone else waiting for me. So I reach up to take the first woman's signed ticket, and prick my thumb on a tack or something. Or so I think. I look at my thumb to see if the stupid thing broke any skin, and what do I see? A rather large drop of blood growing on my thumb. "What the...?" I look up by where the receipt was and see a freaking razor blade taped to the back side of the wrap desk.
I was quite incredulous that anyone could be so stupid to think that that would be the perfect place to store the blade from a broken box cutter. It's not like it's odd to have notes taped to the desk, and in fact there was one under the blade. Not to mention, the top part of the blade had scotch tape over it, so it wasn't reflecting any light. Why whoever it was couldn't put tape over the whole thing is beyond me. Maybe that required a bit too much thought.
Fortunately, there was someone else at the desk by this point, and she took over checking people out while I went to the restroom to wash my hand off. By the time I got there, I had a nice streak of blood running down my hand. I mean, it's a cut from a razor blade, it's deep. But at the same time, it's a cut from a razor blade, it's quite painless. So I wash my hand, grab a band-aid from the office, and head back to home. By this point, it's well past 6:30, so I have to head over to men's to cover another break.
Oh, no. It doesn't end there. Apparently, I made a ton of trouble for the GSL (Guest Service Leader, kind of like head-manager-of-the-hour). She had to fill out an accident report, take a picture of the razor blade in the place it was at the time of the "incident," then remove it and put it in a special box or some such thing. In filling out the accident report, she needed some information from me, so she came over to the men's wrap desk and had a short interview with me.
I really hate paperwork. Especially pointless paperwork. I mean, I cut my freaking thumb, I didn't slice it off. It bled. I didn't even feel it. What's the big deal? I'm not upset, except at the genius who thought placing a blade there was a good idea. I'm not going to sue Mervyn's. (Although... *muses*) Freaking corporations and their policies.
As a final side note, I was highly amused this morning by sheer coincidence. I was reading Wil Wheaton's blog, and ran across this short sentence.
This morning, I had to renew my driver's license, (something I didn't realize until yesterday) so I went to the DMV . . . without an appointment *dramatic music*