The Spencer's Chronicles: The Final Chronicle

This will be the final entry in my short-lived series: The Spencer's Chronicles. Why? Because my job there was seasonal, and now that the holidays are over, they don't need as many workers any more-- which sucks, since this is the only job I've ever had that registered lower on the "Things I'd Hate To Do" meter than sticking my hand in a reciprocating saw.

I just hope I can find another job before I need to resort to making my own clothing and eating only what I can kill. You don't want to see me chasing a rabbit around my front yard with a golf club.... naked. Trust me, there are better ways to damage your retinas.

Like staring into the sun for instance.

                                                            cybercauldron.co.uk

The most beautiful way to liquify your eyeballs.

Getting back to Spencer's, do any of you know what a plasma ball is? And before you say it, I know that you just looked at a picture of the sun, which is literally a ball of plasma. Way to be a smart ass.

No, a plasma ball is a product that we sell at Spencer's. You've certainly seen one before:

It's a glass ball that uses electricity and noble gases to make you feel like Emperor Palpatine for a couple seconds. You can't really harness the energy to smite your enemies, but science is trying.

I can't tell you how to do anything dangerous with a plasma ball. That would be irresponsible.  So I'm not going to tell you that if you place a penny on top of one and hold a pointy, metal object close to it you will cause the electricity to arc through the air. I won't tell you, but I'll certainly show you.

Putting myself in harm's way-- for science!

But I digress. Just before Christmas, two women were in Spencer's looking at our plasma balls. We have three kinds: the one you see above, one where the orb in the very center is a peace sign, and one where that orb is a marijuana leaf. I overheard a very small portion of their conversation and it went like this:

Woman #1: "Should we get him the peace sign one?"

Woman #2: "I think he would like it, but I don't know if his parents are into all that hippie stuff. What will they think when he opens it on Christmas morning?"

Woman #1: Yeah, you're right. Ooooh! I know! Let's get him the snowflake one!

Woman #2: Yeah! That's a good idea.

Now, my level-minded readers, go back and re-read the three types of plasma ball that we sell. Did I say "snowflake?"

Pictured: Not a snowflake.

They bought it. I can only imagine what that house was like on Christmas morning when little Johnny opened his present from grandma and shrieked: "Oh boy! A snowflake!"

And I love to think about the mortified look on his parents' faces: his father staring with a mixture of anger and horror at his grandmother, and his mother attempting to appear like nothing was wrong saying: "Yes, Johnny. A snowflake. Say thank you to your grandmother."

But they never returned it, which means there's only one way it could've actually played out: Johnny's father smashed it over his grandmother's head in a fit of rage. Regardless of grandma's fate, the shattered plasma ball could never be returned.

The Spencer's Chronicles 2: Laser Lights, Tiger Blood, and Salvia

First, I apologize for not writing for a little while. I got caught up in working on that article for Cracked four days ago, and I just realized it was Tuesday. Also, who's Sapphire, and why is her name tattooed on my ass?

Anyway, I was working at Spencer's the other day when my friend Wes and I noticed something rather peculiar: one of the laser lights has a warning on it not to look directly into the laser... but that's not the weird part. It's the placement. Let me show you a picture I took of the warning label:

Warning: Do not look directly into the-- AAAHH! MY RETINAS!!

I can't tell if the person who decided on this location for the label was playing a sick joke or assumed that people would enough sense to not look at the front of the laser device when the lasers are on. But, if that was the case, why put the warning there at all?

Saturday was also the day that our supply of tiger blood energy potions expired. I'm sure you all remember the Charlie Sheen debacle-- right? Well energy drink companies decided to cash in on that by making tiger blood energy drinks, and putting them in IV-pouch shaped containers.

                                                   via candyhero.com

To be perfectly honest, I prefer the Adonis DNA.

So, Wes did what he always does when things like that expire: taste it and dump the rest down the break room toilet  when he confirms that it tastes horrible. The only problem about doing that with this particular product was the effect it had on the toilet: the appearance that someone had explosive, bloody diarrhea  and forgot to flush.

It stained the toilet for three days.

Shortly thereafter, the phone rang and another guy who works there, Chris, answered. from what he told Wes and I later, the conversation went like this:

Caller: Do you sell salvia?

Chris: Salvia? Is that some sort of clothing line or something?

Caller: No. It's a plant. You smoke it.

Chris: No. We don't sell that here. *Abrupt hangup*

Afterward, when the three of us were talking about it (and done making fun of Chris for not knowing what salvia was) we were unanimously stumped as to why someone would think they could buy it at Spencer's.

Pictured: Definitely not clothing.

And now I must bid you adieu, for the sun is coming up, and if I don't retreat to my cavern, I will burst into a ball of flame. Or the sun will damage my retinas or something. God knows that laser damaged them enough.

The Spencer's Chronicles: Lying About Dildos

For those of you who don't already know, I work at Spencer's. In my opinion, it's the coolest part-time job ever, and the only one that involves selling both penis-shaped lollipops and a remote controlled helicopter shaped like the word "fuck."

                                        via Spencersonline.com

Do I look like I give a flying fuck?

But there is something about my workplace that perplexes me. We have an entire section devoted to the more promiscuous part of human nature: sex toys, lubes, and other things that I'm not even certain on the usage of. I don't have a problem with this because people have to buy it somewhere. Why not Spencer's? But the thing that gets me is: why do they have to be so goddamn embarrassed about it?

Let me give you an example. The vibrators that we sell are battery operated. Because of this, we're supposed to ask someone who buys one if they want to buy batteries too. The most common response to this question is: "No thanks. It's not for me."

First of all, it's for you.

Second, I don't care if it's for you or not. Everyone who walks into the store knows that we sell them and isn't going to be surprised to see someone buying one. They aren't going to give you the evil eye as you shamefully shuffle past them and back out into the mall. Hell, they probably aren't even looking at you in the first place.

And third (but I believe most important), even if it isn't for you (and it is) doesn't it seem like a dick move to buy something for someone that requires batteries and not get them batteries too? I remember being ten years old and getting a remote-controlled car for my birthday without batteries. I had a special name for the people who did this to me: assholes. And I was ten. I think, no hope, that the person (you) that you're buying this vibrator for (again, you) is older than ten, and if they are, they'll probably think you're an asshole for not shelling out an extra 2 bucks for some AA's.

                                                    via Spencersonline.com

Where the flying fuck are my batteries?!?

One time, I was ringing a woman up who was purchasing one of the objects in question, and the second I scanned the bar code, she swept it off the counter into another one of her bags. There wasn't even anyone else in the store, so I don't know who she was trying to hide it from or why it needed to be done quicker than it would take me to reach under the counter and grab a bag. Does the Spencer's logo carry that much social stigma that people who pass her in the mall and see the bag will whisper in disgust? Was she embarrassed by the mere fact that it was laying on the counter, in plain view? If that's the case, there's an entire rack of clitoral massagers on the counter. She's not embarrassed that those are right there? Sure, she's not buying them, but no one's even looking, remember?

Even more baffling is the woman who denied that she was trying to buy a vibrator. I told her "that particular vibrator needs batteries, would you like a pack of those as well?" and she said "Vibrator? I didn't know this was a vibrator." She promptly returned it to its shelf and left the store.

                                       via Spencersonline.com

Vibrator!?! I thought this was a back scratcher!

Let's be clear here. This wasn't an innocent misunderstanding. She knew it was a vibrator. That box has the phrase "g-spot vibe" on every face, plus an image of the vibrator:

                                        via Spencersonline.com

The only conclusion that I can come to is that my mere mention of the word "vibrator" embarrassed her so much that she just had to get out of there. Immediately.

But the strangest vibrator-related thing I've had to deal with at Spencer's is the time a woman asked me what vibrators were best. Because I've obviously tried every one of them at least once and can give in-depth reviews about their individual performance. Seriously girls, why would you ever ask a guy that question? More importantly, what kind of answer are you expecting?