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.* O . . .. ..O .. 339 17 Apr 2001 ) ( ')
.* O O* o o o o o o o ( / )
* ***O O O O O O O O O \( _)|
* O o o.*..o.*..o.*..o. .net "Take This Job and *
* O Shove It" *
*. o |\ _,,,---,,_ *
* /,`.-'`' -. ;-;;,_ *
* |,4- ) )-,_..;\ ( `'-' by Pavement *
* '---''(_/--' `-'\_) *mE0w* o
*. .......................................*
'Anada is cat-friendly..o*`
I'm out of my mind. I just spent three hours writing a text file no
one cares about, describing the funny shit that happened at every job I've
ever had.
I started my "career" at 16, when my mom told me she was going to
kick me out of the house if I didn't get a job. I found a job working at a
company called Turnpoint Marketing. The two owners were these fat Christian
ladies my mom went to church with, who had taken a business course through
some sort of "female empowerment"-type of program. They had no fucking clue
what they were doing. Everyone in the office was instructed to use one of
two fake names: 'Stan Smith" for the guys, and "Jan Smith" for the girls.
This didn't work.
Me: Hi, this is Stan Smith, calling on behalf of --
Them: How come the last 8 different people who left messages on my
answering machine have been named Stan Smith?
Me: Gosh, I don't know, sir. I'm the only Stan Smith working here.
Them: Yeah, right. So what the hell do you want?
Me: Well, as I was saying, my name is Stan Smith, and I'm calling on
behalf of Eastern Michigan University. We know that, as an
alumni, you understand the importance of education and maintaining
the high quality level of it at EMU. Would you please consider a
tax-deductible gift of only $5,000? You will receive a EMU
sweatshirt as a token of our appreciation.
Them: Are you kidding me?! $5,000?!
Me: Well, what about $2,000?
[12 seconds later]
Me: Is $5 too much to ask?
Them: [click].
Turnpoint Marketing went out of business 6 months after they opened,
and I'm surprised it lasted that long.
So, it was time to get a new job. And that job was at The Shoe
Carnival, a chain of shoe stores throughout the Midwest. We had something
called the "Money Machine," which is one of those booths you stand in while
powerful streams of air blow money around, and then you grab as much as you
can in a specified amount of time. We wore stupid costumes. We would go up
to customers and tell them jokes. The whole concept was to make the
shopping experience fun n' zany. The fun and zaniness was meant to look
spontaneous, but it was actually quite planned and we had specific
instructions on when to do something out-of-the-ordinary.
There was a raised platform (about 6 feet high) in the middle of the
store, called the "mic stand" where someone would talk into a microphone,
telling jokes and running trivia contests and giving candy to kids and
telling the customers about the specials. That someone was me,
unfortunately. I was the "mic man." They told me EXACTLY what to say, and
I got in trouble if I deviated by even one little word.
Me: Alrighty shoppers, savings for the ladies are GOING ON down aisle
"B;" it's a great looking pump by Donna Lawrence; I'm blowing 'em
out the door today at $19.99 a pair! That's right, $19.99 a pair!
Five hot colors, one low price! Shop and save!
God. How humiliating. We sold these Brand X Beanie Baby rip-offs by
the cash registers. One day, a customer started whipping them at me and
said he wouldn't stop until I shut up about the specials. I happily
complied. I lasted 6 months in this happy world of shit.
I moved on to an even worse job at Little Caesar's Pizza. It was
located in the ghetto, and it showed. The pizza-making area was hidden from
the eyes of the customers, and anything you can imagine happened in it.
When the store closed, the blunts and 40's came right on out. Maybe that
wasn't such a bad thing. One day, I was rolling out some dough and smoking
a cigarette while I was doing it. That's a health code violation, but of
course the boss (who was an acid dealer and only there so his parents didn't
wonder where his money came from) didn't give a shit. An ash from my
cigarette fell on the dough. I thought "oh shit!" because the boss was
standing right next to me, and I thought he'd be pissed. He just laughed
and told me to wipe the ashes off. Someone got a little something extra
with their Large Extra Cheese and Anchovies that day.
After a month of Little Caesar's, I quit and started working at
Wirthlin Worldwide, one of the top 25 largest research companies in the
world. They have about 15 offices, and are on 4 continents. It was very,
very different from Turnpoint; different in the fact that this company
actually knew what it was doing. They took the integrity of their research
very seriously and expected everyone in the office to be show the level of
dedication someone in a $100,000 salaried position with stock options would
show. But, you see, when you make $7.50 an hour and have no insurance, it's
hard to be dedicated.
Me: What the hell is your problem, boss?!
Them: That language is inappropriate in a professional environment.
Me: Dude, do you not remember that I smoked weed and smashed mailboxes
with you last night?
Them: That language is inappropriate in a professional environment.
Well, I managed to stay at the place for over 3 years. In the
greatest mistake ever made, I was promoted to manager after 10 months on the
job. I became what I had always hated: a fucking stuffy ass, wannabe
white-collar boss. I let them brainwash me into thinking I wasn't making
only $9.62 an hour and STILL had no damn insurance.
Me: LaQuita, I'm terminating your relationship with the company for
the following, officially documented reason: you report to work
under the influence of mind-altering plants everyday.
LaQuita: But you're the one that sold me the shit!
Me: That language is inappropriate in a professional environment.
About 2 years into the job, I showed up 30 minutes late on a Saturday
for the umpteenth time, due to the partying I always did on Friday nights.
They REALLY didn't like this, because I had the key to the office, and my
being late meant the 50+ people that worked there had to wait in the parking
lot until I arrived. It looked like they were going to fire me this time,
so I quit without giving notice. This put me on bad terms with them.
Then, I started working for a company called Nordhaus. The one and
only thing they did was call people and try to get them to fill out "radio
ratings diaries" for a company called Arbitron, which determines the ratings
for every radio station in the country. It sucked, to say the least. It
was the most ghetto place I've ever seen. Almost the entire phone room was
high at all times, and it was not at all unusual to hear one of my fellow
wage slaves screaming out "FUCK YA'LL NIGGAZ" or "YEAH, BIATCH" while I was
trying to work. I quit after a week.
I started working at this leather coat store named Oakland Leather in
the mall. A girl that had been one tier below me at Wirthlin Worldwide was
the assistant manager at this leather coat store. I hate the very concept
of a "mall," but I hated working at Nordhaus even more, so I decided to go
for it.
Problem 1: The "training program" taught me how to work the cash
register, and that was it. I've never owned a leather coat in my life, and
don't know a single thing about them. That made it just a smidgen difficult
to sell them. Usually, a person doesn't want to blow $1200 on a fucking
coat when the person selling them doesn't know what he's talking about.
Customer: Excuse me, is this coat lambskin?
Me: Uh, yeah, I think so, probably, maybe. [to boss: "what's
lambskin?" Boss: "I dunno."]
Customer: Will the coat be damaged if I blah blah blah?
Me: Uh... today's my first day.
Problem 2: The manager, "Doc". He was a former CBA (minor-league)
basketball player, a former professional boxer and a nice guy, but he was as
ghetto as they come. Most of our "customers" were actually my boss's
friends from the 'hood and only came in the store to just to shoot the shit
with him and/or make drug deals. Doc was acquainted with several b-grade
celebrities. Well, it just so happened that one of these b-graders was Mr.
annoying-as-shit-"Thong Song"-singing Sisqo himself. "The Thong Song"
hadn't come out yet and I'd never heard of the guy at the time. I have no
idea what he was doing in Grand Rapids, MI, nor do I know how he knew my
boss. I was working by myself when he came in.
Me: Hello, welcome to Oakland Leather. Can I help you find
something?
Sisqo: Nah, white boy. Don't you know who I am?
Me: No.
Sisqo: Man, I'm Sisqo, and I'm 'bout ta blow up in the music world. Is
Doc working?
Me: I see. No, he isn't working.
Sisqo: A'ight.
So, that was my little brush with fame. Too bad it was with an
annoying, untalented piece of shit asshole like Sisqo.
"Doc' would blast explicit rap music in the store. Our regular
customers (i.e. his homeboys) didn't mind this, but every so often, a little
old lady would wander in.
Little Old Lady: Excuse me, young man. I'm looking for a coat for my
grandson. Perhaps you could assist me.
[Music playing in the store: "I'mma come and shoot yo' fucking ass,
nigga. I gots bitchs wit butts that's bigga, yeah yeah, nigga what"]
Little Old Lady: Well, I never!
Problem 3: The owners. They were the cheapest bastards in the
fucking world. They liked to tell people they would pay them one rate, and
then pay them something much lower. The store didn't have heat; this was
during winter in Michigan, and it was cold as hell. When we complained,
they offered to arrange for heat if the employees would all chip in and pay
for it. One day, the manager of the shopping mall showed up at the store
with a letter that basically said "You didn't pay the rent this month. Pay
up within 3 days or you're evicted." I couldn't believe it! I later found
out the dumbass owners had FORGOTTEN to pay the rent.
I saw I was on a sinking ship, so I did the only sensible thing: I
begged Wirthin Worldwide for my job back. And they gave it to me, but, of
course, having left on bad terms, I didn't come back as a manager. No, I
was back at the starting position: interviewer. Which meant I was back to
interrupting the dinner of everyone in America. Wonderful. Back to making
400 fucking phone calls a night. The amusing thing (and it's only _mildly_
amusing) about this type of job is the crazy shit you hear when you can
potentially call anyone in the United States with a telephone. I really
have no faith in the human race after this job. I'd say about 9 out of 10
people I talked to were either lunatics and/or complete morons.
Me: Would you say you completely agree, somewhat agree, somewhat
disagree, or completely disagree with the governor's proposal?
Them: It's okay.
Me: Yes, but do you agree or disagree with it?
Them: It's okay.
Me: And, by that, do you mean you agree or disagree with it?
Them: Hey man, I'm only gonna say this one more time: IT'S OKAY. What,
is you stupid or somethin'?
Me: Sir, I don't have "it's okay" on my list. Which of the following
comes closest to your opinion: completely agre--
Them: [click].
Sometimes, people I called thought they were clever and would insult
me. Actually, I found their insults to be quite humorous, and their
stupidity brightened my day. Here's an actual call I made:
Me: Hello, this is Evan calling from Wirthlin Worldwide, an
international market research firm. I'm not selling anything;
today we're conducting a --
Them: Let me ask you a question, pal. Are you married?
Me: No, I'm not.
Them: Well, I can see why! HA HA! [click].
Here's another call I made:
Me: Hello, this is Evan calling from Wirthlin Worldwide, an
international market --
Them: [loud moans] Hey, I'm trying to get a piece of ass from my woman
right now. You wanna come help me? [click].
Me: The answer is yes.
After about 3 months of this garbage, the upper managemnet was
desperately looking for someone willing to take the required abuse, and I
was promoted me to manager again. It was no different from the time before,
and I won't bore you [more than you already are] with the details.
I worked another 9 months at Wirthin Worldwide, then decided to pack
up and move to Honolulu, Hawaii. The entire economy here revolves around
Japanese tourists. Japan in a recession right now=a lot less tourists=
Hawaii in a recession, too=a lot less jobs=the few jobs available have
really low pay and the bosses treat you horribly and know they can get away
with it because they know you won't be able to find anything else.
After searching for a job for about a month, I landed at yet another
market research company as a supervisor. The place was called Omnitrack. I
worked there for 2 days. That's a new record for me. You see, I was 99.44%
sure I had a this much better job. I was 99.44% stupid and quit before I
was actually hired at this much better job. I was 99.44% fucked when this
much better job didn't hire me.
It was back to square one. I tried and tried and tried to get a job.
But NOBODY in Honolulu is hiring. The economy is just fucking terrible.
There are always jobs in fast food available (I can't imagine why), but I
sure as hell wasn't going to stoop to that.
I found myself as a cashier at KFC three weeks later. The pay?
$5.25 an hour. The co-workers? Filipinos who couldn't speak more than two
words of English. One of the words was "hot" and the other was "wing." The
location? Across the street from Ala Moana Center, one of the busiest and
largest shopping malls in the world, so KFC was insanely busy all the time.
The customers? Almost all Japanese who didn't speak English. The Japanese-
language menu that EVERY restaurant in Hawaii has? Non-existent.
Me: Aloha and welcome to KFC. May I take your order please?
Random Japanese tourist: Uh... I want eat... uh... chicken!
Me: Would you like Original, Extra Crispy, Colonel's Tender Strips,
Buffalo Wings, Tender Roast, or a chicken sandwich?
Random Japanese tourist: Uh... I want eat chicken!
Conversations like the above happened with almost every customer.
The line was always out the door and wrapped around the block.
The food preparation? It was so unsanitary it was unreal. I could
eat as much as I wanted free, and I STILL wouldn't eat it. I distinctly
remember the time I informed my manager that I witnessed the plate of
biscuits in the back being crawled on by two cockroaches. Her response?
"Oh well. The customers won't know." Oh, one more thing: there was no soap
in the restaurant. So every time I smoked a cigarette, took a shit, etc., I
didn't wash my hands. If ever you are on vacation in Hawai'i and think
about eating at the KFC on the corner of Kapiolani and Keeamoku St., I
suggest you think again if you value your health. I worked at KFC for 2
weeks, which was as long as I could stand.
Amazingly, I got lucky and was hired at another job the very next
day. It was telemarketing Kirby vacuums. You know how everyone has the
perception that telemarketers are scam artists? Well, everyone's right.
This was the shadiest place I've ever seen.
Me: Hello, may I speak with Mr. or Mrs. Smith?
Old lady: This is Mrs. Smith.
Me: Hello, my name is Evan, and I'm calling from the Honolulu Kirby
Company. I'm calling to congratulate you, because you were
entered into our drawing and have won your choice of a trip for
two to Las Vegas or $1000 in cash! Congratulations!
Old lady: How did my name get entered into your drawing?
Me: Well, we have a sheet here at the front desk of our office
where we ask customers to write down the names of friends or
relatives that they think would like to be entered into our
drawing. <--- this is complete bullshit
Old lady: But I'm 85 years old, and all my friends and relatives are dead!
Me: Well, perhaps it was a neighbor that entered your name. We would
be happy to drop off your prize if you would allow one of our
representatives to show you a demonstration of the NEW Kirby
Generation Six Vacuum.
Old lady: If that's true, what first name did my neighbor write down?
Me: Uh, they just wrote down "Mr. or Mrs. Smith."
Old lady: [click].
How the scam worked: The representative would conveniently forget
the prize when he arrived, but do the demonstration anyway and say he'd be
back with their prize. If the customer decided to buy the vacuum, the
representative would return with the prize. If the customer didn't buy it,
they'd never hear from us again. How this place wasn't shut down a long
time ago is beyond me. I sucked at the job, so I only stayed for 3 weeks.
I got a job at another market research company, which is where I've
been at for about 6 months now. It's called Market Trends Pacific. The
place is a fucking joke. My boss is a transvestite. Jesus Christ, if
you're male and decide to start living your life as a woman, at least put
some _effort_ into it! My boss barely tries. His breasts are OBVIOUSLY
fake. They are much bigger than a real woman with his frame would have.
Sometimes, (s)he will have stubble all over his face. And the bulge in his
pants sure as hell doesn't help matters any. The work itself is boring and
frustrating. All the calling we do is local, and with so many Asian
immigrants in Hawaii, AT LEAST half the people I call can't speak English...
and sometimes people will even fake not being able to speak English, since
they know they can get out of doing the survey.
Them: Hello? 'Sup g-dogg!
Me: Hello, this is Evan calling from Market Trends Pacific, a survey
research center here in Hawaii. I'm not selling anything; today
--
Them: Uh... no hablox englishes... sayonara
Jobs are the worst thing ever invented, and need to be eliminated.
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( o.o ) (c) Anada e'zine anada339 by Pavement o
> ^ < o
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