Why, No- No I DON'T Work At A Grocery Store!!!!
I finally quit my fucking job.
We had a “meeting” today. See, Stop and Die is getting a makeover, and so they have to haul us all upstairs in groups of ten or so to watch some videos and hear some condescending speeches from the top asshat himself. At first I just kept my bitter mouth shut, because really, who cares- but the more he talked the more angry I got. He was full of shit and treating us all like five year olds, telling us how to behave and make the all-important customer happy, like good little employees. I was irritated I had to waste ninety minutes of my life listening to this prick tell me that at Stop and Die, “we don’t care about business, we care about people,” meanwhile allowing his managers to treat us like trash and doing so himself. I guess we aren’t the people we care about. Thing was, he didn’t seem to think the customers were really people, either- he kept saying things like we needed to help the stupid ones. Then he’d tell us to tell them that we are remodeling “because our valued customers like yourself have told us that they like positive change.” My customers tell me that the change pisses them off and inconveniences them- I tell them they haven’t told us what the hell they’re doing yet- and they ask to yell at my manager. I pointed this out as I was starting to feel a little flippant, and once I opened my mouth I couldn’t shut the hell up.
It’s his own fault, really- he kept asking open-ended questions. Like how we feel about our new discount- isn’t it great? I pointed out that a five percent discount amounts to next to nothing- after all, sales tax is six percent in this state. A guy we’ll call Ted, who likes to suck up and be Super-Cashier, goes, “that’s not true- since we started this program in June I’ve saved seventeen whole dollars!” I thanked Ted for proving my point. He also asked us how we felt about our new uniforms, which incited the feminist/transgender defender/gay activist in me. I calmly pointed out that he could not make me wear a fitted “female” polo because our nondiscrimination policy (shockingly enough) includes gender identity and expression in it. I’m sitting there with my nametag covered in banana stickers- which Ted yelled at me for- and my pink hair, and he goes, “don’t you want to look like everyone else?” But he conceded I did not have to dress up like a barbie if I didn’t want to.
He goes on to tell us that Stop and Die is helping its associates in other ways; for example, this remodel was designed for US. I asked how so. Well, everything is more accessible, since all the food items are together. Oh, someone asks, they’re moving frozen foods to the opposite end of the store where produce and groceries are? Well, no, but everything ELSE is together- and hey, you’ll be able to see more of the store from the four square feet of floor you’re allowed to stand on. I pointed out that I did not want to see the floor, I wanted the lockers to be moved to the same half of the store as the time clock, or vice versa. No? How about a break room that isn’t falling apart? Are you at least going to bring in a real fridge to replace that mini one that we split with a hundred other people from four other departments? “Good suggestions- it’s a shame no one made them before!” “Yeah, it’s a darn shame nobody asked a single employee what they wanted EVER.” Shame on us for not seeking out people we didn’t know existed. I did it again when he told us we had the best prices on groceries around. “I must have missed that… ‘cause I STILL go to Wal-mart to buy my food, even with my impressive discount.” I couldn’t stop myself.
He treated us like children the entire time and he kept throwing empty threats at us. Like, we had to be careful not to make the wrong change or use our cell phones on register, because, there was a little man in a little box with a little television who could SEE us, and could look up any one of us at any time over the past few months, it’s all on tape- and we could get FIRED. Don’t worry, though- he’s never had a problem with anyone in this room. I snort out loud, and everyone from front end looks at me expectantly. I am FAMOUS for using my phone on the clock (see: Christie, Colleen, Bryce). The truth is, they cannot legally do a damn thing about the fact I have my phone out. They yell at me, I tell them I’m busy or I don’t care or I just ignore them, they get flustered and confused and walk away. It has happened a million times. It might be spiteful but I relish deflating their arrogant balloons in that small way. You’re not going to treat me like a human being or take any of my concerns seriously, well, why in the world should I retain any sort of professionalism myself? Let alone feed into your power trip. No thanks.
I don’t say these things, but he feels the tension or something- he adds that we don’t want to break the rule, because, “you don’t want to jeopardize your job and self-esteem.” “Yeah, because those two things are related,” I mutter. The guy next to me cracked up and I felt a little better.
After we are finally released from the bullshit party, I go downstairs and start bitterly venting to anyone who will listen. I can’t seem to stop my mouth. I am ranting and raving about how I am tired of being told how to do my job while the managers get paid more than I do to- guess what- talk on their phones and eat their snacks and ignore their customers and do everything we’re forbidden to do. How their job is to make us feel comfortable but I’ve heard faggot thrown around more times than I can count, and they don’t care, and how they keep fucking up my schedule even though my availability has not changed for the past eight months, and whenever I have a problem they tell me good luck fixing it, which ultimately means I call out and lose hours. I continue on about the remodel, at which point the customers who I am bagging for- who are utterly intrigued by my apparent mental breakdown- begin to add their own irritation to the mix. And it’s not like the two cashiers I am alternately bagging for are holding back, either. I tell everyone in no uncertain terms that I am quitting- today.
So. I clock out and write a note in the notebook they use to make our schedules that the last day I will be working is two weeks from today. Then I go downstairs and very loudly vent to Colleen until we decide what to buy for dinner.
I finally did it, and I feel fantastic.