tales-of-shopping

dutch gothic
  • You go to HEMA for office supplies. You go to HEMA for bed sheets. You go to HEMA for bread. You go to HEMA always, for everything, every day. There is no other shop. There is only HEMA.

  • You cycle to school. You cycle to HEMA. You cycle to your friends. You cycle to the big city closest to your tiny town. You cycle to the train station. You cycle to your grandparents. Your bike has broken down more times than you can count, yet, you keep cycling.

  • You take public transport to somewhere too far away to cycle. You’re inexplicably unnerved by this fact. You look out the window and you spot a mill on green stretches of land. You see another mill and another mill and another. You’re approaching the city center. Still, you see mills. You accept this, as everyone seems to do.

  • You enter Utrecht central station. You wonder if you are on an airport. You walk along the platforms, heading for platform 1. You don’t notice 6 and 10 and 13 are missing: no one ever does. And if they do, they don’t question this. Hours pass. You’re still walking toward platform 1. You thank god NS makes sure the trains are always late, so you’ll make it just in time. You arrive at the platform. “+10” it days on the sign. You sigh. You wait another 10 minutes and look again. “+20”, it says.

  • At the end of the basis school you take The Test. Your parents are more nervous than you. They tell you this Test dictates your entire future. The news tells you the same in a grave, slightly more ominous voice. You’re twelve years old.

  • When you’re in middelbare school, you notice the seniors suddenly disappear for approximately two weeks each year to perform a secret ritual in the largest room of the building. There are signs outside of this room warning you not to enter. You are frightened as the years pass, senior year coming increasingly closer; your fate uncertain as you finally enter the Forbidden Room. You cry. It’s the two most nerve-wrecking weeks of your life.

  • Everyone wants to go on holiday to the united states. Only a few chosen (read: rich) go. You ask them how it was and they tell you strange tales of shops other than HEMA, such as “target” and “costco”; of guns on display in supermarkets; how no one owns a bike. You stare, shaken, in disbelief and shock.

  • It’s the first real day of summer. It’s 20°C and kind of cloudy. You go to the beach. Everyone goes to the beach. You’re stuck in traffic for hours: everyone is headed for the same beach.

  • When you get to the beach, the water is cold as ice and there are jellyfish in the water. There are jellyfish on the sand. There are jellyfish in that shallow pool over there. There are jellyfish everywhere. You come back the next day. The jellyfish have vanished.

  • You’re sitting in the sun under a half broken windscreen. A few meters away, a boy is digging a hole. This means that the boy is german, you’ve learned. You look to your left. There, another german man digging a hole. And another. You smile ruefully. What would the beach be without germans digging holes? This is all very normal.

  • You go on holiday to another country. People think you’re german. You’ve accepted this. People always think you’re german. I’m Dutch, you say. They don’t understand. They laugh. You’re from germany right? They ask.

  • Stroopwafels seem to have built an international reputation. Foreigners adore them. You don’t understand. They’re cookies. Very good ones, yes. But the adoration for anything Dutch is something you cannot grasp.

  • There is a song about a guy named Herman reading in the newspaper that the man he’d sold his car to has crashed it and died. Everyone think Herman is dead, though. This makes him very happy. No one questions this fact. No one wonders if he tells his family he’s alive. No one asks who identified the body. Everyone knows the lyrics to this song.

anonymous asked:

question: opinion on shoplifting? ive read that it has made several poor employees lose their jobs. what is a better way to smash the state on a personal level that won't hurt the poor or poc?

I think what you’ve read is corporate propaganda. Large stores and especially corporate stores have theft calculated into their costs. 

What I’ve read though is that shoplifting has made life better for hundreds of thousands of employee-shoplifters and customer-shoplifters, by taking some of the profits away from the bosses, that don’t really have a right to those profits anyway.

Think of it like this; Every ten-dollar mascara you steal is probably about 8 dollars you keep out of the pockets of the shitty investors in the misogynistic and bodyshaming cosmetics stores or pharmaceutical industries.

The wages of individual shop workers selling these things are only the tiniest fraction of the profit, and theft is covered by insurance.

But of course: No, you won’t help smash the state by shoplifting, but you will help yourself, and thats important too! The corporate bosses suffer a loss they wont even notice, but you have will have something concrete and tangible that will improve your life in some way! 

Some people will react to this post with tales of shops where thefts are directly taken out of employees’ checks, but you should ask yourself: Is the problem there the thief who takes the tiniest percentage point off of corporate gains, or is the problem the bosses who move the weight of that (for the company) entirely insignificant loss to an employee for whom that (otherwise corporately  insignificant) loss might mean paying or not being able to pay for healthcare for a family member.

Clearly the bosses who shift losses from theft to their workers are the problem here, not the occasional thieves. 

Steal away, my dear followers! Just be safe!

23.07.16 Its been two days too long since I uploaded a picture but because it’s the summer holidays I’m not doing any proper studying! This is a sneak peek to the stationery haul I’m doing next week! Coming up is a driving test masterpost as well! My mum and I have been cutting back some bushes at the front of my house and I want to put them in my flower press. Also, I bought this books of Hans Christian Anderson’s fairy tales from a charity shop and it has “Christmas 1953” written on the inside.

(W) Joe Caramagna (A) Gianfranco Florio, Paolo Campionoti, Andrea Greppi, Roberta Zanotta (CA) Marco Ghiglione

DuckTales (woo-hoo) returns! Featuring beloved characters like Uncle Scroohge, Donald Duck, and Huey, Dewey, and Louie, this new #0 issue is the perfect jumping-on point for fans old and new in anticipation of the brand-new Disney XD TV series coming Summer 2017! Experience the wackiest, quackiest hijinks in two brand (Duck) Tales!

In Shops: Jul 19, 2017

Hearts on fire - Sirius Black[and the Marauders] x Reader

Request: Hello could you write a marauders x reader, where she is feeling under the weather and so the guys go to her bed all cramped and just lay there talking making her feel better(maybe she and Sirius are like a thing or sth)🔥🔥❣ 
Warnings: My English/not that great. Oh, and NO Peter(sorry, not sorry).
Masterlist

It was a bad day. Like a very bad day. One of those days you wanted to crawl inside of a cave and die. 
You had wormed your way to the Great Hall, trying to accept that you were coming down with a cold- you felt your eyes burning up. As much as you tried to hide behind all the makeup, you were feeling dreadful. 
You sat down next to your friends, but keeping some distance at the same time. You would feel really bad if you infected them. 
“No good-morning kiss?” Sirius fake pouted. You really, really wanted to kiss him but you didn’t want your boyfriend to be sick too. 
“Not today, baby. I think I’m sick” you whispered-you didn’t seem to have the energy to speak any louder. All of them snapped their heads towards you, looking genuinely worried.
“And why are you here, little one?” James asked all fatherly while signaling everyone to get up. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. What was going on inside their minds? That was a question you kept asking yourself.
“You are taking her to our room and we will bring everything!” Remus told Sirius. You were about to say something in protest but you sneezed and you knew that whatever you would say, they wouldn’t listen as they had already decided your future. They were giving you a very pointed look because you were sitting down. 
“Fine!” you scoffed. Before you could put your feet on the ground, two strong arms were wrapped around you, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulders.
“Put me down, Black” you demanded but your voice was weak even in your own ears.
“No can do. I enjoy the view” he mocked. How mature of him.
“What are you? 12?” you asked no one in particular.
“On a scale of 1 to 10″ he said with that ridiculous cocky smirk of his that you were sure it was plastered on his mouth, even if you couldn’t see it. You just rolled your eyes, waiting patiently to reach the dorms.

Once you were under the sheets of his bed, you found yourself thankful to those idiots you called friends. 
True to their word, the guys had brought all the blankets and all the candy in the world, tea(too much of it) and books(Remus)… oh, and the worst jokes they could muster(James).
When they walked in, you held back your laughter because the sight was ridiculous. They were trying so hard to establish the fame of the bad-cool guys and yet in that moment they were the biggest, fluffiest and most adorable marshmallows you could think of. 
They placed their findings onto the bed and proceeded with their great plan to make you feel better. 
“Okay, okay. Where do dogs go when their tales fall off? The retail shop”. It was so stupid, it actually made you chuckle a bit. Sirius on the other hand, threw a chocolate bar at James as Remus handed you a cup of tea that smelled like caramel.
“Thank you, guys. Really” you softly said. They were exactly what you needed. Friends. 
Sirius forgot about the insulting joke and climbed next to you, hugging you tightly and pressing a kiss on your neck. 
“I’m gonna infect you, babe” you warned him. He smiled brightly at you and you wondered if it was your fever or not that made his so angelic. 
“You already have-I’m intoxicated” he cheekily said and you playfully slapped his arm.
Sooner than expected, all the boys were lying on the bed. It was crowded but you would never complain. Remus had given you so much chocolate that you had to ask him if he sabotaged your diet. He looked shocked and he defended himself by saying ‘It’s chocolate you sacrilegious witch!’ in which you couldn’t help but laugh so hard that caused you to cough like crazy. Jame had come up with more bad jokes such as ‘What do you call a fake pasta’. Sirius obviously knew the answer because he laughed silently-you felt his body shaking a bit. And the answer was ‘An impasta’. He said it with such an emphasis and thick accent you laughed at him and not the joke. 
You had slowly zoned off, fever getting the best of you. Something that Sirius noticed because his hands never left your body. 
“Love, you’re burning up” he said rather worried. And loud. You shush him, once you noticed that Remus had fallen asleep. It hadn’t been long since the full moon and he hadn’t properly rested. 
Sirius rolled his eyes but placed a sweet kiss on your forehead.
“You should sleep as well, love” he whispered tenderly. James pretended to throw up and you just saluted him-with your middle finger. 
“Sleep with me?” you asked but soon you realized what was the exact meaning of what you had said. He wiggled his eyebrows and smirked with confidence. You hid your face in your palms.
“I know I’m irresistible, doll, but the boys are too innocent to watch”. You wanted to slap him.
“Come and cuddle with me and while you’re at it, shut up” you said grumpily. He would have responded if not for James’s snores. 
“How could I resist?” he retorted cockily. 

“THANK YOU, Y/N! Now we are sick too” James complained for the millionth time.
“Do I really have to remind you that this-all of this-was your idea?” you answered calmly. 
He let out a dramatic breath and fell back on his bed.
“I’m dying. I know it”.
“At least, it will be quieter” Remus retorted sarcastically, causing James to gasp in a mocking way.
“I feel hurt and abandoned.Thanks, Moony”. One thing was for sure. When James was sick he was even more of a drama queen than usually, And he was ten times as annoying.
“Just drink the damn tea” Sirius raised his voice. He was so moody but he was cute.
“You’re grumpy and hot” you whispered. His eyes were shining and leaned to kiss you.
“You’re hot as in you have a fever, babe” you chuckled as his face fell.
“So, I am not hot like you wanna have s-”
“Mr. Black, what are you still doing in here and why on earth aren’t you with Madam Pomfrey” a stern but concerned voice interrupted his dirty remark. You looked towards the door and froze. 
“Hello, Minnie!” the boys greeted her in unison, happily.
She raised an eyebrow in question but gave you all a worried look.
“All of you. Follow me” she said, leaving you no other choice. 

“Well, at least, we are together” Sirius proclaimed, grabbing your hand.
“Shut up Pads” the rest of you answered simultaneously. You were too ill for that but you still held hands all the way to the hospital wing.
They were idiots and you loved them.
‘What would I do without you?’ you thought and a smile was formed on your lips. 

Tags: @starsepot

Tw; bodily fluids and public restrooms.

Michigan Willgoods employee back again with another thrift shop tale for you. Tonight I was cleaning the bathrooms and Sunday is the day we change the urinal cake and filter. For those of you who might not know, it’s a blue cake kinda similar in appearance to a flat bath bomb, and most smell minty. Well, when I went to change one of them tonight I noticed something slimy sliding down it and into the urinal. At first I thought it was normal because I’ve never changed one before. Then I got a closer look. I am 100% sure it was semen, which means a male went into our bathroom and ejaculated into the urinal, then didn’t even bother to flush. I was torn between throwing up, crying, or both. Why are people like this? Why do I have to clean up semen at work?! Why me?

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It is a myth, of course, nothing more. 

Tales of a mysterious underground shop run by an immortal—perhaps undead—proprietor who peddles impossible and implausible goods have circulated for decades among the templars. Now and then, a zealous or curious knight will go looking for the place to no avail. Stories place the Black Emporium in Kirkwall’s Darktown, the sewers of Val Royeaux, in the back of an empty boathouse in Llomerryn, at the top of a tower in Marnas Pell, and hidden beneath the skirts of the giant statue of Andraste at the Merdaine. 

No reputable source has ever found it and none ever will, because it does not exist.

naming a candy store after hansel & gretel seems kind of.. morbid like imagine the titular characters from said fairytale just.. going on to open a candy store. after.. all of the events of that tale.. candy shop owners who moonlight as witch hunters…

Tales from the pawn shop pt1(a lil long)

So back when I was 18 I worked in an “upscale”(the owners were desperate to have their chain appear cleancut and not at all seedy)pawnshop chain for about 4 to 5 months. I have lot of stories from my time there but lets start with my first customer.

My first month or so at the shop I was an inventory goblin. The store manager wanted to hire me but one of the bosses wanted me to have a probationary period. After my time reorganizing inventory, and cleaning and recleaning what must have been atleast a hundred copies of Madden(varying years) I was allowed to work on the sales floor at the jewelry counter(still in probationary). I had to be cleaning something, cataloging something, or helping someone cosntantly because there was always something. Lots of busy work.

We were slow so i was zipping around trying to get as much done as possible so i could focus when the customers started coming in.

The way the counter was set up if you were cleaning anything you had to have your back turned the the counter and the register area was in your periphery on your right. I had been turning around routinely to make sure i wasn’t accidentally ignoring anyone. Then out of no where i heard stage whispers to my left. Some of the guys at the register had my back and were gesturing behind me.

A man and his wife had come up and seemed to be looking intently but hadn’t asked for help. So i turned around and started to apologize and ask if they were looking for anything in particular. Apparently stuttering out of nervousness was the wrong thing to do.

Before i can finish this guy starts mocking me.

“Oh you’re sorry? Sorry, S-s-sorry?” His wife is looking at me sympathetically and trying to get her husband to be polite.

The wife tells me they are looking for a wedding band for him, yellow gold, something simple. He had lost his after he had put it aside to be repaired (they were probably early 50s so not unusual to lose or need a repair).

So i start showing them rings, trying to get a good idea of their price range etc. We had a store policy that if you were not the jewelry manager or a store manager you could only have one to two pieces of jewelry on the counter at a time when showing customers. It was to try and prevent theft. You could make the judgement call if it was a slow day (oh boy was it)to take take out a tray if needed but i was trying to avoid that since i was the only one at counter and everyone but our manager had gone on break at this point.

So at first im trying to show them rings one or two at a time and the husband gets frustrated with me because apparently indicating which band he wants to see instead of just saying “the yellow one” was too difficult.

His wife, gods bless her, was a peach but he just couldn’t be placated so i took the main tray of mens bands and put them on the counter.

This whole time im showing them rings, answering his wife’s questions about our layaway plan and other inventory. Her husband keeps grumbling about how its all too expensive especially for a pawn store.

Like dude the merchandise isn’t blood stained and jewelry doesn’t really deppriciate in value, for what it is, it is reasonably priced. Not to mention he was looking at some of the heaviest weighted solid yellow gold in the store so yeah its gonna be pricier than a gold plated band.

All i can really do is give him my lowest allowed price or ask if he’d like me to ask our jewelry manager(also the store manager) if she’d Be willing to go lower. Once inventory has been sitting a while, even jewelry, sometimes it would need repricing via the manager (on probation you are only allowed to price silver and watches)and this is typically the situation that would necessitate that.

So i ask them if they’d like my manager’s offer on several different rings.
Everytime his wife starts to say yes and he cuts her off and snaps at me about how i shouldn’t be assuming they can’t afford it.

I wanna say “Really? You are the one complaining about expense. I’m not assuming you can’t afford it, I am trying to find a piece you will like for a price you like based on your input.” But i just kept smiling.

After some more of this the husband seems to quiet down and grow some manners, at which point the wife goes off to look at our laptops, and ask the front about a camera.

I go to put back the main tray of mens bands and bring out the smaller tray, as the husband had asked to seek something else. Then he starts gesturing to me, flipping his hands. Im unsure as to what he wants, at this point he grabs my hand.

Im freaking out internally cause i don’t like to be touched but im doing the customer service grin and asking the husband if he likes my rings and wants to see our silver section.

This is where it gets good.

He keeps turning my hand over looking at my palm and the back, not actually speaking or inspecting my rings. Then he asks me:

“How do you get all these rings on and off when your fingers are so fucking fat?”

Now as i was probationary, i didn’t want to try to kick anyone out. It reflects poorly on you to be new and not able to handle problem customers.

So i looked him dead in the eyes and said “like this” and i slid all my rings on and off one by one.

Now one of the guys had come back on shift and he was heading toward me to ask a question when he heard this whole thing. Before he could intervene the husband grumbled swore at me and walked away, apparently unhappy that his tactics hadn’t made me cry. He made a beeline toward his wife and started to bug her about leaving the store. I made sure to tell him to have a great day loud and clear and i never saw the asshole again.

TLDR:worked in a pawnshop, my first customer was a rude dickbiscuit who mocked me when i stuttered, got mad when i tried to accommodate him, and got pissy when his crack about my weight didn’t phase me.

RAD is celebrating Women’s History Month with a series of guest posts featuring stories from the  #NPRchives handpicked by #NPRwomen.

We asked NPR producers The Kitchen Sisters (Davia Nelson & Nikki Silva)  to choose a story of theirs from the NPR archives for Women’s History Month. Here’s what they said:

So many of our stories are about the lost and hidden histories of women.  We dug back nearly two decades to our story French Manicure: Tales From Vietnamese Nail Shops in America. It is one of our favorites, one that matters deeply to us.  Getting to know the women in the salons, hearing harrowing their stories of war and immigration, feeling the village atmosphere that they create in so many of the shops, trying to capture how one group of women, refugees from a war, took on and adapted to American culture.  The soundtrack is one we are especially proud of, and moved by.  We created it based on the music and recordings in the lives of the manicurists we were recording.  The mixes were done with deep design and care.  The story originally aired on All Things Considered as part of our Lost & Found Sound series that ran weekly across the year of the Millennium.   

Image: Lost and Found Sound logo, 2000. NPR Historical Archives.

While there are additional ways the player can access new items in Recettear: An Item Shop’s Tale, one of the most common is townspeople and adventurers coming in and selling their goods for a fraction of the price. In addition to allowing the player to begin selling that item right away (under favorable circumstances), this also keeps the primary mechanic of the game, haggling, front and center.

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TREE OF LIFE - ooak handpainted vintage dip-dye strap top with embroidery:

Moon in Taurus - handpainted fashion inspired by nature and mystic tales - www.etsy.com/shop/moonintaurus

instagram: @moon.in.taurus

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After the details about the legion of clones that followed Ahsoka during the Siege of Mandalore were revealed at Ahsoka’s Untold Tales panel at SWCE (watch it and weep) I got a bunch of requests to add an Ahsoka-inspired helmet to my Redbubble clone helmets collection. I added three, because, common, it’s the clones! We know these guys would mix things up a bit among themselves somehow :>  
Enjoy!

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New Muse Faerie Teaser

“She sits among her books of poetry, her ears twitching as she flicks through the pages”

After the many requests I had for another muse faerie after Mow’teli I finally found another Muse Faerie :)

I feel like I haven’t posted in a long time so here are some teaser photos of my next Muse faerie I am working on. For those who are familiar with my faeries she is the sister of Mow’teli.

Anyway time to get hair rooting

~Burned Raven~


Etsy Storehttps://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/BurnedRavenTales?ref=hdr_shop_menu