Campfire's picture

The world is full of bastards. Oh, and a bitch.

Worked 7 1/2 hours today. Lost one supervisor because her uncle died, so that left me and one other person to supervise for all of Sunday. Hectic. You are reading the words of someone who has done 35 hours this week on a part time job plus full time education, and is now exhausted.

There always seems to be one disaster after the other on Sundays. If the man upstairs does exist, his feelings toward me fluctuate greatly I fear. Sundays is his "tease him until he BREAKS" day. A little girl thought vomiting all over checkout 1 would be a great idea, and then thought projecting it across the Produce department on the way to the toilet would be just swell. The cleaner did not answer his call. Twice. Bastard.

People always have this tendency to tell me they are due to "leave in 15 minutes." Now, on a checkout, 15 minutes could be 5-6 customers, maybe 2-3 with large trollies. Why do they insist on telling me this? I know. I have a schedule. They may have people taking over and have to, shock horror, wait 1-2 minutes after their scheduled leaving time to come off. This is the nature of the job, retail doesn't stop for your tea and biscuits. Bastards.

And customers. A lovely girl on the customer service desk resorted to tears for the first time on Saturday after a particularly strenuous day. Apparently, all the customers had been rude. Why is it so hard to grasp the concept that the customer service desk is not a checkout? And if you really want to use it instead of queuing up with the rest of the world, atleast have the courtesy to ask if it's OK to pay, rather than just DUMPING your basket on the desk and not so much as greet the person on the desk. And I am astounded at how many people don't say please or thank you. And people that don't hand you cash or cards hand-to-hand, but rather, even if you have your hand extended, will insist on placing whatever they are giving you on the desk for you to pick up. I guess this is because we are so unworthy that if their skin brushed against ours, their social status would plummet. Stupid bastards.

And then some girl I go to college with, who also works with me, seems to think she is the boss of everything and keeps telling me how to do my job and informing me of policies and procedures, as if I don't know them. Worse still, she has one of those faces you just want to smack. And she has the audacity to keep asking me to cover her shifts. Alas, I am constrained to my fantasies of smashing her tongue with a meat mallet. Whilst on the topic, said fantasies are made so much more colourful with this Google image search. Bitch. Alright, I broke the pattern.

On a separate note, although equally pessimistic, I started noticing today that my body isn't as immortal as it was when I was 16. My chest feels groggy (for want of a better word) after smoking a lot on Saturday. It aches if I breathe in very deeply. My knee keeps playing up because of all the running up and down I do at work, and the constant turning around and my back hurts.

"Anything else?" I hear you cry. I have no money left. And I have a full day at college tommorow.

Alright, now I'm done.