PSA to not be a dick to retail workers this holiday season (and all seasons!). Working retail during the holidays was some of my shittiest experiences. People become coupon-waving, red-faced monsters that deserve nothing but a trip into Krampus’ sack.
Here are a few things to remember:
1: They have literally no authority. Honestly, the cashier would love nothing more than to accept a stack of expired coupons to get some cranky-ass customer indignantly insisting that “at this point YOU owe ME money!” through the line. But they can’t. And no amount of screaming will change that. Oh, and the manager is bunkered safely in the back refusing to come out and will only troubleshoot through walkie.
2: If you’re nice (like basic human decency) they are more inclined to help you as much as they are able. Being kind and patient costs nothing and might actually pay off. You might even be able to coax out a skiddish manager that *sometimes* has the magic touch to get things accomplished.
3: Corporate overlords. Managers can do a lot but in the end, the retail world is run from corporate overlords through the machine sentries AKA registers. Welcome to Black Mirror, people. If the machine rejects your request then back to the matrix with you.
Another doodle, this time using mostly shapes and lines instead of characters and faces. Also, this was done traditionally with ink instead of digitally, which I hadn't done in a while and was a lot of fun!
"Heaven was putting distance between her and everyone." ~ A blackout poem from a recycled page of Riding with the Hides of Hell, which now has a new-and-improved title, Burnout. It's a young adult story about motorcycles, a road trip, adventure, and love.
Watercolour crayon, crayon, fineliner and acrylic paint.. . . . . ... . .... . ... . . . ... . . .. . . . . . . Just your run of the mill tree bearing owl with a pipe in hand and a story to tell. .... . . .. . . . . .. . . . . .. ... ... ......... ... .. A3 prints for sale ( 12 left out of 20 at the time of going to press )
Against the weight of a storm-dark sky, tender stems lean forward—some bending, some breaking, some still reaching.
They hold their fire at the tips, waiting to bloom, waiting to burn, waiting to belong to light.
Perhaps this is all of us:
stretching through shadows,
searching for the thin, golden line that divides earth from eternity.
