#like not to mention shes already a nerd now she can spend infinite money to get her favorite cards??

[roseluwakcoffee]

One bright side to Kirigiri becoming more informed about video games:

She knows how to, on a tangible level, prevent Celes from getting addicted to gacha games

"I'm deactivating the credit cards" "You wouldn't dare!" "I already have." "FUCK YOU!"

Whereas before, she was much less aware of how to handle the matter

Oh my god I always forget that if Celes got anywhere near a gacha game it'd be over for her. Like she would be so lucky she'd probably get a ton of good cards, but then she'd have at least six different gacha games on her phone at a time and Kyoko would be forced to convince her that no trying to pull this five-star is not worth nearly the mortgage on the home

[davidfostercomedyblog]

Secret Shopper: The Only Time I Unknowingly Broke the Law

Before he was outed as a rapist Bill Cosby had a great bit about parenting (many actually) where he declared that if you only have one child then you can’t fully know the experience of being a parent… because you always know who to blame.

 I’ve applied a loose parallel to job hunting: If you’ve never job hunted without a present job or savings and/or with someone else sheltering you, you cannot fully know the experience of job hunting. I myself was in that more fortunate, unknowing group for most of my life, until I moved to L.A. with no money or contacts, only hopes and dreams, figuring it was good that originality doesn’t much sell these days.

 Real job hunting becomes a perpetually desperate state of panic, albeit within the pragmatic reality of “Groundhog Day:” Wake, eat, Craigslist, click, copy, paste, attach, send, repeat, repeat, repeat 50-100x over the course of 6-12 hours interrupted by naps and more food, exercise or masturbation or both, and occasionally either proactive motivation or cabin fever will be the impetus to a ride around town, just popping into places the old fashioned way: “Wanted to see if you guys might be hiring.”

 I once walked in to every front desk in an office building on Hollywood Blvd., feeling like Will Smith in Pursuit of Happyness (sans the racial handicap and ultimate success), and one guy took me in for an interview on the spot. He was so excited and sweet in what I’d come to identify as a very L.A. kind of way. Unfortunately I didn’t get “the job.” To be honest I don’t know if there even were any jobs, or if so which I was applying for. I went home. More masturbation – I mean exercise.

 One guy from a Craigslist link kept calling me back, Brian Cooper, and he couldn’t have sounded more like the character, “Douchebag” had he been reading for it in an audition up the block.

 “Yeah man, yeah, David, right?! So sorry, bro’, sorry I haven’t gotten back to ya, it’s just been crazy here, absolutely crazy. I got a job for you though, dude, I definitely do. Easy money, not alotta work! Sound good?”

 I said it sounded good, even though he didn’t. He was fake and flaky (can’t spell flaky without fake!) and nothing thus far had worked out, so why should I expect any different? Nevertheless, consistent with my equally pathetic online dating pursuits I followed up and returned Brian’s calls and eventually, also similar to dating pursuits, it sorta kinda briefly paid off.

 Apparently Brian worked for big companies, the likes of Apple and Verizon, which at least explained the “easy money, not alotta work,” platitude. His department was customer service review, not something that I’d really ever heard of, but it sounded like a thing, plus what about any of corporate America had I ever heard of? I was desperate and broke – not “broke” like the people who can’t afford the vacation or car they want and have to be mindful about their budget and spending on eating out. Actually broke: There’s no money. Credit cards maxed out, parents have no money and I’m borrowing $50 or $100 from various friends to put together this month’s rent, shoplifting toothpaste and every meal is either homemade rice and avocado or taco truck food. Broke(n).

 This experience is a small part of the reason why I’ve become more generous with the homeless. Whether conscious of it or not I think we’re all guilty of believing laziness or self-destruction are ingredients that lead most people to homelessness. Meanwhile at this stage in my life I had a B.A. and Master’s degree, had worked as hard as I possibly could every week of my life, appeared on HBO and Showtime as a comedian, won competitions in national festivals, and I had nothing. I digress.

 The job title Brian offered was “Secret Shopper.”

 “I’m gonna assign you to a team, you guys just drive around all day, scout different locations to make purchases, go in and review your experience with the staff. Sound easy enough? You’re a comedian, so I know you’re a good judge of character, right?”

 “Haha, yeah, totally.”

 I never understood this – even the positive stereotypes that get assigned to comics by the infinite ass hats trudging over our Godforsaken planet. Is a Master’s degree in Psychology suddenly prerequisite for a career in stand-up comedy? How do you know I’m a good judge of character? What if I’m the worst comedian in the world?

 No matter. Beggars can’t be choosers, and I was the closest to being literally a beggar I’d ever been. The job was to meet up with Cici at the Starbucks in North Hollywood tomorrow morning, and basically follow her lead, driving around all day, assessing… customer service?

 The whole thing was suspicious, and as I sat in front of the café, dutifully early, sipping my morning coffee, taking in the lovely L.A. morning that never got old, I grew “cautiously eager” (caffeinated) to see how this would play out.

 Finally Cici called.

 “David.”

 “Hey, yeah. Is this Cici?”

 “Oh hi, it’s Cici.”

 Right. Anyway…

 “Hey.”

 “Are you there?”

 “Yeah, I’m sitting here in front having coffee. Are you--?”

 “Okay, I’ll be there in a few minutes. Can you meet me in back, in the parking lot? The whole crew is there waiting already. I’ll be in a red Toyota, okay?”

 “Yeah, sure, no problem.”

 “Okay, thanks. I’ll see you soon.”

 I made my way to the back parking lot and noticed a crew of young adults standing around who seemed to not be saying much to one another, thus were probably unfamiliar with one another, thus probably fellow beggars in a work crew.

 “Hey. Are you guys waiting for Cici?”

 “Yeah,” one of them barely offered, and I noticed they were uncharacteristically unfriendly for L.A. A young white heavy metal-looking guy and a pretty young black girl, and I immediately wondered if they were a couple, and should I be jealous of the guy? Finally was an enormous young black dude, and he was the only one who didn’t look downright miserable, instead wearing a confused, dumbfounded expression that I imagined mimicked my own. He was the only one who smiled when I shook his hand.

 “How you doing, man? Charles.”

 I immediately liked him. The others I did not.

 “John (Preston).”

 And: “Hi, I’m Rien.”

 Ugh.

 John took out a cigarette and Rien took out her phone and apparently we’d go on as strangers. It’s obviously a cliché, but I immediately felt empowered by being from New York, especially having run in mildly criminal circles as a teenager. The whole situation was suspect, and I figured the smart thing to do was gather information. Fortunately we live in a day and age where it’s considered socially acceptable, even expectable, to ignore all physically present beings in exchange for typing on our phones so I opened up my note app and began slyly recording whatever I could.

 Rien drove a Prius, just like everyone else in L.A. who didn’t drive a Benz. License was Vermont (vomit): FTX504.

 Cici finally arrived in a red Toyota Yaris, license: 7CDF875.

 “Hey guys, sorry I’m late, Jason (Cruz) kept me at the office to determine our plan for the day. We just had some delays.”

 “Oh, no problem,” Rien’s tone had changed, perked up for Cici, and I wondered if it meant Cici was the boss or Rien was just especially turned off by me. I assumed a bit of both.

 “Are you David?” Cici extended her hand and was at least a bit more pleasant.

 “And Charles?”

 They shook hands and I was ecstatic to not be the only new guy.  

 “You guys are gonna roll with me.”

 Even more ecstatic. Let the love birds pout off in the Vermont-mobile while I get to roll with the homeys whose cheekbones and outer lips at least raise upward.

 First stop was Ralph’s, some stupid L.A. supermarket chain, though I had no idea why we were there. Where were we going on this mission? Would there not be places to stop and eat? Was an earthquake in the forecast? Did we need supplies?

 “Wait here,” Cici requested. “I’m just going to run in and get a drink real quick.”

 “No problem,” Charles passively mumbled, but I said nothing, and if I’d been a cartoon my eyebrows would’ve been raising to inhuman heights, eyeballs popping out of their sockets with frazzle lines around my neck and shoulders.

 We just came from a Starbucks. Now she realizes she wants a drink and feels she has to get it from a Goddamn Ralph’s. Ya suspect!

 I decided it was past time that I ingratiate myself with my fellow inmate.

 “So this is your first day doing this too?”

 “First day, bro. I’m in it with you.”

 “Right, right.” I paused, not wanting to let on my suspicion too quickly, because what if he’s lying too?

 “You ever done this before though? Like for any other company?”

 “What, like secret shopper job?”

 “Yeah.”

 “Nah. I heard of it though. Couple of my friends done it. Supposedly an easy way to make some extra cash, which I definitely need…”

 I believed him. I couldn’t tell you why, except that I liked Charles and he just felt sincere. He was a tech guy by trade with a passion for comic books and other typical nerd things, and in spite of being from Compton everything about him fit the bill. He wore glasses and an unkempt afro and when I mentioned my Master’s in Chinese Medicine he told me about his hyper-reactive skin conditions. If he was in on it – that is, if there was an “it” in the first place, Charles’ performance was exceptional and he should have been at Central Casting, not working as a secret shopper or whatever the hell we were doing.

 I paused again. I thought of my HBO appearance, and how I didn’t have any shows booked yet for the week. How did I get here?

 I turned to Charles: “Don’t you think this is kind of weird though?”

 “What?”

 “This. I mean, I dunno. This whole thing. Why are we at a supermarket right now?”

 “So she could get a drink.”

 “Right, yeah.”

 Longer pause. “You think this is legit though?”

 “Yeah, man, secret shopper,” and he shrugged his shoulders so matter-of-factly that I was almost convinced. In any case it’s not like it’d be my first time breaking the law and I definitely didn’t feel in danger. I know we can’t assign any one individual as representation for an entire city, but I did think it was funny how the black guy (from Compton) was taking everything they said at face value and the white guy (from New York) was constantly peaking over his shoulder in criminal paranoia. Cici eventually returned from her suspiciously long drink purchase, which immediately changed the topic of conversation.

 Cici was mildly attractive and had an accent, something Eastern European, and I at least appreciated how chatty she was. As a matter of fact everyone was, making for a pretty fun drive-around dynamic and for a brief moment I felt almost happy and optimistic, a passing feeling that would become eerily familiar for me out west. For the moment I sat back and enjoyed the ride.

 We arrived at some Verizon store on Ventura Blvd. and Cici took out a piece of paper for me to review before going in. A customer survey without any real official-looking branding on it.

 “These are the questions to keep in mind when you go in, okay?” she instructed.

 “How quickly were you greeted by the Verizon professional?”

“Were all of your questions promptly and fully answered?”

“Was there anything about your experience today you would change in the future?”

 It was as if they’d copied it out of every online survey I’d ever seen, but then again, so is every online survey I’ve ever seen.

 “Take this credit card,” and Cici gave me what looked like a fake credit card, though I think it was just prepaid and/or some corporate thingamajig that impoverished luddites like myself know nothing about. Nevertheless, there was a fake name on it, which Cici quickly addressed.

 “Do you think you can sign that name when they give you the receipt?”

 “Yes, I can.”

 “Okay, so as soon as we get the green light you’re gonna go in and buy the new iphone 5s, okay? All the features, take whatever they offer in extra data, applications, everything, okay? Because we need a full assessment. But you can’t let on that you work for Verizon. Just play it totally straight. If you get confused or you think they know you’re a secret shopper just leave the store and call me, got it?”

 “Yup, no problem.”

 It reminded me of my work as a hidden camera actor on MTV eight years prior, though that was a much better job, and you know… relatable to my passion. Nevertheless it was useful experience in deceitful teamwork, strategy and of course, acting, albeit in a different context.

 I waited for the green light, went inside and told the customer service professional what I wanted. He was young and eager to help, eager to sell, even more so than his east coast counterparts, surely not as accustomed to as much attitude or rejection. I had no idea whether or not I was breaking the law, but my conscience was clear. I was a desperate man without a dollar to my name and as far as I knew just doing my job. What’s more, it felt nice to have money to spend, for the first time in my life to not feel like I had to duck and dodge every additional offer and feature, to not have to get the most affordable option and decline everything extra since I could barely even afford the basic device. Of course nothing about the phone was mine, but still, it made the shopping experience more pleasant to be able to appease the young lad surely working at least partially off commission. I followed all of Cici’s instructions, forged some asshole’s name and walked out of the store with some fully loaded adult toy that I couldn’t care less about, but made my “boss” very happy. 1 for 1!

 “Okay, your turn, Charles.”

 Cici got on her phone and laptop to report back to home base and prepare for the next secret shopper and my nerves calmed down much like they did in the wake of so many shoplifting successes in adolescence.

 “How was it man?” Charles asked.

“Fine. I, uhh… I bought a phone.”

 He laughed.

 “Cool.”

 “Okay,” Cici, chimed in. “I’m gonna give you a different credit card now, obviously (obviously), but you’re going to get the same thing, okay? Same exact thing. Because we want to see if your experience is any different, and honestly it helps that you’re African American.”

 Ugh, these fucking Californians and their “African American.” Haha!

 Charles and I laughed, and Cici scrambled to support her rationale.

 “No, seriously though, it’s important for employee review. That’s why we paired the two of you together and Rien and John. We have to know if any of these assholes are racist of course.”

 For a moment I was convinced. Maybe I wasn’t a part of some low frequency, slime bucket criminal enterprise and hadn’t just committed petit larceny. Maybe Cici and Brian and Charles and I really all worked for Verizon and we were doing the Lord’s work of seeing to it that one of the planet’s most powerful conglomerates could become more powerful via the fair and responsibly receptive treatment of its millions of inadvertently enslaved customers. Maybe. And maybe Rien and John weren’t a couple after all.

 We waited for over an hour in the car to give Charles the green light, but I never got bored, also figured we were getting paid by the hour. The weather was great, car windows were open and I felt great. We talked about astrology and comedy and Chinese Medicine – okay, I guess I was steering most of the conversation, but Charles and Cici were eager participants and whenever they got distracted by the job or a call came in from headquarters I pounced with the corners of my eyes.

 Cici would open her laptop to communicate over email with one person while she spoke on her headset with someone else. Her email was cicimissy84@gmail.com and she wrote to Justin Stevensen, who was supposedly the man in charge. Finally Charles got the go ahead and headed into the store.

 “Good luck, man!” Don’t get arrested, I exclaimed silently to myself.

 There was more confusion with Charles’ mission than there was mine. He kept having to come out and get more information, and finally even needed a different credit card. Fuckin’ nerd, I thought.

 After a bunch of confusion it worked out and Charles finally exited with another fully loaded, fancy new phone. He was sweating, wiping the beads from his brow as he collapsed back into the back seat, but I assumed this had as much to do with his weight problem as any nerves or apprehension. After all, Charles’ conscience was even cleaner than mine. “Secret shopper,” right?

 Cici then burned rubber, screeching tires out of the parking lot and pulled out a loaded .45, emptying the clip through the sunroof into the air as we made off with our new devices. No, she didn’t. We quietly pulled back on to the road and headed for the next destination, Encino shopping mall.

 Nothing happened at the mall. A lot of waiting and talking and walking around and checking in with Justin Stevensen, but no green lights and no more purchases for the day. Cici said she was happy with our performances – that we both proved worthy of, achem… “employment,” and asked if we were both free to work tomorrow.

 “Sure,” both pathetic souls replied, and I was thrilled to be paired up with Charles.

 “Since today was a trial I’m going to pay you in cash now, but tomorrow will count as the start of your employment, which means you’ll get a check in the mail next week, cool?”

 Yes!

 By the time we got back to Starbucks it was 8pm, a long day but so fucking easy. Cici handed me $120 cash and had me fill out a W2 in the car, and gradually I was becoming more convinced. I just wasn’t sure what was less conceivable – that such a job actually existed or that I could actually fall ass backwards into such a good situation. I decided it was too late to hit the comedy clubs and instead chose to head home and get a good night’s sleep for more secret shopping.

 The next day brought more of the same, but this time we forewent Starbucks and just met at the first location, another Verizon store in Westwood, a wealthier, more bourgeouis part of town. This time Sir Charles would go first. He successfully bought another cell phone and I awaited my green light that never came. For some undisclosed reason we had to move on to another location.

 We trekked all the way to some mall in Ventura and my mission was to purchase an ipad from the Apple store. The clerks, true to form, could not have possibly been more friendly and helpful, but we kept hitting a roadblock. It seemed that my credit card required some kind of passcode that neither I, nor Cici, nor Justin Stevensen upon follow-up communication, could provide. Twice I had to scramble back to the car and report what was going wrong and twice I returned to the Apple store for unsuccessful re-tries.

 “No problem,” Cici sighed. “That’s not your fault,” she said, as if I needed to hear it.

 I’ve been doing stand-up comedy for 13 years. If you think a purchase rejection at the Apple store rattles me you’re out of your fuckin’ mind.

 I reclined back in my chair and spent the rest of the ride home inquiring to Charles about how to convert the format of some video footage I needed to edit. Charles seemed to know just about everything about technology, and I think we both looked forward to a mutually beneficial friendship, he for my tech issues, me for his dermatological ones. Cici seemed a bit stressed and I couldn’t have cared less. Still, when she dropped us off at our cars Cici was pleasant and appreciative.

 “Brian’s gonna contact you either tomorrow or this weekend and let you know your days for next week, okay? And your check should go out tomorrow.”

 “Sounds good. Thanks Cici! Have a good weekend, y’all.”

 They wished me the same, and I was off. I was happy, even optimistic. This job was weird, but seemed more legitimate and innocent with each day, and so perfectly fit my needs. Money, first of all, and a part time gig with free evenings to do my shows. At $120/day and my present rent I could work four or even three days a week and get by. I was grateful. And then, I never heard from them ever again.

 I gave Brian a call over the weekend and got no answer. I followed up on Monday and got voicemail again. When the following Friday came and went with no check arriving I couldn’t have been less surprised. I realized of all people I’d forgotten to get Charles’ contact info and had no idea what his last name was to search Facebook.  

 While unemployed with no friends or girls, minimal stage time and no resources with which to enjoy life one has plenty of down time, which I’d intermittently use to call or email Brian or Cici. First my messages claimed to be just following up for my check, but after a while I began unapologetically saying I knew what they were up to, reciting their license plate numbers and email addresses. I should have reported them to the cops, but just didn’t have the energy, nor desire or time. I needed a job.

 Several months later I missed a call from a strange number, checked the voicemail and it was Charles! I was so happy he’d kept my card, not as happy to hear the news.

 “I got arrested.”

 “What?!”

 “I got arrested, bro’. That whole secret shopper thing turned out to be a scam (ya don’t say, Charles?), and I got bagged last month trying to buy a laptop in another Apple store. I had no idea what was going on and when I tried to tell them about Cici and them they just all played dumb, like they didn’t know me. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind testifying for me, you know? Or at least go on the record that I wasn’t in on it and my lawyer said I could plea, and hopefully it won’t have to go to court. They’ll just knock it down to shoplifting or whatever.”

 “Of course, bro’, of course I’ll testify, and I actually have a lot of their information – license plate numbers, emails and stuff. I never trusted them.”

 “I know, man, I should have listened to you. Is that why you quit?”

 “Quit? I didn’t quit. After that second day we worked together I never heard from them again. I never got my check for that day and just never heard from anyone.”

 “They told me you quit.”

 “I bet they did. How much longer did you work for them for?”

 “’Til now. Until just last week when I got arrested.”

 “What?! You’ve been working for them this whole time?!”

 “Yup.”

 “Holy shit. You must have made some good money, huh?”

 “Yeah, it was all right, man, but now I’m fucked up. Gotta give it all to my lawyers.”

 “Right, right.”

 I thought about the awful, abusive restaurant jobs I’d held during those six months and was overcome with jealousy. Then I thought about Charles being pulled away into custody by the police and pleading to the police in high-pitched panic: “Secret shopper, secret shopper!” and it took everything I had to not laugh.

 “Yo, so it’s okay if I have my lawyer call you, right?”

 “Yeah, yeah, of course, man, keep me posted.”

 “Okay, thanks so much. He’ll probably reach out to you tomorrow or the next day.”

 “Alright. Take care, Charles.”

 I hung up and couldn’t believe it. It all felt like a lifetime ago. I was on my third (and first decent) job since Secret Shopper. I was finally in a good place and felt bad for Charles. I wondered why they’d kept him and not me. Were they suspicious of my suspicion? Had Cici noticed the corners of my eyes? Had Rien noticed me stealing glances at her license plate, alternate with her cleavage? Would that matter? I looked forward to hearing back from Charles. My life was still so boring and shitty and I was excited for some excitement, also excited to partake in bringing those douche bags to justice, but I never heard from Charles again.

 I think there are legitimate secret shopper jobs, but this apparently was not one of them, obviously just a strange crew of con-artists using that label as well as unsuspecting desperados as a front for their scams. I hope they get what’s coming to them. More importantly I hope Charles is okay… that is if he’s not one of them!