I have two short stories for you:
First: the happy.
So this weekend, Missy brought me into her office to do an annual review. Apparently I just squeaked in under the deadline as having worked at the Animal Shelter Thrift Store long enough to count (6 months). To my very happy surprise, I basically aced it. My marks were all in the Excellent and Very Good range. The ones I was below Excellent in was basically due to my still being relatively new and still ironing out my knowledge base. I got a raise (the highest she's allowed to give me at this point in my position and career)!
Also, can I stress yet again how much I love Missy? Not only is she a manager who's actually human and treats everybody else like one, but if she really doesn't have anything to put in the Needs Improvement mandatory section of the review, she won't make bullshit up. She just pretty much says that there's nothing that really needs improving short of simple experience.
Also, holy crap, she's even freaking relatable. She laughs... LAUGHS with us over silly/stupid/facepalm bullshit that customers do or say!
Me, holding up a boot: "You know, the pair to this is in my section... I found this one on a random fixture halfway across the store. Couldn't they at least take both boots?"
Missy: Laughing "I know, right?!"
Dearest Thrognar, I don't know whether I'm dreaming or whether I died and went to Retail Heaven. Missy is the one and only manager I've ever encountered that really and truly is worth doing extra crap for that most retail slaves learn (the hard way) never to do. I'm going to be heartbroken the day she moves on to better things.
I walk into work early, usually to spend time waiting to clock in with a good book. As I pass by the back door, Steve turns to me, highly amused.
Steve: "So... somebody donated this today."
He holds up a Cat-O-Nine-Tails bondage flogger and a trademarked Indiana Jones braided whip toy (which is approximately 6 feet long).
I'm stunned speechless. There are no words in this moment.
Steve: "I'm pretty sure we don't have a Marital Aids section of the store..."
What. Is. Even. The. Fuck? Somebody donated their (likely used) sex toys to a thrift shop. What the fuck is wrong with people? WHY would you donate that? Quite frankly someone, at the door at least, now has your face to recall to pair with what you do in private. And while your..... thing, is your thing.... not everybody wants or needs to know that.
Please, please, PLEASE dispose of "marital aids" properly, people!
--Puppies In Prada