Loyal readers will remember a few months ago when I posted a list of 5 jobs that were more depressing than being unemployed. Let me tell you, in painfully drawn out detail, the story of another job worse than unemployment.
I arrived in New York last Thursday night. The next morning, I woke up at around 7 am in a panic, thinking "holyshitIdon'thaveajob, holyshitIdon'thaveanymoney, whatamIgoingtodo, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuuuuuuuuuuuck". So I put on my pair of shoes with the fewest amount of holes in them, and decided to try my luck at the local businesses, asking if they were hiring. I scored a full-time position as a cashier at an Italian bakery. It was only the second place I went into. Sure, it would only pay $8 an hour, but it was better than nothing, right? The manager told me I could start training the next morning at 7. I was so relieved. If I were wearing a hat, I would have thrown it into the air Mary Tyler Moore style. I was going to make it after all!
Only I wasn't. I arrived bright and early on Saturday. The woman working was not expecting me. She was one of the managers, and was unaware that the other manager had hired me. To say she was not pleased to see me would be an understatement. Immediately she started yelling "He hired another damn 21 year old! I wouldn't have hired you! I don't want to waste my time! Kids your age go out at night and they don't get up in the morning! They don't want to work! Are you here to work?!" I stared at her for a minute. "Um. Yes?" "Yeah, sure, that's what they all say." She continued to yell at me about how 21 year olds were irresponsible and how they stayed out all night. I was offended because I did in fact stay out until 4 am the night before, but I got my ass out of bed and I got to work on time. I hadn't even started working yet, and already I was a bad employee. She eventually stopped yelling. We stared at each other for about a minute before she snapped "Well if you're gonna work, put on an apron. If you're gonna waste my time, leave now." I thought about leaving, but realized I had no money, and decided to try to win her over with my dynamite work ethic and outta sight customer service skillz. By the end of the day, she had sort of warmed up to me. I was glad I had stuck out the day, figuring that things would only get better.
Only they didn't. I stopped working with her, and started working with her brother, the manager that hired me. The first thing he said to me: "that apron you're wearing looks fucking retarded". Unbeknownst to me, nobody ever wears a work apron there. I laughed it off, saying "Please. I look great", but I took the apron off the first chance I got. He told me to make him a coffee "Dark. 2 Splendas." So I made it and handed it to him. "I don't need a fucking lid on it, I'm going to drink it now." So I took the lid off. He took a sip. "It's really hot." I asked him if he wanted me to put a sleeve around it. "No, I want to be able to fucking drink it! Dump out some of the coffee and put more milk in it." I don't know how many of my readers speak coffee, but when somebody asks for DARK coffee, that means they don't want a lot of milk in it. So I was annoyed that he was yelling at me for following his directions. But I pressed on, figuring that if I stayed positive, he'd have no choice but to respond positively to my winning attitude.
Only he didn't. Two days later he told me I could start preparing and serving food to customers (deli food, like toasted bagels and rolls. Sandwiches were still too advanced for me). The toaster was located on a shelf about a foot over my head, so I couldn't see where the slots were. He was watching me try to put bagel slices in it, and shouted "Hurry up! You're going too slow!" I crammed the bagel slices in "You'd better not burn those!" But as the day progressed, I felt I was starting to get the hang of it. Only I wasn't. One woman gave back a bagel that I had prepared for her, saying I hadn't put enough cream cheese on it. The manager ran over, grabbed the bagel, opened it, turned to me with a look of horrified disbelief, and said "What is this? This is horrible. Understand? Horrible." I figured I just wouldn't make that mistake again and everything would be fine.
Only it wouldn't be. The next day, I was supposed to start at 7 am. He called me at 6 "I need you to come in now." I said I'd head right over, and got there at around 6:30. "Good morning!" I said cheerfully as I strolled in. "Customers!" he shouted. There was one customer. She wanted a roll, toasted with butter. I began slicing the roll. "Make sure you put a lot of butter on it, ok? Not like yesterday." "No problem!" I said. I was going to make him proud of me, dammit! My can-do spirit would eventually make him hate me less! As I was spreading butter on the roll, I heard "WHAT THE FUCK?!" I looked over to see the manager barreling over to me. "I KNOW YOU'RE NOT FUCKING RETARDED. I KNOW YOU'RE NOT FUCKING RETARDED! THIS IS TOO MUCH BUTTER!! WOULD YOU EAT THIS?!" With those words, my can-do spirit was officially broken. Defeated, I mumbled "No..." as he ripped the roll from my hands and scraped a layer of butter off the roll. I debated leaving right then, figuring that 6:40 in the morning was way too early for such language. I decided to soldier on, but things did not improve. At one point in the day, three customers ordered sandwiches. I am not qualified to make sandwiches, but the manager specifically told me he never wanted to see me standing still. The problem was, I had just wiped down the counters, made more coffee, and swept the floor. I didn't know what else to do. Panic-stricken, I looked to the left, accidentally making eye contact with him. "DON'T STAND THERE LOOKING STUPID!" he yelled. "COME HERE, BRING ME THE HAM!" so I sprinted over to the meats. I wasn't positive which one was the ham, and was flooded with terror. "shitshitshitshitshit" I thought, until remembering that I had watched him make a ham and cheese sandwich the day before. Confident that I had chosen the correct meat, I carried it over to him, beaming with triumph. "WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS? I NEED IT SLICED." "But... but I haven't been taught how to use the meat slicer!" He just sort of grumbled as he snapped the ham from my hands. Eventually, he left for the day, so I got to work with a kid around my age. My co-worker had been there for a few months. He asked me how I liked it. "It's ok... I'm pretty sure [the manager] hates me though." "I'm sure he doesn't hate you." "Well I mean... he called me a fucking retard this morning, so..." the kid blinked at me. "Really? Wow. What a tool. I mean, he's cursed me out a few times, but I'm a guy. And I'm not new. What did you do?" "I put too much butter on a roll." I didn't realize it fully until I said it out loud how ridiculous it was that I was letting myself be treated this way for $8 an hour.
Later that day, the woman manager came in. I was actually happy to see her at first. Then she said "The money isn't right. Why aren't we getting more customers?" And instead of blaming it on the fact that nobody wants to eat Italian deli foods or drink cappucinos in 100 degree weather, she blamed it on me. She told me that she worried I was taking too long to make things, and that the word was spreading that the bakery took too long to get people their food. I was stunned. I hadn't even been working there for a week. I'd only been preparing food for two days. I CAME IN EARLY, ONLY TO BE CALLED "FUCKING RETARDED" AT 6:40 IN THE MORNING FOR PUTTING TOO MUCH BUTTER ON A ROLL. I started to shake, I was so angry. "I need you to come in tomorrow at 6. [The other manager] needs someone to be there while he makes the food, and no one else can come in." I smiled. "I'll be there." I said. I turned and left.
I woke up this morning at 9 am to 14 missed phone calls. It must have been hard for him to prepare the food for the day and serve the customers all alone. There must have been quite a long line. I wonder how many customers they lost. I'm sure they weren't surprised. That's to be expected of an irresponsible 21 year old.
I BET YA MISSED MY "RETARDED" ASS THIS MORNING MOTHAFUCKA!
But yeah. Now I'm back at square one. I need a fucking job.
I arrived in New York last Thursday night. The next morning, I woke up at around 7 am in a panic, thinking "holyshitIdon'thaveajob, holyshitIdon'thaveanymoney, whatamIgoingtodo, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuuuuuuuuuuuck". So I put on my pair of shoes with the fewest amount of holes in them, and decided to try my luck at the local businesses, asking if they were hiring. I scored a full-time position as a cashier at an Italian bakery. It was only the second place I went into. Sure, it would only pay $8 an hour, but it was better than nothing, right? The manager told me I could start training the next morning at 7. I was so relieved. If I were wearing a hat, I would have thrown it into the air Mary Tyler Moore style. I was going to make it after all!
Only I wasn't. I arrived bright and early on Saturday. The woman working was not expecting me. She was one of the managers, and was unaware that the other manager had hired me. To say she was not pleased to see me would be an understatement. Immediately she started yelling "He hired another damn 21 year old! I wouldn't have hired you! I don't want to waste my time! Kids your age go out at night and they don't get up in the morning! They don't want to work! Are you here to work?!" I stared at her for a minute. "Um. Yes?" "Yeah, sure, that's what they all say." She continued to yell at me about how 21 year olds were irresponsible and how they stayed out all night. I was offended because I did in fact stay out until 4 am the night before, but I got my ass out of bed and I got to work on time. I hadn't even started working yet, and already I was a bad employee. She eventually stopped yelling. We stared at each other for about a minute before she snapped "Well if you're gonna work, put on an apron. If you're gonna waste my time, leave now." I thought about leaving, but realized I had no money, and decided to try to win her over with my dynamite work ethic and outta sight customer service skillz. By the end of the day, she had sort of warmed up to me. I was glad I had stuck out the day, figuring that things would only get better.
Only they didn't. I stopped working with her, and started working with her brother, the manager that hired me. The first thing he said to me: "that apron you're wearing looks fucking retarded". Unbeknownst to me, nobody ever wears a work apron there. I laughed it off, saying "Please. I look great", but I took the apron off the first chance I got. He told me to make him a coffee "Dark. 2 Splendas." So I made it and handed it to him. "I don't need a fucking lid on it, I'm going to drink it now." So I took the lid off. He took a sip. "It's really hot." I asked him if he wanted me to put a sleeve around it. "No, I want to be able to fucking drink it! Dump out some of the coffee and put more milk in it." I don't know how many of my readers speak coffee, but when somebody asks for DARK coffee, that means they don't want a lot of milk in it. So I was annoyed that he was yelling at me for following his directions. But I pressed on, figuring that if I stayed positive, he'd have no choice but to respond positively to my winning attitude.
Only he didn't. Two days later he told me I could start preparing and serving food to customers (deli food, like toasted bagels and rolls. Sandwiches were still too advanced for me). The toaster was located on a shelf about a foot over my head, so I couldn't see where the slots were. He was watching me try to put bagel slices in it, and shouted "Hurry up! You're going too slow!" I crammed the bagel slices in "You'd better not burn those!" But as the day progressed, I felt I was starting to get the hang of it. Only I wasn't. One woman gave back a bagel that I had prepared for her, saying I hadn't put enough cream cheese on it. The manager ran over, grabbed the bagel, opened it, turned to me with a look of horrified disbelief, and said "What is this? This is horrible. Understand? Horrible." I figured I just wouldn't make that mistake again and everything would be fine.
Only it wouldn't be. The next day, I was supposed to start at 7 am. He called me at 6 "I need you to come in now." I said I'd head right over, and got there at around 6:30. "Good morning!" I said cheerfully as I strolled in. "Customers!" he shouted. There was one customer. She wanted a roll, toasted with butter. I began slicing the roll. "Make sure you put a lot of butter on it, ok? Not like yesterday." "No problem!" I said. I was going to make him proud of me, dammit! My can-do spirit would eventually make him hate me less! As I was spreading butter on the roll, I heard "WHAT THE FUCK?!" I looked over to see the manager barreling over to me. "I KNOW YOU'RE NOT FUCKING RETARDED. I KNOW YOU'RE NOT FUCKING RETARDED! THIS IS TOO MUCH BUTTER!! WOULD YOU EAT THIS?!" With those words, my can-do spirit was officially broken. Defeated, I mumbled "No..." as he ripped the roll from my hands and scraped a layer of butter off the roll. I debated leaving right then, figuring that 6:40 in the morning was way too early for such language. I decided to soldier on, but things did not improve. At one point in the day, three customers ordered sandwiches. I am not qualified to make sandwiches, but the manager specifically told me he never wanted to see me standing still. The problem was, I had just wiped down the counters, made more coffee, and swept the floor. I didn't know what else to do. Panic-stricken, I looked to the left, accidentally making eye contact with him. "DON'T STAND THERE LOOKING STUPID!" he yelled. "COME HERE, BRING ME THE HAM!" so I sprinted over to the meats. I wasn't positive which one was the ham, and was flooded with terror. "shitshitshitshitshit" I thought, until remembering that I had watched him make a ham and cheese sandwich the day before. Confident that I had chosen the correct meat, I carried it over to him, beaming with triumph. "WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS? I NEED IT SLICED." "But... but I haven't been taught how to use the meat slicer!" He just sort of grumbled as he snapped the ham from my hands. Eventually, he left for the day, so I got to work with a kid around my age. My co-worker had been there for a few months. He asked me how I liked it. "It's ok... I'm pretty sure [the manager] hates me though." "I'm sure he doesn't hate you." "Well I mean... he called me a fucking retard this morning, so..." the kid blinked at me. "Really? Wow. What a tool. I mean, he's cursed me out a few times, but I'm a guy. And I'm not new. What did you do?" "I put too much butter on a roll." I didn't realize it fully until I said it out loud how ridiculous it was that I was letting myself be treated this way for $8 an hour.
Later that day, the woman manager came in. I was actually happy to see her at first. Then she said "The money isn't right. Why aren't we getting more customers?" And instead of blaming it on the fact that nobody wants to eat Italian deli foods or drink cappucinos in 100 degree weather, she blamed it on me. She told me that she worried I was taking too long to make things, and that the word was spreading that the bakery took too long to get people their food. I was stunned. I hadn't even been working there for a week. I'd only been preparing food for two days. I CAME IN EARLY, ONLY TO BE CALLED "FUCKING RETARDED" AT 6:40 IN THE MORNING FOR PUTTING TOO MUCH BUTTER ON A ROLL. I started to shake, I was so angry. "I need you to come in tomorrow at 6. [The other manager] needs someone to be there while he makes the food, and no one else can come in." I smiled. "I'll be there." I said. I turned and left.
I woke up this morning at 9 am to 14 missed phone calls. It must have been hard for him to prepare the food for the day and serve the customers all alone. There must have been quite a long line. I wonder how many customers they lost. I'm sure they weren't surprised. That's to be expected of an irresponsible 21 year old.
I BET YA MISSED MY "RETARDED" ASS THIS MORNING MOTHAFUCKA!
But yeah. Now I'm back at square one. I need a fucking job.
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