I do not like the woman who hired me – the store manager. I think she is arrogant and corporately callous. It’s just an air she has about herself. I know the type. Type-A. The bottom line, the company’s line, profit margins and procedures are all that matter. Meet their goals or get lost. I used to be one of those types, but now I know better. Yesterday she irritated the hell out of me from the time I got there. She irritated me effortlessly!
“No shades,” she said, nodding toward the sunshades perched on my head.
How dare they impose a dress code on people they’re paying a pitiful $8 an hour!
I had enjoyed the sunshine of what felt like an extended summer – interrupted breifly by snow flurries. I stood on one side of the customer service counter punching in promptly as she stood on the other side talking to one of my co-workers when she stopped her conversation just long enough to tell me what was wrong with me. No, “Hi there. How are you today?” Bitch. Before she could point out something else she didn’t like, I shifted gears on her.
“I meant to ask you. I know jeans are not allowed, but is this jacket ok?” I asked since I was sporting a jean blazer over khakis.
“No denim,” she said with a fake smile.
“Ok. I’ll take it off, but if I get cold, I’ll have to put it back on, “ I said, ever the agreeable little one. Always aiming to comply and to please.
“I’ll keep you too busy to get cold,” boss-lady said. “Grab a V-cart from the back, get a Swifter, and meet me back here.”
Surprisingly, I didn’t flinch at the notion of helping to keep the place clean, even though custodial duties were not part of the “bookseller” job description. No. I was happy to be on the inside of a bookselling business because I love books!