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My Days are Numbered.My days are numbered. That is... my days of being a cashier. I can already feel the breeze of this chapter's final page turning over. Today I recieved confirmation that a paraprofessional position which I've been persuing is going to be mine. Only a criminal background check stands in my way. All of my greatest crimes have been committed in my mind, and I've never been arrested for any of those, so there should be smooth sailing out of the land of blue collars (and green collards) and into the land of "here's some money for paying bills." On the matter of money, the amount that they'll be giving me is, to be frank, trivial. Not even half of what is considered "average." Upon asking me if I care, I'll respond with the sad fact that my yearly income will be effectively tripled from my current position, and that customer service will be effectively removed. I'd take half of my current pay just to rid my life of customers. No longer will I have to restrain the clenching of my fists and the canned goods that fall victim (yes, this has happened; I have once crushed a tin can in my hand in an effort to prevent snapping at a customer). No longer will I have to put on a friendly face to hide the dark, seething hatred that burns inside the dented chambers of my soul. No longer will I come home at 10:00 p.m. and return to work at 8:00 a.m., resulting in fourteen hours of work within twenty-four hours, but still negating the possibility of overtime due to the gap between shifts. Not that overtime would cover the rent; Nothing divided by two plus nothing is still no-fucking-thing. Barring the unthinkable, I will never again have to stand still for eight hours and watch the civilized world show me its worst side. The next time society flashes its ass at me, I intend to kick it. The end is almost near. You are almost a graduate of Fuckthisjob.com! [Moderator] Thanks! It feels good, too. I'll still hang around here, though, even if I do end up liking the parapro job as much as I think I will. Okay, Candall, I've got your perfect last day planned. I know you want to unleash the beast, and the temptation is hard to resist, but I find it's better to bewilder than to be-anger (be-anger??). Don't tell anyone you're leaving, but a week to 10 days leading up to it, mention to co-workers about having bad dreams. Don't be specific, just say dreams where there's lots of chaos. On your last day, first, get out of sight. You're going to need a change of clothing for later. Go to some break-type area that's quiet. Take off your shoes and socks at the same time, so as the sock is still inside the shoe. Place them together about a foot apart. Next, take off your pants, hold them by the beltloops above the shoes, then drop them and allow them to collapse. Do the same thing with your shirt and smock if you have one. Just for aestetic effect, arrange your nametag so as that it faces upward and is easily readable from eye level. I guess if you're in a break-related area, you should casually drop an open bag of corn snacks there, too. Put on your spare clothes, summon your inner-ninja, and escape the building without being seen. Don't answer your phone anymore. Congrataulashun!, you've kicked off the Rapture! For full effect, check the newspapers for a few days. Oh, OH! And if you want to keep the county forensics guys on their toes, you can find an old dirty fireplace, swipe some ashes, and pour the ashes into the middle of the pile of clothes. Either that, or find some way to make a big, warty toad stay put in there. Either way, you run the risk of a closed-casket ceremony in your honor. Well, I am happy for you that you get to escape hell and move on...but I am also sorry to say - and hate to be cliche - but the grass is not greener on the other side. Take it from me...I know. My first job was a cashier job....my boss was a slavemaster who stood up in an office and looked down upon the peons as we checked people out and did our job. So much as a wrong move and the evil fat Sally would start reprimanding. I hated the long hours on my feet - just wanting to sit down. I also hated the evil and nasty motherfuckers who would sigh and complain at my register if the slightest thing that they didn't like happened....line too slow, something rang up at the wrong price.... Then, I became a waitress.....the job was different....but it had the same shit attached....long hours on my feet...evil boss, pain in the ass customers - always fucking whining when they didn't whatever the fuck it is that they wanted. Then, I graduated college and got a corporate america job...thought this was the big time....time to get a "real job"...haha Move forward to 8 years later, a 6-figure salary, and where am I today?? I have hated every motherfucking job I have ever had (except for one)....Weis Markets cashier, Lerner New York salesgirl, Telemarketer, TGIFridays waitress, Blue Cross Blue Shield, Schinnerer Slave, and now AIG peon.....they have all sucked ass and the further I get a up the food chain....the salary gets bigger but so does the bullshit. Have dreams - be happy you're moving on - but don't be delusional......the grass has the same shit on it no matter what lawn you visit. Peace. Awesome Post. One of the best I've read on this blog in my short history here. No matter where you sit (or stand) on the pay/skill scaffolding, it's hell out there. Once upon a time, a college degree was a way out. No longer. Read somewhere a serious analyst who opined that "...the Bachelor's Degree has become the new High School Diploma..." Oh, man, if that's true, we're in more, a lot more, trouble than we realize. I hope you have pets at home to return to after the standard shit at the office every day. You deserve them. Thanks Nelange for the awesome praise - I am glad you liked the post. I do agree with you...the Bachelor's degree is the new High School diploma....almost the same as the Master's Degree too. Anyways, yes...I have 2 awesome cats at home that I adopted from the shelter I worked at...they are my happiness - along with my awesome husband who is my biggest cheerleader, my pyschiatrist, and buddy :-) Take care! I'm fully aware that there's no perfect job. I also appreciate the fact that since you've been there before that you feel as if you can tell me how it is. But let me ask you... when you worked in a grocery store, were you in a high-poverty area? Now, I'm not talking about "we don't have a Walgreens" poverty or "they won't let me into the country club," I'm talking about the kind of place where literally more than half of the customers are on welfare. Well, if not, let me assure you that cashiering in that environment is a different experience. I'm talking about a place where bitching about prices is only the tip of the iceburg. This is a place where customers will literally get pissed off at me for having a full set of teeth that I made myself. They will get pissed off at me for speaking in complete sentences with actual words and doing so without an accent. This is most of the people that I deal with. I'm sorry you had an asshole manager. Mine, for the most part, are great. Where I'll be working is the same place where I grew up and went to school. I already know the people that I'll be working around. Hey there Candall.... Sorry didn't mean to scare you or seem disgruntled with my Sage wisdom...I am just sharing what I have seen along the journey so far. As for your post, the answer to your question is "yes"...I spent most of my life in extreme poverty. My grocery store job started at age 15 - and I worked full-time while in high school. I worked in the town where I grew up in rural Pennsylvania where a majority of the people were on food stamps and you know food stamps don't pay for soap...so some of the dirtiest and scariest people used to really make my day a nightmare. Oh, and the TGIFridays that I worked at was in the 'hood and got visited by gang members and even got held up at gunpoint. Most of the neighborhoods I lived in before I "made it" where in the "hood" where drive-bys and stray bullets were the norm. I grew up in a poor family and had to start working at 15 to contribute to the family money. My family members are mostly uneducated factory workers and believe it or not....I still have family members that can't even read! Ok...well, I truly do hope you get a great new job. I am convinced that someone somewhere doesn't work in hell :-) CubiclePrisoner Well, Candall, congratulations on the new position. I hope it is an improvement over your current situation, however, not so good that you no longer post on Fthisjob. Because of you I have found ways to incorporate the term "waterheaded shit-tard" in to my every day conversations. Good luck, hope you don't like it too much! I'll still visit. For some reason, I haven't even had the heart to bitch about my job, because that would require thinking about my job. People get even fucking worse around this time of year because their little Dipshit Juniors are out of school and driving them crazier all day. Maybe one more rant for the road... before I leave this town in my dust. I've got bosses (note the -es, 3 in fact) that are already screwy and have kids that they constantly complain about. One of them even calls his daughters stupid all the time (not in a endearing way, but in a smart alec, i'm such a cool person, I can get away with anything, way). These bosses are manipulative and cruel even now. Ugh. Well, let's see what happens this summer. Fiiiiinnnggggeeersssss ccccrrrooosssed for job search. |
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