Friday, February 26th, 2010...12:11 am
I’d Write A Violent Manifesto, But There Are No Sandwiches Involved
This might turn out to be one of the more astute observations I’ve made. Considering astuteness is sort of what I pride myself on, that’s saying something. For now, back to the beginning…
It all started when one of my Assistant Store Managers (there are two) was transferred to another city. He was my favorite.
“What will we do without you?” I whined, “Don’t leave me alone with them (referring to her and him). Please!”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
And he was. But what could he do?
“Who will take your place?” I demanded.
“I don’t know. But it will be somebody good, I’m sure. BE NICE TO THEM,” he begged.
“Bah!” I pouted, like a child.
Well, I got the answer to my question in the form of a big, wet fart. Instead of hiring a replacement Assistant Manager, the decision was made to transfer someone from another store where he “just wasn’t fitting in”. No red flags, corporate geniuses? Guess not.
Now, at our store we run two manager shifts. An opener and a closer. They overlap by about three hours, during which time they will sometimes work on projects together. Paperwork, building displays, what have you. Wet Fart is mostly a closer. He likes the late shift and the other guy doesn’t mind because, honestly, who the crap wants to work every night? When Wet Fart comes in, he’s super helpful for those three hours. A real go-getter. All up my ass with “whatcha doin’?” and pep talks and taking out my trash or whatevs. But, because I know it’s all a show, I just ignore him. When the opener leaves, though, you suddenly can’t find Wet Fart. “Where does he go?” you ask, and my answer is “Hold your goddamn horses, I’m getting to that part!”
A few days ago, as soon as the opening manager left, I found Wet Fart in the office, SLEEPING. Yep, just as comfy as you please. No way, right? Well, way. But it gets better.
Today, when the opener left, Wet Fart got a call, which I answered.
“Wet Fart, line one, please. Wet Fart, line one,” I called.
Nothing.
“Wet Fart, line one, please. Wet Fart, line one,” I tried again.
I went to look for him and found him in the employee break room, texting and chatting with a coworker. About important businessguy stuff? No. About Spongebob Squarepants.
“Hey, Wet Fart, you have a call.”
“I heard you. Twice. BUT I AM TALKING!”
I shrugged. Number one, because I don’t care. Number two, because I’m not a babysitter. They get paid more and deal with fewer children.
*The picture was hijacked from PeopleOfWalmart.com. All the peoplewatching of a trip to the ‘mart, none of the sticky floors, screaming babies, or domestic violence.
5 Comments
Twitter: homesliceva
February 26th, 2010 at 7:55 am
i’m still stuck on the name “wet fart”. i can’t read it without peeing a little bit. what was the rest of the post about? oh hang on. i will go reread.
Twitter: BustedKate
February 26th, 2010 at 9:47 am
Awesome name. Ridiculous dude. I’d begin spending my work time plotting revenge. Like taking a photo of him from your phone when he’s sleeping, and then posting it up all over the employee breakroom (anonymously, of course).
However, I’m here for sandwiches.
What do you mean there are no sandwiches??
Twitter: pattypunker
February 26th, 2010 at 10:40 am
“Wet Fart, line one, please. Wet Fart, line one,” I called.
fuck, that’s funny.
February 26th, 2010 at 10:19 pm
Hey TCG,
I just recently found your site and am avidly reading from the beginning. Having worked in a grocery store, (Deli, but was an apprectice butcher for awhile), I’m amazed at some of your posts, and totally feeling some of the others.
I went from there to almost 10 years in the US Navy and now, after several permutations, do IT for a huge law firm.
Let me be the first to say that, “Stupid is as Stupid Does”…
I’ve seen Flag officers in charge of whole battle groups, ask for, request and finally insist on the most asinine tech solutions it would make you cry.
Granted, these individual’s job is not to know tech so it was filtered down through their aids, but they tended to choose really bad aids.
In my private citizen life, (the last 10 years), I’ve seen amazing lack of social consciousness, the talking on a cell while in line is aggravating, but not dangerous.
When it’s a woman, driving a huge SUV, (by herself I might add. She may have been a soccer mom and had kids I don’t know), talking on the cell it becomes a threat. The woman in question almost ran me off the road. Then, when I tried to pass almost ran me into oncoming traffic. If I didn’t drive a high-performance car I would have been toast. I was able to accelerate around her and avoid the incoming traffic.
I have to admit, and I’m a bit ashamed, I followed her for about 5 miles past my exit. I was so mad I wanted to yell and scream at her. After a bit I calmed down and realized…
Hhmmm, chase a woman home, get out, yell and scream = go to jail
So anyway…
I think I’m 1/2 in love with you. Don’t worry though… I’m not interested enough to travel to Richmond, (Hell, I avoided being stationed there when I was in the service), so I can only admire you from here
But drop me a line if you want…
Later,
Phill
February 28th, 2010 at 2:00 am
Wetfartmart.
Now that’s a store I’d shop at.
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