I wrote up nearly 50 pages of material explaining in detail every single pitiful aspect of my job. What follows are some transcriptions of the sloppy, barely literate notes my trainee took:
“To find WR in da shop, do they stock parts go to your #1 order processor type in your part # & under neath dat you WY C P-Loc = S 32” (instructions on how to find parts in our computer system; it makes as much sense to you as it does to me)
“It gives you the part # & descrption then you go into part # type # gives you vendor” (no idea; I don’t even know what “it” refers to)
“They are on top left bins (in front of me)” (in reference to some paperwork boilerplate)
“In da bak of office (by comp.) right side top of file cabinet you will find some manilla enevelopes w/writting on them inter-department delivery”
I should also note that everything I typed in boldface is highlighted in yellow, indiscriminately.
Do I really think she’s that stupid? Sort of. I think a lot of the incoherence comes from her not really taking notes—just trying to look like she was doing something. It’s anybody’s guess, though. She might think these are really good, sound coherent notes. Maybe the way her mind works, they will help her succeed. I’d just hate to be there on the day somebody moves the “top left bins” in front of her, or moves the “manilla enevelopes.”
The bulk of her notes, though, were mainly directions, names, phone numbers, dates, and times. I decided to be nice and not post them, but I’m not exactly surprised to find she was more interested in keeping track of her social life than in learning how to do the job. I quit now, so I can snicker at the thought of them forcing her to do a job she can’t. I’m not a bad teacher, even though I resented her being there in the first place. “My” new girl, the one before the current girl (of whom I refuse to claim ownership), didn’t do a horrible job, comparatively speaking. At the time, I thought she was an abomination, but now I’ve realized she was obnoxious, not as smart as she thought she was, and frustrating. I didn’t like her undermining what little authority I have, I didn’t like her sitting there with me all day (thus preventing me from fucking off, and also yap-yap-yapping in my ear).
I had many problems with “my” new girl, but during the week I had her doing things on her own, to my surprise…she made a couple of minor mistakes, but she didn’t fuck up nearly as much as I thought she would. It would appear that, when faced with a problem, without having me to rely on, she broke down and consulted my procedure manuals and did things right. The mistakes she made were mostly mixing up numbers, a problem the guides couldn’t help, anyway.
And then, after about a week on her own, she quit. I don’t know if she felt she couldn’t handle the job, if she thought it was too tedious when she was by herself, or if she got a new job. Most people don’t just up and quit a job because it’s boring; I’ve only had two jobs in my life that didn’t bore me out of my skull, and trust me, I’ve had more jobs than anyone on the planet. But I’ve never quit one because I was bored; I usually quit them because of the paranoid fantasy everyone has conspired to get me fired. Of course, usually I’m right. I actually caught a glimpse of her personal e-mail over her shoulder, and it looks like she had a few from Manpower, so I’ll assume she got a new job.
I was happy with her gone, but this new new girl is a nightmare. She takes every bad quality of “my” new girl and intensifies it by about 1000%; even worse, she’s related to not one but two people who work there, hired to perform a job whose storied history includes a guy who wasn’t even fired after literally not doing any work for three straight months (no, I’m not referring to myself). It’s clear they don’t care about the position, and it’s clear that she’ll never get fired, and it’s even clearer that she won’t quit.
So I quit. I knew I’d never get fired, but fuck this jobs. Shitty jobs are shitty jobs, and I needed the money and the insurance, but I don’t need an ulcer (and yes, I got one) for a job that is, at the end of the day, a complete waste of time. And a job I was slowly being fucked out of in the first place; they wouldn’t have fired me, but they were giving me what they felt was a promotion and I felt was a demotion. So that was it. Fuck those motherfuckers.
And now I can snicker as I imagine the new new girl lost in a sea of paperwork she doesn’t understand, opting to check her MySpace page every 30 seconds instead of trying to figure out how to do the job. Oh, also, I took back my procedure manuals. I deleted them from the computer. She has nothing to go on but the month of training I gave her, which would be more than sufficient if she wasn’t an imbecile. I took them partly out of spite, but mainly because I made them to help my boss in the likely event that I quit and he couldn’t replace me right away. But he fucked me, so I don’t owe him anything.
Oh, did I mention I made a scene? It was my most epic resignation ever. I usually just quietly sidle out one day, or give notice without elaboration. But that’s because most of my jobs don’t piss me the fuck off. I had grievances to air, and I wanted to air them in front of my coworkers so my boss couldn’t spin it that I got a new job and was just moving on. I tried to do it in front of the new new girl, but for the two weeks before I quit, I told her there was nothing to do and to go away; she was more than happy to oblige (did I mention we didn’t get along and I made her cry at least twice?), so she went off to help her aunt in the back and never returned to the warranty office. I didn’t complain, but she was off somewhere in the back when I quit, which was unfortunate.
Nonetheless, I explained in blunt, profanity-laden terms that I had been royally fucked and I can’t take it anymore. They stuck me in the warehouse for half-days (which would have been bumped to full days once the retard was fully trained), and—this is another reason I wanted to make my scene in front of at least a few coworkers—I wanted to let them know that I was shocked by how comically easy the job is. I’m in pretty bad shape, so I was kind of looking forward to doing some physical labor (so that as soon as I quit it for a better, cushier job, I’d get all fat again). Except…there is shockingly little physical labor. Everything small goes on a cart that is pushed from one end to the other. Everything large goes on a pallet that’s carried by a forklift. That’s it, unless it’s so tiny or light it can be carried by hand.
Now, I’m sure there are safety reasons for it, and the lazy ass in me doesn’t mind it, but fuck, I’ve worked in coffee shops with more grueling physical labor. And at least in a coffee shop you have to use your brain once in awhile. It’s a shitty job with asshole customers that becomes a mind-numbing routine after a month or two, but it requires more brainpower than looking at a part number and location on a sheet, finding the location, finding the number, putting it on a cart, and pushing the cart across a room. I had mastered the entire job in half an hour.
Did I feel like an asshole for insulting my coworkers’ livelihood? Fuck those motherfuckers. Most of them were glad to inform me that I wasn’t doing “real” work, so I was equally glad to inform them that their definition of “real work” is bullshit. It’s certainly different from the warehouse I worked in during high school. Besides which, most of them are either drunks and semi-legal immigrants (or both!) who either can’t do better or don’t want to do better. They want to drink on the job. They don’t know enough English to do more than read simple numbers. Either way, fuck ’em.
I told my boss I didn’t appreciate being completely fucked over because I was nice enough to be honest and let him know I had no intention of staying at this job any longer than I had to. I also let my coworkers know about some secret gossip nobody was supposed to know about. Because fuck them. The new new girl is training for my job, but one of the reasons she went off with the aunt is because, at the point when she was fully trained for my job, she was supposed to learn this other job and then, eventually, do both. The aunt would then usurp the job of an old codger, who they would force into retirement. People like the old guy, which is why they didn’t ram it down his throat sooner. He can still do the job, albeit a little more slowly, so what the fuck? Answer: the aunt is my boss’s best friend/second-in-command’s sister. So they create a position that’s not open for her niece, then move the aunt to another closed position, ousting two more qualified employees in the process.
My boss clearly didn’t like hearing that. He tried to cut me off, but I wouldn’t let him. He tried to defend himself, at which point I told him to fuck himself. Then I stormed out, never to be heard from again…
…until ten minutes later, when I realized I hadn’t punched out. I called a coworker and had him do it for me, to spare the embarrassment of coming back. But I had planned that resignation for weeks, literally (I stayed on to get holiday pay). I had slowly made all of my personal effects disappear the preceding week, so I left a free man, and I left nothing behind.
Because fuck those motherfuckers. I may be unemployed (again), but I can laugh.