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2006-10-20 @ 8:11 p.m. |
Well, thanks for all the good job karma wishes, but it looks like my company doesn't look kindly on people jumping from job to job. It seems that type of behavior makes you look suspect (read: crazier than your Uncle Ernie who wears underwear on his head and sings Broadway tunes). And I guess I understand it, but I wasn't real happy about how it was presented to me today. My lengthy thoughtful letter to my boss about how the job was too much for me physically was sort of used as "Exhibit #A" from my "file". Wow! Who knew I had a file after only a month! Yay me! The young girl in the human resource department (maybe around 25) said that if I couldn't do the maintenance job, she seriously doubted I could do the photo lab because the jobs were so similar. Because right when she said that she got out her handy dandy job description handbook and read off the oposing job descriptions. Maintenance: standing, twisting, lifting up for 50 pounds, customer contact, walking, bending over. And then photo lab: standing, twisting, lifting up for 50 pounds, customer contact, walking, bending over. Wow! The exact same thing! Can you imagine??? And then in her best corporate voice: "So how do we know you can do THAT, if you can't even handle maintenance? (ZING) And besides we can't have you bouncing from department to department. So you'll need to get a doctor's note saying what you are capable of doing." I just looked at her and said, "I don't feel that they are similar at all. The main problem I have with maintenance is the extensive walking. Its killing my legs and affecting my sciatic nerve. And she said, "Well, you'd be doing the same thing in the photo lab." I'm sorry, but walking for 5 hours on cement floors, hunched over sweeping is not the same as standing on a 2 inch thick rubber mat chatting with customers. And then she said, "Well, you did have trouble standing in the bakery too." To be honest, Corporate Drone, it was less about the standing than about the hoisting of 25 pound buckets of frosting over the top of my head. And what was the other thing? Oh yeah, being demeaned and insulted by Little Hitler, my former boss. The place was totally toxic emotionally too. Everyone hated being there. They would be nice to customers and then whirl around and say "fucking bitch" under their breath. They'd also say, "I hate ****" (the boss' name) everytime she was out of hearing distance. And after working at my last place, which was practically a big Lovefest, it was like working in the bowels of Hell. And that combined with the dangerous conditions (the floors were almost always slippery with frosting, water and cream), I got injured the second day on the job and nothing was done, people didn't use glove while handling food, which I think the health department would be interested in, I don't feel that bad. So I definitely think that entered into my decision to get out of there. I hated the atmosphere. I even made a joke with a friend about how the smell of frosting was now associated with something bad and unhappy, so maybe I wouldn't want to eat donuts anymore. Ha! If only! But I was just so unhappy with all the corporate speak today. My immediate boss was there too. She didn't say anything. She just looked on. I tried to tell Ms. HR how different I thought the photo lab and maintenance jobs would be and she just kept tapping the Official Job description book and nodding her head like Yul Brenner in "Westworld". Because lets face it....they either want me to STAY in maintenance or get rid of me. Bottom line. And I actually said that at one point. And she got all corporate and said: "Oh no. You're still on the schedule. You just have to get some kind of note from your doctor regarding your condition. " Ha! Me getting a note from my doctor. Can you imagine? You mean the one who last summer sent me to a pulmonologist for a breathing test after I complained of stabbing chest pains. The one who I have literally diagnosed every illness I have ever had and then told her what I had. And then SHE got paid the $120 for the 4 minute consultation. Yeah, that one! See Dad! That time in my journalism classes reallllllly paid off. I can diagnose my own illnesses. So I don't know what to do. I've been calling my mom for hours. Something is wrong with her phone. It keeps ringing and ringing and then an electronic voice comes on and says: "Please enter your secret code." Woo, how mysterious. Secret Agent mom. I left a message for my case manager, but since its officially the weekend now, I don't expect to hear from her. And I know what "A" would say. Keep working. You need the money. I think subconsciously I really don't want to work at a store. I'm more of an office geek. I had worked in retail when I was young and never really liked it. I had even worked in a grocery store in California for about 3 months and hated it. You would have thought I learned something. Its just that this grocery store is nearly the highest rated store in America and my former employer was amongst the worst. I thought things would be different. Also I don't have a Type "A" personality. I'm an artist. I'm not in overdrive from the time I leave my house until I get home. I tried that lifestyle for a while when I was an advertising executive for Gannett Newspapers but I just crashed and burned emotionally. I lost my voice for 8 years from all the stress and it just wasn't worth it. I guess I'd rather enjoy life, than be rich. Sorry. Older Entries |
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty |
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