Fuck the Shoe Department, Fuck signing people up for Credit cards, and Fuck retail
This isn’t so much of a “Fuck Customer’s” story, as it is a “Fuck Management” story.
Until about two months ago I was working for a major retail chain, and I’d been there for almost two years. I’d always shown up to work early, never showing up late unless I had a good reason, I always took a stiff upper lip when dealing with assholes, I did what was asked of me, and I always tried to go above and beyond, if not for myself, but for my fellow associates.
Originally when I was hired, I was placed in the shoe department. I fucking hate shoes. It was second largest department in our store, and we only had one person at any given time working it. Not to mention the adjacent Home Department never had anybody scheduled until the closing shift, and that was if we were lucky. So if Asa Butter-Buttcheeks doesn’t show up for their shift, I had to cover Home as well, and I knew all of jack-shit about it. So I had to cover, what I would estimate was about 35% of the store by myself, regardless of it being busy or not. So every customer call, question, price verifier request, ship-from-store order, etc. that happened in the back half of the store, I had to deal with. On top of that, I wasn’t given enough time to complete my own tasks in Shoes because it was so massive. The most I could get done was trying to keep the department clean for the next shift, and maybe some minor stocking. So on a 4 hour shift, I could, realistically, only complete about two or three tasks, just because Shoes was the busiest department AND I had Home to worry about too.
To effectively run Shoes, you need a minimum of at least three associates (And another three in Home). One person to deal with customers, one person to keep things clean, and one person to do the miscellaneous jobs: placing security tags on shoes, organization, stocking, i.e. whatever had to be done that day. Another thing is that a MASSIVE chunk of stolen items came from shoes. If I have to be in the back of the store answering someone’s question on a stupid fucking soup dehumidifier, how can I be expected to prevent someone from taking off with a pair of Air Jordan’s, on the other end of said store? I can’t. But my asshole of a manager didn’t care. Everything was my fault.
And I was constantly asking for more help in Shoes, but I never got it. Like, I get it, companies can only have so many people on the payroll or what have you. But if that’s the case, don’t get pissed at me if I can’t do the work of 6 people on my own in only 4 hours. It’s fucking ridiculous.
On top of that, the one thing I enjoyed doing was Point of Sales, or the register. It meant I was only dealing with customers, and I only had to worry about doing folding on the front displays and putting away 500’s (go-backs). I always tried to have positive interactions with customers, even if they weren’t positive themselves. I had the highest level of Positive Customer Interactions, but I never got scheduled. Reason being, I didn’t “get enough credit.” Honestly, fuck in-store credit cards. It takes too fucking long to sign up customers, I don’t care what you say. The fastest person getting credits, is still the slowest associate on register. And slow associate means pissed off customers, and pissed off customers means negative reviews, and negative reviews means less business for us. So I tried to make things fast and easy for the customer, and my other associates. The faster a line is cleared, the faster we can work on other things, and the customers leave happy.
I would ask if they were interested in signing up for our bullshit credit card, and 75% of the time they already had one. The other 25%? 20% weren’t interested at all, and the other 5% had cards before and cancelled them. I can’t tell you how many closing shifts I had where every customer came in with a card already. How the fuck is that my fault if they’re already signed up? I can’t sign them up twice you fucking day-old-pasty-ass-potatosalad eating motherfuckers.
So no credits meant no hours, and no hours meant no money. And no money meant I couldn’t keep up with my bills and shit.
On top of that my manager was a fucking prick. I’d give him schedule changes so that I could work AND be a decent college student, and he’d refuse to change my schedule. So I failed two classes until I decided I was fed up. I was never scheduled, when I was it was in a department I hated, or somewhere I excelled and was punished for not meeting an absolutely moronic goal, and to top it off I got blamed for shit I had no control over.
The best part? Two weeks after I’d put my two-weeks notice in, that fucker quit too because his work as a manager was “Too hard.” I hope he stubs his toe on every piece of wooden furniture he encounters for the rest of his life. I hope his coffee is perpetually lukewarm, despite asking for it cold or extra-hot. I hope his socks have holes in them, and that his Netflix buffers longer than reasonable. Fuck him, fuck credit cards, fuck shoes, and fuck retail.
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× The toilet paper dude!