Remember Birdie from my last story? The weekend after that story took place, she told me she'd put in her two weeks' notice. Four days later, she was gone. One week after that, she was back. As was a girl who has quit and come back three - count 'em, three separate times.
Talk about job security, amirite?
girl who has quit and come back only once has been made manager.
She's been there about two years.
As for myself, remember that "Crew Trainer" thing I was talking about? It's happening, but it's taking its sweet-ass time happening. I got a "Crew Trainer Workbook" last month, completed it in about a week, and have been waiting for something to happen ever since. It's not just myself, either - it's me and four other people, all of whom (with the exception of myself and one guy) have, you guessed it, quit and come back. I'm beginning to sense a pattern here. Stick around for four years, come in whenever they need you to, only call in sick when you're really, truly sick? "Crew Trainer". Quit a year in, stay gone for two, three weeks and come begging for your job back? Manager. I digress.
The thing that has really pissed me
off about this whole thing is how long it's taking. It has been more than
a month since we got and completed our workbooks, but only one person has
watched the necessary videos because only one (who shall henceforth be known as
Moo because she loves cows [side note: she happens to be Andy's mom from my
last story, she's really cool]) knows which videos that need to be watched, and
she and I rarely work the same shifts. I get moved around on the schedule
a lot. It...complicates things.
Anyway, we were supposed to have a Crew Trainer meeting last week, on my day off. I got a text message letting me know when to show up. Fast forward to the next day, five minutes before the meeting is supposed to start, I'm the only one there.
Store Manager looks at me and goes, "Oh,
didn't you get Moo's text? She had to cancel. It'll be sometime
next week." Then he said something kind of incomprehensible about
someone having to clean...hoods, or something, I guessed it was some work she
was having done on her house. I didn't pry. Point is, no, I didn't
get the text, and showed up on my day off for nothing. Also, the lack of
a specific date and time for the meeting being rescheduled irked me.
This past Saturday, I had the day off, so I called work to ask when I worked the next day (schedules are made up for Sunday through Saturday, with schedules posted every Saturday).
A manager whom I have mentioned in the comments before - one with whom I have been at odds with several times over her attitude and perceived self-importance, let's call her BM (Bitch Manager, Bad Manager, Bowel Movement, take your pick) - answered the phone.
I asked if schedules had been posted, she checked and told me "You don't work Sunday, you work Monday at two. No, wait, three."
I repeated it back to her - "Three on Monday?"
"Yeah." - and went on my
merry way. Monday rolled around. Two o'clock, my alarm went off, I
got on the computer, got dressed, got everything ready to go. Two
forty-five, I get a message on Facebook from Closer: "Hey, Molly, call
work, you were supposed to be there at two."
That's right - a message on Facebook.
Not a phone call, not a text message, not even from a manager that was at work at the time.
And, the kicker of it all, not at 1:55, not at 2:00, at 2-fucking-45. I got to work at 3:00, and Store Manager was practically right on me -
SM: You know you were supposed to be here at two, right?
Me: BM told me three.
Me: Yeah, I called on Saturday night, and she answered the phone and told me three.
SM: *jokingly* Well, you should have known to call at a different time
and get someone other than BM to tell you! *walks away laughing to himself*
I guess I should never have expected someone who's only one step below SM's level to actually be able to read the schedule, huh? I mean, it's not like it hasn't always been written in military time or anything.
And now, as I write this, my husband and his idiot friend are in the other room VERY LOUDLY writing an anti-Brony song to bug the shit out of me, using the names of the ponies that I literally just taught them no less.
Oh God, oh
Beelzebub, oh Flying Spaghetti Monster, I call upon all your powers to not
commit murder on this night.
May your management be competent, and Brony on, my friends.