An Open Letter to West Edmonton Mall Patrons

Um, hi. How the hell did you get in the store? We're closed. We have been since six.

Yes, we're closed. What, you think that the two inches that the door is open means that we're ready and willing to serve you? Having a closed door isn't enough a deterrent for you? Seriously, are all you WEM patrons that fucking stupid where a closed door simply means open it and walk right in to the furrowed glares of employees? No, I could care less. My frown and repeated statement "We're closed!" doesn't faze you? Seriously, are you that retarded? What, the first three times I shouted it don't clue you in?

Why are you approaching the counter? After all that, you're still expecting me to help? It's an hour past when the store closed! Why the hell would I help you? I could care less about your cell phone not working to call overseas. PayGos don't DO that! So it's MY fault you don't understand how a calling card works? Please, I just want to go home. I've been here since 8 am. That's right, the tills are closed. I'm trying to get home. So's my manager. You're leaving? Thank you.

No! We're closed! Don't shove your head in the door, and ask! I told you three times! Yes, we open at ten tomorrow. Yes, those sales will still be on tomorrow. But not tonight. I'm not going to ring anything in for you, and I'm CERTAINLY not going to help you out of the goodness of my heart. Dude, even if you came in earlier, I still wouldn't want to help you. I stopped wanting to help people today before we opened the store. Because I'm still trying to remember my happy Christmas day off yesterday. No, "we're closed" does not mean, "ask me one question." Fuck. Fine. What's your fucking question?

No, you're kidding me. Asking me "How fast do these cars go" is not one question. Why not? Because that stack of cars includes fifteen different models. It's seven o'clock, I'm not going to answer that. Come in when we're actually fucking open. No. We closed an hour ago. Now, just leave, will you?

Fuck! Why the fuck are you in the store? No, the only reason the door was open a foot was because this lamenuts opened the door. I'm not helping him, why the fuck should I help you? We. Are. Closed. No. I will not ring up one item for you. Leave. Tell you what, if you're so stupid to think a closed door is a good invitation, let's shove this computer cart in front of it. Why the hell are you going around my barricade? The fuck? What the fuck are all you shitheads thinking?




Burnt out

So my store is making record sales this year. L doesn't think we've ever done $30k in sales in one day before and this month, we've done it twice.

So that's good.

Unfortunately, we're doing it while being at least two people understaffed.

That's bad.

I'm pulling more than 52 hours a week at the store. One day off a week. And the other days? Well, there's at least one twelve-hour shift in there. Today I left the store at 11 pm.

I almost had a breakdown while closing tonight. And I'm not exaggerating here. I was counting the $11,000 in cash we made, and my thumb started becoming numb at the hundredth twenty-dollar bill. And I started chuckling because my thumb was cramping up from counting past one hundred bills. It was too funny, and it was all I could do to keep from breaking down crying because I'm so fucking burnt out now, it's pathetic.

My family will be hitting Calgary after Christmas. So there'll be a belated Christmas for the Dokken side of the family, and the first time I'll be able to see Dad since he got his new kidney. And I'm not sure if I'll be able to go after all. Because I don't think I'll be able to get the two days off I'd like. I don't think I'll be able to get two days off period. And one day to drive to Calgary, visit the family, exchange gifts and drive back the same day? No fucking way.

I need to sleep. Or try to keep my mind off of it by playing some sweet, sweet Zelda. Just needed to rant.


This Is A Test

Now, I just bought myself a spiffy new digicam, which should make for Kyle having more fun posting again.

Tonight, Kow went to Barber's house to decorate gingerbread houses for our Kristmas Kabaret. We'll be auctioning off the houses for the Kidney Foundation, and to make things fun, let's make it a bit of a contest on my blog, shall we?

All you have to do is guess which member of Kow made which house, okay?

Here are the houses.



52 hours of work per week.
Concerts, concerts, concerts!
My days and nights off go towards concert or rehearsals for concerts.
Zelda and all things Wii-related.
Writing wrestling promos.
Corner Gas Season 3.
Comic books.
My last day off was yesterday, where I performed in two concerts for Oran. The last day off before that? Two weeks ago Sunday, where I was out of town with Oran for a weekend-long retreat.

These are a few of the excuses I use for not updating my blog as much as I could. Yes, they're excuses. I hate not updating if only for the simple fact that my stories get backlogged, and I don't feel up to making monster posts to explain everything that's been happening to me.

At least, not until I get out of the Christmas Hell that is WEM during December. And maybe not even then.

But for now? Story.

For the past two years, my dad has had kidney problems. And I mean "dialysis thrice a week" problems. So he was on a transplant list.

Members of our family offered to donate a kidney. My Aunt Kim tried the tests, but was rejected. Mom was next, and was in the midst of tests when I decided I'd be a live donor for Dad.

Those of my friends I told said I was brave, but it was no biggie. It's my dad we're talking about. Although when I did some tests in July, I was unnerved to see thirteen vials awaiting my blood lined up on the counter.

After that? Nothing. Not a peep for two months. But when Mom called to see what the deal was, I apparently was the best live donor we had. So, yeah, I took the plunge. More tests.

But first, a phone call from the Live Donor Program from University Hospital. "Do you have life insurance? Get some. Do you have a family doctor? Get one."

Okay, NOW I was getting scared. Although I realized that the family doc was for checkups after the fact, and they recommended I get the insurance because if I applied with only one kidney, my premiums would be huge.

But so I booked an appointment with a doctor, and looked into insurance. Two months ago, I got a call from my sister.

"Dad found a kidney."

"Yeah? It wasn't mine, then."

"No, he's going into surgery tonight." When Saskatchewan finds recently deceased kidneys, you're got a half hour to decide whether you want it or not. Dad took it, and drove to Saskatoon.

So, the kidney transplant was successful, Dad's recovering and is able to go back to his regular diet. ("I can have butter on my popcorn again? Joy!") And I'm still with two kidneys.

My ego was a bit disappointed, though. I couldn't be a hero if I wasn't donating to my dad. And I certainly couldn't take disability leave for two months to recuperate from surgery. And where would be my nonchalant "Yeah, I donated a kidney to my dad" to woo the ladies?

Although I'm no longer a donor for my dad, Apocalypse Kow will be donating money from our Kristmas Kabaret this Friday to the Kidney Foundation of Canada. (Whoo! Master of segues!)

There's the poster, designed by our own Mr. Woo. (Click to enlarge.) You might see these as you walk down Whyte Ave. this week.

But, yeah, come one, come all! It'll be fun! And Jago's got a voice! (knocks wood)