It’s 3:25 pm. I’m figuring out dinner. I have some chick pea pasta I haven’t tried yet and two packages of mussels (BOGO at evil Publix), but I need more protein. I was thinking of white clam sauce, which I like way better than red clam sauce, but I’m unsure if we sell any clam sauce.
Thus, I think I decided on a bag of scallops to add to my package of mussels and make a pesto concoction. Pesto is one of those things I could eat by the spoonful-along with hummus and guacamole.
I’m reviewing my work situation. This isn’t a satisfactory place for me. It’s a shocking disappointment (kind of like hot pink shirt man from yesterday*). The main reason for my unhappiness is back stabbing management, especially, it seems, my immediate supervisor. She creates almost a hostile work environment. Her sense of superiority attempts to mask her low self worth and unhappiness and she likes to remind her subordinates that her way is the correct way.
She micromanages. The other day I was attempting to reload my receipt tape and she strolled past and blurted out, “What are you doing?” “Changing my receipt tape.” “No, no, no..” she barked at me as if I were a 16 year old twerp who had never operated a modern cash register. Wow! I thought. This really demonstrates her general management style. I gotta get out of here.
So, I let her put in my register tape and made a bet with myself. I won. After she fiddled with my receipt tape it jammed about five times which is two times more than the receipt tape has jammed on me in six months of putting it in myself.
Other times she has gone on tirades. One time, during a small rush, she began checking all the desk drawers in each register pod. When she got to mine, she actually opened the drawer, hitting my right thigh, just above the knee, and not apologizing went on to rearrange the cellophane tape dispenser, stapler, PLU code book, key ring holding cards with the UPC codes of common large items, such as ice, cases of 24 packs of bottled water (Zephyrhills, Crystal Geyser and Sprouts brands) and pens. “The drawer must always look like this,” she barked. I was by no means the only cashier who got this treatment.
Oh, I forgot to mention that when she pushed the drawer against my knee, I was ringing up a young lady’s order and I had a small line. Had it been my left knee, I would have felt like giving her a bill for the cost of that knee. What a bi**h.
These are just a couple examples of the joy I tolerate when I come to work. It’s no wonder this place has given me Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Yes, I’ve pretty much decided that is the source of the pain I had after my D&C, when I thought it was surgery pain that just was not ending. I knew there was a stress variable because when I take a Xanax, the pain is mitigated somewhat. The anti-anxiety medicine is having a calming effect on my bowel, it seems.
This is the kind of job in which I am damned if I do and damned if I don’t and many times can’t do anything right. I’ve heard a couple people echo my suspicion that my immediate boss is a bit jealous of the fact that during my first two weeks on a register, I received at least five customer compliments (I witnessed them all except for the first one I received on my first solo shift via a phone call from some lady I rang up. I only heard about that because it was one of my peers who called and told her what she wanted to convey to a manager. Two other times, customers asked me to get a manager so they could brag about me. Only one of those times did I receive a star card, which is the company’s little reward for going above and beyond. I got that card from our store manager who wrote the card out for me right there, even while he was on a lunch break. The other times, when I got nothing, the manager in question was my immediate boss. She didn’t even come over to pat me on the back. This is what I got from her, “I need you to not talk to people as much.” She scolds me about that almost constantly; I barely talk to anyone now. When she does, I think, really? I’ve attracted tons of regulars at previous jobs because, “…you’re hilarious. You make me laugh. That’s why I always look for your line.”
I think I’m learning that I’m just truly done with retail. I’m sick of petty managers who take themselves and what they do for a living so seriously, that they think their jobs entail curing AIDS or cancer. Their behavior makes me respect the medical profession and researchers even more.
I’m really examining the dog walking/pet sitting gigs. It would rock my world if I could do that and have another, work from home writing job.
Well, this blog took a tour I didn’t expect. This is why writing is so therapeutic for me; I start writing and one sentence leads to a thought and then another and another until I’ve reached some insight that tells me a story about what I’m thinking and feeling. It’s almost like solving a puzzle.
Well, think this is a wrap. Except for the little footnote below. Geeze, am I really still in the breakroom at 4:47?
*speaking of puzzles-Hot Pink Shirt Man is a mystery wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in surrealistic piece of artwork. Does he does flirt only with me like that? Does he flirt with every woman he encounters too? His pupils get dilated when he looks in my direction. That seems to indicate, “yes,” as an answer to my first question. I feel like he lets me read between the lines too much. But, the type of relationship we have does not easily lend itself to blunt discussions. I don’t know. It’s complicated. I just know that holding a silent solid gaze into another person’s eyes for 20-30 seconds is a little beyond normal flirting. NOBODY has ever done that with me, not even my husband. Usually, when I ask advice, without giving details about who he is, the first word I hear from women and men is, “Wow!” I’m learning to be more philosophical about this crazy person I’m magnetically drawn to who drew me in with that staring contest. If it ends up turning into something, that would be great. I have a feeling the sex would be mind blowing. If it doesn’t work out it’s mostly his not doing and his loss.