Another wonderful retail experience in YK

At the YK Centre Mall, one particular store kinda rocks (or their merchandise does) and I like to pop in whenever I am there.

Now, I have a disorder inflicted from years of customer service based jobs where I “expect” other retail industry workers to be able to form coherent verbal structures in an effort to communicate with their customers. CRAZY, I know. That being said, this store offers very little in the whole domain of customer service, from my experience the workers are there to ring through sales and that is where their duties end. There are no friendly, “Hi, how are you today?” or “Let me know if I can give you a hand with anything!” in this store. However, they really do carry fun stuff, so my body keeps urging me back to this store for a browse.

Yesterday when I stopped in, I immediately noticed adorable horse themed pyjamas for little girls. My niece, MacKenzie lives on a horse farm and loves all things horses. I knew she would love them and the $31 price tag didn’t seem too horribly steep, so I thought I would purchase a pair for her. They did not come in her size, so my brain and common sense suggested that I ask the very young worker if she could order a pair in MacKenzie’s size for me. As I have myself worked in small boutique style shops, I am highly aware that this is common practice for small business owners, and is in fact a large part of their business as it can be quite costly to carry an overabundance of stock.

When I asked the young girl if it was possible to order in a different size, she stared at me blankly and squinted her eyes in confusion. After a minute or so of pondering she told me that they had just got in this order. And starred some more at me. As that did not answer my question I asked again if it was possible to order in a different size. She looked at me and repeated the same answer she originally told me. Realizing this conversation was futile, I gently suggested that perhaps she could find out for me and give me a call. As I said that, I flipped the pyjama package over in my hand and noted the company’s website. I told the young girl I would actually just check out the company’s website and thanked her for her help. She looked at me as if I was severely mentally incapacitated and said, “Well, you could TRY that...” indicating she did not think that a company’s website would ever sell their own goods.

Sigh.

Just then her “superior” returned to the store and the young girl said she would find out about getting in a different size. Here is the gist of this conversation:

YG: Hey, can we like order a different um, size in this pyjama set?

S: (Starring blankly)

YG: I think like, a special order or something.

S: (Sharply) No. We can’t do that.

YG: Oh. Ok.

From a customer service viewpoint the above conversation contains ALL KINDS OF WRONG. The Young Girl relayed this information to me since I must be mentally incapacitated and hearing impaired so I thanked her again for her help. I continued to browse and purchased a few items I had been eyeing before leaving anyway.

Later on, when I got home I popped onto the internet to see if I could order the pyjamas, guess what I discovered? They do sell their own products and at a CHEAPER price than the boutique in the mall. Ah ha! The same $31 pyjamas from the store were ON SALE on the website for $19.99. I kid you not. I also noted that most of the other pyjamas were a few dollars cheaper than the YK store as well. Shipping to Southern Canada was free on orders over $65, however to ship to the Northern territories there was a $9.99 charge. (I have no idea why?) Lucky for me the items were being shipped to NS and I did receive free shipping.

So the moral of the story today kids is that you should always expect crap service when in YK and then complain about it on your public blog! Just kiddin’ but seriously who doesn’t like to save some cash?

Just another wonderful shopping experience here in the North!

Puddles and poopsicles

Warning: The following deals with the topic of poopsicles, which probably is an offensive topic to most. If you fall under that category, you may want to not read the following entry. Thanks!

-nwtnatalie

I am having a major love/hate relationship with Springtime up here in the Arctic. I LOVE it for the obvious reason: it is plus 5C, the sun is shining and my nostrils no longer freeze together when I frolic amongst nature. Life is good, great in fact. This actually makes me so happy I want to run outside and kiss the ground while exclaiming to the heavens above, "THANK YOU! Thank you Baby J, thank you Caucasian bearded J, I feared this day would never come, thank you, thank you, thank you oh wonderful Mother Nature lady!" Never in my life have I felt so over abundantly happy for Spring to arrive.

However, two things prevent me from running around and kissing the ground like a freshly escaped prisoner from jail and they would be: puddles and poopsicles. The street that I live on now is a half pavement/ half rocky crater filled, snowy, slushy, poopy, gravely, puddley mess. I have never seen the likes y'all.

Since the weather has improved so dramatically I now can start walking my children aka dogs again. This is a very exciting thing in my household, the kids LOVE car rides and walks. Where we lived in Southern BC, it was warm all the time, and there were only a few weeks of the year that we couldn't walk the dogs. Now that we live in the Arctic, that obviously has changed.

Yesterday we went for the first walk. I was so very happy to be outside and not freezing off various important bodily parts, it was a great moment. The kids were trotting along joyously when all of a sudden upon leaving the driveway they saw the array of puddles, craters, slush, snow and ice mess ahead of them on our street. I had to carry Olivia through the battlefield of our street, as she strongly dislikes dirtying herself (she's a diva and I love it) and she had put on the brakes. After jumping a huge lake like puddle at the end of the street, we made it to the sidewalk. Initially I felt relief as the next few sidewalk squares in front of us were dry. Then I realized for every 3 squares dry sidewalk there were 5 squares of drowned, lake like sidewalk to maneuver. That was fine, I am Maritimer, clearly tough as nuts, however I imagine the townsfolk got a kick out of seeing Olivia and myself walk a few feet, see me pick her up, jump the puddle, put her down and so on.

Very quickly amidst puddle jumping, I began to notice the poopsicle situation of my neighborhood. And I wanted to BARF ALL OVER THE SIDEWALK. A poopsicle, for those who have been wondering if I simply misspelled "popsicle", is a frozen or once frozen piece of canine excrement that is found in highly unsavory public places. It is especially sickening in it's melted form it has a shiny, melty, runny look that in some cases may trigger mouth barfing. In my case they seem to be found every two paces along my neighborhood walking route. Some are squashed with a foot imprint (Oh Grissom would be in heaven!) some are long and just THERE, some are broken up, they come in all shapes and sizes.

For the record, I have visited la belle ville de Paris en France and let me assure you, they have got nothing on YK for sheer amount of canine excrement on the sidewalks.

Pick up the poop fellow YKers, the poopsicle situation in town right now is absolutely filthy and sickening. Stoop and scoop. Have some respect! I am certain that most small birds emit more excrement then my doggies, however I still clean up after them. In YK it is also a bylaw, so there is even more incentive fer ya.

Puddles and poopsicles friends, puddles and poopsicles.
Spring has arrived in the glorious metropolis of YK. I love it.

Inspiration

I know where I'm going
and I know the truth,
and I don't have to be
what you want me to be.
I'm free to be what I want.

- Muhammad Ali

This is the quote on my little sister in law’s Facebook page under the “About Me” section.
She is one 16 year old who is wise beyond her years.
I love that girl so much.
Sometimes I click on her profile just to read it. Again and again.
Sometimes I have tears in my eyes when I read these words.
I wish all people could all be raised knowing this is true.
And not just figure it out later in their life, if they are really lucky.

Like me.

The Complexities of the North

All the Maritimers out there are going to know what I am talking about.

What is up with the drive thru system at McDonald’s here in YK?

In Nova Scotia and BC we have a very simple system. You drive to the little metal box and magically a voice will ask you what you would like to order. Once you tell the little man inside the metal box what you would like, you then proceed to the next window where there will be a worker who you pay. Next, you drive to the last window to pick up your order. A very simple process.

This is not the case in YK.

In YK, we do not have a metal box to speak in to for placing your order. We actually have to drive to the first window, speak to an actual human being in person and tell that person what you want. That person then rings in your order and also gives you any condiments you may require. Then you continue to the last window to pick up your order.

Now that the non Northerners comprehend this system, let me say that I do not actually go to McD`s that often. Maybe once a month I feel like a cheeseburger, the ensuing guilt over consuming said cheeseburger prevents me from daring to eat one for at least another month or two or maybe even three.

Not long ago, hubby was working a night shift and I thought I would head to McD`s for a fix. I drove up to the drive thru lane and entered, driving up to the first window. I knew this is where I should order, but I felt nervous, not ordering at the metal box felt very wrong, almost unnatural. Sitting at the window I waited, and waited... and waited. I looked around nervously wondering if there really was a metal ordering box and maybe it was new and now there I was like an idiot sitting and waiting for a human to come and take my order. The old McD`s guilt overcame me and I contemplated making a break for it and leaving the drive thru before even ordering. However, there was a car at window #3 waiting for their order and I knew I was trapped. I looked once again to the window where I saw a big sticker telling us patrons to stop at that window and order. I continued to sit and wait for someone to come. Soon, another car entered the drive thru behind me and that is when things got crazy.

At least ten minutes had passed since I had first drove up to the ordering window. Now a car was behind me and I almost felt panicked at what was going on and convinced myself I was spiralling into a bottomless pit of obesity by even being at McD`s. I figured that perhaps the order taking person was at the middle window and made the executive decision to advance forward to check this out. As I feared, no one was at the middle window. NO ONE. I continued to wait as there was now a large line up behind me when all of a sudden I saw in my rear-view mirror the order taker hanging out of window #1 and giving my vehicle a nervous glance. She even waved to my vehicle, although there was no way I could reverse at this point, I was really in a pickle.

Realizing this was one of the most ridiculous situations I had ever been in I silently cursed this silly Northern McD’s as gigantic ravens swooped around my car, seemingly staring at me with pity. I sensed them saying, “You silly Southern girl, you can’t even handle a Northern McD’s drive thru... idiot,” as they shook their heads in embarrassment for this poor, stupid girl. I pulled up to the third window, nervously wondering what I should do, just drive away or tell the worker what happened. The latter seemed to make the most sense as I had now wasted approximately 15 minutes of my life at this drive thru.

At #3 window, the worker approached the window, opened it and held out a brown McDonald’s bag for me to take. I explained that was not mine, what happened and waited for the scathing look. To my surprise he smiled at me warmly and quickly asked what he could get for me. Total shock overcame me, and I stuttered that I would like a cheeseburger. In a few quick minutes he had it ready for me, I paid and off I went.

Now, this is surprising to me for two reasons. Firstly, in other regions, the metal box eliminates any “which window do I order at” confusion. Even though there is a large sticker with a big old stop sign on window #1, saying to stop and order there, after ten minutes and a long line-up growing behind me, I clearly felt the appropriated action would be to move ahead and see if the order taker was at the next window. Then by the time I got to the third, I feared that I had obviously missed my chance to order.

But friends, this is the North! People are ridiculously friendly here. If that same situation had occurred in the South, I am certain the pubescent McD’s worker would have looked at me, flung some ketchup packets at my head and screamed for me to get out of there because I was too fat to even order a dirty McD’s cheeseburger. I KNOW THAT IS WHAT WOULD HAPPEN. Now in the North, that lovely young man rolled with this unexpected twist, did not even give me ONE disparaging look and quickly prepared my order. I love it.

The North is also the place where you can be invited to a party from a girl who you have only met once, she is the only person you know at this party and end up having a great time and leave after having met some great new friends.

I’m tellin’ ya, the Arctic grows on me more and more, day by day.

Espionage

I'm starting to wonder if my dogs are taking secret spy courses in their spare time. Seriously, things are getting slightly ridiculous around here.

Here is the evidence:

Malcolm fine tuning the age old art of "playing dead".

Olivia perfecting her "it wasn't me" face.

Malcolm perfecting his "it wasn't me" face.

Here we have Malcolm employing "playing dead" and "where's Waldo" AT THE SAME TIME.

Olivia in the process of staking out her prey.

She slyly anticipates the easiest way to go in for the kill.

Here we see her employing the ol' "I'm so cute and would never do ANYTHING wrong, Daddy!" face.

With her prey in sight,

she springs in to capture the highly prized egg roll.

If this doesn't confirm my suspicions, I don't even know what would. Here we have the two co-conspirators practicing the ol' "Pretending to sleep under the blanket while secretly surveying my Mommy and Daddy" trick. It works every time.



I think I'm on to something folks, I'll be sleeping with one eye open from now on. Stay tuned for further updates.

Another Post About the Motherland

In a land far, far away, on the superior side of Canada there lies a farm nestled just outside of the town of Windsor N.S. On said farm lives my Sistaaah, her husband and their two gorgeous offspring. BUT THAT'S NOT ALL! In addition to their little family lives Sebastien the Psychotic Kitty, Chloe the Chocolate Lab, King and Champ the mini horses, Molly and Maggie the goaties, Charlie the Rooster, numerous free range, organically fed chicken and 2o odd horses.

In the words of my grandfather, "Well Jesus Nat, I sure as Hell never thought I'd live to see the day when you would live in the Arctic. And I never thought we'd see Charmaine livin' on a farm."

No kidding Gramps.

Sister just loves it though. Here are some highlights from the last time I was at their farm.

Here are King and Champ in their pen.

Here we have either Maggie or Molly the goatie.

The other goatie hanging out on Sistaah's porch and gazing intently at me in the window!

The goaties and Chloe follow my sister all over the farm as she feeds the animals. Too cute.

Gotta love the Motherland.

Happiness Is...

Cora's Restaurant in Bedford, Nova Scotia! Oh yeah baby, it's the best. The last time I found myself in the Motherland, this was OF COURSE my first culinary stop. I met up with this handsome little man, Liam my nephew. Here he is modeling his Tantie's shades. (I don't think they make little boys cuter than this!)

Here is my BFFF (yes, that is 3 Fs), and what a reunion it was. The second she came through the door I was crying like a baby. Check out that gigantic crèpe, oh my, oh my!

This is my Sistaaah, thank goodness she doesn't know what a blog is, or I would be dead like dinner for posting this one! She is clearly enjoying her Cora's yummy bfast. I believe her exact words were, "Mmm, mmm, mmm", or something like that!

Here I am with my cute as a button niece, Mackenzie. On that plate is what I like to call, "Heaven", an assortment of fresh fruit, scrambled eggs, bacon and la pièce de resisitance... homestyle raisin brioche, thickly sliced, drenched in french toast batter. Kill me now.

So Happiness Is Cora's Restaurant in Bedford. There are other Cora's restaurants in other parts of the HRM, however I enjoy the ambiance in the Bedford location the best. Hands down. The next time you find yourself in the Motherland, stop in and give it a try!