What you see is what you get.

I dislike phonies. I loathe fakes. I despise poseurs. I’m a straight shooter. Tact is not something that I’m familiar with.  Blunt to a fault am I.  I say what I mean and mean what I say. If I tell you that I love and adore you-I mean it. If I tell you that you’re a gnat-brained moron…well I mean that too.

My new store is very big into NOT saying what it means.

English/Texan isn’t the lingua franca there-Walmartian is. A break is a ‘code 15’, meals are ‘code 60’, and returns are ‘code 99’. What the fuck?  How effing difficult is it to call out for breaks, meals,or returns?!  Me being me…I of course had to mention to one of the salarieds that I thought that the code thing was BS. This store treats the decrees of corporate as if they were sent down from god himself. That which comes off the pens of Greg Foran and Doug McMillon are precious and holy. Oh save us great leaders! ///

Seriously? Most of the stuffed shirts in Bentonville who are writing the crappy ‘regs’ -have never actually worked the floor. Being the helpful person that I am-I made sure to mention THAT to the salarieds too.


Walmart doesn’t appreciate my straight forward attitude. Too effing bad.  Walmart’s my job-not my life. What you see is what you get…

Funeral For a Friend

Last night, I learned that one of my first stationery managers from my old store, had lost her battle with pancreatic cancer.  Shirley was a 60-something year old pistol. She was was a live wire…a dynamo. I’m a petite broad-yet I looked like an Amazon next to Shirley. Our size-difference meant nothing. Shirley could could’ve kicked my ass had she wanted to. I’m still grateful that I never got to see THAT side of her.  Shirley wasn’t into ass-kissing BS.  What you saw was what you got with her. I’m the same way. After my mother died in 2013, Shirley stepped in as sort of a surrogate . I loathe my real name. Only my mother got away with referring to me as “Barbara’. When Shirley stepped up to the plate…I extended that honor to her as well. Over the years that I knew her-she was hit with a multitude of tragedies, and hardships-yet she never lost her spirit…her attitude.

Grief is a foreign emotion for most  Aspies. It’s so curious…so peculiar…so out of our norm.  Still we do grieve and mourn-in our own strange ways.

Sometime today, I will raise a drink-in my weird girl way-in memory of a bitch of a broad. That was Shirley. That’s how she’d want to be remembered.

I want to be her when I grow up.

Shirley Castillo RIP B’DE