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But You Got The Job!

, , , , , | Working | June 2, 2020

I love my job, but I’m pretty sure a demon is trying to haunt me through it. When I went in for my interview, I ran into two traffic jams; luckily, my interviewer laughed it off as funny with me.

Then, I almost got run into by a customer going the wrong way in the parking lot and dinged my own car trying to avoid her.

Then, I suddenly developed an allergy and started hacking my lungs out while my throat was closing up.

I’m going to start looking up banishing techniques on the weekend.

Don’t Take A Page Out Of This Page’s (Really, Really Neat) Book

, , , , , , | Working | May 1, 2020

The pages at our library mostly work by themselves, but we team up an hour before the library closes at 6:00. We have a new page, and I’m training her about our closing duties: straightening the books on the shelves, picking up books that patrons left on tables and chairs, etc. She’s working pretty slowly, so I go over to check up on her.

Me: “Okay, good job! Just keep in mind that while we want the books to look nice and neat, it doesn’t need to be perfectly lined up.”

This is my indirect way of telling her she needs to speed up.

New Page: “No! The very top row needs to be brought all the way to the front! The edges need to be flush! This is the correct way!”

I’m surprised by her backtalk.

Me: “Well… yes, ideally. But this is a pretty big library, so if we try to make each shelf perfect, we’ll never get done, and half the library will still be a mess. Anyway, just keep the time that we have in mind.” 

She seems to take the hint and tries her best to keep up with me. I expected her to work slowly, so she actually does well enough on her first day, and I figure she’ll only improve. The second day, we work with another page, [Coworker]. Because there are three of us, we start later than we usually would. However, [New Page] is working much more slowly than before. My supervisor, who has other things to do and never performs closing duties with us, comes over to baby the new page a bit, giving her some tips to help her work faster before leaving her in our hands.

Coworker: “[New Page], when you finish those shelves, move on to the nonfiction section. The two of us are starting from the end close to the audiobooks, so just come find us.”

[Coworker] and I move on to the next area and speedily work together to get it cleaned up. When we’re halfway done, we realize something.

Me: “Wait, where’s [New Page]?” 

We look for her and find her still in fiction, going over shelves that have already been done and trying to make them perfectly straight.

Coworker: “[New Page], those books are straight enough! Come on!”

We drag her to the next section and I work alongside [New Page] for a while, keeping an eye on how she works and trying to coach her into working faster. I leave to finish up the rest of nonfiction, and she’s stuck on the same row of shelves.

Me: “Okay, [New Page], the reference and foreign language sections are next. Join us over there when you finish that shelf.”

[Coworker] and I go to those areas and start working as fast as we can to make up for the time we’ve lost babysitting [New Page]. We’re concentrating so much on our work that we don’t realize right away that she’s missing again.

Coworker: “Oh, God… Where is she?”

We backtrack to the previous section, and sure enough, she’s “fixing” the shelves that are already straightened.

Me: *Really frustrated* “[New Page]! I told you that we had to straighten up reference and foreign language next! We’ve already gone over those shelves!”

We drag her over to reference so that we can finish up while she barely does anything. It’s running really close to 6:00, and two more sections still need to be cleaned up.

Me: “[New Page], can you go over to health and science and help [Coworker]? I’ll go over to the young adult section.” 

[New Page] follows me like a lost puppy. I decide, “To heck with it; she can help me, instead.”

Me: “[New Page], can you handle those shelves over there while I do these?”

She doesn’t. She hovers about asking me questions.

New Page: “Do I have to clock out right at the hour?”

Me: “No, you don’t have to. You actually have seven minutes after 6:00 before you absolutely have to clock out, but no one stays that long unless it’s really messy. Anyway, I want to keep you a couple minutes after just to quickly show you how we do sorting.”

New Page: “Okay.”

I continue working as fast as I can while she idly stands by and watches.

Me: “Okay, finally done here. We don’t have time to actually do all of the sorting, but I can at least show you–”

New Page: *Frantically* “But it’s 6:00! I need to clock out!”

It was actually still a few more minutes until 6:00, but she ran off to the back room anyway so that she could wait there before clocking out. [Coworker] and I did as much as we could in the sorting room before heading back. Even though it was after 6:00, [New Page] is still there. She left only moments before I clocked out.

The next day, after we spoke with our supervisor about her poor work ethic and utter lack of teamwork skills, it was decided that [New Page] would be stuck in the fiction section. For a long time, the only thing she was ever responsible for was putting away fiction and closing that area by herself; however, she worked so slowly that we often had to help her finish up. She never really got any better at her job, but she was never fired.

We Must All Follow Tooth’s Arrow

, , , , | Right | April 20, 2020

I work at a sporting goods store. A mother and her two sons come up to my register. The oldest child, no more than six, places a junior bow-and-arrow set on the counter.

Child: “I’m going to pull my loose tooth with that!”

Mother: *Laughing* “He means that he’s going to tie a string to his tooth and fire the arrow. He was looking around on YouTube and was picking out ways to pull his tooth.”

I stare at the child.

Me: “Well… I wish you the best of luck.”

To the child who bought that toy, I honestly do hope you succeeded. Good luck, young man.

The Owner’s Bark Is Worse Than The Pet’s Bite

, , , , | Right | March 30, 2020

(I am working at a fancy vet office close to the rich part of town, so most of our clients are more willing to do what is necessary for their pets regardless of cost. An older couple brings their senior small breed in for teeth cleaning.

The vet assistant is responsible for going over admissions paperwork that includes optional services and a section that would allow the doctor to do teeth extractions without calling the owner first. We include this option because many times, we cannot get a hold of the owner to ask permission. after the client has been placed in a room I enter ready to go over paperwork.)

Me: “Good morning! I have some paperwork to go over with you really quick, and then we can take [Pet] back and get him started with his procedure.”

(The woman starts to fill out the form while I’m going over what each section is. When I get to the part about optional services that, of course, cost extra, i.e. nail trims, more in-depth blood work, etc. She throws the pen down and starts yelling at me.)

Woman: “Don’t you dare try to sell me something!”

Me: “I am sorry, I was just going over the form; these are additional services you can add on if you’d like but you don’t have to.”

(She just stares at me sternly, so I move on to the part of the form that allows the doctor to do extractions.)

Me: “Okay, do you allow the doctor to do what is necessary as far as extractions go or would you prefer—”

Woman: “I told you not to sell me anything. I don’t want to hear it! If the doctor wants me to do something she can tell me herself!”

Me: “Okay, would you—”

(I was going to say, “Would you like me to get the doctor?”)


Me: “Fine.”

(I leave the room and go get her doctor and tell her that she needs to go into the room and finish the check-in, because I will not be talked to like that again. The doctor knows who the couple is.)

Doctor: “Oh, yeah, they can be weird like that.”

(Apparently, after the doctor went in, they were all smiles and agreed to let the doctor do whatever she needed to.)

The Agony Of De-Feet

, , , , , , | Related | March 16, 2020

Growing up, I managed to name most of the cats my family owned, for one reason or another. My favorite by far, though, had to be my brother’s cat.

When we were going through the process of naming her, we managed to narrow our options down to two choices: Socks, my brother’s suggestion, and Feet, mine. Both were in reference to her white paws, as compared to her grey body.

To keep my brother and me from arguing about it, my dad had us agree to sleep on it. That night, the household awoke to my brother screaming and cursing in his room. The reason? His cat had apparently peed on his feet while he was sleeping.

I, being the five-year-old I was, told him that she decided her name for us. I wasn’t exactly wrong.