Tag Archives: cex

In appreciation of: USB memory sticks

Sometimes, still, even in Space Year 2011, I get a disparaging remark or a funny look when I reveal I always carry a USB memory stick on my keys. Some people seem to still think this fact means they can laugh derisively in my direction, or that they can mock me for my geekish, technophile tendencies. They think this, when in actual fact they are just big fat shitty Luddites and are, in fact fact, massive bellends who need to go away and die.

I’m protective of my USB memory stick’s honour, you see.

But it was worse many years ago – back when some friends carried floppy discs around in their bags at all times. I was one of the earlier adopters among chums, picking up a whopping 256MB stick that could be used to transport around important university documentation. Like lists of the pubs we were going to, and stuff like that.

I remember back then being embarrassed about having it – not exactly showing it off unless it was the right company (right = male, nerd). Even though it made perfect sense to have one.

Over the years the storage size has grown and the mild embarrassment has faded into just expectation. Why wouldn’t I carry one? It houses templates for work, a couple of “DEFINITELY LEGALLY” acquired movies and a few other bits and bobs that can – and have – come in handy in a tight, computer-based situation.

But the best thing about USB memory sticks, apart from the fact I deem them worthy of writing a whole blog about, is that without them a man wouldn’t have come into CEX while I was working and proudly boast to a bewildered woman next to him that the USB stick he was wearing around his neck “holds two five six em bee”.

“What does that mean?” She asked.

“Well, it’s like, better em bees, innit. You can get jigger lo bytes too.”

I laughed, she laughed, he laughed because he was too dim to do anything else, fun was had by all. A great day.

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Working in CEX was the best/worst time of my life… ish

I worked in CEX for 364 days of my life, and in that time I realised they were the best and worst days of my life. Well, maybe not that far. It was the best and worst job of my life. Well, maybe not best. And it’s bound to be at least pushing for worst because I’ve had so few jobs.

Right, try again: I worked in CEX. I disliked the job, I hated the scum we had to deal with but I liked the people I worked with. We had a lot of fun taking the piss, getting drunk, planning to form socially-aware punk rock bands that also sing about dragons, accidentally going on strike after falling asleep upstairs, being threatened by morons, getting drunk, being unable to open phones and getting drunk.

It’s just a shame the bad points were so massively bad. Not only was it standard shop lore of working menial tasks for low pay (as opposed to now, where it’s slightly-more-than menial tasks for slightly-more-than low pay) and putting up with crap from the public. But CEX is a shop that buys things from the public, meaning this wasn’t the normal ‘crap’ you have to put up with. Oh no. This was a different breed of crap. Spectaculcrap. Some of the most idiotic, moronic, brain-meltingly infuriating dillweeds would come through those doors and stand in that long, long queue.

People – and I use the term loosely – subjected us all to myriad complaints, like the man who (three weeks after I started) hurled abuse at me and threatened to deck me (in front of his kids) because I wouldn’t buy a DVD burner off him for about £2. Oh, and it didn’t work.

Or the guy who tried to sell a game without a cover, which I told him we wouldn’t buy. He responded “oh, I’ll go nab one from Zavvi then”. Minutes later he returned, triumphantly brandishing the stolen game box from across the street and actually expecting me to still buy it off him.

Or the women who tried to sell a phone that looked like it had been gone at with a set of bolt cutters. And, of course, they kicked up a huge fuss when we turned them down.

The man in Hull who accused me of changing his password on his phone as a part of some kind of conspiracy so we didn’t have to buy the phone off him. He failed to understand the concept that I didn’t know his original password so couldn’t have changed it to a new one.

Hull in general. One week of my life I’ll never see again.

That massive guy who would come in 10 minutes before we closed every day with a scratched to balls game that clearly didn’t work to trade in for another. Problem was he was about seven feet tall and absolutely, completely and totally stank – I mean he smelled like he had died or something – to the point that we just wanted him out as fast as possible. He never got any trouble from staff. At least, the ones who stayed downstairs when he entered the shop.

The scrots who would use the front of their trackie bottoms as game/DVD-storing pouches, and would be surprised – shocked, even – if anyone ever questioned why the fuck they used their balls as a carry case.

The multiple idiots who were relying on selling something in order to fund their bus ride home, then had a go at us like it was our fault they hadn’t got ID, or the DVD didn’t work or whatever. Sigh.

The people who just didn’t understand the rules, even though they were printed all over the shop. Though I suppose reading isn’t a strong point.

I could go on much, much more but this will just turn into 3,000 words of bile.

I see CEX staff get a lot of stick on the internet and yes, I agree they can be dismissive, seem arrogant and work in a badly-organised shop that always smells of BO. But the utter dickheads – and these are a brand of dickhead you do not get working in any other shop, unless it’s a pawn shop – the idiots they have to deal with gives me nothing but sympathy for the chaps and chapettes who put up with this gutterscum.

CEX: you were the best of times, you were the worst of times. Well, actually you were just a bit shit. Without the workmates (and the booze) I would have been out of the door in a matter of weeks.


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Timewasting blog #2385

I have a spare half an hour in which I’m being forced to wait around. There are free snacks, coffee and drinks on which to gorge, but I am still doing nothing for thirty whole minutes. Still, I am doing this on the LucasArts campus in San Francisco, so it’s not actually annoying me that much. Or: at all.

We should compare this situation to those of my jobs* in the past. Let’s see: at Argos the microwave was broken and I had to share a locker with a bloke who would never give me the key, meaning I had to wait until he needed to use it to grab my stuff. Also the job sucked balls.

At CEX I was asked to help a new store open, which involved staying in a hotel for a week and bossing newbies around. “Great!” I thought. Then I realised it was in Hull. I went anyway, as getting freebies from that job was a blood from a stone situation. The first night there I got food poisoning. I also had to pay for my own hotel, which wasn’t reimbursed to me until I threw a bit of a stez. And expenses only covered one bottle of wine, which was downright irritating.

So yeah, I’m fine waiting half an hour here. Plus writing this wasted some time.

*Haha, as if that should be plural.

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