...And You Think Your Co-Workers Are Bad...
Last night I almost had a physical confrontation with one of mine.
A little back-story, if you will. I haven't liked Chris (My co-worker) since I met him. He's stupid, self-important, lazy, and a typical wanna-be gangster piece of filth. Mostly, he's just stupid. I have no time for stupid people. Talking to them is the rough equivalent of trying to fill the Grand Canyon with gravel one stone at a time. I have better things to do with my life.
This piece of crap is constantly trying to avoid doing work, and in the process dumping it off on me. Now, I have no problem doing my own work. When a manager comes up to me and tells me I need to do something, no matter how vile or demeaning the task at hand may be, I do that shit. It's my job, and it's why I get paid to be there. Now, when a co-worker (and one below me on the totem-pole) comes up to me and doesn't even ask, but tells me that I need to do something, it's a whole other kettle of fish. I'll do that shit, even though it's not my job, and I don't get paid any extra to be there, but you best to believe that the managers will hear about it. I do enough stuff there, between treating sick and injured animals, educating the slack-jawed, mouth-breathing public, cleaning out cages, monitoring the temperature and humidity of the reptile habitats, hauling heavy shit out to customer's cars, re-stocking shelves, fronting and facing the stores, running the register, cleaning up dog piss and shit, socializing the parrots, breaking the ferrets of biting people, and the other billion tiny jobs running the show on the sales floor requires.
It seems that this marginally retarded "homeboy" (he's white as a sheet, by the way) has a problem with this. So much so that he has spent more time the last few nights monitoring what I'm doing than actually doing work. This is fine with me, as the actual managers have been completely blown away by my performance at work recently as I've been motivated to make this bastard look as bad as possible. Last night, however, was the breaking point. Every time he saw me without something to do, or he "caught" me taking a sip of my iced tea, he'd come over and tell me to "get to work". This I was willing to let slide. "Let him dig his own grave," has been the motto which has gotten through many nights recently. At around 8:55 last night I noticed the java moss in the veiled chameleon's cage was dry. This is a Very Bad Thing as if a chameleon doesn't have humid air, it could dehydrate and die. Aside from the fact that I don't want to be responsible for the death of an animal, it's a $90 item that would be (obviously) unsellable. Thusly, I began spraying down the reptile habitats a little early.
This would not sit with Chris. "Don't we have to wait until 9:00 to start closing?" That was it. "How about if you mind your own business," I replied.
"No, people get on me whenever I do something," he replied.
"Well then congratulations on the promotion," I said, "otherwise you wouldn't be standing here telling me what my job is."
"Fuck you, man." I had really gotten him going. "If you don't straighten that attitude of yours out I'll kick your ass."
Honestly, from here on out I don't really know what was said, only that after it all I walked up front, threw my keys down in the office, and told Don, the manager on duty, that he either has to fire him or I quit.
I'm backing off on that a little bit, but not much. Now it stands that if I see him either walking into the store while I'm on shift, or he's already there when I arrive, I'm turning around, getting in my car, and going home.
I'm done with this shit kicker.
A little back-story, if you will. I haven't liked Chris (My co-worker) since I met him. He's stupid, self-important, lazy, and a typical wanna-be gangster piece of filth. Mostly, he's just stupid. I have no time for stupid people. Talking to them is the rough equivalent of trying to fill the Grand Canyon with gravel one stone at a time. I have better things to do with my life.
This piece of crap is constantly trying to avoid doing work, and in the process dumping it off on me. Now, I have no problem doing my own work. When a manager comes up to me and tells me I need to do something, no matter how vile or demeaning the task at hand may be, I do that shit. It's my job, and it's why I get paid to be there. Now, when a co-worker (and one below me on the totem-pole) comes up to me and doesn't even ask, but tells me that I need to do something, it's a whole other kettle of fish. I'll do that shit, even though it's not my job, and I don't get paid any extra to be there, but you best to believe that the managers will hear about it. I do enough stuff there, between treating sick and injured animals, educating the slack-jawed, mouth-breathing public, cleaning out cages, monitoring the temperature and humidity of the reptile habitats, hauling heavy shit out to customer's cars, re-stocking shelves, fronting and facing the stores, running the register, cleaning up dog piss and shit, socializing the parrots, breaking the ferrets of biting people, and the other billion tiny jobs running the show on the sales floor requires.
It seems that this marginally retarded "homeboy" (he's white as a sheet, by the way) has a problem with this. So much so that he has spent more time the last few nights monitoring what I'm doing than actually doing work. This is fine with me, as the actual managers have been completely blown away by my performance at work recently as I've been motivated to make this bastard look as bad as possible. Last night, however, was the breaking point. Every time he saw me without something to do, or he "caught" me taking a sip of my iced tea, he'd come over and tell me to "get to work". This I was willing to let slide. "Let him dig his own grave," has been the motto which has gotten through many nights recently. At around 8:55 last night I noticed the java moss in the veiled chameleon's cage was dry. This is a Very Bad Thing as if a chameleon doesn't have humid air, it could dehydrate and die. Aside from the fact that I don't want to be responsible for the death of an animal, it's a $90 item that would be (obviously) unsellable. Thusly, I began spraying down the reptile habitats a little early.
This would not sit with Chris. "Don't we have to wait until 9:00 to start closing?" That was it. "How about if you mind your own business," I replied.
"No, people get on me whenever I do something," he replied.
"Well then congratulations on the promotion," I said, "otherwise you wouldn't be standing here telling me what my job is."
"Fuck you, man." I had really gotten him going. "If you don't straighten that attitude of yours out I'll kick your ass."
Honestly, from here on out I don't really know what was said, only that after it all I walked up front, threw my keys down in the office, and told Don, the manager on duty, that he either has to fire him or I quit.
I'm backing off on that a little bit, but not much. Now it stands that if I see him either walking into the store while I'm on shift, or he's already there when I arrive, I'm turning around, getting in my car, and going home.
I'm done with this shit kicker.