The other week one of the managers of Hell was walking around asking employees what they were going to do to help the store that day. I suppose discussing the various stages of drying paint or whatever it is the managers talk about all day had run its course. My answer was honest, which is never a good thing at work:
"I'm going to focus on ringing."
She looked at me like I had just smeared shit on her chest or something. Suffice it to say, she didn't seem too satisfied with my answer. After reviewing her clipboard (she literally had one, Zeepdoggie) I noticed other associates saying the programmed responses of adding clothes or credit and such.
Nestled in that list of bullshit my answer looked like it came from a mentally subnormal rat. The manager (she of the head that whistles as she walks due to absence of matter between the ears) implied that my answer was not satisfactory.
I internally turned the red switch to MOTHER FUCKING ENRAGED.
"What am I going to do to help the company?! I'll do my fucking job you useless bag of overly tanned skin! I mean to say, what is my job description? I'm a ringer. What do ringers do? They fucking ring. What kind of fucking idiotic quiz were you giving out, you with the intellect of a shriveled monkey testicle? I get paid to perform a specific task within the boundaries set by a guidebook, and perform that task excellently; so don't judge me as being lazy or stupid just because I couldn't care less about this job as it isn't my career. Loosen the pigtails because they are obviously too tight and cutting off circulation to the dried and blackened husk of a gerbil on a rusted wheel that is your brain!"
Instead I did what I said I would do, I rang. I really have not point other than it feels good to feel the rage sometimes. Its like a shot of good coffee. Mmm...good.
::GringO::
About Us
- Zeepdoggie & GringO
- Chicago, Illinois, United States
- There are two of us, we bloggers. First, there is Zeepdoggie, who is best summed up with the quote, "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." He's sometimes funny. Then there is GringO, who does the art thing well, is more often the funny one, and has exceptionally poor customer service skills, so don't ask him for shit. We are not a couple, despite what everyone suggests. We have in common: hatred of retail, being broke, musical tastes, unformulaic comedy,and hyperaggressive tendencies. The things we differ on: who we find attractive (sometimes), family upbringing, future goals (or lack thereof), artistic talent, and our ability to grow facial hair (one day, GringO, one day...).
City of Chicago
Ground Zero
3 comments:
Ah, GringO...you always bring me the very best violence!
-Z.
Welcome to why I left retail. Great job, shitty career. Better job when managers realize it's a career for them and a job for you and that there is a difference. As a manager when trying to get more out of my employees I always liked to point out how it would result in more money for them or less work in the long term. God knows it's the only thing that motivated me.
Josh
My motivation is the comfort in having my own living space to occupy. I just calm down by reminding myself that one day all those annoying cuntstomers (my copwritten phrase) and the worst of the managers will all die one day.
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