So this week was my first week at Westmount, as well as the taping of Smackdown! here in Edmonton.
There's a guy at the store who I've really despised ever since I first got a call from him when I was working downtown. Garry's the kind of guy who you know is an idiot from the first time he speaks.
And so, every time I received a call from Westmount, it was all I could do to not yell at him over the phone, calling him an idiot and to just quit the company.
When Mark took over Westmount, I told him my Garry stories, but it took Mark a face-to-face to realize how much of a dope the guy is.
I was so scared that on Wednesday, the first day the Garry and I would work together, the first thing I would do upon seeing him would be to break his nose, hardcore.
Well, Garry reminds me of a substitute teacher I had back in elementary, looks-wise. He's in his 40s, and, unlike that sub, completely clueless. Seriously, it's taking me back to the days I worked with Real. Or Tanner. Or Anthony. Or Emmanuel. Or Marilyn. Or Barry.
Just typing that now, I realize how much of my career at RadioShack has been spent working with idiots. Hold on a minute while I shoot myself.
Okay, I'm back. Missed my head, got my shoulder instead. So I'm bleeding all over my keyboard for you patrons. Hope you're happy.
One of the things that Mark and I have been worried about is the amount of in-store theft has been going on. Like how a GPS unit has mysteriously vanished, along with the box from the back room. This inventory's going to be the funniest one I've ever been a part of, I think.
The other two in this equation of four is the sheer amount of teenagers, mostly native, who call or come in the store asking for Garry. So why are kids who I really shouldn't profile, but hey, half my job is figuring out who's stealing from my store, calling a 42-year-old dope?
My three theories are as follows:
a) Garry's selling them drugs.
b) Garry's stealing stuff from the store for these kids.
c) Garry's stealing stuff from the store in order to buy drugs to sell them. (so, really, a+b)
The scariest is when a two-year-old Chinese kid came by the store with his mother, and said in a two-year-old shouting voice, "Where's Mr. Garry? Mr. Garry?"
What? What the hell?
Due to these things, and mostly because he's been one of the biggest idiots I've met, Mark and I want him out.
Yesterday, Mark laid into him in the back room while I was helping customers. I only heard a bit of it when I went into the back room. (Keep in mind, they were shouting. I really don't want to have five paragraphs completely in bold block letters.)
(I open the door)
Mark: Why won't you use this bathroom?
Garry: It's dirty!
Mark: I just cleaned it!
Garry: I've got medication! You want to know what for?
Mark: Not particularly.
Garry: Diarrhea. You happy?
Mark: And you won't use this bathroom because?
Garry: I just won't!
(I leave the room, without the box I came in for.)
So when Mark leaves, Garry decides to bitch and moan to me about his. Even though I repeatedly said I didn't want to get involved, and that he should just do his job. (For the record, Mark, I'm not sure which is worse: Typical idiot Garry, or bitchy moany Garry. They're both bad. Fire them both. Fire every incarnation of Garry that comes along. Especially Senor Garry. I hate that sombrero.)
So I decide I'm going to clean up a booth full of audio cables, because it's one of the things that I REALLY must fix.
When I poke my head out to see how things are, Garry's talking with a fifteen-year-old native kid. And I don't let this kid out of my sight. So Garry asks if he can do to the washroom, take a break. I mumble, "Whatever."
I just have to ask this: Why's he going to the washroom with a fifteen-year-old native kid? There's not really a good reason for that, I'm sure.
* * *
On to something happier that my work situation: The Smackdown! taping! Whoo!
Before the show on Tuesday, I decided to hang out with Elimination at his place. This was one warm day, and I needed to pick up some sign-making stuff, such as bristol board and markers.
Apparently, Tuesday at 3 pm is bad on Whyte Ave when it's so nice out. Wha? I can see on a weekend, but Tuesday mid-afternoon? Whatever. I've got my A/C on, my tunes playing it's all good.
I get to Fox Drive before I realize my ticket to Smackdown is still on my counter at home. I turn around, at the breakneck speed of 20 kph, since traffic's horrible.
Halfway home, I notice my air conditioning starts bringing forth the hottest air I can imagine. I look at the console, and my engine's overheating. Shit.
I get home, pick up my ticket, and drive the five blocks to the Esso. It takes me five minutes, which seems a lot longer because I'm holding my car together with the power of my hope and desperation.
I go into the station, and tell the cashier, "Okay. I'll be straight with you. When it comes to cars, I'm a huge idiot. But if my engine's overheating, would that be because of the coolant being low?"
He thinks a bit. "That could be the case. Seriously, I'm not the best with engines."
I open the hood, and steam comes out. Yipes. I open the coolant container and see some fluid in there. I take the manual out of my glovebox and read about the coolant situation. In bold print, it reads, "LET THE CAR COOL DOWN BEFORE OPENING THE COOLANT LID."
Whoops. Well, no harm done, I think. I let the car cool down a bit, and decide to take my chances getting to Elimination's place.
Of course, my eye's locked on the temperature gauge, which is still redlining. I'm fretting, I must admit, since, as I must have mentioned when I first got the Escort, this is MY first car. The other ones I drove in Moose Jaw, and they were owned by my parents. I was safely at home with Dad and Brade, who knew a lot more about cars then I did. If anything happened, I wouldn't really need to worry.
Once I hit Fox Drive and am actually moving properly, the gauge drops to halfway. Whew. "So," I realize, "when an engine is starting and stopping and not going past 40, it heats. When it's smooth sailing and above 60 kph, there's ventilation. Good to know." I still don't turn on the A/C, just in case.
I hang out with Elimination after getting some supplies and food. Chap shows up, and we start making signs. I make the "Solid Steel Sign," a now-Jago-trademark when it comes to wrestling shows. Chap makes a "Haas of Pain" sign, since he's gay for Charlie Haas. Which is cool, since he can wrestle real well.
When we head out, I ask if it's cool to take Chap's car. I really don't want to have a dead car on the way to Smackdown! No probs.
We meet up with D!, Marauder and Gibble at
In the dark match (non-televised match), we've got Harry Smith (the son of the British Bulldog), against this other guy who I've never seen wrestle (George King).
At last month's Prairie Wrestling Alliance show (the fed my boss wrestles for), I got there from work just in time to see Mark and his tag partner, Phoenix, wrestle. He had told me that his opponent, JD, had been trashtalking him to some friends, and so Mark and Phoenix would be playing it a little real, rough him up a little during the match.
JD came out with his tag team partner, Harry Smith. Now, my boss is a few inches shorter than me (he's about 6'), but skinny as hell. Phoenix is shorter, but built. JD's about in between the two.
But Harry? He dwarfed everyone in the ring. He's at least 6'5" or so, and built. D!, Elimination and I were awed at that show.
So when he came to the ring at Smackdown!, we cheered. Unfortunately, he lost his match.
D!: Jago, do you realize we haven't seen Harry win yet? We're his bad luck charm!
The next match was a tag match taped for Velocity, the small one-hour show that mostly recaps what happened on Smackdown! for those that don't have cable.
Teddy Hart, who's one of Gibble's least favourite wrestlers, and JD(!) were in the ring. Gibble starts booing the hell out of Hart, and I start mocking JD, thanks to his history with my boss. So whoever's facing off against them is going to get my cheers.
Too bad it was the Bashams, one of the evil tag teams on the show. I hate cheering for them and their lame-ass two-year-old trick of fooling the referee that should have been stopped after the second month. But cheer for them I did.
Gibble's throwing out these jeers to Teddy: "Hey, Teddy! Do a fucking moonsault! I hope they kick you out of a second federation! Is Ring of Honor calling you at all?" (Except add more swearing.) I'm booing JD. Gibble apologizes to the woman and her two children (probably 10 and 8 in age) behind us for the swearing he's doing. And continues to do.
At which point I realize that I'm playing the part of those assholes at wrestling shows that I hate. YAY!
My other favorite match of the night was a tag-team Most Falls in 15 Minutes match between Charlie Haas (whom Chap is gay for) and Hardcore Holly (who I despise more than JD) vs. MNM, the tag team champs, and D!'s favourite tag team right now.
Man, I lost my voice booing for Hardcore. The cool thing is you can hear our "We Want Spark Plugg" chant on TV (Spark Plugg was Holly's 90s gimmick: The NASCAR driver).
I cheered for everyone in that ring, but every time Holly was tagged in, I'd boo him horribly. Fun times.
It was a good show, and the three and a half hours went by so fast!
Afterwards, we decided to hit a restaurant. But we only had one car and six guys. Elimination, one of the scrawniest of us, took the passenger seat, which kind of confused me. D!, Marauder and I took the back, and had Gibble lay on top of us. Which is when we noticed the cop watching the people leaving the parking lot.
So, after we had Gibble run across the street and then join us again, where we drove to the West Side with him laying on us. His phone rang.
Gibble: "Hey, honey. Yeah, we're just leaving. I'm laying on some guys in the back."
Me: "Don't forget to mention your face is in Marauder's crotch."
Gibble: "Yeah, my face is in Marauder's crotch."
It was a very fun night, and I enjoyed myself immensely. Here's to the next time the WWE comes through town.