http://www.makepovertyhistory.org Go Pump Yourself: Brownies

Go Pump Yourself

Monday, May 02, 2005

Brownies

I don't understand the point of trying to get brownie points at such a low level job.

One night last week I worked over nights, midnight to 8 am. The woman who does the 8-4 shift weekdays is a known cunt. She only works weekdays, she refuses to help out and fill in for other people. To top that off, is she isn't going to come in, she calls in sick about a half hour before her shift is due to start, leaving next to no time for a fill in to be found. Like I said, cunt. I will now refer to her as Cuntina. Anyway, so after I worked 8 hours alone in the gas station, Cuntina comes in and the first thing she does is start moving things around, then demands that things be "put back where they belong". Apparently an errant pen was lying on the counter. OH! The horror. I pretended to "tidy up" then left, muttering about waiting for the car service I had called earlier.

A few days later, a fat little birdie that works there told me that Cuntina was whining about the deplorable state the gas station was left in. She used words to describe me like bitch and stupid. Because a pen was on the counter. Fat birdie told her to watch what she says, that she doesn’t know me and shouldn’t talk shit about me. Especially behind my back. To my face she is always nice and smiley and calls me sweetie but then this? Fuck her.

Wait, there's more...

As part of our highly complex job description, we sell cigarettes. These cigarettes are like gold apparently and we're supposed to count how many packs there are at the beginning of the shift, how many we sell, and then re count at the end to make sure the number is correct. These numbers go in a marble notebook near the register. Who the fuck has time to count 300 cigarettes in the middle of the afternoon when everyone and their mother are getting gas? It's hectic when I start my shift. I usually keep a written tally of how many packs of smokes I sell and write down that number on the shift report. No one has had a problem with this for almost two months. Except ...wait for it.... Cuntina.

The snot nosed kid who's in charge of the snack shop thought it would be a good idea to lecture me the other day about procedures. then,
"It's been brought to my attention that you haven't been keeping track of the cigarettes,"
"who brought this to your attention?"
"Cuntina."
Oh. Oh! What the fuck is there to gain by this? Cuntina already makes more money then I do, on account of her working there longer than automobiles have been on the road. What does she hope to gain by pointing out a small insignificant fuck up?
I'm not one to snitch on people. I figure if someone fucks up, that's their problem and karma will bite them in the ass, or they'll otherwise get caught. As long as I'm not directly affected, I don't give a flying fuck. But once Cuntina brought it upon herself to point out my mistakes, I promptly listed everything she does wrong. Petty? You bet. But I was pissed.
Snot nosed kid didn't know that Cuntina FLIES out to go home as soon as I show up. This is not supposed to be done. She's supposed to wait with me while I count the drawer in, and...She’s supposed to, as part of the job description; help me count the motherfucking cigarettes.

Aside from Cuntina, and the one tow truck driver who said he can't make eye contact with me because of my googly eye, everything is running pretty smoothly.

1 Comments:

  • This sounds like a job for Batwoman. Run in wearing a mask and cape (and nothing else), bash her in the kneecaps, run back out then return moments later dressed as mild-mannered (ha) Pump Mistress saying "Who was that masked woman with the fantastic figure, and OMG what happened to you, dear?" :p

    By Blogger Grant, at 8:55 am  

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