If they didn't treat everyone like shit, I think I'd be taking this personally.
ANOTHER hell-tastic night at FuckMart. Holy cow. First of all, if you remember my last message, my entire department is facing a write up. Thus far, it's just been me. I'm giving this til the Bitch is back, and then, if it remains JUST ME, I'm raising hell.
And I can do it. I may be little, but please, for your own safety, don't mess with me.
Ah, back to last night.
It was actually going fairly fast. The custys were actually behaving, and in some cases were even polite, except for Psycho on the phone.
Psycho calls us a lot. He thinks since we sell the product, we fix it. Even if we could (we probably could if we really wanted to) we can, since that's a huge liability that FuckMart won't cover. After 12 calls where we politely informed him that he needs to call tech support for his computer, the calls aren't so funny. One asshat manager decides that he'll talk to him.
Nope. He won't.
So 3 calls later, everyone is getting frustrated. I grab the next call. Yup, it's him. Grrr. I just put the phone down and walk away. After a minute he hangs up.
That was at 5.
He stops calling at 10.
He'd been calling since 12.
That was really the worst part, until after my lunch.
There were 3 closers in the department (SHOCK!) and Receiving had 2 trucks come in. There was a lot of shit to pull, and they asked for my help. Not a problem. My Achilles is killing me, but I ignore it as much as I can.
Now I just happen to be pulling carts to the other side of the damn store behind my boyfriend. That's really the only freight besides huge pallets that's left at this point. I wasn't entirely sure what aisle the shit went to, so he directed me.
Oh, and then, my dumbass wannabe manager discounted 3 rather large and heavy display tvs from 1200 to 800 bucks. Of COURSE when I'm alone a family decides they want it. Fine. I'll have to get help though.
As fate had it, my boyfriend and the receiving manager agree to help me get it down while I climb up to the top of the steel in back to get the stand.
I have no grip at all on the smashed hand, so I call for a carryout. Yup, boyfriend is sent to help me. It's nearly break time, we'll just go from the carryout to break.Yeah!
When I get back, I'm doing last minute detailing (one handed) on the department, fixing some signage, putting movies back, etc.
Psycho Brown Nose Butt Face Whore Bag Retard Chick tells me we need to talk.
Oh fuck, here we go again.
And again, I have NO FUCKING CLUE what I did. Except the safety violation and curse word.
Nope, it was because I helped pull freight.
Yeah, I got an "Informal Verbal Warning" because I went above and beyond and helped another department.
And because I was pulling freight behind my boyfriend, I was screwing around with him.
Yes, I was screwing around when I ignored extreme pain and pulled half a ton of water. Yeah. Yup. Right.
I need a new job. This week I get 26 hours. Next week 13. I'm literally not paid enough to give a shit about what the fuck their problem with me is.
I work my ass off. I work through fantastical pain. I don't stop. I help around the entire god damn store. And you know what? I'm SO DONE. Fuck it.
I have applications going all over town right now. I deserve better than this SHIT. The only thing the Waltons have given me is more debt and an anger management issue.
And a chance to meet my future husband. Fine, thanks for that.