By the time I wrap up work this coming Friday, I will have worked for 13 days straight, without having had a SINGLE day off. That in itself is nuts, especially considering that there are days where I close at 10:00 pm, don't get home until 11pm, and then have to open the next day at 9am. I guess it's my fault for choosing to start my new job the same week I'm phasing out of my old one at Macehole's. I am working at Mollister on the days that are scheduled as my 'days off' at Macehole's. What a dumb move that was. I'm not sure when I'll see my boyfriend again, because everyone knows (at least those of you whom have been unfortunate enough to work in retail) that the months of November through January are essentially blackout periods, and you can't request time off. Sucks for me.
I had the worst Friday ever last week. As you are well aware, the feral cat situation in my backyard needed preventative measures taken, in the form of some spaying and neutering. Little Bijou was neutered last week, and came home the same evening he went in, all fine and dandy (if not still a little high from the pussy tranqs lmao.... "pussy tranqs" ahahahahahahahah). Anyhow, little PotPie, who is much more savage than her friendly brother, will not allow human hands to touch her. So, sadly, we needed to live-trap her in order to prevent her from getting prego and giving birth to another homeless litter that we would feel the need to feed. It is one of the saddest things watching a wild animal (which, technically she is) get trapped in a cage and frantically trying to get out :( omg, I felt like a monster. I brought her to the vet on Thursday, and dropped her off for surgery. I got a call from the vet saying she did just fine and was relieved to hear that. Friday afternoon, my mom went to pick her up (she had to stay the night for observation). The vet recommended keeping her inside, since a female getting spayed is a far more invasive procedure than a male being neutered, and allowing her to run around outdoors might prove dangerous to her sutures. My mom thought that since she was terrified of human contact, the solitude of the garage might be an apt place to house her whilst she recovered. My mom bought a litter box and a padded cat bed to put in the garage upon Potpie's arrival home. However, I thought that it would be wise to show little Bijou his sister was o.k. (seeing as how he witnessed her trapping and subsequent disappearance), and so I brought Bijou into my room to wait for Potpie's homecoming. I also thought that the garage would be too chilly, and that perhaps, she could just recover in my bedroom for a few days. When she arrived, I carried her into my room in the cat carrier, and opened the door. She ran straight under my bed.
My sister and brother in law came upstate this weekend with their savage ragdoll, Emma. Not to discredit Emma- she is a beautiful cat, but my God, she is spoiled and meaner than any animal I know (my sister will say this is only because I taunt her, but I only taunt her after she attempts to claw me, hisses at me, pisses on me as I sleep at night (yes, Emma has given me not one, but TWO golden showers before) and refuses to let me pet her). Naturally, Emma does not get along with other cats, and so it was demanded of me that Potpie be removed from the house before Emma's arrival. I couldn't possibly get Potpie back in the cat carrier; I didn't have the heart to trap her again after what she'd just been through... I mean, I already took the poor cat's reproductive rights away. I opened my door and then Potpie darted under the guest bed in the next room. Setting out some turkey on the floor was pointless, because even if she fell for the bait, she would never let me pick her up or usher her into the carrier to be brought out to the garage. I was forced to swoosh her out, ever so gently, with a broom. She went nuts, and ran downstairs, where all the doors were closed.. thank God. She started hissing, and like the Tazmanian Devil, went absolutely bonkers. Meanwhile my mom was bitching at me, and berating me for my ignorance. I was in hysterics, and all sorts of shook-up watching a defenseless animal tearing down books as she tried to scale the bookshelf in the downstairs hallway. We opened the side door, and she ran up the stairs and out. I already felt like shit for letting her get stressed like that, but I felt worse after my mom and sister told me she would probably get an infection and die... thanks guys.
I started to cry, but had to pull my shit together to go into 'Mollister' to do some paperwork, before heading to work the closing shift at Macehole's (kill me). I got to Mollister and asked to see the manager (with whom I had spoken to on the phone a few days prior to arrange the time to do paperwork). I won't go into details, but the first experience there was rather unprofessional. I walked out of there ready to cry and wondering how I was going to fare amongst the ditzy staff with their flat-ironed hair. But again, I couldn't have a good cry yet, because I had to work. I was on the edge.
I was eternally grateful the next morning when PotPie showed up to breakfast and looked like she was doing just fine, however. However, I lost my shit a little later in the day (my bf didn't call me before work, as is protocol in our long-distance relationship) and it was the last straw. I was emo for the rest of the day, and even compliments from customers couldn't help my disposition this time (not even the Indian woman who always tells me I am 'so beautiful, like a princess'- you know you're fucked when I compliment like that doesn't help you feel a little bit better). My weekend never really existed because I worked every, single day of it. I did get to go out with my long-lost best friends on Saturday night however, which was awesome. I had a lot of fun and only realized how much I miss their absence in my life when we don't see each other for weeks on end. However, I didn't get in until 2am and had to work for 9 hours Sunday on little sleep... I'm still dog-tired and should probs be sleeping now. My skin looks like shit, and I swear I have dark circles under my eyes.
So. Today was my first day at 'Mollister.' Not only was I pretty much on my own and not being shown the things my manual said I was supposed to be, or guided through the things the manual said I was to be guided through, but I learned some really fucked up (in my own opinion) things about the company. Recruiting, for instance: As a manager, it is part of one's job to 'recruit' new employees (whom are referred to as "models") to work on the sales floor. It is your goal to find 'good looking' people, who fit the 'Mollister' image, to work on the floor. Since when did good looks mean you'll also get a good worker? Just because someone is pretty or hot does not mean they are friendly or know how to aid a customer... and from what I casually observed on the floor today, the 'models' didn't really do much at all in terms of actively greeting or helping shoppers. There are already like 40 employees there (no exaggeration), and as a result, many only work a few hours a week, and there is apparently a 'high turnover' rate amongst employees. FUCKING DUH CORPORATE No wonder there is such a high turnover, and a need to even recruit new 'models' in the first place! Maybe if employees were allotted more hours, they wouldn't need to quit in order to find a better job (with more hours). How can we even hire new people with so many already employed? Christ. Thank God I'm not part-time, and thank God I was never attractive enough to be a 'Mollister' model (and by attractive I mean owning a decent push-up bra, having a nice base tan, and having pin-straight hair).
And the dress code, OMG, the dress code! ... FUCK ME.
How is it even remotely ok to wear THIS to work:
...No, I'm not even lying, we are allowed to wear short-shorts in the winter with a plaid button-up.
But we may not wear this:
The skirt and cardigan are both Mollister brand. We may wear skirts to work, but not with tights... Strange, I thought it felt a little like Winter out there, guess I was wrong.
I mean, I know this is a southern California brand (supposedly), but really? We can't wear opaque, solid-color tights to work in the winter? Now I'm no better than the trash walking around with bare legs on any given night in December on Water St. in downtown Oneonta. On top of that rubbish, you are told how to roll your sleeves, how to cuff your jeans (yes, they must be cuffed), and you may only wear the following footwear:
1. Converse (I don't think that's really me, last I checked I wasn't a hipster, a lesbian, or Avril Levine)
2. Flipflops (Sorry, it's winter in New York; I am not on the beach).
Good bye 5' 8", hello 5' 3.5". I bought myself some extra, racy lingerie to negate the lack of femininity currently faced on the job. I hope it comes this week, for surely, it will boost my esteem to put on something tight, short, lacy and perfectly matched with heels. Sigh. At least their jeans make my butt look good. I'm just so sad I can't wear them with boots or booties, to make it look even better (ladies, you all know your butt looks smaller and more defined when you put on heels...I hate the way my butt looks in jeans when I'm wearing flats). I'm thinking about treating myself to some outrageous heels to compensate. However, I keep telling myself that with this job, I can save money to peace the fuck out of here relatively soon (so I guess the new heels will have to wait)... and that fact in itself makes 'Mollister' totally worth it.
