The Burdens of Geekhood in the Real World

It's not always easy being a geeky girl working in an office of apparently normal people. While I may be proud of my geek status when conversing with others who share my fondness for Star Trek, Doctor Who, and Mass Effect, I find myself less confident when surrounded by relative strangers who, for all I know, have never even heard of commander Worf, a TARDIS, or the Protheans. It's not that I'm ashamed. I decided long ago that people who would judge me for loving Star Wars were not worth my time or effort. Unfortunately, there are some aspects of geekdom that are just not socially acceptable for a woman almost in her mid twenties. Example: I have recently been playing through Pokemon: Soulsilver for a second time. I had wanted a gameboy and pokemon blue way back when gameboys still cost over $100, but with an allowance of $1 a week, I never managed to save the capital necessary to fulfill that desire, especially when I was also spending significant portions of my money on pokemon cards - I was the only girl on the playground whose collection rivalled those of the boys'. Imagine my delight when, last year, I discovered an extremely inexpensive Nintendo DS and Pokemon Leafgreen for the gameboy advance! I have since beaten every generation of pokemon save Diamond/Pearl (that's for after Soulsilver) Unfortunately, while children can play pokemon in public, it is really not socially acceptable for a young woman working for an investment management firm to pull out her DS and start running around Johto looking for Entei (seriously, how does he run away while asleep??) I get weird looks on the bus, so I can’t imagine what I would look like to the CEO whose office is directly behind my cubicle.

Another problem arises when I reference things that nobody else understands. For example, on someone’s birthday in the office, we got cake. The cake was not picked up until fairly late in the day, so people were starting to make jokes about how we were never going to get cake, and I piped up “The cake is a lie!” All I got were weird looks, while I stuttered “Portal- er… it’s a quote… never mind.” The same sort of reaction occurs if I mention “Gotta catch em all” with reference to spelling errors in something I’m editing, or the time when I accidently let slip lolspeak or, heaven forbid, “I’m Commander Shepard and this is my favourite store on the Citadel.” Nobody gets it. At best, I get awkward laughter. At worst, I’m forced to explain that I’m quoting from a video game, which leads to a whole new round of judgment. Clearly I need to work in a geekier office. Unfortunately, I’m a geek, not a nerd, and am therefore incapable of things like computer programming or… y’know… science stuff or other career pursuits that would lead me to an office full of people who would understand why I need some time to myself after finishing Mass Effect 3. (No spoilers, I promise, but if anyone wants to talk about it, drop me a line) Alas, I shall have to content myself with laughing inside my head and joining forums on the internet.

Until next time, live long and prosper, my fellow geeks. And fear not. You aren’t alone.

A Harrowing Tale of Lotion

Yes, lotion.

During the holiday season, I had the good fortune to find a job in a retail store. It was good fortune in the sense that I had recently been laid off from my previous job, and had very little time of unemployment before I found something new. This particular store, which shall, for contractual reasons, remain nameless, sold things like lotion, shower gel, soap and candles. The way that it went about selling these products was one of the most nonsensical systems of pressure-based sales tactics that I’ve ever seen, for a variety of reasons. What are those reasons, you ask, oh innocent and naïve reader? That is what I’m going to tell you.

First off, an important fact to take into account is that NOBODY likes pushy sales people. There is a reason why comedians without much imagination have a stock rant about annoying sales associates who follow them around trying to get them to buy something. Commission is often the driving force behind this irritating behavior, but that was not the case at the Lotion Store. In this case, the success of the day (and therefore the fate of the employees) was based on what percentage of people entering the store bought something. If less than a certain percentage of people entering the store purchased something (and that included the following: delivery people, baby strollers, small children, and reluctant men dragged in by their girlfriends) then there would be scolding emails, tiresome strategy calls, and ridiculous pep talks for every sales associate and sales leader. Unfortunately, this led to the development of a culture of NEVER JUST LEAVING PEOPLE THE HELL ALONE.

One page of the employee handbook literally recommended following a customer from the moment they entered the store until the moment they left. Not only is that stupid, because it means other people are left to their own devices, but it’s also really damn creepy. Now, having been on both sides of the counter, I know that it’s important to offer assistance to everyone who enters the store. Following that, however, if they decline your help, “checking up” on them every other minute is just going to make them feel pressured, awkward, and desperate to leave. I actually heard one woman ask my manager to leave her alone so she could shop in peace. Then there was the “demo” strategy…

Demoing a product to a customer is a great way to get them to consider buying it. I see a cool gadget in action, my brain’s going to go “Hmm, my hands get really burnt when I try to mash potatoes with my fists! I could really use that fancy potato ricer!” Lotion, however, is a little bit more difficult to demo. My personal preferred method to be “demoed to” was for the sales associate to ask if I’d like to try some “Magic Fruit Flower” scented lotion, wait for my response and out-held hand, and then squeeze a small amount onto my palm. I would then rub in the lotion, trying to figure out what exactly “amber, freesia and palm fruit” are supposed to smell like. The method taught and enforced by the Lotion Store, however, differed in one key way; instead of a polite exchange of conversation and hand cream, it was an unrequested assault of vitamin e and shea butter-enriched privacy invasion.

We were instructed to approach a customer, suggest that they try our new “Sparkling Moonlight Water” lotion, grab their hand, squeeze some lotion onto them, and proceed to rub it into their fingers, all the while maintaining eye contact and telling them about how good the aloe is for their skin. I’ve had less personal space invasion from bra fitters, and at least with them it’s expected. This just in: most people don’t like being touched by strangers, and those that do aren’t the kind of people that innocent sales associates want to be touching. In this day and age, as well, the plethora of allergies and contact dermatitis reactions that people suffer from turn this ridiculous process into, at best, a rash in the making, and, at worst, a lawsuit waiting to happen.  The eye contact just makes it weirder. Don’t even get me started on the soap demos. The only people who should be assisted with washing their own hands are very small children and those who are incapable of performing the task themselves.

What should be taken away from this experience? Three simple facts:

1. People are more likely to run FROM pushy sales people than TO them
2. Nobody should touch someone without their permission
3. Obviously the people coming up with these policies have never actually worked in the store in question. Maybe they should give it a try for a month before forcing their minimum wage employees to inflict this stupidity on the unsuspecting public.

Hope that helps. Until then, keep one thing on hand at all times when visiting lotion stores: Mittens. Nobody can give you an unwelcome hand massage if they can’t get to your hands.

Cheers,

Julie