Memo to my District Manager (a longish Blinkie work rant)

You, sir, are an idiot.

You have absolutely no concept of the reality of running a store across the street from a major university, nor even less of running one populated solely, with only two exceptions, by students. It was your astounding powers of planning that left this store without a manager for three months, then gave it a manager who had only recently ascended unto management.

She is not the world’s best manager, but she has finally figured out how to work with the great team of employees she was given. And then you, Mister Assnugget, come strolling into our store, and fuck things up.

Why can’t you comprehend that we cannot schedule labor based on last year’s numbers? Not only have our sales gone up by a full third, but the week you were looking at was the week after finals last year, not smack in the middle of the pre-finals rush! Did you ever go to school, you motherfucking idiot? Was the feeble puddle of mush inside your head ever introduced to the fucking quarter system? It’s not brain surgery, Mr. Spock!

“You don’t need four people closing. Oh, and don’t give them any time off they asked for till after new year’s.” Excuse me? Some of us scheduled our time off two months ago, dickweed. Some of us want to pass our classes, and some of us want to have holidays. (on a personal note, Mr. District Manager, while you were enjoying a Christmas bonus on your yacht last year, I was spending Christmas Eve in the hospital.)

Allow me to explain something. I’ll try not to use any big words. Every employee at my store – every. single. person. – if asked to choose between school and a dead-end $7/hour retail job will throw their apron in the trash and be out the door in a nanosecond. In the past week we’ve lost FOUR MOTHERFUCKING EMPLOYEES to that shit. Four! Four we couldn’t spare! One of them was willing to work full time over Christmas, now who the fuck’s gonna do it?

I love my job, and I’ve been with the company for a year and a half, but I do not have time to play phone tag with every employee in the district trying to get shifts covered that I cannot work. If you keep forcing the manager to pull shit like that, the store will be empty. Say goodbye to that extra several thousand dollars worth of profits we’re pulling in, you putrescent urethral weasel.

In conclusion, pick up the white courtesy clue phone you bloody idiot. There’s a kick in the head waiting on line two.