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June 19, 2004

Your Vendetta is My Revenge

It's finally summer break, which means the space of time between each new entry will be growing farther and farther from one to the next. This is partly because I spend most of my days working at the store, and by the time I get the chance to sit in front of this computer, I'm either A) Exhausted, or B) The Diaryland server is down. It's a wonderful situation.

With the exception of one of my coworkers, work is great. I have a wonderful boss who gives me wonderful hours (only part-time though, which means I'm looking for a second job this summer), and being a supervisor means I'm pretty much free to do whatever I want within reason. There's hardly anyone hounding over my back, telling me that I missed a spot here, or that I shouldn't forget to process this order there, or yada, yada, yada. As I said before, the only stitch in my side is a fifty-something year old woman by the name of Silvia, the über bitch.

Silvia, who is lovingly known in my mind as "Bitchypoo," has been working in our store location for the past three years, putting in endless hours of endearing customer service. There's never a hair out of place on her watch--everything and everyone must learn to toe the line. She was quick to make sure that I'd understand her no-nonsense mode from the get-go.

"I like to make sure that everything's as EFFICIENT as possible for the COMPANY," she told me one afternoon. "Because we're here to make the COMPANY MONEY, and that's ALL there is to it." The woman then proceeded to make me practice shrink-wrapping gift baskets for over an hour and a half (Something we rarely even do) until every inch of plastic was seamlessly perfect. If I missed a spot, or any of the plastic happened to have any ripples in it, she'd violently rip the whole thing apart and throw it in my face. "No, no, no... That's not the most EFFICIENT way to do it." And then I'd be forced to listen to another fifteen minute lecture about company efficiency, and how our job was to serve the customer, and that she'd had been slaving away for over three whole years, and that I wasn't to forget it.

Don't worry, Bitchypoo, I haven't.

The thing is, the woman is so concerned with being right and having the last word in any (and every) conversation, that she's completely oblivious to anything you say. She literally talks over you. I was trying to make polite conversation yesterday afternoon about my trip to DC this summer, and she completely ignored the fact that my lips were moving and an actual sound was coming from my mouth; choosing instead to rattle on about the effectiveness of the store's customer policy. I swear, could sever a limb in the middle of the store, and have blood spewing all over the sleepwear line, and she'd still be rattling on about her damned efficiency complex.

I had another lecture yesterday afternoon about accoutability from the all-knowing Bitchypoo, who never hesitates to give you her opinion on anything and everything. "It's all about doing the right thing," she told me while processing a shipment order. "Remember when I told you that?"

I nodded, pretending to show eager interest from behind the cashwrap. "Yes, it really saves time to be--"

"And I ALWAYS say to myself, 'Silvia, what's the BEST thing to do in this situation? How can YOU help the CUSTOMER make money for the COMPANY?' You never have a problem when you just do the RIGHT THING."

"Just like that Spike Lee movie," I said loudly, knowing that she wasn't listening.

"And if you just keep doing the RIGHT THING, everything falls in to place. That's what I ALWAYS SAY. Do the RIGHT THING. I've been here for OVER THREE YEARS, and it ALWAYS works."

Sweet Jesus.

posted at 1:16 p.m.

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