From Star Associate, December 2009:
Can I take a moment please and bring up a before now unmentioned aspect of retail hell?
Besides idiotic customers who do not realize that a name tag and an overloaded arm full of clothes does indeed mean I work there, (our managers are actually pretty great, so I can’t complain there) I would like to rant for a moment about another hellish aspect of this ‘holy’ season.
Short-term associates who don’t know WTF is going on.
I work in a big name department store and here are a few samples of this years’ pick of the crop.
There’s the woman in her 50’s who showed up for her first day and before clocking in asked when her break from her THREE-HOUR SHIFT was.
Then there is the young gansta who, either by unfortunate DNA or by laziness, holds his mouth quite like Bubba of (the fictional) Babba-Gump Shrimp who’s job description must have read: Stand and have a look around for eight hours.
And let’s not forget the almost entirely bald 50ish man who wears Buddy Holy glasses and who’s voice I’ve heard exactly once in an entire week. Buddy actually does what he’s being paid to do, folding and refolding the clothes piggy customers have torn asunder. But his silence, rather than golden is a bit alarming, and I can only hope there’s not a shotgun and surprised neighbors in the near future.
Oh, and the dressing room attendant in a high theft area who was told she needed to pay attention to what people were bringing in and out, to you know, catch a thief. She said she was going to need paper and a pencil to do that.
I also have a co-worker (unfortunately for me, she’s full time and not going away at the end of the season) who stands at the register and rings customers for her entire shift. I and one other associate do most of the grunt work, recovery and putting back the unwanted items stupid ass people bring up to the counter and then decide it’s not cheap enough for them to buy. (I’m sorry, but finding a $10 Polo item is akin to finding a forgotten copy of the Declaration of Independence in a garage sale painting, NOT GONNA HAPPEN) We call her Quiet Contrary because not only will she just stand there, but she will but into your conversation with a customer (always disagreeing with what you’re saying) She will steal your customer faster than you can say ‘fuck off bitch’ and we’re not even on commission.
So, I found out the other day that QC doesn’t bother to do the half of her job of recovery because… wait for it….her feet hurt.
Who’s fucking feet DON’T fucking hurt???
Thanks for letting me rant.
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