Popcorn and a Tetra-Pak’d Rose…my coping mechanism

Posted on 24 February 2011

0



Hey everyone.  I figured I’d hit the popcorn to bring you all a fun-filled post before I get cooking my boyfriend’s mother’s famous cheddar chowder.  Okay, so maybe less fun and hopefully pretty filled.

Now it has occurred to me my blog my benefit from the introduction of a few new characters beyond myself and so today I introduce you to a few…namely, the villains.

First up in our little showcase is my immediate boss, the male to whom I’ve given the nickname of Enema.  Sure, “Enema” seems like a dirty name, but it’s a lot shorter than a lot of other things I might find fun to call him (and I derive the nickname from the fact that he is both a douche bag and an asshole, an enema is an appropriate combination of the two).  Now, Enema has been in power for barely over two months, but that’s long enough to turn the job I loved into one of the worst jobs of my life (and I’ve scrubbed toilets for money).  I was (and still am) very good friends with the former boss who left due to a promotion where he would work closer to home…I don’t believe that’s ever sat right with Enema.  From day one, he has bombarded me with such classics as “you don’t pull your weight” and “I need you to not get so defensive.”  I’ve also found myself greatly offended as he ranges to such comments as calling our pricing person out for not working fast enough (and insisting a “trained orangutan” could do a better job), exclaiming that a coworker is a “special person that touches themselves,” and having the audacity to hit on girls half his age (most of whom are underage).  Let me also mention, his oldest daughter is in college and he is (supposedly) married.  He leaves at no later than 5:30 daily and is unreachable once he is home (even when it’s something as simple as letting him know he left something at work or equally as harmless).

And, of course, since Enema wasn’t happy with me even discussing the former manager, he wanted to bring in a new go-to gal.  We’ll call her the Babysitter.   “Why” you may ask yourself, “why call this young lady the Babysitter?”  My answer is two-fold.  The lady used to babysit Enema’s kids and now she babysits the department.  She has worked for the department for two months now and, despite proper training from yours truly, still leaves the place looking like we had someone who had no idea what they were doing sitting watching the register and reading a book all night.  Also, a little bit of background on her: she’s not hurting for money as she has other jobs and lives at home (no rent must be nice) but rather is “saving up” for material possessions.  She’s come to work in what she described as “nice clothes” and refuses to actually clean like the rest of us our subjugated to, including something as easy and fairly harmless as wiping down glass or dusting.

Now that we know the characters, let’s bring me to today’s story: unfinished jobs and the hour cut.

As per usual, I survived my Wednesday shift as I prefer to (with the promise of a fun night out at the bar later).  Nine hour shifts are the norm as nobody besides Enema and myself works during the day and the earliest the Babysitter likes to get there is 5pm.  Our other two staffers are unable to work Wednesdays.  It leaves me to work from 8-5 alone with one 30 minute break.  I’m okay with that, it’s hours and I don’t mind not having to put up with my psychotic boss.  The bad part is always coming in to a beautifully written note (in the Babysitter’s handwriting but signed with Enema’s name) listing anywhere from 7-12 hours worth of heavy duty or particularly disgusting cleaning work to be done (much of it to be accomplished where I cannot tell if I have a customer in the department such as our back room or cooler).  I always get the list either done with the exception of one small thing (about 1 out of every 10 lists) or done and continue on to further projects.  Yesterday was the latter.  I cleaned up both the back room and the cooler (both were left a mess featuring broken open 12 packs, a dirty water-filled mop bucket, a wash sink filled with broken glass, and two carts of broken down cardboard not taken to the compacter), swept both, cleaned up broken bottles, stocked two trucks which came in, hung pricing changes, and much more.  I did not sit down but for the few minutes I had the chance on break.  I even stocked both the main cooler and our craft beer cooler (especially those items which are on sale this week) and took one of the carts of cardboard as I left.  I worked my butt off, in short.

Now, this afternoon, I come in and get to work immediately on a few small shipments and notice that the cart of cardboard remained in the back room.  As did the trash.  And the 12 packs that were on sale in our craft beer cooler (and those of which we are required to stock before leaving nightly) were faced but not anywhere near full.  This was day#2 on the beer, no less.  So, what does any hot-headed Irish girl do?  I got angry.  Then I calmed down and continued on with my day, finished what the Babysitter did not, and only then did I say anything.  I expressed my frustration evenly and calmly to be met with “well, why didn’t you take back the cardboard?  You were here all day.”  Let me mention, our cardboard compacter is outside of our department.  It requires leaving the department, which you cannot do if you are alone.  Following my (unnecessary) defense, he proceeded to tell me that it was great that I was “mentioning these things” but that it doesn’t work if I’m “not doing any of them, either.”  Cue vein bulge.  He accused me of not filling coolers and generally being lazy during my weekend closing shifts, citing a coworker’s testimony on one and saying he had been “letting it slide.”

Time to introduce you to the last character of the story: Wino.  He’s the opener on Sundays but, due to constraints from his other job, can’t work any other day.  He’s a pretty damn nice guy, doesn’t hold back his opinion, and a wine snob (thus the name).  Enema referenced Wino as his “witness” to my “laziness.”  On my break today, I ran into Wino doing some shopping and confronted him, asking him what he thought might help me to improve.  He looked at me confused.  After explaining the “testimony,” he responded with a “you’re kidding me.”  Apparently, he was refilling the cooler one Sunday after we got slammed when Enema came for a visit.  Wino explained to Enema (after Enema asked, of course) that he was simply refilling and that I had left things looking really good the previous night.

Let’s just say, I put in for a store transfer today.

Advertisements
Posted in: My Job Sucks