I have an interview on Wednesday for a position that requires my interaction with customers is limited to those who have come to pick up an order. The pick up is free, so I don’t have to run a cash register or anything. With minimum wage jumping to ten dollars this January, I’ll be satisfied.
You all remember my rampage about the fucking stupid application process that has you answer those really open ended questions? The ones that make you either sound like a complete asshole or a complete sheep? They rejected me a while ago. It was Target. Fuck Target.
I only applied there because I needed a job. Everyone I’ve ever known who is or has worked at the Target in town says it’s the worst experience of their life. I only gave it a shot out of desperation. Hear that Target Big Wigs? I didn’t even want your crappy minimum wage position; it was the last thought on the bottom of my shoe after I stepped in dog shit. Fuck you, Target.
One thing those of us with severe social anxiety hate is interviews. I’m pretty sure I speak for 90% of us when I say that. The fact that it’s one-on-one is what saves us. It’s easier to quell some of the anxiety if it’s not a group interview and you don’t have to give some sort of whacked out sales pitch off the top of your head. Toys R Us does that. I was one of the lucky ones; my group interview was only me and some guy.
And now you see why my blog is pretty much anonymous–imagine an employer googling my name and finding me talking shit about a whole load of other businesses? That’s not professional, right? Or something? I don’t know, I’m an alien; I don’t belong here. Your earthly customs are strange.
That being said, let me just say something about Toys R Us.
I applied for a stock position and they said that position had been taken, but asked if I wanted to be a cashier. I shrugged and said alright.
Worst mistake of my life.
The lines are horrendous. The kids scream. The parents don’t have a parenting bone in their body and let their kids run around knocking shit off the shelves without making them pick it up.
How did we restock the shelves? You take giant carts full of random items and drive it around the store until you find where it goes. And good luck, since they rearranged the shelves every week on Wednesday.
Labels were in the wrong places, toys were in the wrong places, and when we had “meetings” with the main manager I was laughing so hard inside. Everything was so fake. Everyone was fake. These people didn’t care about the job or who was putting the wrong items on the wrong shelf or any of that. Faux professionalism is . . . I can’t help but laugh at it. I don’t understand it. Why is everyone faking so hard?
The dollar store labels their shelves with sharpie on metal. That’s how you label a shelf. Fuck the dumb shit; get ghetto with it, get real.
We were all putting things in the wrong place because no one knew what the right place was! The idiot who got caught doing it just wasn’t good at doing it. Whenever I had to put away a toy that literally had no place or name to it, I just scanned the roof for the cameras, hid from them, and stuffed it next to something similar. There was literally no other option.
Then they told me I was too quiet and they did it in a patronizing tone and a baby face.
I hate when people call me quiet like it’s an insult.
There were huge lines that sometimes backed to the middle of the store and sometimes you had to jump and shout to get a customers attention to your station. Apparently I wasn’t doing that right. Even though I was shouting and hopping and getting their attention.
I had to sell Credit Cards to people. You can’t do it for international people, which they didn’t tell me. I had to find out by trying to sign them up. They were from Norway; awesome accents. Made myself look like a jackass.
You also have to tell them certain things about the card. They say you get 20% off when you sign up. That’s what my managers told me to say, and that’s all they told me to say.
Well one woman customer took the pamphlet and read the tiny ass fine print which said you only get 10% off and they’ll mail you the other 10% in a month or whatever. I had to call one of my SEVEN MANAGERS over to help her because I basically looked like a liar. There were a bunch of other little rip-off details in the fine print and the woman decided not to get the card.
The day I decided to leave was not a difficult decision. The thought of returning to that place made me physically sick; I was nauseated and my eyes were throbbing.
Don’t ever call me quiet like it’s an insult.
Don’t ever make me lie to sell your bullshit credit cards.
Don’t ever talk to me like I’m a baby.
And DON’T pay me EIGHT DOLLARS AN HOUR, which at the time was 75 CENTS BELOW MINIMUM WAGE, and then get caught doing it because YOU FUCKED UP MY W2 which confused my college campus and financial aid and taxes.
Can you tell I’m not a fan of this Toys R Us?
Don’t get me started on Wells Fargo. Those stupid motherfuckers couldn’t even set up my account online, so I couldn’t get direct deposit. We called over and over again and all we got was some dude in India who also didn’t know what to do. Because, you know, he’s in India.
I’m going for a Credit Union this time. A local one with people I can trust.
I say “trust” loosely.
The world is a business, that’s for sure. And it can be hard to trust business men and women.
I’m not as nervous about this interview as I was about the one at Toys R Us. I had a panic attack in Sears trying to buy proper clothing with my mother because it was all so overwhelming.
This time I know what to expect. I know what to say and how to dress and even if I don’t get the job there are other positions available–just in case, you know, I really fuck it up. Which is a possibility.
Doesn’t mean I’m not nervous.
At least they scheduled the interview really, really quickly so I don’t have a lot of time to mull over it.
If they offer me a cashier position, I’m going to refuse it.
I have a problem telling people no, particularly authority figures. I can handle cops and judges and those kinds of authority figures, but when I get to people above me in a job position or a professor or anyone who knows more about a subject than I do, I cower and let the anxiety take over. I need to learn that I’m the one looking for the job. I have the right to turn down the offer.
And if the offer is cashier, I’m strapping on my space boots and jumping straight the fuck out of there.