Every little girl's dream...
A customer sneered at me and spat, “Is English your FIRST language?” in a tone I’m certain she reserved for the help.
As I relayed the story of the encounter to my coworker, a woman of about 55, she sighed, “Did I really stop hooking for this?”
That’s a universal philosophical question: Did we ALL stop hooking for this?
I'd like to see a Jesus vs Moses battle. In a comic. Not real life. Cuz that borders on sacrilegious.
Jesus-loving coworker said something ignorant and small-minded today, so I quoted scripture to her.
“Well, that must be from the Jewish bible. I only read the Christian bible.”
For those of you new to TCG, I also write a column for RVA News, based on whatever’s buzzworthy.
For those of you old to TCG, have you checked out this week’s column?
Off The Clock with The Checkout Girl
Sometimes work and parenting collide. And I write about it. And then shit gets real.
Pretty In Pink on Fuck Yeah, Motherhood!
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.
