“You better keep her away from me or keep me really busy today, because if she continues this antagonistic behavior, I might punch her.”
My manager looked wide eyed at me. She had never seen me this angry before. I had a right to be. I was sick of one of my coworker’s crap. I had taken it for too long, and so many of us in the store had complained about it. Finally she picked a fight with me on the wrong day. “You do have a back bone.” She mused impressed and slightly frightened. I come across very sweet, because I am. I try very hard to be a kind person, because kindness shines brighter in an unkind world. It takes a lot to get me angry, usually because I am hurt instead of angry, and I was fucking pissed.
I had been helping her with emails, because she is older, and doesn’t understand technology well. What I mean by helping her with emails, is I have been composing them for her on her laptop. Once she had asked me to stay after work to write one. I had said no. I was glad to help her, but after a while I realized I was doing a great deal of her work for her. She began pawning off customers who came in for her products on the rest of us. She kept trying to get us to clean her back room, which was not anyone else’s responsibility but hers. Now she wanted me to help her make phone calls for her upcoming free gift with purchase. Ones I would not actually earn commission for, since she took all the commission for phone calls regardless of who made them. I don’t care about commission much, but I cared about the principle of the thing, and it had become an issue of questionable character.
I decided I wanted to help another coworker put new product away at her counter. It was more fun than phone calls. Though, the choice didn’t go over well.
“So, you’ll help her with her stuff, but you won’t make phone calls?” She asked rudely. Attempting to make a scene.
“Why is this even an issue? This isn’t high school and I’m not doing your homework. ” I said rolling my eyes. At around 50 years old, you would think she would has grown up by now.
“Well I just want to be clear, since management told you to help me with this.”
Management had never actually told me to help. She had told me that management had said that others could help with they wanted to put some extra commission money in their pocket. But, then again, she seemed to be doing such a great job of having others do work for her a and taking all the credit, that I promised myself that I wouldn’t do anything until a manager actually asked me to. I hadn’t heard from a manager even once about it since she had told me.
“Then have management verbally tell me, and I will gladly.”
“I…I don’t want your help.” She snapped. The stammer in her words made me think she wasn’t expecting me to tell her to have a manager actually talk to me. It caused me to feel affirmed in my feeling that she might be trying to manipulate me into doing things for her, saying management was involved, when they were not.
“Good. We’re on the same page then, because I don’t wanna help.” She walked away, and I continued to check in new products.
I spent my afternoon in accessories near my counter, organizing and reorganizing socks until I was ready to explode. Then I moved on to purses, and damn if those purses didn’t look immaculate by the time I was done with them. I do some of my best work when I am upset.
I didn’t feel bad about what I said. It was true. I didn’t want to put up with a personality that acted like the school bully. I am so over school. I am over the childish antics. I just want to do my job. Take care of the things that are my responsibility. I don’t feel obligated, though she tried to make me feel that way. She claims to be so competitive, and she is, but she cannot be a success on her own merit. She could only be a success by using others to make her look good. It was infuriating, for many of us who work with her, because we had worked hard to get where we were. She didn’t. She bullied.
I am not going to be abused by someone who kept playing a victim. I am sick of helping, only to be asked for more, and treated like what I did (above and beyond what I ought to have been doing) wasn’t enough. It was almost better for me emotionally to do nothing for her and deal with her crap, than to do all the things I did do, and be told it wasn’t enough while also dealing with her crap. I can’t stand that.
On break I called my boyfriend about getting a job out in Cali. My emotions were high, but I was ready to move on, and Cali was my top destination option. He lived out there too. We planned to live out there if/when we got married. This place, the home town I once loved, was becoming poison. A festering wound in my life. It was hard to see the good in it anymore. The people were rude. The company I worked for was crappy. The job market was small. It wasn’t worth staying anymore. Forget how popular it was with tourists. Forget the artsy community, which was extremely lacking despite efforts to keep the arts alive. Forget the quaint stores that only opened when the owners felt like it. It felt like everything that had once been good, was suddenly missing. Gone. Pushed out by bullies and drama queens.
I just don’t want to stay here anymore. I’m so over his place.