Here are links to the two articles I wrote about da crazy biatch discussed below:
http://alternative-religions.suite101.com/article.cfm/religion-for-profit-part-1-sherry-shriner
http://alternativespirituality.suite101.com/article.cfm/religion-for-profit-part-2-who-is-sherry-shriner
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
From the WTF Files...
What the fuck doesn't even come close to these ever so fucked up lunatics I friended on the Facebook a while back thinking at the very least I could gain some insight into their bizarre hybird movement of Biblical Codes and Alien destructors. I was firmly convinced it was mostly a put-on, especially the "Orgone blasters" that use a crystal to direct water that can burn the skin of the aliens as the cruise around in their UFO's.
For a while I just let them post their various warnings about chemtrails being used to kill us and "actual audio" of aliens in their ships screaming from the orgone attacks, mysteriously yelling in English. But the constant warning and fear-inducing tone of the posts from their ringleader finally got to me and the following exchange took place:
Let's starts with her actual warning that got everybody to wet themselves in its disturbing accuracy:
Attack of Poliomyelitis coming soon via Chemtrails! Beware folks!! They are gearing up to attack the public with deadly chemtrails carrying this Polio virus! This is a debilitating disease that can paralyze your muscles and cause difficulty breathing. The Bible Codes indicate they're planning this from July 22 on...the next 3 weeks they're ramping it up!
Get all the areas you visit protected...stores, churches, anywhere you go so you're not breathing their deadly chemtrails! The Bible Codes indicate this attack is 'close, near"
I don't know when they'll attack...but over the next 3 weeks they're gearing up to hit hard with chemtrails, storms, etc...we were able to diffuse a HAARP lightening storm with orgone they were trying to hit my area with and you can do the same to storms
For a while I just let them post their various warnings about chemtrails being used to kill us and "actual audio" of aliens in their ships screaming from the orgone attacks, mysteriously yelling in English. But the constant warning and fear-inducing tone of the posts from their ringleader finally got to me and the following exchange took place:
Let's starts with her actual warning that got everybody to wet themselves in its disturbing accuracy:
Attack of Poliomyelitis coming soon via Chemtrails! Beware folks!! They are gearing up to attack the public with deadly chemtrails carrying this Polio virus! This is a debilitating disease that can paralyze your muscles and cause difficulty breathing. The Bible Codes indicate they're planning this from July 22 on...the next 3 weeks they're ramping it up!
Get all the areas you visit protected...stores, churches, anywhere you go so you're not breathing their deadly chemtrails! The Bible Codes indicate this attack is 'close, near"
I don't know when they'll attack...but over the next 3 weeks they're gearing up to hit hard with chemtrails, storms, etc...we were able to diffuse a HAARP lightening storm with orgone they were trying to hit my area with and you can do the same to storms
15 hours ago · · 1 personWichlep Hazard likes this.
Chaffee Cline
Turn on all your ozone, purification air purifier machines. I am getting all of mine out of storage...thx Sherry.
13 hours ago ·
Sherry Shriner
you can also boil orgone water in your yard via campfire if you have land and the ability to do so...put a pot of water over a campfire with a POE orgone puck in it and let it boil into and saturate the air. Put orgone pucks on your satellite dishes etc...
13 hours ago · · 2 peopleLoading...
Shelly Long
Thank you for the warning Sherry! We've already been nailed by their practice runs,it landed my son in the hospital for 3 days. You can actually slightly smell it in the air, and it causes a burning/tingling sensation in your nostrils. The Black/Grey clouds overhead and hazy sky :time for the gas masks, and staying inside.
4 hours ago ·
Christopher Nadeau
in the meantime I'll continue to speculate on the possibility of an alien presence without turning it into a ludicous religious dogma and wasting hundreds of dollars on snake oil alien repellant.
about an hour ago · ·
Shelly Long
Chris,If you dont want it dont buy, it.. a very simple decision.. As for me, I have enough.. You will see someday I guess..Maybe when the giants are ripping you limb from limb eating your flesh and poisons from the chemtrails put you on your deathbed...
Shelly Long
Ok , then put your head back under the sand and talk to THEM, they supposedly live under the earth too, right?
37 minutes ago ·
Christopher Nadeau
sure with all the other demons and pixies and tooth fairies you guys claim the Bible warned us about in the Book of Crazy.
35 minutes ago · ·
Christopher Nadeau
no thanks they are no less nutty and lacking in logic. speculating on an alien presence doesn't make one new age when considering the vastness of the universe and the amount of stars and planets out there. But throwing all of that into the Bible as a great evil is just another form of millenialism which, I hope, the ringleader doesn't actually believe.
15 minutes ago · ·
12 minutes ago · ·
Danny Araujo
I love it when people like this guy ^ is think they found the truth in the new age shit i will not feel bad when they are getting torned apart by the giants. ps how can people ignore the huge bones we found of people that are 19 - 30 feet tall.
9 minutes ago · · 1 personLoading...
John Smith
orgone blasters cost money to be made, I know I have spent hours and time making them, it's not cheap and tossed many away, but sherry needs to keep going making the stuff, I reckon she's put more money into making it herself than whoever is buying the stuff from her.
9 minutes ago · · 1 personLoading...
Christopher Nadeau
who the hell are you even talking about? There's no truth in the new age shit either, you idiot! I'm referring to actual SCIENTIFIC SPECULATION, that thing that is anathema to insane fanatics seeking codes in the biggest work of fiction ever written. What proves you're nuts is that you think because I disagree with you and still think aliens are possible, I'm automatically a new ager! I didn't even know who Blossom what's-her-ass was until I Googled her a minute ago.
7 minutes ago · ·
John Smith
Resin is expensive i do know myself, so is the copper needed and plus the crystals and the shavings, it's no cheap, it's dedication and hard work.
7 minutes ago ·
Christopher Nadeau
okay I'm obvioously speaking to someone too far gone to think rationally so I'll say only this: You are coming from a supposition that these things are anything more than a clever con. perhaps they're not, but it is highly unlikely. But at least I'm capable of admitting the remote posibility.
5 minutes ago · ·
John Smith
hey once you start to get hit with ELF waves/ chemtrails and get sick then you'l tend to wonder what to do about it. don't say I didn't warn you.
3 minutes ago ·
Christopher Nadeau
Okay, and once the men in white coats tell you you're not ready to rejoin society, don't say i didn't warn YOU.
2 minutes ago · ·
Christopher Nadeau
doubtful but perhaps you'll return to reality at some point. I can only hope. You seem like a well-meaning guy.
about a minute ago · ·
Christopher Nadeau
you might find this interesting: http://www.abovetopsecret.
7 minutes ago ·
go the the pit you beast from hell
Sherry Shriner
he's out of here...i don't have time for idiots...
39 seconds ago
Shelly Long
hes not a skeptic but a beast from the pit, return to the abyss beast
36 seconds ago
Apparently, they don't cotton to harsh and smelly evidence. LMAO!!!
I need your help to stay on the air!
And with your generous donations I could perhaps buy some land with a heated garage or building. Perhaps even a permanent headquarters for my international ministry.
Almost every country in the world including those on islands are listening to my show, reading my articles, and visiting my websites.
I do this for YOU and I need your financial support to keep this ministry international and to be able to stay focused full time on the things the Most High wants me to do.
For the past ten years I've given freely of myself to the entire world...and there's been hundreds of thousands who have benefited from my ministry yet don't support it. It's time to step up and be a supporter of this ministry. I need your help.
Sherry Shriner
P.O. Box 531
Carrollton, Ohio 44615
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Right-Wing "humor" reposted from Facebook.
DEAR LORD, THIS YEAR YOU TOOK MY FAVORITE ACTOR, PATRICK SWAYZIE. YOU TOOK MY FAVORITE ACTRESS, FARAH FAWCETT. YOU TOOK MY FAVORITE SINGER, MICHAEL JACKSON. I JUST WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW, MY FAVORITE PRESIDENT IS BARACK OBAMA. AMEN
The above is the name of a Facebook fanpage that finds humor in imploring the Almighty to snuff out the President of the United States. It speaks to a certain depravity in the Right Wing mind, I think, and it is a window into the soul of a truly hateful group of people.
How do I know they think it’s funny? Simple, the comedian who created it wrote the following:
"haha i'm up to 30,000 fans it's kinda hard to believe. I just wanted to let some people who were wondering know that we are not really praying for the death of obama it is just some humor to show our disapproval of our current president"
Well, in that case what am I bitchin’ about? I mean, I was just “wondering” about you wishing my president dead. There’s nothing more hilarious than saying, “Hey, God. Over here. I don’t like that guy. Kill him!” Pardon me while I try not to create any typos, my fingers are kind of weak from the wild guffaws of laughter.
So, what’s my bone of contention with this kind of heedless idiocy? I have a few. Number one, although I’m by no means a fan of Western religion, even I am given pause when someone asks God to murder someone because they don’t like them or what they do. Even in jest, it seems to me that these people that claim to follow God are woefully full of shit. Second, these would be the same people screaming “Traitor” if anyone on the Left made the same unfunny comment about one of their sacred cows. And third, the idea that it’s amusing to throw the nation into utter chaos with the death of a president you don’t like is the best example of political ignorance this side of the Teabagger movement.
I am all for freedom of expression and I would never try to stop someone from making a stupid comment, especially when that comment can help my side win. But the pathetic attempt at humor that is a death threat can only be the product of a twisted mind consumed with hate. So much for compassionate conservatism.
The above is the name of a Facebook fanpage that finds humor in imploring the Almighty to snuff out the President of the United States. It speaks to a certain depravity in the Right Wing mind, I think, and it is a window into the soul of a truly hateful group of people.
How do I know they think it’s funny? Simple, the comedian who created it wrote the following:
"haha i'm up to 30,000 fans it's kinda hard to believe. I just wanted to let some people who were wondering know that we are not really praying for the death of obama it is just some humor to show our disapproval of our current president"
Well, in that case what am I bitchin’ about? I mean, I was just “wondering” about you wishing my president dead. There’s nothing more hilarious than saying, “Hey, God. Over here. I don’t like that guy. Kill him!” Pardon me while I try not to create any typos, my fingers are kind of weak from the wild guffaws of laughter.
So, what’s my bone of contention with this kind of heedless idiocy? I have a few. Number one, although I’m by no means a fan of Western religion, even I am given pause when someone asks God to murder someone because they don’t like them or what they do. Even in jest, it seems to me that these people that claim to follow God are woefully full of shit. Second, these would be the same people screaming “Traitor” if anyone on the Left made the same unfunny comment about one of their sacred cows. And third, the idea that it’s amusing to throw the nation into utter chaos with the death of a president you don’t like is the best example of political ignorance this side of the Teabagger movement.
I am all for freedom of expression and I would never try to stop someone from making a stupid comment, especially when that comment can help my side win. But the pathetic attempt at humor that is a death threat can only be the product of a twisted mind consumed with hate. So much for compassionate conservatism.
Friday, April 16, 2010
New Posts on the Scribe-Horizon
I've got a slew of upcoming posts in mind so don't you worry, my one remaining reader. In the meantime, before my full, triumphant, erection-induing return, please, please try to...
Saturday, February 20, 2010
POST #200- AGAIN!
This is not my first post #200, since this blog was started over in 2008 due to prying eyes locating its predecessor. You might want to reference this classic post (http://scribesorganizedchaos.blogspot.com/2008/12/great-betrayal-or.html)before reading ahead...
I ain't got all day muhfuka, daaamnnn!!!!
Okay, finally. Here's the latest.
As I wrote in that post, I decided to bide my time and wait until Senor Bitch-ass fucked up royal. I thought it would take longer than it did, but his latin lustfulness apparently cannot be caged. Finally, after two more years of pretending to like him the few times we saw him and watching him send his little cutesy-poo text messages to you-know-who, he did the unthinkable.
He called drunk one night supposedly leaving a work party alone. He didn't call me, his male friend at this late hour, he called her.
"Ed?" she said.
"Yesssss," he slurred.
"Are you okay?"
"Yesssss."
"Are you drunk?"
"Yesssss."
"Do you need to come over?"
"Umm...yesssss."
Former EFB decided she would not be in the immediate vicinity when he walked in. When I opened the door, I was a bit shocked. I'd never seen him look so fucked up. His eyes danced around in his head like two dark brown marbles, his was complexion splotchy and he reeked of booze. I took him into the family room and sat down and started interrogating him. We thought there had been some trouble with his woman and he needed to reach out and talk to someone.
The jury's still out on that because as soon as former EFB walked in, his eyes took on a different sort of glaze and began roaming up and down her. We asked him repeatedly if there was trouble at home and he denied it, then said, "Damn woman. Damn life," over and over.
We didn't understand why she'd allowed him to go to a work party where there was liquor and vagina around within her, but she did. She has apparently had it with his drinking and is indulging in some misguided tough love. I suppose if he'd crashed into soemthing and died, that would have been the toughest love of all. True there would've been one less bitch-ass sell-out in the world, but she seems to have a fondness for him.
Eventually, we insisted that he either crash on the couch in the den or we take his drunk ass home. He agreed to allow this so I went into the bedroom and started putting on my outdoor clothes. From the living room, I could hear former EFB laughing uncomfortably and yelling Ed's name over and over. Later, I would discover that he'd made some awkward move on her where he basically said, "Let's just do it right here," and pressed her against the wall. Being a martial artist, she was in no danger but the point was the real Ed was finally coming out.
I decided to drive Ed in his car while she followed behind. As we left the house, Ed jumped in the car with her as I got in his car and backed around my own so she could get out. As soon as she cleared the driveway, Ed hopped out of her car and got in with me.
During the drive to his house, a fucking thirty minute minute at elevenm o'clock on a weeknight drive I might add, he effectively shot himself in the foot. He asked me if I wanted to see naked pictures of his wife in exchange for some of Former EFB. He offered to switch women with me. He asked me if I minded if he "molested" Former EFB and was baffled when I said yes. He told me he thinks the world of Former EFB and that I knew that. He then said I should marry her because he loves her.
JACKPOT, BITCH!!! Keep talkin'...
And he did, until his wife called wondering where he was. She decided to stay up until he got home. I pulled his car into the garage and decided to go knock on the door and tell her what happened. I knocked and rang the bell for about five minutes but she never answered. Meanwhile, Ed was putting more nails in his coffin.
Standing next to Former EFB's car, he told her he loved her and begged her to have us all hang out that weekend. He then stroked her hair and kissed her hand. According to her, he seemed to come to his senses a bit and realize what he was doing as his head rose. Suddenly, he had to go and go fast.
Now, you might think Former EFB would never want to see him again after that. Most women I know would have ended the supposed friendship right then and there. But for some reason she claims to understand it. "All my male friends have developed feelings for me," she said.
"Did they all try to fuck you in a hallway?" I asked.
Despite my insistence that it doesn't matter what he feels, she is willing to overlook this incident because he was drunk. Besides, it is her contention that Ed doesn't take me seriously in all this or hw wouldn't have done what he did. I tried to explain to her that it's her he doesn't take seriosuly because he thinks I don't mind if he has his way with her but she didn't seem to get it. Besides, does it fucking matter? Isn't the point his inappropriate behavior?
The next day his wife texted me and asked if he acted stupidly. He claimed he had no memory of what happened but knew it must've been bad if I said it was. Bullshit. He started sobering up during those last few seconds. I was going to tell her everything but I like her and didn't want her to have to suffer needlessly...at this point. So, I told her that yes he had acted very stupidly. He became too embarrassed to hang out with us anymore. I'd finally had what I wanted! That traitorous punk-ass bitch was out of my life! Fuck him and fuck him often! WOOOO HOOOOO!!!!
He was gone and that was all that mattered.
Then dumb-ass went and texted him a few weeks later and told him it was okay. He was resistant but since he's in love with her, he relented predictably fast. Now I'm the asshole because I won't have anything to do with him.
Oh, but some of you "like" her, right? Then maybe you can explain what the fuck happened here and make it sound rational...
I ain't got all day muhfuka, daaamnnn!!!!
Okay, finally. Here's the latest.
As I wrote in that post, I decided to bide my time and wait until Senor Bitch-ass fucked up royal. I thought it would take longer than it did, but his latin lustfulness apparently cannot be caged. Finally, after two more years of pretending to like him the few times we saw him and watching him send his little cutesy-poo text messages to you-know-who, he did the unthinkable.
He called drunk one night supposedly leaving a work party alone. He didn't call me, his male friend at this late hour, he called her.
"Ed?" she said.
"Yesssss," he slurred.
"Are you okay?"
"Yesssss."
"Are you drunk?"
"Yesssss."
"Do you need to come over?"
"Umm...yesssss."
Former EFB decided she would not be in the immediate vicinity when he walked in. When I opened the door, I was a bit shocked. I'd never seen him look so fucked up. His eyes danced around in his head like two dark brown marbles, his was complexion splotchy and he reeked of booze. I took him into the family room and sat down and started interrogating him. We thought there had been some trouble with his woman and he needed to reach out and talk to someone.
The jury's still out on that because as soon as former EFB walked in, his eyes took on a different sort of glaze and began roaming up and down her. We asked him repeatedly if there was trouble at home and he denied it, then said, "Damn woman. Damn life," over and over.
We didn't understand why she'd allowed him to go to a work party where there was liquor and vagina around within her, but she did. She has apparently had it with his drinking and is indulging in some misguided tough love. I suppose if he'd crashed into soemthing and died, that would have been the toughest love of all. True there would've been one less bitch-ass sell-out in the world, but she seems to have a fondness for him.
Eventually, we insisted that he either crash on the couch in the den or we take his drunk ass home. He agreed to allow this so I went into the bedroom and started putting on my outdoor clothes. From the living room, I could hear former EFB laughing uncomfortably and yelling Ed's name over and over. Later, I would discover that he'd made some awkward move on her where he basically said, "Let's just do it right here," and pressed her against the wall. Being a martial artist, she was in no danger but the point was the real Ed was finally coming out.
I decided to drive Ed in his car while she followed behind. As we left the house, Ed jumped in the car with her as I got in his car and backed around my own so she could get out. As soon as she cleared the driveway, Ed hopped out of her car and got in with me.
During the drive to his house, a fucking thirty minute minute at elevenm o'clock on a weeknight drive I might add, he effectively shot himself in the foot. He asked me if I wanted to see naked pictures of his wife in exchange for some of Former EFB. He offered to switch women with me. He asked me if I minded if he "molested" Former EFB and was baffled when I said yes. He told me he thinks the world of Former EFB and that I knew that. He then said I should marry her because he loves her.
JACKPOT, BITCH!!! Keep talkin'...
And he did, until his wife called wondering where he was. She decided to stay up until he got home. I pulled his car into the garage and decided to go knock on the door and tell her what happened. I knocked and rang the bell for about five minutes but she never answered. Meanwhile, Ed was putting more nails in his coffin.
Standing next to Former EFB's car, he told her he loved her and begged her to have us all hang out that weekend. He then stroked her hair and kissed her hand. According to her, he seemed to come to his senses a bit and realize what he was doing as his head rose. Suddenly, he had to go and go fast.
Now, you might think Former EFB would never want to see him again after that. Most women I know would have ended the supposed friendship right then and there. But for some reason she claims to understand it. "All my male friends have developed feelings for me," she said.
"Did they all try to fuck you in a hallway?" I asked.
Despite my insistence that it doesn't matter what he feels, she is willing to overlook this incident because he was drunk. Besides, it is her contention that Ed doesn't take me seriously in all this or hw wouldn't have done what he did. I tried to explain to her that it's her he doesn't take seriosuly because he thinks I don't mind if he has his way with her but she didn't seem to get it. Besides, does it fucking matter? Isn't the point his inappropriate behavior?
The next day his wife texted me and asked if he acted stupidly. He claimed he had no memory of what happened but knew it must've been bad if I said it was. Bullshit. He started sobering up during those last few seconds. I was going to tell her everything but I like her and didn't want her to have to suffer needlessly...at this point. So, I told her that yes he had acted very stupidly. He became too embarrassed to hang out with us anymore. I'd finally had what I wanted! That traitorous punk-ass bitch was out of my life! Fuck him and fuck him often! WOOOO HOOOOO!!!!
He was gone and that was all that mattered.
Then dumb-ass went and texted him a few weeks later and told him it was okay. He was resistant but since he's in love with her, he relented predictably fast. Now I'm the asshole because I won't have anything to do with him.
Oh, but some of you "like" her, right? Then maybe you can explain what the fuck happened here and make it sound rational...
Sunday, January 31, 2010
WHY SCRIBE QUIT HIS NEW JOB AFTER 2 WEEKS, conclusion
Having located the correct townhouse, Rob had me once again stand outside in full view of snipers and pissed off broke people while he jogged around back and pounded the windows. Apparently while he was back there, one of the customer’s neighbors started to say something about dog food before realizing Rob didn’t live there.
“What are you doing?” the man asked.
“I’m here to pick up some merchandise they haven’t been paying for,” Rob said.
“Get ‘em,” the man replied.
I hate to keep referring to my online trainings, but another thing they told us never to do was divulge personal account information to anyone except the actual customer or that person’s spouse. Yet another rule broken in the field.
Rob kept up his knocking for a while, came back around to see if anyone had shown up in the front, then went back to knocking. He told me before leaving that he’d spoken with the store and had been advised that the customer’s dad was on the way to make her open the door and return the living room set. Supposedly, she had to go pick up her kids from school in a few hours. Naturally, Rob went and blocked in her vehicle.
I glanced around for any sign of he dad’s arrival, freezing my hot ass off. Sub-zero temperatures and winds whipped through my pull-over fleece and bounced off my ski cap as I looked. I saw a gray minivan cautiously approach the area before coming to a stop in the parking lot. This happened a couple times and then a cop car showed up. Sighing, I waited for what I expected to be a negative situation. Instead, the cop slowly approached me, his posture stopped over, his face plastered with a grin, and said, “Welcome to Clarkston!” He started laughing. I told him why we were there and where Rob was the cop, still chuckling, walked around and got him. The two of them emerged from the back laughing and smiling.
The idiot in the SUV slowly pulled in the parking spaces across from us and backed out and left, no doubt feeling like a total dumb-fuck. How they couldn’t have seen the van with the multi-colored rent-to-own sign is beyond me. Rob and the cop bullshat for a while and the cop finally left us there. Rob informed me that our presence is considered a civil dispute and the cops can only make us leave if the home-owner or lease-holder requests it. Since the woman was still pretending she wasn’t home, (Rob saw her from the window in the back) we didn’t have to go anywhere.
Rob told me one time a customer’s hysterical girlfriend asked to have them removed from the property and the cop told them to go but since she wasn’t the home-owner, they waited until the cop left and went right back to start knocking on doors and windows again.
What a fucked up career choice, I thought. We remained there for a while longer; the woman never did come out to get in her car. Eventually, Rob received word from the store that they wanted us to come back at 5:30.
“I don’t know how the fuck they think we’re gonna be able to pick up the shit at the next place and this stuff. They better send help.”
As it turned out, we wouldn’t have to come back. We headed out to the town of Highland next, a tiny speck of uneventful that makes Clarkston look like Gotham City. After a stopover at Wendy’s to grab lunch where the staff was so slow-paced we nearly screamed at them, we headed to yet another house.
“See, this is why this store is so fucked up,” Rob told me. “Look how fucking far some of their customers are. We would never have a customer this far away ‘cause what if we have to run ‘em?”
“I was wondering why they had somebody so far out,” I replied. “Didn’t really make sense to me.”
It soon would, however, but first we had to find the damn place. It took longer than expected. Rob stopped at a gas station where a pimply-faced teen happily told us which way to go. Once back on the road, Rob chuckled.
“That kid seemed pretty excited to give us directions, didn’t he?”
I laughed. “It’s probably the biggest thing to happen here in a decade.”
We laughed. It was good to have that moment because then the tension really hit us. Hard.
We got to the tiny house in Highland and went to the door. A Hispanic kid came to the door. Now I understood it. They must have lived in Pontiac and moved. Rob, in possession of balls as big as church bells, had the kid show his ID to prove he was eighteen so we would enter the house with his permission. The kid had Rob call his dad who grew highly upset. Rob had him call the store and try to work out a payment arrangement which apparently didn’t happen because we got he call to start removing the merchandise. We had to take out a huge kitchen table and chairs with benches and a child’s bed made of heavy wood.
As we started taking out the kitchen stuff, a car suddenly pulled up and a fat-faced Latino started yelling from his window. “Why you didn’t wait for me, mane? Why you didn’t wait for me? What the fuck? You just start taking my chit?”
“Sir, please don’t yell at me,” Rob said. “We’re just doing what we’re told.”
“This is billchit!” the man got out of his car, followed by two young kids and his portly wife. “Why you going in my fucking house? I didn’t give to you permission!”
“Your son said...”
“No, he didn’t! My son said that? No, he didn’t! Which one?”
“Your son inside, sir.”
The man walked in and spun back around, pointing to someone on the couch. “Him? He’s only fourteen!”
“Not him. It was George.”
Deflated, the man switched gears. “You don't come in my house and take my chit without me home, OK? You dont’ go in my fucking house! I pay all the time! You taking my chit ‘cause I didn’t pay?”
“Sir,” Rob said, voice quivering a bit. “Please don’t yell at me. I don’t even know your situation.”
“I pay all the fucking time!”
“Sir, I don’t even work at that store, I’m just helping out, okay? Please try to remain civil.”
“I’m not mad at you!” the man yelled. “I’m mad at the whole fucking place!”
“I understand that, sir,” Rob replied. “I’m just doing what they told me to...”
“Fine, take the chit but dont’ fucking scratch nothing!”
We started loading the “chit” as carefully as possible. Amazingly, the man left us there with his wife and kids and sped off, hopefully to work or something. We felt for the guy. How humiliating it must have been to have his neighbors seeing this, not to mention the fact that we were removing a child’s bed and leaving nothing in its place.
The bed was a nightmare to remove. We had to dismantle it and carry it down the narrowest stairway I’ve ever seen. Loading everything on the truck took twice as long as it should have because of how cramped it was. One the way back, Rob bitched and moaned about what a poorly run store it was and how he was being taken advantage of because he offered to help out but he would continue to do so because he wanted to be a manager. I listened and nodded and felt my mind leaving the van and looking into the future and I didn’t like what I saw.
The next morning Biggie Smalls the manager approached me and said, “So, you ready to run some customers on your own?” Before I could reply, he said, “I mean, you went out with me and Jack and Wil and Rob. That’s more than they did for me when I started.”
What the fuck else could I say at that point except yes? Son of a bitch. He gave me a route that showed all but one of five customers in Pontiac. The words of Rob from the day before came back to me, “Now, I wouldn’t do a lot of this shit in Pontiac. Hell, I got robbed at gunpoint there at a gas station!”
As I hit the road, I realized how much I didn’t want to do this. I drove past customer’s homes in areas where obvious drug dealer lookouts lingered on the corner and stared at me. I went into neighborhoods with houses so decimated you could see straight through them to the other side of the street. I saw hostile, psychotic looking people of white, black and Hispanic origin and I said, “Fuck this shit!”
After having gone to the door of a customer whose son has grown increasingly hostile with the running according to the notes, I drove around and tried to figure out what the hell I was going to do. Should I lie and say no one was home? Some of them weren’t. Or should I just go back and tell Biggie it wasn’t for me and, as my friend Anthony used to say, get the fuck on down the rock? I finally decided I needed to contact the only other person this would affect. She agreed with me that I couldn’t do that job.
“Why should you work a job where people are constantly worried about you?” she said.
Shocked, I decided right then and there to go back to the store and quit. She called back a few minutes later and insisted that I should tell him I had a family emergency first, leave early and apply for unemployment, making sure I was still eligible. I told her he wouldn’t believe that and she said it didn’t matter and that it was even better if he thought I was full of shit. All good points.
As I walked back inside, the district manager who had dealt with the screaming chick said, “Hey, Scribe! I was startin’ to get worried that you got beat up or somethin’!”
I ignored his comment and stupid laughter and went into the Biggie’s office and handed him the paperwork. I told him nobody was home and that I didn’t get to the last place because I got a call that my "fiancé" was in a car accident. He didn’t believe me, I could see it. He asked me her name, which is against every Human Resources law on the books, not to mention when he asked which hospital. I gave him two possibilities and left.
The Unemployment lady told me I was eligible and so I filed. As if now I’m still waiting. I mailed a resignation letter thanking Biggie for the opportunity to learn about rent-to-own but wasn’t interested in being a repo man and never looked back.
That’s me story, ladies and gents. Up next, the earth-shattering post 200!
“What are you doing?” the man asked.
“I’m here to pick up some merchandise they haven’t been paying for,” Rob said.
“Get ‘em,” the man replied.
I hate to keep referring to my online trainings, but another thing they told us never to do was divulge personal account information to anyone except the actual customer or that person’s spouse. Yet another rule broken in the field.
Rob kept up his knocking for a while, came back around to see if anyone had shown up in the front, then went back to knocking. He told me before leaving that he’d spoken with the store and had been advised that the customer’s dad was on the way to make her open the door and return the living room set. Supposedly, she had to go pick up her kids from school in a few hours. Naturally, Rob went and blocked in her vehicle.
I glanced around for any sign of he dad’s arrival, freezing my hot ass off. Sub-zero temperatures and winds whipped through my pull-over fleece and bounced off my ski cap as I looked. I saw a gray minivan cautiously approach the area before coming to a stop in the parking lot. This happened a couple times and then a cop car showed up. Sighing, I waited for what I expected to be a negative situation. Instead, the cop slowly approached me, his posture stopped over, his face plastered with a grin, and said, “Welcome to Clarkston!” He started laughing. I told him why we were there and where Rob was the cop, still chuckling, walked around and got him. The two of them emerged from the back laughing and smiling.
The idiot in the SUV slowly pulled in the parking spaces across from us and backed out and left, no doubt feeling like a total dumb-fuck. How they couldn’t have seen the van with the multi-colored rent-to-own sign is beyond me. Rob and the cop bullshat for a while and the cop finally left us there. Rob informed me that our presence is considered a civil dispute and the cops can only make us leave if the home-owner or lease-holder requests it. Since the woman was still pretending she wasn’t home, (Rob saw her from the window in the back) we didn’t have to go anywhere.
Rob told me one time a customer’s hysterical girlfriend asked to have them removed from the property and the cop told them to go but since she wasn’t the home-owner, they waited until the cop left and went right back to start knocking on doors and windows again.
What a fucked up career choice, I thought. We remained there for a while longer; the woman never did come out to get in her car. Eventually, Rob received word from the store that they wanted us to come back at 5:30.
“I don’t know how the fuck they think we’re gonna be able to pick up the shit at the next place and this stuff. They better send help.”
As it turned out, we wouldn’t have to come back. We headed out to the town of Highland next, a tiny speck of uneventful that makes Clarkston look like Gotham City. After a stopover at Wendy’s to grab lunch where the staff was so slow-paced we nearly screamed at them, we headed to yet another house.
“See, this is why this store is so fucked up,” Rob told me. “Look how fucking far some of their customers are. We would never have a customer this far away ‘cause what if we have to run ‘em?”
“I was wondering why they had somebody so far out,” I replied. “Didn’t really make sense to me.”
It soon would, however, but first we had to find the damn place. It took longer than expected. Rob stopped at a gas station where a pimply-faced teen happily told us which way to go. Once back on the road, Rob chuckled.
“That kid seemed pretty excited to give us directions, didn’t he?”
I laughed. “It’s probably the biggest thing to happen here in a decade.”
We laughed. It was good to have that moment because then the tension really hit us. Hard.
We got to the tiny house in Highland and went to the door. A Hispanic kid came to the door. Now I understood it. They must have lived in Pontiac and moved. Rob, in possession of balls as big as church bells, had the kid show his ID to prove he was eighteen so we would enter the house with his permission. The kid had Rob call his dad who grew highly upset. Rob had him call the store and try to work out a payment arrangement which apparently didn’t happen because we got he call to start removing the merchandise. We had to take out a huge kitchen table and chairs with benches and a child’s bed made of heavy wood.
As we started taking out the kitchen stuff, a car suddenly pulled up and a fat-faced Latino started yelling from his window. “Why you didn’t wait for me, mane? Why you didn’t wait for me? What the fuck? You just start taking my chit?”
“Sir, please don’t yell at me,” Rob said. “We’re just doing what we’re told.”
“This is billchit!” the man got out of his car, followed by two young kids and his portly wife. “Why you going in my fucking house? I didn’t give to you permission!”
“Your son said...”
“No, he didn’t! My son said that? No, he didn’t! Which one?”
“Your son inside, sir.”
The man walked in and spun back around, pointing to someone on the couch. “Him? He’s only fourteen!”
“Not him. It was George.”
Deflated, the man switched gears. “You don't come in my house and take my chit without me home, OK? You dont’ go in my fucking house! I pay all the time! You taking my chit ‘cause I didn’t pay?”
“Sir,” Rob said, voice quivering a bit. “Please don’t yell at me. I don’t even know your situation.”
“I pay all the fucking time!”
“Sir, I don’t even work at that store, I’m just helping out, okay? Please try to remain civil.”
“I’m not mad at you!” the man yelled. “I’m mad at the whole fucking place!”
“I understand that, sir,” Rob replied. “I’m just doing what they told me to...”
“Fine, take the chit but dont’ fucking scratch nothing!”
We started loading the “chit” as carefully as possible. Amazingly, the man left us there with his wife and kids and sped off, hopefully to work or something. We felt for the guy. How humiliating it must have been to have his neighbors seeing this, not to mention the fact that we were removing a child’s bed and leaving nothing in its place.
The bed was a nightmare to remove. We had to dismantle it and carry it down the narrowest stairway I’ve ever seen. Loading everything on the truck took twice as long as it should have because of how cramped it was. One the way back, Rob bitched and moaned about what a poorly run store it was and how he was being taken advantage of because he offered to help out but he would continue to do so because he wanted to be a manager. I listened and nodded and felt my mind leaving the van and looking into the future and I didn’t like what I saw.
The next morning Biggie Smalls the manager approached me and said, “So, you ready to run some customers on your own?” Before I could reply, he said, “I mean, you went out with me and Jack and Wil and Rob. That’s more than they did for me when I started.”
What the fuck else could I say at that point except yes? Son of a bitch. He gave me a route that showed all but one of five customers in Pontiac. The words of Rob from the day before came back to me, “Now, I wouldn’t do a lot of this shit in Pontiac. Hell, I got robbed at gunpoint there at a gas station!”
As I hit the road, I realized how much I didn’t want to do this. I drove past customer’s homes in areas where obvious drug dealer lookouts lingered on the corner and stared at me. I went into neighborhoods with houses so decimated you could see straight through them to the other side of the street. I saw hostile, psychotic looking people of white, black and Hispanic origin and I said, “Fuck this shit!”
After having gone to the door of a customer whose son has grown increasingly hostile with the running according to the notes, I drove around and tried to figure out what the hell I was going to do. Should I lie and say no one was home? Some of them weren’t. Or should I just go back and tell Biggie it wasn’t for me and, as my friend Anthony used to say, get the fuck on down the rock? I finally decided I needed to contact the only other person this would affect. She agreed with me that I couldn’t do that job.
“Why should you work a job where people are constantly worried about you?” she said.
Shocked, I decided right then and there to go back to the store and quit. She called back a few minutes later and insisted that I should tell him I had a family emergency first, leave early and apply for unemployment, making sure I was still eligible. I told her he wouldn’t believe that and she said it didn’t matter and that it was even better if he thought I was full of shit. All good points.
As I walked back inside, the district manager who had dealt with the screaming chick said, “Hey, Scribe! I was startin’ to get worried that you got beat up or somethin’!”
I ignored his comment and stupid laughter and went into the Biggie’s office and handed him the paperwork. I told him nobody was home and that I didn’t get to the last place because I got a call that my "fiancé" was in a car accident. He didn’t believe me, I could see it. He asked me her name, which is against every Human Resources law on the books, not to mention when he asked which hospital. I gave him two possibilities and left.
The Unemployment lady told me I was eligible and so I filed. As if now I’m still waiting. I mailed a resignation letter thanking Biggie for the opportunity to learn about rent-to-own but wasn’t interested in being a repo man and never looked back.
That’s me story, ladies and gents. Up next, the earth-shattering post 200!
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
WHY SCRIBE QUIT HIS NEW JOB AFTER 2 WEEKS, part 3
(I apologize in advance that this is yet another installement to be continued, this tale is taking a lot longer to tell than I'd anticipated)
Following the experience with the “Ya’ll muthafukas gonna gimme mah shit” chick and the running of delinquent accounts in fabulous Pontiac, MI., I was feeling understandably pissed and annoyed. Here I had hired in to a store in a better area for this line of work and had reconciled myself to staying there until something better came along when suddenly I was shipped off to Fort Apache: The Bronx!
I’d only worked in the second store for three days and already knew I had to get out of there. Wednesday was my day off, thank Christ, but that also afforded me ample time to email resumes and reflect on my shitty choice o’ jobs. By Thursday morning, I was looking for any excuse not to have to go in. I actually got all the way to Pontiac (a nearly 40-minute drive) before deciding I would call in with “Car trouble.” Unfortunately, the “stupid fat bitch” as that customer called her who was helping out basically over-talked me and loudly repeated that I would let them know when I could make it in that day. Not at all what I was planning, that forced me into thinking mode: Did I really want to miss an entire day during my second week even at this shit-hole?
I decided to go along with the program. Since I was in the area, I found a place to park and eat and waited about an hour before showing up. One of the reasons I’d attempted to call off that day was because I knew the gung-ho management wanna-be from the other store was coming in to help out. I figured I wouldn’t be missed. When I walked in, Biggie Smalls told me I would be riding out with that guy running customers. I was fine with it. Anything to get out of that fucking store!
The guy showed up around 12:30pm. Let’s call him “Rob,” because that’s his name and I’m tired of coming up with pseudonyms. Rob’s a pretty cool young man. He grew up in Southwest Detroit and moved to the Novi area when he was a teenager. He has equal parts street wisdom and suburban know-how, making him an ideal candidate for what he does. When we got in the van, he advised me that we would be running customers for most of the day. Biggie Smalls was taking advantage of his presence and willingness to help put to send him into towns that were pretty far away.
I soon learned that Rob was chosen for a good reason. To describe him as tenacious wouldn’t even come close to the reality of his approach to running customers. The little bastard doesn’t give up for shit! We reached the first house about fifteen minutes after getting in the van, a reasonable nice home located in a semi-rural area. This particular customer had been holding onto a 26-inch flat screen TV and had not paid on it for a few weeks. I figured such a small item would have us there and gone rather quickly. I was wrong.
Once we were both out of the vehicle, Rob started to knock on the door...and every fucking window in the front of the house. Unsatisfied with the lack of response, he walked to the side and back of the house and started pounding on things there, leaving me to stand out front like a good little target until he returned. The only response received came from a little dog that barked up a storm each time Rob knocked at the front door. Finally, after about fifteen minutes of knocking, he decided we should go sit in the truck and wait some more. That’s when I made my stupidest mistake of the day.
I looked up in time to see some guy walk quickly past the front window moving heading to the right side of the house and mentioned it to Rob.
“Well, fuck that. We’re gonna go knock more, then,” he said.
And we did. Again Rob started pounding on the doors and windows like an angry cop which, in some ways, I think he sees himself as when he does this. Finally, some weird-looking white guy with stopped over posture, skinny as a rail and wearing thick glasses walked up demanding to know what we wanted.
“We’re here to pick up the TV,” Rob said.
“There’s no TV here,” the man replied. “Get the fuck off the property.” He turned to walk away.
“Sir, are you Charles.” Rob followed him.
“No!” the man yelled.
“Are you the home owner, sir?”
“Get the fuck off the property!” He walked back inside the house.
Rob turned to me and said, “We don’t have to leave unless he’s the owner. Even the cops can’t make us go.”
I would find out how true that was at the next place. Rob continued his persistent knocking, concentrating on what looked to the guy’s bedroom window until he re-appeared in the picture window near the front door.
“What the fuck do you want?” he yelled.
“We’re just here for the TV, sir,” Rob said. “Are you Charles?”
“Tell you what,” the guy said. “Why don’t you let me go into your truck and take something I want?”
“Sir, are you Charles?” Rob said.
“No. What’s your name? Rob? Okay, good.” He walked away again.
For a second, when the guy walked away I thought he was gonna come back with a sawed-off. Apparently, he called the complaint line for the company and mentioned the perceived harassment. Bear in mind, this was everything the online trainings had told us not to do. How this didn’t constitute harassment I didn’t know.
“We just want our stuff back, Charles!" Rob yelled while pounding. “Let’s be civil about this!” he repeated this sentence at least a dozen more times.
Eventually, Rob decided we needed to get back in the truck. For a fleeting instant, I thought with great relief that we were leaving. Then he pulled around the other side of the circular driveway and blocked the guy’s goddam cars!
“I talked to the store and they said he called complaining that he has to go to work in a half hour so he’ll have no choice but to come talk to us now,” Rob said.
What the fuck? We are BLOCKING IN HIS CAR on what could be his property? I thought. This is insane! How is this legal? How is this smart? How is this safe?
We sat there for a good twenty minutes before another car pulled up outside and a nice woman approached the truck asking if she could help us.
“Yes, ma’am,” Rob said happily. “We’re here to get the TV back from Charles.”
She happily cooperated, even calling Charles on her cell phone. The guy inside wasn’t him after all, nor was he the home owner. Charles had lied and listed his sister’s house as his residence. He was somehow available for her call and, through her, asked how much it would be the pay off the TV. Her facial expression told us everything we needed to know when Rob relayed the ridiculously high amount. She had Rob come in and get the TV while I remained in the truck.
Upon his return, Rob advised me that they were high-fiving at the store right now because “we” got the merchandise back, this being such an apparent rarity. Then we were off the next place, a townhouse in the town of Clarkston, a Podunk in the middle of Michigan’s least important section. Low crime, small population, bored cops.
The townhouses were nice, much nicer than one would expect from someone having to use a rent-to-own service for furniture. We walked up the door and Rob said he was going around back. He didn’t even knock up front, which turned out to be a really stupid-ass move. Moments later, a guy who looked like he could have been George Michael’s stand-in circa 1985 but with man-boobs in a tank top opened the front door with a befuddled smile on his face.
“Um, hi?” he said. “Why is he knocking on my back window?”
I identified the name of the store and, still smiling, he said. “Okaaayyyyy?”
I went and got Rob who came and advised him we were there for living room furniture.
“You’ve got the wrong house,” the flamboyant fellow said.
Rob read off the address which was off by one digit, the stupid, squinty-eyed fuck!
“And I don’t need to buy rent-to-own!” the man said indignantly.
So now we’d gone to the wrong house and offended a nice gay guy with good credit! Rob thanked him and we got back in the van. The correct address was in the next row of townhouses. And this time, the cops would actually come~
To Be Continued
Following the experience with the “Ya’ll muthafukas gonna gimme mah shit” chick and the running of delinquent accounts in fabulous Pontiac, MI., I was feeling understandably pissed and annoyed. Here I had hired in to a store in a better area for this line of work and had reconciled myself to staying there until something better came along when suddenly I was shipped off to Fort Apache: The Bronx!
I’d only worked in the second store for three days and already knew I had to get out of there. Wednesday was my day off, thank Christ, but that also afforded me ample time to email resumes and reflect on my shitty choice o’ jobs. By Thursday morning, I was looking for any excuse not to have to go in. I actually got all the way to Pontiac (a nearly 40-minute drive) before deciding I would call in with “Car trouble.” Unfortunately, the “stupid fat bitch” as that customer called her who was helping out basically over-talked me and loudly repeated that I would let them know when I could make it in that day. Not at all what I was planning, that forced me into thinking mode: Did I really want to miss an entire day during my second week even at this shit-hole?
I decided to go along with the program. Since I was in the area, I found a place to park and eat and waited about an hour before showing up. One of the reasons I’d attempted to call off that day was because I knew the gung-ho management wanna-be from the other store was coming in to help out. I figured I wouldn’t be missed. When I walked in, Biggie Smalls told me I would be riding out with that guy running customers. I was fine with it. Anything to get out of that fucking store!
The guy showed up around 12:30pm. Let’s call him “Rob,” because that’s his name and I’m tired of coming up with pseudonyms. Rob’s a pretty cool young man. He grew up in Southwest Detroit and moved to the Novi area when he was a teenager. He has equal parts street wisdom and suburban know-how, making him an ideal candidate for what he does. When we got in the van, he advised me that we would be running customers for most of the day. Biggie Smalls was taking advantage of his presence and willingness to help put to send him into towns that were pretty far away.
I soon learned that Rob was chosen for a good reason. To describe him as tenacious wouldn’t even come close to the reality of his approach to running customers. The little bastard doesn’t give up for shit! We reached the first house about fifteen minutes after getting in the van, a reasonable nice home located in a semi-rural area. This particular customer had been holding onto a 26-inch flat screen TV and had not paid on it for a few weeks. I figured such a small item would have us there and gone rather quickly. I was wrong.
Once we were both out of the vehicle, Rob started to knock on the door...and every fucking window in the front of the house. Unsatisfied with the lack of response, he walked to the side and back of the house and started pounding on things there, leaving me to stand out front like a good little target until he returned. The only response received came from a little dog that barked up a storm each time Rob knocked at the front door. Finally, after about fifteen minutes of knocking, he decided we should go sit in the truck and wait some more. That’s when I made my stupidest mistake of the day.
I looked up in time to see some guy walk quickly past the front window moving heading to the right side of the house and mentioned it to Rob.
“Well, fuck that. We’re gonna go knock more, then,” he said.
And we did. Again Rob started pounding on the doors and windows like an angry cop which, in some ways, I think he sees himself as when he does this. Finally, some weird-looking white guy with stopped over posture, skinny as a rail and wearing thick glasses walked up demanding to know what we wanted.
“We’re here to pick up the TV,” Rob said.
“There’s no TV here,” the man replied. “Get the fuck off the property.” He turned to walk away.
“Sir, are you Charles.” Rob followed him.
“No!” the man yelled.
“Are you the home owner, sir?”
“Get the fuck off the property!” He walked back inside the house.
Rob turned to me and said, “We don’t have to leave unless he’s the owner. Even the cops can’t make us go.”
I would find out how true that was at the next place. Rob continued his persistent knocking, concentrating on what looked to the guy’s bedroom window until he re-appeared in the picture window near the front door.
“What the fuck do you want?” he yelled.
“We’re just here for the TV, sir,” Rob said. “Are you Charles?”
“Tell you what,” the guy said. “Why don’t you let me go into your truck and take something I want?”
“Sir, are you Charles?” Rob said.
“No. What’s your name? Rob? Okay, good.” He walked away again.
For a second, when the guy walked away I thought he was gonna come back with a sawed-off. Apparently, he called the complaint line for the company and mentioned the perceived harassment. Bear in mind, this was everything the online trainings had told us not to do. How this didn’t constitute harassment I didn’t know.
“We just want our stuff back, Charles!" Rob yelled while pounding. “Let’s be civil about this!” he repeated this sentence at least a dozen more times.
Eventually, Rob decided we needed to get back in the truck. For a fleeting instant, I thought with great relief that we were leaving. Then he pulled around the other side of the circular driveway and blocked the guy’s goddam cars!
“I talked to the store and they said he called complaining that he has to go to work in a half hour so he’ll have no choice but to come talk to us now,” Rob said.
What the fuck? We are BLOCKING IN HIS CAR on what could be his property? I thought. This is insane! How is this legal? How is this smart? How is this safe?
We sat there for a good twenty minutes before another car pulled up outside and a nice woman approached the truck asking if she could help us.
“Yes, ma’am,” Rob said happily. “We’re here to get the TV back from Charles.”
She happily cooperated, even calling Charles on her cell phone. The guy inside wasn’t him after all, nor was he the home owner. Charles had lied and listed his sister’s house as his residence. He was somehow available for her call and, through her, asked how much it would be the pay off the TV. Her facial expression told us everything we needed to know when Rob relayed the ridiculously high amount. She had Rob come in and get the TV while I remained in the truck.
Upon his return, Rob advised me that they were high-fiving at the store right now because “we” got the merchandise back, this being such an apparent rarity. Then we were off the next place, a townhouse in the town of Clarkston, a Podunk in the middle of Michigan’s least important section. Low crime, small population, bored cops.
The townhouses were nice, much nicer than one would expect from someone having to use a rent-to-own service for furniture. We walked up the door and Rob said he was going around back. He didn’t even knock up front, which turned out to be a really stupid-ass move. Moments later, a guy who looked like he could have been George Michael’s stand-in circa 1985 but with man-boobs in a tank top opened the front door with a befuddled smile on his face.
“Um, hi?” he said. “Why is he knocking on my back window?”
I identified the name of the store and, still smiling, he said. “Okaaayyyyy?”
I went and got Rob who came and advised him we were there for living room furniture.
“You’ve got the wrong house,” the flamboyant fellow said.
Rob read off the address which was off by one digit, the stupid, squinty-eyed fuck!
“And I don’t need to buy rent-to-own!” the man said indignantly.
So now we’d gone to the wrong house and offended a nice gay guy with good credit! Rob thanked him and we got back in the van. The correct address was in the next row of townhouses. And this time, the cops would actually come~
To Be Continued
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