As some of you know, I have a new job. I needed to fill the void left by the library job, and my coworker at Hell, named Smurfy, suggested I become a deckhand on a tour boat.
It is the closest I have ever come to my dream of “no work AND pay.” Even at the most extremely busiest part of my day, which really isn’t very busy at all, it is still a joy to be there. Everyone I have worked with so far has been so cool; I haven’t been in this laid back of an environment since I used to get really, really high a number of years ago. It is a great place to work, and no, I will not tell you how to apply because I want this all to myself, dammit! If it weren’t seasonal, I would consider doing it for the rest of my life.
Which brings me to Hell. When you have one job that is awesome, and the other one is, well, hellish, it is really, really difficult to perform at the bad job. And since I need the crap job to fill in for when the good one ends, it adds this sense of helpless imprisonment. I feel like a POW; I know there is a better place for me out there, but I am fucking trapped in this hot box, my only escape being in the bonding with my fellow walking dead. Di-di mao!
And Cob is not doing anything to make it better. Hopefully, GringO will chime in on this a little bit, since it affected him much more than me. We have three registers per counter; I am sure you can imagine the layout of three registers on a rectangular counter, so I won’t go into detail. Well, when the need arises for a third register to be opened, Cob states that it must be at a different counter (we have three counters with registers). Why, do you ask? Because she thinks that, should there be a close proximity of workers to each other, they will talk to each other. So there must be an empty register between the two ringers, otherwise they might get to conversing, and possibly enjoy the work environment, and hence ruin her plan of subjugation through abysmal morale. When a customer asked me about the situation, which to him looked odd, I explained. HE said, “She must be some kind of bitch.” If I had nodded any harder, I may have broken my neck.
What Cob doesn’t understand is that the work is not the reward, no matter what you’re doing (unless it’s fucking your rich spouse; that’s a two-fer bonus!). The rewards of the job are the relationships developed while performing the work. I don’t keep working at Hell because I like lying to people to convince them to buy something they probably don’t need at nigh-prohibitory prices; I do it because I can hang out with GringO, Wheels, Rolling Thunder, Smurfy, Mel, Don, Toots McDego and all the other cool cats I work with. Even at the new job, where the work is quite easy and also a lot of fun, it’s the conversations with my coworkers that make it so great.
Cob thinks that people getting along and enjoying themselves at work will get in the way of productivity. What she doesn’t get is that unhappy people don’t work. Morale is an essential function of crew performance. In the Navy, one of the chief concerns of the captain was crew morale; when it began to head south, he’d make a point to try and improve it. Good leaders care about their crew, and a happy crew will follow a captain like that into the mouths of hell. Cob, with the social awareness of an autistic sloth, doesn’t get that; she probably can’t. She also probably can’t get laid, which is most likely the real root of all of our woes in Hell.
-Zeepdoggie
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My initial reaction of "that is the dumbest thing I have ever seen" has been expressed, but has resulted in nothing. Instead I have developed two new strategies to draw attention the this situation:
1) Any time we have three ringers on one side and a customer has had fun with our joking, I say loudly "Now THAT was a positive customer experience" while looking straight at the closest manager.
2) If there is a line and only two registers open with two ringers already there, I go to the closed middle one, say "well, I'd like to help but that would require a third register to be open. So I'll just stand here a while." Then I do, though I add a whistful gaze into nothingness while the cuntstomers glare at me.
And I completely agree, the bonds I have made there are what make it worth it, as opposed to say, experiencing the general public. I draw attention to my choice of spelling in the previous paragraph.
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