Tuesday, November 27, 2012

In a stunning display of Corporate Assholery, Whore Foods rewarded us for our record breaking sales week by cutting our hours. Seriously.

Monday, November 26, 2012

What Fresh Hell is This?

Today began the cycle of Christmas music.

That is all.

Saturday, November 24, 2012

We sold almost seventeen thousand dollars worth of wine on Wednesday. I worked for nine and a half hours. Now I am very seriously looking into a bar job. I asked around and a friend of mine told me his brothers own a sports bar not too far from my house. Madness? Perhaps. A bad idea? Possibly. But I can't shake the feeling that I am being had at my current job. The corporate fuckwittery is bad and the pay is worse. I'm going to meet one of the guys on Wednesday and see what it looks like. If they will give me a shift or two a week to start I will take it. If I am forced to decide between knowing how much money I will make every paycheck and hoping for enough, I'm going to have to think very hard about it. Also, my health insurance just kicked in.
I don't know what to think. Wish me luck.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

The rules are very clear. There are a lot if them, and there are a lot of employees at my National Natural Grocery Chain, so everything is cut and dry: skirts, dresses, and shorts must be of a length that is no more than three fingers above the knee. This is an enormous relief to me after my last job, where young women (girls, really) would come to work wearing the equivalent of a diaper and scream to the union that they were being unfairly treated if anyone dared to suggest that they might want to cover themselves a bit more while working in food service.

I never really take much notice of what my co-workers wear. We have people from various ethnic and socio-economic backgrounds, as well as all ages and levels of fashion sense, so it really takes something extraordinary to catch my eye.

The girl in question is not small. She is not short, nor thin, and she was nowhere *near* to fitting in the dress. Add to that the fact that her tights were sheer and purple, as opposed to a more sensible (and flattering) thick black pair, and my eyes could not help but be drawn downward when she walked past and bade me good morning. I bid her one also, and then immediately fired off a snarky text to Pat, the beer buyer, who was due in later that day.

"You might want to bring an extra pair of pants for your not girlfriend. She seems to have forgotten hers."
His response was a shudder. They had been out on two pseudo-dates some time ago, and he had since been keeping her at a polite arm's length. (He felt guilty about that and I occasionally had to remind him that on both occasions she had gotten drunk and loud and spent all of his money.)

Within ten minutes I saw her leaving the building in tears. Management had sent her home. I did feel slightly bad for her, but at the same time I think that by the time one is in their late twenties one ought to be able to dress oneself.
Pat came in an hour later. She had called him, crying, on her way home. So many ways in which she doesn't get it.

Tuesday, November 06, 2012

Cautiously optimistic as polls close in the East and results trickle in. That douchebag in Indiana lost his Senate seat, which is a relief. Aghast at how many co-workers did not bother to vote, but not surprised. I'm hoping this night doesn't turn into a nail biter. Scary to think what might happen if this thing is close. Fingers crossed, beer poured. Wish us well!

Sunday, November 04, 2012

The woman looked just like the bus driver from the first season of SOuth Park. She was wandering through the aisles like one of the zombie extras from a bad movie, shuffling along and sort of grunting to herself. Next thing she has taken a sample from a demo that my co-worker is doing, bites into the baguette smeared with onion jelly and cheese, and breaks a tooth.
First she says she doesn't need any help, doesn't want to talk to a manager.
Then she stands around with her fingers in her mouth for a few minutes, and then she charges back over to the demo table.
"You're going to have to pay for this. My modeling career is ruined."

A manager is summoned. A very long conversation ensues, during which the woman demands that he take a picture of the rotten stub of her tooth- he does, with his cell phone - and tells him that she is going to call the company that makes the jelly that was on the bread and tell them what we've done. I am on the periphery of this entire episode, trying to commit her words to memory while fantasizing about eavesdropping on that phone call. This kind of crazy doesn't happen every day. Not since we left Vermont.

Pardon my dust while I figure out how to make this blog look better. I actually kind of hate these templates, but I have neither the skill nor the time to deal with trying to customize right now. And apparently I can't even get the easy template right. Blah. Oh well- maybe I will come back to it when the election is over.
This may come as a shock to you, but sometimes I think I can be a little too nice to people. At my Big Stupid Corporate Store, there are over two hundred employees, with regular hiring and firing making getting to know people a bit difficult. I have, therefore, made it a habit to say hello to everyone that works there, every day, and to pay special attention to new people, making sure to introduce myself despite the fat that are all all required to wear name tags.
One woman in particular seemed very shy to me, and for some reason I just liked her, so I have been especially friendly. We don't have real conversations, mind you, because we work in very different departments and only cross paths at the time clock and in line for the ladies' room, but I usually try to at least remark on the weather, or how busy the store is, or whatever. I might be completely wrong, but she strikes me as rather isolated.She is probably in her late twenties, tattooed, cute, and very friendly. The other day she asked me if I would help her pick out a beer. I took her over to the cooler, asked her what she liked, and talked to her for probably five or so minutes about the various offerings I thought would suit her. She picked one and thanked me and I went back to work. A few minutes later I was in the back of the store and she approached me again.

"Actually, I had an ulterior motive for asking you about the beer," she said, smiling and looking at the floor. Then she looked up at me again. "Would you like to go out sometime?"

I was so stunned that it took me a second to figure out how to answer. Then I said

"Um... maybe? I mean, I guess that depends on what you mean. I'm married."

Which stunned her. It was hilarious. She looked so surprised. She apologized, and I said "Don't apologize. I mean, if you wanna go out for a beer, I'm all for it. But if you're looking for a date, I can't."

I can't even remember how we left it after that. It wasn't all that awkward, considering, and I'll have to admit it was quite flattering. She is much younger than I am, and much cooler, and very cute. If I were single and a lesbian, I would have jumped at the chance.