Party Shitty

My roommate, his girlfriend, her roommate, and I all took a trip tonight to Party City. His girlfriend wanted to exchange a costume she had bought earlier, and I tagged along to take a look at the selection.

If you have ever been to the Party City on York Road (by Panera), you know how poorly run it is and should probably just stop reading now. By the time we finally got out of there we were affectionately calling it the "Giant Shop of Horrors," which is appropriate on so many levels.

Their product selection is great; certainly nothing to complain about. The layout of the store is pretty good, too. Things start to fall apart when you take a look at the employees working there.

I can't imagine liking myself if I worked at Party City for a living... and I imagine the people working there tonight were actually working there for a living. The manager, who was a fairly attractive girl not too much older than us, was stomping around like she was running a Vegas casino or something. We walked past as she was laying the smackdown on two of the employees. She was completely owning them.
"You do know how to straighten things, right? So, if I go through your aisles I'm not going to throw anything on the floor?"

Apparently that's how she tells them if they did a shitty job cleaning up an aisle; she just starts throwing shit on the floor while screaming and pulling at her hair. You work the nightshift at Party City, no one cares. On the other hand, if I had her job I would probably be pissed off all the time too. I'm most likely only sympathizing with her because she was hot.

When we had all finished doing whatever it was we went there to do, and it was time to check-out, we got more of an idea of what the manager has to deal with on an everyday basis. And at that point I had to secretly applaud her for not murdering everyone in the world, although I'm sure she's tempted.

Of course there was someone in front of us stocking up on Halloween candy, party streamers, a fucking helium tank, a billion costumes, and decorations for next Valentines Day because you can never be too early. I don't go to Party City often but every single time I do, I swear, I wait in line for over ten minutes. Even though this asshole was buying everything but the kitchen sink (he may have even had one of those, I wouldn't put it past him), it still shouldn't take that long to ring him up. But, apparently, nothing in Party City has a price sticker/SKU/barcode/resale value. And also their receipt printer is fucking retarded and their computers are from 1973. And the one person that does know how to work the finnicky Point of Sale system is in the back taking bong hits, unable to be contacted via walkie talkie or intercom.
When we finally got to the front of the line, my roommate's girlfriend said "Oh God, I have an exchange," and we all just started laughing because we knew we would be there forever. They rang up her friend first as the rest of us waited.

Once up front, I got a look at their computer screens and started laughing again. They were six inches wide and completely in black and white. I'm pretty sure there wasn't even text, it was just spitting out binary code. No wonder none of them knew how to work it.

Everything that had gone wrong for the people in front of us went wrong for us, and then some. The printer broke, the employees didn't know what the fuck they were doing, someone touched the computer and it disintegrated into a dust clowd.
After about seven minutes of this bullshit, another employee who was just idly standing by decided to open up the second register and ring up my roommate's girlfriend. Watching the two of them get rung up on separate registers by separate employees... it was a race. It was almost like watching the Preakness. Only instead of horses it was people filling out paperwork and hitting computer keys, and I could go wander around aimlessly for several minutes and come back not having missed anything.

At some point during all the confusion, consulting with other employees, and delays, my roommate looked over at me and said, "Hey, it's Party Bureaucracy."
From the minute we entered the checkout line to the time we left the store was easily 20 minutes. No joke.

As we walked to the car, I suggested that they open a bar right next to Party City. After checking out, I argued, you could (and would most likely need to) go get hammered. There is a liquor store across the street though, so I guess that will have to do for now.