Screw It, I Have To Write About This Unfairness

My Mood:    –Upset/Angry

All right.  So I’ve been working over at that dollar store since June.  That’s almost a year.  And yesterday, when I was gonna leave pretty soon, one of the girls who works there said that she needed to talk to me, so I should come over to the aisle she was working in.  So, after saying I would proof, (count the register,) as soon as I took care of something, I went to that aisle and asked what was up.  She says to me that she just heard from someone else who works there that basically, there was a plan to get the two of us fired.  Myself, and the one telling me this.  I guess she’s already started looking for another job.  But neither one of us can believe that this is going on.  I mean, A) they don’t have enough respect for us to tell us if we’re not working up to par?  And B) If this is made up, I don’t want to work with people who will start these kind of rumours.

I mean, most of us get paid off the books.  And the last time we got paychecks, I was asked if I wanted to be put on the payroll.  He said he should have done it months ago, but hadn’t, and said if I wasn’t gonna go looking for something else, he’d put me on.  (It costs them money to putsomeone on, and then take them off.  So if it doesn’t look like someone’s gonna stay, he doesn;t bother putting them on payroll.)  Anyway, I said that yeah, I didn’t intend on leaving, and I’d like to be on the payroll.

But now I hear this.  And I’d also said to her that it explained the checklist I saw for me.  When I got there yesterday, there was a checklist with a note attached saying that these were my sections to clean and I should check the boxes off as I do them.  She couldn’t believe that one.  In some ways, I can, because no one thinks I do any work there.  But I do.  I mean, yeah, I was tsanding behind the counter the entire day today, but that’s because I was working on getting fnished with the balloon project I have.  The balloons are always in disarray, and horribly disorganized, and the people at tat counter often have no idea where the balloon a customer wants is, so I’m making a better system.  I’m putting one of each balloon into a binder so that the customers can look through them, and we can immediately see which one it is.

But apparently, unless you’re the store’s little Queen-bee worker, or you’re out in the aisles the entire time you’re there, it means you’re not working.

And I hate that I found it out yesterday, too, because yesterday was Mike’s birthday.  It was okay, I guess, despite my mood.  We went up to his dad and grandma’s, I made his cake, which except for the fact that it stuck to the bowl, came out surprisingly well.  I cooked it in a bowl so that it would have adome-like shape when it came out of the oven.  In other words, I made a turtle shell.  Then used whipped cream for the feet, head, and tail, raisins for the eyes, and different colored frosting for the shell.  I even put two candles in the whipped cream for his front feet, as if he was holding them.  It was really cute, and I figured Mike would love it, and be all, "Oh, it’s so cute," when he saw it.  But no.  Instead I get his "Ahh" cry, and him saying, "It’s a sacrificial turtle!"  I swear, if it’d been an anime, I would’ve been stabbed by the word bubble right there.

::Sighs::  Oh, well.  I didn’t play chess against Dan, and Mike once again, wouldn’t put down the damned Ranma manga while we played Encore, but other than that, it was okay.

I did decide one thing about work, though.  The owner said he’d put me on the payroll for this coming paycheck.  So, if I’m not on the payroll, I’m gonna start looking for another job.  The only bad thing is, I have no idea where, and I need a job.  I’ve got the money to give to my mom, the gym, my credit card, the phone bill . . .  I need to be employed.  I don’t have a choice in the matter.

But once I find one, I’m quitting this one.  Because like I said, A) either they don’t have enough respect for us to tell us that hey, this is what’s going on, or B) it’s a rumor that the other workers made up.  And frankly, I have no interest in working with people who would make up such a cruel thing.

I don’t know . . .  It seems like I can never find a place to work where I’m good enough . . .