Bier de Stone (slavezombie) wrote,
Bier de Stone
slavezombie

1+5=6

(click for illustration) So, I'm not feeling very well at all. I have a feeling in my gut similar to side aches that occur while jogging and drinking too much water. I notice this uncomfortable feeling mostly when I'm aggravated, you know, disgruntled customers, unreasonable co-workers.
Do you work with the type of person who enjoys rubbing you the wrong way, then when consult with that person, they play it off stupidly as if they didn't know they were being difficult? Well, there's this one gal who just loves straightening out stuff. If she head a feather duster, she would brush it under your chin if she thought you were being too stiff. So, throughout the day, us clerks alternate duties serving the public and usually the place is not so busy that two people are needed at that desk (God forbid I would have to tolerate that). So, whenever I settle in behind the counter, I make an effort to re-arrange the desktop accessories (stapler, tape, pencils, pens, AND SCRATCH PAPER). While other clerks may use the time away from the customer service desk by doing office work, this co-worker in particular runs around the place (with imaginary duster) and picks things up, straightens things to look nicely, etc.) I've mention to her before that I do not like it when she comes to the counter and moves things around.
The other day, this is exactly what she did. I can hear the little cup of golf pencils moving around so I don't really pay much attention to her since I know by hearing her that she's roaming in that partculary area doing something constructive. Sharpening pencils. However, when it's time to assist a customer, I walk over to that part of the counter and see that the SCRATCH PAPER has been moved. This is obviously in retaliation for something. She hates the way I look, she hates the way I smell, she hates the way I talk. I dunno. I call to her to confront her with this and she begins with. "It wasn't me" and "I was just refilling the pencil cup. Maybe it was somebody else" and "I thought we all agreed that we all like the SCRATCH PAPER over her in this part of the counter." My boss knows how irritating she can be because it's been such an issue with her, I'm not the only person to complain. It doesn't seem like my boss does anything about it, though. So I have to pretend that I am somebody I'm not—married to a woman I loved back in high school only to have grown out of love with her, but unwilling to ask for a divorce.
My previous dental exam was an issue because the supervisor in charge didn't think to check the work schedule to confirm that it had been posted. My immediate supervisor later informed me that I should notify the supervisor in charge when these appointments occur. I then e-mailed date and time for a subsequent appointment, but still the boss didn't bother to post it. The day just previous to my appointment, the boss says to me that she had asked me to change it on the work schedule myself and post it. NOT! I did that. I changed my nine to five schedule to reflect that I would be leaving three hours early.
Because of the change, the supervisor in charge of allotting customer service assignments (at the counter) listed me for noon time to 2:30p, the time I had listed as when I would be leaving. When I mentioned that I would not be getting my lunch hour if I had to work those public service hours without a break, she immediately called her boss and passed over the phone. I got a bawling out that I should either take my lunch after 2:30, before 11:00, or eat a bird seed. I said that's absurd because I wouldn't be hungry at 11AM, I need a balanced meal if I'm expected to work 2-1/2 hours straight, and where the hell is the extra half hour disappearing to if I decide to take my lunch after I'm off the clock?! That's the story behind this awful feeling in my gut.
Tags: illustration, kaka treatment, office politics
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