Adventures in retail: Why, “The customer is always right.” is actually very wrong.

I believe people should be required to hold two types of jobs before entering whatever workforce they may be destined for. 1) Restaurant worker 2) Retail slave. These jobs, though occasionally viewed as mundane, (THEY’RE NOT I HAVE WORKED BOTH) will teach you the importance of being kind to one another. That being said, I will now dive head first into my views on why “The customer is usually wrong.”

THIS. This is how my day usually starts. After I’ve had a pretty good morning of pre-work, music filled, serenity I am greeted once again by the upturned noses of the American public.

Newsflash: Y’not special!

I feel that, for whatever reason, we as a society have somehow had it engrained into our psyche that we deserve to be waited on hand and foot. Why? Have we suffered so greatly as a species? Is there some unwritten code that I’m unaware of? Was that in the indecipherable section of the Rosetta Stone? The 13th Commandment? “Thou shalt get everything thou desires if a big enough hissy fit is thrown…eth.”

Seriously. Why is this the attitude of almost every person that shops anywhere? Stop me if I’m wrong, (actually, don’t stop me. I’m on a roll.) if this is just a “Midwest” thing let me know.

I think it’s the typical attitude because companies have let it become the typical attitude. Before you get all up in arms let me explain; people thrive on being “right”, it’s a euphoric feeling when you come out on top and you believe you have bested your opponent. Humans thrive on “winning”.

Unless you’re me, in which case you never win at anything and have thus given up buying scratch off tickets and playing HORSE with the garage door down, (because your family is generally concerned about the well-being of the garage door).

But yes, people get off on being right. Even when it means that you’ve “bested” a 16 year old who is only trying to do her job that she has somehow secured in a less than ideal job market. Being right makes pompous people happy, and happy pompous people shop more. Companies make more money when people get their way, however how much is this costing them in turnover rates from employees? The Sasha Corporation (a company out of Cincinnati specializing in customer service and employee retention see here) discovered that the average cost to replace an $8 an hour employee ranged between $5,505 – $9,444.

Excuse me?

Maybe it’s because I think $5 is a lot of money, but those numbers just sound INSANE. I am completely baffled by those results, yet many companies aren’t changing the age old mantra of “The customer is always right.”

Now, I’m not saying that shitty customers are the sole cause of employee turnover, but you have to realize that it is probably a rather large contributor. I’ve wanted to leave many a job because people are assholes, and most human beings have some semblance of a breaking point.

The majority of companies seem to concentrate on one side of satisfaction: the customer. They think if the customer is happy, then the whole operation will run smoothly.

Wrong.

If a car’s wheels turn, it doesn’t mean the entire car will function to today’s standards now does it?

All pieces must work together in order to succeed, or everything will come crashing down. I believe the changes should begin with how customers are treated. If we treated customers more like humans and friends and less like ethereal beings and gods, then maybe the economy would benefit as well as everyone’s brains and hearts.

(I should’ve put this post into list format, but I’m trying to veer away from my OCD tendencies)

Let me tell you, I love any establishment I walk into where one of the first things I see is a big ‘ol sign that says: “We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone*.” Translation: “If you feel the need to be an asshole, there is the door.”

I put an asterisk because this can be taken too far, like the instance not too long ago where someone was refused service at a restaurant because of their sexuality. That teeters on the very line between discrimination (because it was), and the fact that it was a privately owned business so they technically could refuse service….but it was still wrong because there are laws against discriminatory behavior based on race, religion, sexual orientation, national origin, etc. and those laws are there for a reason.

There is, however, no law to protect you if you are an asshole.

You can help being an asshole. You can’t help being African American, gay (don’t even start with me), or from New Zealand.

Anyway, back to my point. I wish every establishment displayed that sign. I think the public needs to be knocked down a couple of pegs. Just because you come to shop in my store, doesn’t mean that you are better than I

Bottom line: I. Do. Not. Work. For. You.

The days of slavery in our country are gone. There’s a reason: it doesn’t work, and it’s morally absurd.

You don’t “deserve” anything. You work hard for what you get, and you treat others with respect. Just because you wear a three piece suit to work doesn’t make you any better than the homeless man you pass on your way into your office building. We’re all just ash in the end, don’t waste your time being a jerk.

Which brings me back to my first picture on this post. For god sake where has every form of social courtesy gone?! Attention everyone: I did not physically drag you to the mall and make you shop. You did it all on your own so don’t give me that look when I say, “Good Morning!”

It’s not that hard.
This is how it should go:

Me: Good Morning!
You: Good Morning!
Me: How are you?
You: Just swell, how about you?
Me: I’m great, thank you! How can I be of assistance?

However, you the customer seem to make it hard and it ends up going more like this…

Me: Good Morning!
You:

Settle down, Satan.

Would it physically kill you to just converse with the worker you happen upon? We aren’t all aggressive workers just fishing for a sale.

Also, when did “just looking” become an emotion? Does that rank up with “melancholy” or “happy” because I must have missed that one when I was in school.

Me: Hey guys, how are ya?
You: JUST LOOKING!!!!!!!
Me:

Just answer. I know that from a personal perspective, I use a lot of energy to converse with customers on a daily basis. I’m introverted by nature and tend to enjoy lagging back and observing opposed to being on the front lines. Therefore, I would like a little conversation or just basic respect in return.

Sadly, I’ve given up on expecting it.

Sadly, I’m actually shocked whenever someone stops to talk with me.

This is what our society has come to. A bunch of consumers who are solely focused on one thing: More.

More products, more being right, more stuff.

That’s fine, just give me a little more respect.

And pick up after yourselves!

Then, once we’ve passed the actual barrier of human conversation, the complaints start.

Oh, you’ve ignored me this entire time but now you have something to bitch about so suddenly I’m REAL and can be SEEN.

Let me preface this by saying: We do not control the amount of product. That is basic supply and demand.

“Your employee says you’re out of this.”
“That’s because we are.”
“Why?”
“Because we sold them all.”

Our jobs are to sell stuff. If we are out of something that means we are doing our job.

Yay us.

Just because you didn’t come and get something fast enough doesn’t mean it’s my fault. Again, I don’t control when you do or do not shop.

“Well I’ve been working!”

Shocker. Me too.

Also: We do not control the price of products. The end.

“This is too expensive!”
Yeah, too bad that just taking it is called theft which is just a no-no.

So we’ve gone through getting to know each other, gone through your anger at us for various things that are usually out of our control, now that you’ve huffed and puffed it’s time for you to pay.

And here come the coupons.

I don’t really mind coupons, I use them when I can, who doesn’t like to save a dollar on dish soap or buy a McMuffin and get one for free? When you come at me with expired coupons, or tell me you left them at home, is when I actually have an issue.

If your coupon is expired, it is no longer good.

“This coupon expired in February but I couldn’t get in here.”
“Ma’am it’s May…”
“Well it’s not my fault it expired!!!!”

It’s also not mine. Blame the progression of time, I really have no idea how you would like me to deal with this.

If you use an expired coupon it is the equivalent of hand drawing “$10 off” with crayons on the back of a cheeseburger wrapper and trying to pass it off as a valid coupon. It’s also as if you brought me a coupon to Victoria’s Secret and tried to use it in my store.

It’s not going to work.

“I’ve been shopping here for years!”

Then you should know our rules by now.

Oh you’re going to scream and fume because the stars didn’t align perfectly for you? You didn’t get your way?

Damn shame.

Also, “I left my coupon at home, do you have anymore?” Is pretty much like saying, “I left my money at home, do you have any?”

…..Out.

When I get down to it, I guess what I’m trying to say is that we as consumers could benefit from a little swift kick in the rear. Products aren’t entitlements, the workers aren’t little errand boys and girls, they’re just people trying to make it in the world like everyone else. Our dollars would go further, and our lives would be a little happier, if everyone would just calm down a bit.

And humans make mistakes. Honestly.

“If people don’t shop you won’t have a job!” Thank you, Captain Obvious. I know that. I’m glad people shop, I’m thankful that they do, I just think there are better ways to go about it.

“Where do you work?” I’m not answering because I like the anonymity of it all. You know I work at a children’s store and that’s all you need to know. It really is wonderful, though.

“Why don’t you just get another job?” Because I do really love my job, and this is where I feel I should be. I do love the people. And no, not everyone acts like the scenarios described above. People are nice, kind, fun…I just think on average that people need to be a little kinder to each other.

Because what if that was your kid?

What if the worker you’re screaming at about something that is totally out of their control was your kid?

I bet you’d be mad.

That’s just it. A lot of retail workers are kids. Kids trying to get by, to get through school, to become doctors or lawyers. You wouldn’t walk into a doctor’s office and demand a lower copayment, would you? Or yell at your lawyer because you didn’t like a law? Then don’t do it to the people working in malls and other stores.

Because one day they might be your doctor or lawyer.

And it’d really suck if they held a grudge.

Until next time!
xoxo,
Jillie

Why donuts are more faithful than men

Warning: This post is mainly serious in tone with a side of my usual sarcasm and humor. If Love makes you run screaming from the room you may want to avoid this post read it a few times over.

P.S. – My future personal assistant, Banana came up with the title for this piece. I’ll have to remember to give her a raise sometime in the next 15 years.

I’ve been toying with this post for a week and a half. Ever since M said I needed to get to the nitty gritty on here. I agreed, but first I had to write about over ruffled children and selfie moms. After that, I’d let my heart run around on the page.

No matter how painful it would be.

So I stewed a few days on how to leap into this. I became frustrated on my last day off and ignored blogging altogether, choosing instead to make a dress with C.

If anyone was wondering what my dog Louk looks like that’s him. He hopped up on a chair then promptly gave me that “I don’t know why I’m here.” face.

Anyway, after completely ignoring the giant elephant in the room that was my WordPress app glowing at me from my phone I decided that I needed to write something. I knew I wanted to write about love, but beginning this post was harder than others.

Because it meant totally opening myself up.

I had my reservations, but then I had my headphones on while opening my store yesterday (because I try to have a little break from the Kidz Bop version of every popular song ever so I don’t end up bleeding from the ears) when Kina’s “Girl from the Gutter” followed by Pink’s “Heartbreaker” came on one after the other and I just kind of went…

“Oh, okay.”

So here goes nothing.

People will try to tell you that you will eventually get over your first love and someday you won’t even remember their name.

Bullshit.

You’ll remember their name, their birthdate, their cologne/perfume, pant size, and every agonizing detail about them. If you don’t, you were never in love to begin with.

I did warn you, this post isn’t all marshmallows and fruit snacks.

I fell head over heels in love at the ripe old age of 16/17. Everything about our early relationship was pretty much a romantic comedy that made people puke. I mean, we met in a coffee shop for the love of Nicholas Sparks. I loved him, my family loved him, his family loved me, we thought we were endgame.

Until life decided to interfere.

Unfortunately in life, you’re going to meet people that you’re going to take a chance on and they are, in turn, going to destroy you and take advantage of every niceness you possess. You are human, you are going to make mistakes.

I made a big one.

At 22 I accepted a lovely marriage proposal from the man I had loved for the previous five years. The ring was beautiful, the story behind the proposal was beautiful.I was blissfully happy after what felt like a really rough few years.

*a quick sidenote: My early college years weren’t kind to me. Many deaths, accidents, and topsy turvy events went down. I’m sure I’ll open up about those later, but how about we go one wound at a time?*

Fast forward a bit, because the set up for this story isn’t nearly as important as the story itself. Where was I? Oh yes, blissfully happy and engaged.

Not long after we returned home
I met a “friend” who ended up being nothing but a snake in the grass. At first, it was innocent. They were going through a bad breakup and I just wanted to help, because I was happy and felt everyone else should be as well. Then it all went south when I began dedicating all my time to this person I was convinced needed saving, and they were doing nothing but dragging me down. I tried to help them, but I ended up getting manipulated into doubting my own happiness.

Don’t ever doubt your own happiness. If you are blissfully happy at 22, then you are blissfully happy at 22. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise just because they might be miserable.

And that’s pretty much where my fairy tale ending quickly turned into an Earth shattering reality.

I don’t remember much. I think a lot of it is a vodka soaked blur of screaming fits and a constant mantra of, “I don’t even know who you are anymore!”

And we didn’t.

He knew who he was, I didn’t know who I was and somehow we had lost the willingness to help each other figure it all out. I was hellbent on this new mission of “finding myself” because I was 22 and had essentially never been wild and single. Maybe I wanted to be single, maybe I wanted to date girls. I just didn’t know and instead of sticking around and getting through it together I gave up. I threw up my hands and ran away to a college up north where I thought maybe I could clear my head for awhile.

I eventually ended up broken, single, and several hours from home.

And I had no one to blame but myself.

There’s nothing quite like a breakup, I think that’s the thing that’s most terrifying about any relationship and maybe why I’m so reluctant to jump into one. You’re either going to end up with that person for the rest of your life, or you’re going to break up. I remember not being able to breathe, not being able to think. It felt like I had been dunked into an ice bath and held down until the bubbles stopped. I curled into myself and didn’t move for what felt like days. I wanted to die.

But I didn’t.

I got up, I cleaned myself up, and decided to make something of myself.

On the subject of love, and life in general, I honestly think it’s important to follow the sage wisdom of female impersonator, RuPaul:

“If you can’t love yourself, how the hell you gonna love anybody else?”

Love isn’t just about the other person, it’s about you. You have to be okay with yourself before you open up to letting someone else love you. Maybe my mistake was loving too hard too young. Now, now, I’m not saying young relationships are doomed. As I said above, if you’ve decided on forever at 22 and you are content go for it. If you can wage any war, any storm, and do it together without giving up any of the love you have for yourself you go for it.

But don’t settle. God, don’t ever settle. I’m not talking about looks wise, or income wise, I’m talking about heart. Don’t settle for anyone that’s going to make you feel like you are less than 100% amazing, and certainly don’t ever settle for anyone who is going to play games with your heart or your head. Find someone who will hold your hand, and keep you tethered while you find yourself.

Because finding yourself is an eternal process. You’re always going to be learning new things about yourself, the key is finding that person who will always love finding out those things with you.

Notice I said to find someone who keeps you tethered. All this crap I’m seeing online lately is about being anchored. The hell? You want to be anchored? You want a giant hunk of iron to keep you stationary in this big dock of life? No. Hell no. Don’t you let anyone drag you to a halt. Find your tether, because tethers allow you to keep on flying without losing yourself.

And don’t you dare ever let anyone tell you anything about your heart. It’s okay to ask for advice, but don’t just let anyone come into your space and tell you how you should live your life and who you should be living it with. What seems like paradise for them could be hell for you, or vice versa. There are times I want to “help” my girls at work with their relationships, but I have to bite my tongue…because their love is their love not mine. If their hearts flutter and they smile that’s all I can ask for.

When it comes to my own luck in love I learned a couple of things. A) A bottle of wine fits in just about any travel mug B) Sara Bareillis writes damn good breakup songs. But above all else is this: Be kind. Be kind to each other and be kind to yourself. Don’t stay just because you don’t think you can “do better”. It’s not about doing better, it’s not a competition, it’s two people coming together and deciding to share that time in their lives. On the other side don’t leave just because you experience a little stormy weather. Fights are good for the blood, good for the soul (and, let’s face it, can lead to awesome make up sex). If you fight with each other it usually means you’re willing to fight for each other. That’s key. Hash it out, calm down, and get through it. Don’t just break up because “Bae didn’t answer his phone.”

Who is Bae?

Nothing about love is easy, and nothing after you’ve lost love is easy, either. But both are equally as worth it. It’s hard, especially after a bitter breakup, to be kind. Trust me, the whole breakup was my fault and I wanted to be mean. It’s a coping mechanism. No matter what, you’re going to feel a pang of hurt when they start dating again. You’re going to be pissed that they’re with someone else. Then, you’re going to get pissed that you’re pissed because you know you’re better than that.

Which is probably why I’ve been a rather bitter See You Next Tuesday the past couple of weeks.

But it’ll be okay.

Don’t ever regret any second of any relationship no matter how fleeting. Try to remember that you are supposed to do exactly what you did while you had that time. Because you can never get that time back. Oh, I have my moments of wishing I would have fought harder. I wish I would have packed up my stuff and marched back home, but then I wouldn’t have anything that I have now. Not even my dog. Don’t regret doing or not doing; you might “hate their guts” but I bet you learned something. I bet you learned something and for that you should be grateful.

And girls, have some respect.

And show some respect.

And don’t let anyone tell you that you have to be with someone. It’s also perfectly okay to be single. All girls seem hell bent on this “Princess dream”. Stop it. Stop. Don’t focus so much on getting a guy or girl and lose focus on living for you. If you don’t live what are you going to have to talk about once you do find someone?

I guess what I’m really trying to get at is to just be happy, never say never, and don’t be afraid.

Oh trust me, love is scary as shit and it will rip you apart and attempt to piece you back together.

But a little fear never hurt anyone.

You’re human, you will make mistakes, you will fall and bleed, but any choice you make in regards to your heart is yours. Own it.

If you find that you are more content just loving you and being on your own, then you go.

And if things get tough remember: Donuts are more faithful than men.
=================
If any of you were wondering about my current relationship status, here is a picture of my Bae:

Until next time when I’ll be discussing why you should be kind to retail workers.
xoxo,
Jillie

Make memories, not selfies.

I’m going to preface this blog with a couple quick notes.

First of all, this is a personal blog with my personal opinion so don’t get all huffy and puffy if I offend you. Suck it up, buttercup! We don’t all have to love the same things.

Secondly, the pictures/gifs/media I use are the soul property of whomever made it. Unless I drew it, then it’s mine. For example, all the Glee characters I feature (as much as I would like to own them) belong to Ryan Murphy etcetera. The written content, however is entirely mine.

Thirdly, “You wouldn’t know, you aren’t a mom!” Well, no. I’m not. Not really, anyway….but I do work in a children’s store and know a thing or two about kids soooooo there.

Okay, onwards to the blog.

I thought since Sunday was Mother’s Day that I would write a post about the wonderful world of motherhood. Then M told me (by the way, he came up with his own witty nickname but now but I’ve forgotten. It sounded Spanish…which he is NOT AT ALL…anyway, back to my point)… he told me that I needed to dig into the nitty gritty emotional side of myself on here. He’s right. Then again, he’s always right except when he’s not which only happens about 0.00000000001% of the times he speaks.

He wins at the “I Told You So” game.

So then I started thinking about blogging and started to get a bit panicky. Yes, I DO need to get to the nitty gritty but I already had this post planned out so I need to write it.

Because it’s important.

Moms! No! Stop dressing your children in these outfits:

Stop it now. Apart from looking ridiculous, these outfits are probably causing sensory overload and instilling a fear of patterns that will resurface later in life. Also, kids can’t move when they are enveloped in ruffles so big that it looks like there are lampshades attached to the bottom of their feet.

Now, I’m not saying I have the best fashion sense in the world. I’m currently blogging, eating a peanut butter sandwich, while wearing my Doctor Who tanktop and comfy jeans.

But I digress…

If you work with me you know my absolute hatred for these “boutique” dust mop type outfits. Too many times I’ve had moms say, “She can’t really walk, but it’s just too cute!” Nope, it’s not. It’s hideous and you are limiting your kid’s motor skills.

I think what makes me even angrier than the fact that these moms are making their children look like ecstasy soaked Victorian dust ruffles, is that they are treating their children like accessories. Your kid is a living, breathing, conscious being. If you want to have a flashy new accessory go get a faux-huahua

You aren’t a good mother by APPEARING to be a good mother. You aren’t a good mom because you posted 74 pictures on Instagram with every filter possible of your bouncing baby handbag child. Love isn’t measured in selfies. Don’t get me wrong, my instagram is filled with pictures of my dog. But, he is my dog. He’s pretty self sufficient in the sense that if I’m busy blogging and he’s running in the yard he’ll be okay if I accidentally forget to look up every four seconds.

Your kid won’t be.

Your child, whom you wrapped in ruffles and a bow three times the size of their head, potentially will not be okay if you can’t be bothered to look up from your smartphone long enough to locate them. While you are tweeting about “Having such a fun day with kids. #dontneednoman #singlemom” your kids are making memories.

I do LOVE to read the updates of my friend’s kids. It’s okay to post about your kids 100%, but make sure you are giving them the attention they need and deserve. I love seeing the pictures, hearing funny stories, but everything is good in moderation.

Except adultery and murder. Those are probably a no go.

You’re teaching your kids bad habits by only paying attention to what they are wearing and how many “likes” it might receive. It shouldn’t matter how popular they are, it should matter that they’re respectable human beings. Because that makes everyone’s lives a million times easier, and leads to happier living. I tell you something, I don’t give a shit how adorable your princess or prince is in his $75 outfit that he’s going to get food all over, if he’s screaming his head off because you forgot to feed him or haven’t taught him that “no means no”, you’re making everyone miserable.

Something else I’ve noticed while dealing with impossible humans all day long is this: Teaching manners is probably a thing of the past. “Tell her thank you….Breeawwhna (dead serious with this name) say thank you….say thank you or we’re leaving.” Then their kid starts bawling and they just roll their eyes, scoff, and give them their toy. Lesson learned? If I act like a little shit mom or dad will get tired and I’ll get whatever I want.

Newsflash parents: you get your kids now, but they will eventually go from little shits to big shits and the rest of the world will also have to deal with them. Teach them manners and consequences, maybe then our world won’t be doomed.

Stop acting like it’s okay that your kids are destroying my store that I spent four hours cleaning. It’s okay because I’ll pick it up…it’s not okay that you just giggle and let it happen. For example: *kid is somehow drawing all over a chair with a pen*
Me: *stares in shock and horror from child to guardian while mentally going through a list of every cleaning supply we have in the store*
Guardian: *laughing* aren’t kids cute?? Aww.

Nope.

One last thing: Stop putting the alphabet into a blender in order to name your kid. It’s not cute. You’re trying to make your kid “unique” when they already are. They’re unique because they’re them. They aren’t unique because you decided to omit any vowels from their name.

Stop spelling names a million different ways, too. My name is “Jillian” and can pretty much be spelled “Jillian” or “Gillian” but the “G” way seems silly so my mom used “J”. Simple, yes? Okay. I had a little girl the other day named “Arianna” perfect, simple name. Nope. Spelled it, “Aireeawhnnah.” I’m sorry, what?

I’m really sad this generation has no hope of ever finding their name on a keychain while on vacation.

Also, don’t name your kid after what you were drinking when they were conceived. I get way too many “Jäger”s and “Smirnoff”s for it to be even remotely healthy.

I guess what I’m saying is, you aren’t perfect so don’t act like it. Your kids are going to think you hung the moon even if you don’t drop $75 on one outfit. Even if you have to do the sniff test to see if the onesie is clean, or if you don’t have a bow for every day. You’ll still be your kid’s hero. I’d rather see a kid in a onesie and shorts laughing at the silly faces mom is making, than I would the baby in top brand ruffles and lace sobbing because their bow is too big/too tight and is causing their head to tilt and obstructing blood flow, but mom is too busy “keeping up appearances” to do anything about it.

Stop accessorizing with your kids, and start parenting. Or we’re all doomed.

But I’m not a mom, so I guess I’m wrong 😉

Until next time!
xoxo,
Jillie

Ps – To see way too many pictures of my kid, follow me on
Instagram: sillie.jillie
Twitter: sillie_jillie

A rolling stone gathers no moss. AKA Why moving is the best and worst thing ever.

Forgive me! I’m sorry this is over a week late, but I have sort of good reasoning and I just may post again tonight…if that in anyway makes you all feel better. I hope. Anyway, on to my good reasoning why I’m groveling for forgiveness at your feet.

We moved!
Well, I move everyday whether I want to or not. It’s hard to participate in daily life without moving, even when you just want to lie there and work on your impersonation of a rock. I’ve gotten quite good if I do say so myself. But, we moved houses!

*Let me first start this by explaining “we”. I’m certain I will have a giant post at some point in time about my definition of family and how family isn’t always blood and all that jazz. For now, please accept that I have only had a small cup of coffee and will offer you this explanation. When I say “we” I refer to myself, and my two best friends. I hate saying, “roommates” because they’re more like superheroes and brothers and family than “roommates”. I’ll just refer to them as M & C for now. I’m sure I will come up with some shiny, awesome nicknames for their representation in this blog later. (They’re Lady Hummel and Blaine Warbler in my phone because in our house we love Glee, and they’re pretty much Kurt and Blaine without the drama and elaborate dance numbers to Whitney Houston, The Beatles, and Imagine Dragons) but if I give them nicknames now without thorough consideration, because I’m pretty sure they read this blog, they’ll probably kill me. And I like living. Where was I going with this?….Oh! So when I say “we” I actually mean more than one person. I’m not using the royal “we”. I’m not that crazy* / end side note

So we moved.

I hate moving.

I guess it’s safe to assume that at some point in time you’re going to have to pack all of your earthly possessions into mockingly ordinary cardboard boxes and take them to some newer, and presumably better for you, location.

It still makes me feel like this

And a little bit like I’m on the Oregon Trail and about to die at any moment

One thing you have to realize is that I tend to get worked up about tiny little details in life that really don’t matter in the long run. I’m working on that, but I still get anxiety about said things. Let’s just say moving gives me heart palpitations, even though I know it’s going to be better for me in the long run. Which just goes to show that doing things that scare you can actually improve your quality of life.

Except for owning chickens. They are scary for a reason and aren’t a fear that should be conquered.

Ever the list maker here are a few reasons why moving can be the absolute worst.

You own too much crap. I don’t just mean you personally. I mean every single person to have ever moved in the history of forever. Even though we were moving from an apartment to a bigger house, I still knew that I had too much crap.

There’s a sliding scale of panic when it comes to realizing that you’re a few Hobby Lobby trips away from an episode of Hoarders, and it goes a little something like this:

0 – Awww, that’s a cute picture/decoration. I guess I’ll use that now, since we’ll be able to decorate for holidays.

1 – Why do I own a menorah? We are not Jewish. Huh, maybe I can use it as a candelabra…no, I should throw it away. Or I could sell it.

2- I have a lot of tea lights. Well, I guess they’re useful if the power goes out. I should keep them.

3 – Why do I have this Scentsy scent? It doesn’t even smell good. Why do I have a Scentsy bar that smells like the perfume counter at a low end department store?!

4 – That’s a lot of pairs of leggings. (Ps, Forever 21 lies. One size does NOT fit all bootys). Why do I own so many?! There aren’t that many shades of black! These have a hole! I only own one iPhone…WHERE DID THESE CORDS COME FROM?!

5 – What’s this?

6 – These coupons are expired. WHY DO I HAVE THEM?!

7 – Why are books so heavy? Why am I a bibliophile?! Why do I have two copies of The Land of Stories?! (Side note: it is because I got them for Christmas and The Land of Stories is awesome.)

8 – I’m throwing away all dog toys!!! (As my dog frantically digs old toys out of the trash)

9 – BUT REALLY WHAT IS THIS?!?!

10- Light a match and walk away.

I have no idea how many times I said, “Light it on fire.” as a solution whilst moving.

You will fight about the stupidest shit while you are moving In our household we love each other, laugh at each other, and respect each other. I don’t care if you’re the freaking Partridge Family meets The Brady Bunch, when it comes time to move all bets are off.

“Why do you have so many books?!”
“I need them!”

“It’s raining!”

“Where are the cats?! Get them out of the box!”

“Someone order pizza before we fall over dead.”

If you have never yelled, “Where is the tape?!” “….I think we packed it!” You’ve never moved correctly.

Furniture is the devil We lived on the second floor. Enough said.

Once you actually get to your new house you have to get used to said new house Which means basically being blind for the first week when you’re fumbling around at night trying to navigate to the kitchen without waking the neighborhood.

Every unexplained sound at night is a mass murderer coming for you and all your crap that you should’ve torched when you had the chance. My dog is hyper aware of every noise anyone within a 45 mile radius makes. He doesn’t bark, but he’ll let you know by other whines and grumbles. So, last night I was nonchalantly going to get a drink when I heard a weird noise coming from the direction of the kitchen. Usually I can discern what a sound is no problem, but being our second week in said house I’m still on “mass murderer” alert. Louk (hyper sensitive dog) grumbled so I thought if he was going to freak me out, he was going with my pansy ass to get something to drink. Turns out M was just burning popcorn in the microwave and I should’ve known that mass murderers typically don’t turn on the kitchen light and quietly swear, “Dammit!” as their popcorn burns. Needless to say I did not get murdered. Instead, M gave his burnt popcorn because I’m weird like that and enjoy burnt popcorn.

Cats make it 7 billion times worse There is nothing quite like shuffling through the dark and coming across a pair of eyes floating near the window, only to find out it’s your adorable bastard of a cat. Cats suck when you’re moving, plain and simple.

Oh!
We also moved on my 26th birthday. Yayy! Happy Birthday to me! People said, “You’re moving on your birthday? Ew!” I remained the optimist about it and saw it as a great birthday present. When opportunity strikes you have to take it, no matter if it’s your birthday or not. Or if it’s piss pouring rain and you feel like you’re going to have a panic attack at any moment as you run around like a ferret trying to pack as much crap into as few boxes as possible. Because that will obviously make it look like you have less crap.

But for every bad, scary, angry moment with moving the good does outweigh the bad.

Because with moving comes the chance for new beginnings. When we move we evolve, we build new memories, we learn new things, and we’re able to grow as human beings. There’s nothing quite like the first laughter in a new house when not everything is unpacked and it echoes off the walls, and you’re able to think “Yeah, I’m really going to like this place.”

Until next time when I’ll rant about mothers, ruffle pants, and the idea of “perfection”

xoxo,
Jillie