(no subject)
Well, that's it. It's done. I've put in my two weeks' notice, and after September first, I will no longer by El Target Slutto.
Why, you ask? Because Natalie, my boss, hammered the last nail into the coffin that is my intolerance. She fired Steven, a friend and (now formerly) one of my team leaders. He had worked at Target for eleven years, since he was sixteen years old, he is recently married, he has a five-year-old stepson, and he also has a baby on the way in less than two months. The man is so experienced in every area of the store, he's come to practically run that place. He's perhaps the hardest working, most dedicated person I've met in my life. And she fired him. She fucking fired him over a small technicality (he went outside before opening when he wasn't supposed to; and it wasn't for a smoke break or even just to get a whiff of fresh air, it was to take some trash outside so we could get to work).
So, after the terrible conditions have gotten even more terribler-er, I've decided that I no longer wish to be under the employ of Roche Brown and Natalie Cipowski. Fuck them. Hard. Up the ass. With a wooden spoon.
SPLINTERS, BITCH!
Today, after I finished everything up, Natalie called me up front to sit down and talk about my notice. She had read my comments on there about the prevalence of incompetence, laziness, and condescension throughout the store. She had read my complaint about the store manager cutting hours left and right to ensure that he got a year-end bonus for being under budget. And she also read my small spiel about constantly feeling as though I'm not good enough and that my job is in jeopardy. She actually had the balls to sob slightly as she spoke, trying to manipulate me into staying. She told me I'm a great team member, that I'm very valuable to the store, and that she hopes I haven't made my decision final.
(Sorry, Michelle, but I have to stop here and thank you -- yes, thank you -- for being as masterfully manipulative as you are. If it weren't for my training with you, I would have never withstood Natalie's sad puppy dog bullshit and I might still be at Target come September.)
So, I flat out told Natalie that it's over, that my decision's final. That's it, I'm gone. Just over two weeks and I shall no longer be the bulk room bitch of T-1106.
Huzzah!
EDIT (7:50 p.m.): And, from what Steven told me on the phone when I talked to him, Juan (my replacement for the bulk room) turned down the job with a resounding "HELL NO!" Natalie and Roche aren't just fucked, they're fizzucked. Doggy style. With the aforementioned wooden spoon.
Why, you ask? Because Natalie, my boss, hammered the last nail into the coffin that is my intolerance. She fired Steven, a friend and (now formerly) one of my team leaders. He had worked at Target for eleven years, since he was sixteen years old, he is recently married, he has a five-year-old stepson, and he also has a baby on the way in less than two months. The man is so experienced in every area of the store, he's come to practically run that place. He's perhaps the hardest working, most dedicated person I've met in my life. And she fired him. She fucking fired him over a small technicality (he went outside before opening when he wasn't supposed to; and it wasn't for a smoke break or even just to get a whiff of fresh air, it was to take some trash outside so we could get to work).
So, after the terrible conditions have gotten even more terribler-er, I've decided that I no longer wish to be under the employ of Roche Brown and Natalie Cipowski. Fuck them. Hard. Up the ass. With a wooden spoon.
SPLINTERS, BITCH!
Today, after I finished everything up, Natalie called me up front to sit down and talk about my notice. She had read my comments on there about the prevalence of incompetence, laziness, and condescension throughout the store. She had read my complaint about the store manager cutting hours left and right to ensure that he got a year-end bonus for being under budget. And she also read my small spiel about constantly feeling as though I'm not good enough and that my job is in jeopardy. She actually had the balls to sob slightly as she spoke, trying to manipulate me into staying. She told me I'm a great team member, that I'm very valuable to the store, and that she hopes I haven't made my decision final.
(Sorry, Michelle, but I have to stop here and thank you -- yes, thank you -- for being as masterfully manipulative as you are. If it weren't for my training with you, I would have never withstood Natalie's sad puppy dog bullshit and I might still be at Target come September.)
So, I flat out told Natalie that it's over, that my decision's final. That's it, I'm gone. Just over two weeks and I shall no longer be the bulk room bitch of T-1106.
Huzzah!
EDIT (7:50 p.m.): And, from what Steven told me on the phone when I talked to him, Juan (my replacement for the bulk room) turned down the job with a resounding "HELL NO!" Natalie and Roche aren't just fucked, they're fizzucked. Doggy style. With the aforementioned wooden spoon.