Summer is our busy season. We’re understaffed because we aren’t replacing the people who are leaving. Days are unevenly scheduled and Wednesdays are our worst day. It all added up to me being sarcastically cheered by some customers today.
Holy crap. We just got a preview of our new working space (temporary, 18 months until the space where we are now gets remodeled). Rows of desks, no walls, in one big tall room with all hard surfaces (except the floor). Every sound is amplified and echoed by those hard surfaces. Put 80 people in there all talking on their phones and no-one will be able to hear anything. It’s going to be like spending your working life in a trendy bar/restaurant where everyone has to shout to be heard.
I will only be in there for 7 weeks before I retire, and I can stand 7 weeks of almost anything. I predict, however, that chaos may well ensue as soon as we move in there. 10 weeks before we move in (the furniture has to be installed and some other finishing touches).
We’re finally fully staffed at my workplace (in my department at least). So of course now is when someone walks off the job at one of our sister properties so we have to help cover their shifts. [insert old rolleyes smiley]
The special project team I’m working with received a pretty significant achievement recognition award for what we’ve done. Very nice. But could you at least spell my name correctly on the award certificate?
Please tell me you have a few weeks of vacation time banked…
I was told last Friday that I wouldn’t have to learn an additional product that I was uncomfortable learning. Today, I was told that I’m back in the training for it (which is next week), and oh, by the way, I have to work overtime for it because I’m scheduled to work until close most of the week and the training starts at 8:30 am. I said that I’m not able to work that length of a shift, even if they give me an extra hour lunch each day, and the manager who schedules everything said they’d probably take me out of the training then since there’s another one in August anyway. Why? Why the fuck did they think it was a good idea in the first place to put me in a training that would require overtime when they knew there was another one in a month anyway?
I know I’m supposed to be a good worker bee and do whatever I’m told without question, but I’m also angry with my manager for his lack of information. He told me that it’s “uniform” now for everyone with my position title to learn this additional product. Except, I have multiple coworkers who don’t know this additional product and haven’t been told they need to learn it, including one on the same team as me. My manager’s answer to that last week was that I’m on a different path than those people, and when I asked what that path is, he said, “Your path is to be the best (position title) you can be.” He also claims it’s needed so that I can work on certain projects, but he can’t even give me a vague description of the projects. Nope, if I want anything more than “projects” then I have to go ask the person who wants me for the project. He kept saying, “I don’t know the intricate details,” and that he shouldn’t have to, even though I told him I’m not looking for intricate details. Shouldn’t he have some fucking idea of what his employees are supposed to be doing?
Oh, I do, but I’m saving it to take as a lump sum on my retirement.
Maybe they will surprise us by hanging sound-deadening draperies on all the walls. Ha, I made myself laugh.
I’ve got a gripe that I’ve been hesitant to post, because I haven’t quite figured out how to express it without coming across like a complete racist. I hope my posting history over the last 11 years has made it clear that I’m not a racist, that I hate racism, and I don’t even talk to my dad any more because I get fed up with his racist remarks.
That said, Mexicans.
Mexican women.
A certain subset of Mexican women.
I live in an agricultural town in central Washington state, and currently, our population is around 30% Hispanic (Mexican).
Working in foodservice as I have for 31 years, I’ve worked with plenty of Mexicans, and I’ve gotten along well with most of them. Most of them have been hardworking and good at what they do.
My current immediate boss (my kitchen manager) is a Mexican man. He’s awesome, and I get along well with him.
My problem is some of the Mexican women with whom I work. Because the company I work for (a chain of retirement homes) is cheap, instead of hiring more servers to serve the meals, they expect the caregivers and med-aides to help with the meal serving. Many of these caregivers and med-aides are Mexican women.
Many of these Mexican women, both caregivers/med-aides and some of my actual servers, are (and here is another area where I’ve been hesitant to post) are obese, wear entirely too-tight clothing, and too much makeup. And these specific women are the problem.
I see nothing but complete disrespect from these specific women. Nothing but “attitude”. I try to instruct them on the proper way of doing things in the kitchen, and the response I get from them boils down to, “You’re not a manager, I don’t have to listen to you!” Actually, you fucking well do. You’re in MY workspace, and you’d fucking well better do things the way they’re supposed to be done in this workspace. (Seriously, I was told when I was hired that, if the kitchen manager is not present, then the cook on duty is in charge of the kitchen. And that’s fucking ME, so shut the fuck up and do what I tell you).
Simple example: Rules: You take the orders from ONE table, and hand that order in to the cook. Then you go back and get the next table’s orders, and turn those in. This “rule” has been spelled out by all three of the kitchen managers under whom I’ve worked, and also by the fucking Executive Director of the retirement home. Yet some of these women insist on going around and taking 2, 3, of 4 tables worth of orders and turning them all in at once. I say, “Don’t do that”, and they say, “What’s so hard? It’s just oatmeal and toast!” You know what? It’s not about how “hard” it is for me. I’ve been cooking professionally for three fucking decades, and NONE of this is “hard” for me. It’s about serving the fucking customer, and those customers are not being properly served when one server is backing up the kitchen with multiple tables, and the other servers’ customers have to wait longer than necessary for their orders. “Only oatmeal and toast”? Guess what takes longer than anything else on the breakfast menu. TOAST. You hand in 2-3-4 tables worth of orders, and the entire kitchen is waiting for the toaster.
And if you say anything about these women’s performance, you get accused of “talking shit” about them. And you can’t tell them anything. We have a brand new server. Since she started (I should mention that the servers also wash the dishes), I have kept finding kitchen utensils put away in the wrong place. So, while she was putting utensils away, I politely told her that such-and-such utensils go in such-and-such place, not in this other place. She said, “I know”. So I said, “Okay, I’m just making sure, because I keep finding this drawer stuffed with utensils that don’t go there.” She said, “It wasn’t me, I didn’t do it.” Oooookaaaay. It started when she started working here, and I know that all of the other servers know where to put the stuff, but yeah, it clearly couldn’t be the new girl. And then she proceeded to put one of the utensils that I said doesn’t go in the drawer into the drawer, immediately after saying, “It wasn’t me!”
And you know what? Speak fucking English. You’re 3rd-4th-5th-generation Mexican-American, and you speak English perfectly well. You’re required by law to speak English in front of the retirement home’s residents, but it’s common courtesy to speak English in front of coworkers who don’t speak Spanish. So fucking stop speaking Spanish when you converse with my manager. It’s rude. He speaks English, you speak English, so speak in fucking English.
For clarification, I don’t have these same problems with the non-obese-too-tight-clothing-too-much-makeup Mexican women. But the ones I had no trouble with have all quit. Now I feel like I’m working with a bunch of gang-bangers girlfriends.
Not hearing more about the fridge thief, and still not dealing much with F.
OTOH, she (H) did it again. Tomorrow, two cashiers plus lead for closing. Could be worse, yesterday had ONE plus lead for close.
I threw out another two containers of moldy food from the fridge a couple of days ago. Now I’m going back to see if the bag of (what looked to be) moldy vegetables is still there.
Minor and petty, but also kinda gross:
Boss, please don’t spit in the trashcan I am HOLDING. (Boss chews tobacco, and thus spits in the trashcan regularly. I know this and am trying not to mind. But when I’m hauling the trashcans to the back to be emptied, I don’t like being stopped so that he can spit right in front of me).
Less minor and petty:
AAARRRGGGGHHH!!! Why can’t I have a few hours off when I want them each week? And why won’t my overdeveloped sense of responsibility let me ask off for Sunday Morning(s)?
And finally, The SAGA continues:
I’ve probably not shared enough of the SAGA for you to appreciate that it is a saga. But I’ve been training my replacement for a month, and I found out today that he isn’t replacing me. Now he’s going to a different department. Someone else will replace me.
I’d just about gotten down to being less cranky and frustrated about the whole thing. But now? AAARRRGGGGHHH!!!
Dear colleagues,
Fuck you all.
I made a database because you needed it. It didn’t have all the bells and whilstles because I’m not a programmer, and I could only do so much. You all bitched and moaned about the things it didn’t do. You got something for free, which very quickly turned into an essential system for your day to day work.
Then we are given money to build a ‘proper’ system. I go out to you all, gather your feedback about what enhancements you want from the new system. I get the system built (and it was a fuck of a project, which I won’t go into).
Now you’re all bitching and moaning that the system has changed and that you don’t know how to use it and it doesn’t work like you need it to work. Despite the six training sessions I gave. Despite the user manual I wrote. Despite the offers to come to your meetings and show you how to use it, which you didn’t take me up on. Despite the three hour drop in session I offered on the second day it went live, which not a single one of you came to.
Fuck you all.
Welcome to the Wonderful World of IT.
This morning I stumble into the bathroom and it stinks of plastic and chemicals. Maggie is up on the sink sniffing at my electric shaver. I unplug it, feel it (no heat anywhere), inspect it (no chew marks, no melting). Set it aside, take my shower, rely on the fan to draw the bad smell out of the air. Get out of the shower, Maggie still sniffing at the shaver. I sniff it. Yup, smell coming from the lower part of it where the battery is. Ok, still turns on, still works… But obviously I need to toss the damned thing and buy a new one.
Dumb-ass team lead: “purple, are you free on Wednesday for a conference call?”
Me: “What time? And for how long?”
DATL: <blank stare>
Look, if you’re asking if I’m free for such-and-such amount of time, at such-and-such time, I can answer your question. If you’re asking if I’m free for an entire day, then, you’re shit outta luck.
Therefore, Maggie saved your life from a fire and all past transgressions are forgiven!
Right?
Well, it’s the wrong thread (as I realized after posting the above), but me and Maggie are doing awesome now. Apparently the isolation therapy was the solution, as well as her being over a year old now. She’s only ripping on the things she’s supposed to be ripping up, isn’t hurting me and has become a LOT more affectionate.
I bought the nail covers (in a stylish purple), but never put them on her.
You realize, don’t you, that in time-honored SDMB tradition, you are now required to:
[ol]
[li]Put those nail covers on Maggie[/li][li]Take pictures of Maggie in her stylin’ nail covers, making sure said stylin’ nail covers are clearly visible[/li][li]Post the pictures of Maggie in her stylin’ nail covers where we can all squee over them[/li][/ol]
Hop to it.
Personally, I’m more interested in seeing “After” pictures of whoever tries getting the nail covers on Maggie.
Doesn’t that come under the category of “Crime Scene Cleanup?”
Which would bring us back to this being the right thread! YAY!