pisac – n. a box of unused staples that have been around longer than you have been working somewhere.
Let’s say you are in a supervisory position over cashiers. Typically supervising is a boring and monotonous exploit. Babysitting other people to make sure they’re doing their job correctly can bring out the worst in people, especially when you do it day in and day out.
Why not put a little sadistic fun into your life by torturing the people you are supervising? Here’s a few suggestions:
1. Funneling customers to one cashier’s register (or just away from you).
Nothing says “I’m lazy” more than rejecting any customer that comes your way. But there’s a reasoning behind that. It’s because you want that stupid cashier with the tacky blonde highlights or that other cashier with the excessively form-revealing biking shirt (can anyone say man boobs?) to have pleasure of taking another customer after the one they’re already ringing up. Who says you need to endure the crappy money jokes customer’s always seem to think are funny when you can just deflect them to the next guy?
2. Musical registers.
Nothing wipes the hopeful look on a about-to-close-out cashier’s face than to make them close-out later by switching them to a register that closes later. The best part about it, is that its all random and “pre-ordained to fate” because they chose a bad number. To set up a game of musical registers, write the names of the registers on a piece of paper and cut them out. Fold them up and then toss them into a small box or cup or something like that and have the cashiers draw a piece of paper. These papers will tell them where to go for their registers, and if you’re lucky you’ll have a situation where a cashier who was happy they were about to close closes last and an overzealous cashier cheers that they get to close first instead of last. Then you can revel in the pain of the cashier who just had the power play to being put into the penalty box.
Nothing is more sadistic than forcing people to count millions of Scantrons, pens, pencils, sweaters, or large amounts of random shit for hours on end. If you get a chance, make sure they count the roundabout fixture full of dusty stickers that look alike.
4. Stare at them.
Nothing will make a cashier more uncomfortable than getting every move they make scrutinized upon by their superior. When they mess up, you can stare at them even harder and make grunting noises and tell them they’re doing something wrong with little to no explanation. You’re doing your job, after all.
5. Leave them with no change.
Oh, the cashier just called for pennies? I think you should wait another twenty minutes and let them sweat a little. Especially since they called for change five minutes ago and conveniently didn’t tell you they are about to run out of pennies. Leave it to them to explain to customers why they don’t have three pennies to give back for change.
6. Mindless policies.
Making up policies that do not make any sense is a subtle way to make life hard for a cashier. Nothing pains the soul more than to have needless red tape and hurdles to jump over to do even the simplest of things. Need some more ones? How about you fill out a cash request form which you will evaluate the reasoning for before getting the money? How about requiring extraneous, useless information on checks to make the transaction take longer, and if they forget something, then you can punish them for doing so.
This requires some creativity, obviously. Just think up the most ass backwards ways to frustrate your employees and execute.
7. Hidden supplies.
If a cashier is able to easily get the pens, pencils, staplers, or whatever they need easily, then you fail at torturing them. You need to make sure that any of the office supplies they may require to finish transactions are in hard to reach or practically inaccessible areas. Make sure these supplies are always a few steps away and limit the amount of efficiency they can possibly have by maximizing the annoyance factor. Make sure the stapler is on the other side of the room from the pens and pencils. Why would you ever want them to be in the same place? It’s not like you want anything to be convenient for anyone.
Hi. My name is Johnny Hotfoot, and I work for Satan.
I get paid minimum wage of $7 an hour. That’s the going rate in Hell right now. There’s probably not going to be any increase in it for a while, but hey, I get by.
Now you’re probably wondering who I am, how I died and what I do for a living to get paid $7 an hour in Hell.
Well, I was one of those guys that walked on hot coal, hence the name Johnny Hotfoot. I was a freak at one of those circuses, because I had very large callouses on my feet. I’ve walked on about 300 miles on hot burning coal. You can’t imagine how hard it is to find a decent pair of shoes.
I died because as I was walking on coal, a portal to Hell opened up and I fell in. It doesn’t happen usually, but that time I died. Now, I’m Satan’s “special guy.” I go and do “special things” for him. Now you’re probably wondering “Why the Hell do I care?” But, you’ll care. Because I’m going to tell you about my zany adventures in a very very long running series on the best site on the internet, Squackle.com!
So, its morning. The huge ball of fire’s dark and evil light shone through my windows. I live in a one bedroom apartment in the ghetto of Hell. Its not necessarily a bad place, but since about half of the people in Hell are rich, they live in a house that is as big as the Earth.
Hell is not a physical place. It is a spiritual one, and in the spirit world, everything is different. There is an endless amount of space and you can do whatever you want. Except go to Heaven. No one likes it up there. You wear dresses and everything and everybody is white. Its almost like the Puritan’s America, but with clouds and instead of dinky hats, they have halos floating around.
At about 10:00 AM Satan gave me a call on my Hell phone, the Hell version of the Cell Phone. Not many people know this, but AT&T Wireless supplies us with our phone service. They, dare I say, signed a deal with the devil. Hahahaha I crack myself up.
Anywho, Satan said, “yo my bro dawg diggity, go on down to the licka store and buy me some Rolaids. I got massive heart freeze here, my bro dawg diggity. Peace out.” So, I went to the liquor store.
As I was walking in, a group of demons were playing around with some staple guns they bought from the liquor store. Lucky me, one of the staples strayed and hit me in the ass. “Ah! Sonuva BITCH!” I yelled as I held my ass. “Who the FUCK do you think you’re dealin with here, I’m going to rape you all you fucking cocksucking demon stupid ass WHORES!” So I took out my long John and wrapped them up with it. They couldn’t get away now.
“Oh fuck! You really did it this time Fred! You’re gonna get us raped and beaten!” One of the demon’s yelled.
And so I did.
Then, after I finished up, I got some Rolaids for Satan, and gave them to him. He thanked me.
Don’t Do Drugs
Q: What foods stick together?
A: Staple foods!
“If you staple something, I’m gonna rip something (out of your body)!”
– Mrs. Stickums
“350 multiplied by 15 divided by 175 equals m-sub-2. That equals 5 feet from my fulcrum in my head implanted by staples and slopes through my butt”
– Ms. E
Note: I sort of made up the last part of that quote since I lost track of what she was saying.
“put it on your paper or staple your head to the paper when you turn it in!”
– Mr. Shaft-Man
sqeernut – v. to eat, pitch, or staple the prime minister.
Ex. I sqeernut all the time! (The prime minister doesn’t tast so good)
scoobooite – n. one who staples babies to coffee tables
perske – v. to staple something on your head