wtf
I walked into work today to find the store mobbed. It was awful. Nevermind that I was fifteen minutes early and therefore am technically not supposed to start, I dove in anyway.
So I'm helping Megan, the new girl, find everything in the store because she's only been there a week and our managers royally blow at training new employees. She's a very sweet girl, and sort of reminds me of Ariel from the Little Mermaid (?). She doesn't quite know exactly how to bra fit yet; she's not bad, but still hasn't quite mastered the technique of having the measuring tape even in the back. It drops when she moves and it adds two inches to the band--not her fault, just something she needs to work on. And I was showing her this, and another way to measure that I've found is a fuckload more accurate.
Barbara, the manager walks out, and in spite of my insane running around to bring this to the register, return that to the rack it was on, open the fitting room, assist Megan, answer her questions, stock a rack or a drawer, whatever, the first thing she says to me is "Why aren't you wearing a red shirt? Why don't you have white sneakers on your feet?"
Gee, you flaming cunt flap. If I had known, I would have been wearing a red shirt. As for the shoes? I'm not buying white sneakers I'll never like and will never want to wear for a place of employment I plan to leave because you treat select employees like shit.
So I bought myself a red sweater from Rue 21 because a. I wanted to shut her the fuck up and b. I'm pretty fucking sure she drops the air conditioning lower and lower because she is conducting experiments on the point at which a person can move but still be cryogenically frozen.
I fucking hate my job. It is very, very rare to work on a day when the managers are actually more intolerable than the Canadians are. I will stay to move. That is my fucking gift to them
My gift to myself is leaving before the middle of December...so I miss the majority of retail season. It's bad enough I'm working black Friday.
I will not feel guilty about this.
In other news I officially hate my birth control.
So I'm helping Megan, the new girl, find everything in the store because she's only been there a week and our managers royally blow at training new employees. She's a very sweet girl, and sort of reminds me of Ariel from the Little Mermaid (?). She doesn't quite know exactly how to bra fit yet; she's not bad, but still hasn't quite mastered the technique of having the measuring tape even in the back. It drops when she moves and it adds two inches to the band--not her fault, just something she needs to work on. And I was showing her this, and another way to measure that I've found is a fuckload more accurate.
Barbara, the manager walks out, and in spite of my insane running around to bring this to the register, return that to the rack it was on, open the fitting room, assist Megan, answer her questions, stock a rack or a drawer, whatever, the first thing she says to me is "Why aren't you wearing a red shirt? Why don't you have white sneakers on your feet?"
Gee, you flaming cunt flap. If I had known, I would have been wearing a red shirt. As for the shoes? I'm not buying white sneakers I'll never like and will never want to wear for a place of employment I plan to leave because you treat select employees like shit.
So I bought myself a red sweater from Rue 21 because a. I wanted to shut her the fuck up and b. I'm pretty fucking sure she drops the air conditioning lower and lower because she is conducting experiments on the point at which a person can move but still be cryogenically frozen.
I fucking hate my job. It is very, very rare to work on a day when the managers are actually more intolerable than the Canadians are. I will stay to move. That is my fucking gift to them
My gift to myself is leaving before the middle of December...so I miss the majority of retail season. It's bad enough I'm working black Friday.
I will not feel guilty about this.
In other news I officially hate my birth control.