In this thread I talked about a woman I hated whose stupidity caused me to be fired from the pawn shop. In that thread, Sal Ammoniac wanted to hear the story. Since I’m in a gut-spilling mood, I’d thought I throw a few feet of intestine your way with this story.
After The Tampa Fiasco (another thread for another day), I returned to Savannah in October of 1989. I had no place to live, hardly any money, and no job. I was forced to live with my parents for about 4 months until I got work. I went to the job agency where I’d gotten jobs before. I was sent to a locally-owned well-established pawn shop chain.
I didn’t know diddly about pawn shops other than that they were havens of crackheads selling stolen merchandise to support their evil habit (which, of course, is not true). I did know enough about computers and some home electronics, though, to at least make my hiring worthwhile. My main job was to write up pawns, pull deliquent pawned items out of storage, clean them up, and put them on display. I did some selling, but I was never very good at it.
I also was pretty good with math, so I ended up doing the daily reports, going to the bank, etc.
After about 3 years, I was made “assistant manager” of the downtown store. All this meant was I had to run the store when the manager was off. Simple stuff, but I never liked being in a position where I have to be in charge of other people. If I’m going to get my ass chewed because someone didn’t do something, I’d rather it be because I personally didn’t do it.
After about a year of that, I was made manager of the Westside store against my wishes. I didn’t want the job and they knew it. Since I didn’t have any other job options, I had to stick it out. Well, as many of you who have been managers well know, whatever goes wrong in your store is your fault even if it isn’t.
In my case, when sales were down, it was because I was rude to customers (although, oddly enough, no evidence of this was ever presented), for example.
One of my cow-orkers, the previously menitioned Jeri (that’s her real name, BTW. She’s dead. What’s she going to do?), was a royal pain in the ass. Whenever the opportunity arose to send her on chores outside the store, I was quick to give them to her.
Well, one day I sent to Sam’s Club to pick up a box of that big-ass greenbar paper (14-7/8x11). I told her (and I had a witness) specifically NOT to try and lift the box herself (she was in her late 50’s or so and those boxes are pretty heavy. I’m not that evil, ya know). I instructed her to ask for someone at Sam’s to help her load it in her van. I also told her to go to lunch while she out and to take as much time as she needed (hey, time to goof off for her and peace for me).
About two hours later, she comes in and she’s hobbling and has a distressed look on her face. I ask her what’s wrong and he says, “I think I hurt my back lifting that paper in my van.”
What the holy fuck, I’m thinking.
I said, “Didn’t I tell you to get help?”
“Well, I asked and there was no one to help.”
“Who did you ask?”
“The cashier.”
“Since when do the cashiers run the place. You should have asked someone at the customer service desk.”
“I know, but I was in a hurry.”
“I told you you take your time.”
Well, she had no answer for this and I sent her home. She calls the general manager (a macho dick of epic proportions - a minor rant in himself). Now I end up getting my ass chewed out for this incident. It didn’t matter what I had said to her. This was going to cost the company money in worker’s comp and lost sales (you see the “money is more important than life itself” trend here).
As the weeks go by, she would call in to see what was going on (mostly to see if the stuff she’d sold had come out of layaway so she could get her commission). She couldn’t come in because she was in “so much pain” (not so much that she couldn’t get in and out of a rowboat, mind you. And this “pain” netted her $35,000.). I would try to be as pleasant as possible, but keep the conversation as short as possible.
One week (on a Monday) we are having a manager’s meeting. It’s 5 minutes from being over and some alien presence takes over my brain. I ask the general manager if he’d heard from Jeri. He suggested that I call her to see how she was doing.
My reply?
“I don’t care if the bitch lives or dies.”
What’s that sound? Yes, it’s the sound that could only be made by the jaws of 5 grown men dropping to the floor.
During my time at the pawn shop, I never caused problems, never asked for special favors, or kissed the boss’ ass. The shock of what I said, when I said it, who I said it to, and when I said it was just too much for the GM.
I called the next day and apologized. Not for what I said, I meant that shit, but for when I said it.
As expected, I was fired the following Friday. I got two weeks severance pay and a have a nice life.
To be perfectly honest, I was relieved. As for the GM, his wife ended up leaving him for another woman. I found this to be the funniest thing I had heard in years. Not that lesbians are funny (I know, I’ve watched The L Word :D), it’s just that he was such a macho asshole. He would fire people and brag about it. Worse yet, he would try to get store managers to fire employees for him. This was a major blow to his overly inflated ego.
That was October 7, 1995.
When I went to collect unemployment. I was denied because I was fired for a legitimate reason - insubordination. What I did was express my opinion. Poorly, mind you, but I never refused to do anything I was told.
I could have fought it, but I figured it was best just to move on.
There, whaddya think?