Yesterday, I got evaluated at the grocery store. My raise, while appreciated, was insulting to some extent. I had part of my review in writing in the break room and was reading it to a pal. A supervisor, one of the highest in the ranks at the grocery store, came into the break room to microwave something. He heard me bitching about the typoes in my review and said, "Yeah, THAT'S what you should be worrying about." sarcastically.
I can't remember the exact wording, but I yelled something like, "Well, I have trouble accepting criticism from a bunch of fucking retards! I can't take this shit seriously when it's from someone who can't even structure a fucking sentence." In hindsight, I guess I was taking it seriously. I referred to management as "fucking retards" in front of management, which, so far, hasn't set me back as much as I would have expected.
I went home and composed a scathing letter for my leaders that would have made them even more uncomfortable around me if I hadn't been too hungover to bring it in the following morning, but I drank all night and my cat woke me up a little over a half hour after my shift started. One of my pillows and part of my bed was drenched, but it didn't smell like urine or beer or really anything distinctive and I couldn't find a water glass anywhere near my bed so I never figured out what it was. I managed to sleep through whatever the fluid was and my alarm going off and work calling to see where I was. I brushed my teeth and showed up not quite an hour late. I avoided eye contact with most everyone and did my best to stock shelves harmoniously. A couple hours deep, one of my seemingly countless supervisors asked me to "do a little bathroom clean," which usually didn't need to be done that soon after open, but I agreed, because bathroom cleans usually just meant picking a few paper towels off the floor and making sure there was still soap and toilet paper or whatever. Somebody that overheard recommended that I wear gloves.
There was shit everywhere. Somebody with problems I hope I never understand had managed to spray their pungeant, rancid feces all over the toilet tank, the floor, and even the fucking WALL of the bathroom. So, hungover and still livid about my evaluation, I fucking cleaned caked diarhea off of everything. It took a while. There was so much and it had to be scrubbed so hard. This was about ten minutes before my lunch break and had a negative effect on my appetite. In the break room there was this large notebook mounted on the wall. Really big, probably 3' X 2', and people used it to inform each other about discontinued products and so on, but mostly to give each other kudos. A couple times a day, something new would show up, like, "thanks so-and-so for organizing this or that! It didn't look very good but now it does, so way to go! Thanks again!" or some other mind numbing shit, usually followed by the author's nickname that, in most cases, they gave to themselves. I was alone in the break room and wrote a lot of lines giving kudos to myself and described my ordeal in the bathroom. I signed my name. That page was torn off the pad within minutes of me leaving the room. That pissed me off too, so I was thinking of writing another note saying not to tear my messages down anymore just to see how long that note would last, but it's a good thing I didn't, because the second-highest boss steered me aside later and we had to have a talk about how it was inappropriate. I explained some of the sources of my anger to him. He said he understood but I'm not sure if he did, because nothing was said about more money.
People have told me before that I learn something new everyday. People have also told me that shit rolls downhill. Today, all I learned is that shit can spray downhill, too.
We carry this pre-cooked rice at the grocery store. Instead of going through all the trouble of boiling water, adding rice, and timing it each time you want rice, now you can microwave a little pouch for a few minutes and get rice. Convenient, no? We ran out of the rice and some lady asked me if we had any more in back. No, I said, we were out for the day, there would be more in soon. Upon telling a customer that we are out of a product that they enjoy, one should be prepared for a guilt trip. Customers seem to think that their product is not available for one of several reasons:
A: The employee that they are speaking to also manages the warehouse where the product is shipped from, and has full control of the product's availability, but chooses not to supply the store closest to that customer for that day because said employee did not understand the importance of that product.
B: There is a physical law that states that by complaining enough and wasting enough of an employee's time, a rip will form in the universe. Time and space mean nothing inside the rip, and it is capable of bringing them their product solely as a result of their incessant bitching.
C: The employee that they are speaking to has coveted the product. Even though the employee tries to be informative and sympathetic, the customer can tell that not only does he not mean it, but that he is to blame because he bought all available units of said product to keep for himself. He probably doesn't even like the product, he just wants other people not to be able to have it because he is a mother fucker.
D: (the one I got in this instance, similar to B) The farther one commutes for a product, the more likely it is to be in stock seconds after it was out of stock.
So, this lady wants her fucking rice and I say we don't have any. She says, all frowny, "But, we drive all the way from ____ for that..." The town she mentions is an hour away. Rice takes about eighteen minutes to cook. She drives a collective two hours to save fifteen minutes in the kitchen. To me, this individual has completely missed the point of convenience.
really old months: