Screw Cashiering
BiserSchap
Published
05/06/2011
They say there's four seasons in New England: Almost Winter, Winter, Still Winter and Construction. With all of the orange cones and lethargic looking traffic cops hanging around, making everyone twenty minutes late, I know the season the rest of you refer to as "Summer" is just around the bend.
On Cape Cod, this means the roads will be clogged with five times more traffic volume than they were designed to carry. The left turn only lanes will be stopped by New Yorkers that meant to go straight, and vice versa. The Cape's population triples on average every tourist season. You won't be able to put a towel down on the beach soon. Normally this is an annoyance to me, but as someone who has been laid off several times since 2009, it means a chance to pick up an extra seasonal job or two to make up for all of the time I've been stuck collecting. It means a chance to get out of the house a little more, and replace some of those savings I've had to dip into. It's all about opportunity for me this season.
So why am I so bummed? Because the only response I've gotten on all the job applications I've filled out is for a cashier at BlowJob's Wholesale Club. I didn't even apply to be a cashier, I applied for the deli. I fucking hate cashiering, and I haven't been one since I was a teenager. It's a soul-sucking, degrading piece-of-shit of a job. There's nothing more depressing than counting someone else's money when a thief would wind up with bad credit for snatching your purse.
It's not even really the whole pride thing. Since the economy took a turn, I think a lot of people have gotten used to the fact that they'll probably wind up working a job they're embarrassingly over-qualified doing. It's really just the job itself. Getting told by some old woman that you don't know how to do your job, while your standing there in your smock, trying to explain the concept of expiration dates on coupons, or reading the fine print, or even the slightly smaller print, on discount signs...Yes, it does say "Buy One" in smaller letters above the "Get One Free" part. Calling for a price check and having no one respond. The fact that these are your only real breaks from the monotonous beep beep beep of scanning item after item, and teaching the clueless how to swipe their card and punch in their information is friggin depressing.
I hate to sound judgmental, but it's also the co-workers that you usually wind up with. There's some cool people that will end up being your friends, but inevitably there's always those ones that will tell you every fucked up detail of their life within an hour of knowing them. There is comfort in knowing they probably won't show up for work the next day though. There's also the imbeciles that are way too happy to be doing their job. The ones that you overhear telling (and laughing at) the same joke over and over again to anyone that will listen. The ones that tell you to cheer up when you're not even in a bad mood...Until they said that. Ugh, seriously, fuck those people.
Whatever. I'll suck it up. At least my old boss just wrote on my Facebook wall that she wants me to come back at the end of the month. That's a sweet gig, at the timeshare resort. The only problem is I don't know how many shifts they'll give me. When I was laid off, I only had two a week. I just asked her how many shifts they'll have for me, and I'm waiting with bated breath for her reply. Man...I really don't want to work the till again.
**Author's Note - "but inevitably there's always those ones that will tell you every fucked up detail of their life within an hour of knowing them." Before anyone comments on the irony of this statement, I just want to say "Shut up!" Seriously though, I'm talking about really messed up shit. Like that you're married and pregnant with another man's baby, or that your uncle diddled you when you were thirteen. If you put that stuff in a blog anonymously on the internet, though, I'm all for reading it.
On Cape Cod, this means the roads will be clogged with five times more traffic volume than they were designed to carry. The left turn only lanes will be stopped by New Yorkers that meant to go straight, and vice versa. The Cape's population triples on average every tourist season. You won't be able to put a towel down on the beach soon. Normally this is an annoyance to me, but as someone who has been laid off several times since 2009, it means a chance to pick up an extra seasonal job or two to make up for all of the time I've been stuck collecting. It means a chance to get out of the house a little more, and replace some of those savings I've had to dip into. It's all about opportunity for me this season.
So why am I so bummed? Because the only response I've gotten on all the job applications I've filled out is for a cashier at BlowJob's Wholesale Club. I didn't even apply to be a cashier, I applied for the deli. I fucking hate cashiering, and I haven't been one since I was a teenager. It's a soul-sucking, degrading piece-of-shit of a job. There's nothing more depressing than counting someone else's money when a thief would wind up with bad credit for snatching your purse.
It's not even really the whole pride thing. Since the economy took a turn, I think a lot of people have gotten used to the fact that they'll probably wind up working a job they're embarrassingly over-qualified doing. It's really just the job itself. Getting told by some old woman that you don't know how to do your job, while your standing there in your smock, trying to explain the concept of expiration dates on coupons, or reading the fine print, or even the slightly smaller print, on discount signs...Yes, it does say "Buy One" in smaller letters above the "Get One Free" part. Calling for a price check and having no one respond. The fact that these are your only real breaks from the monotonous beep beep beep of scanning item after item, and teaching the clueless how to swipe their card and punch in their information is friggin depressing.
I hate to sound judgmental, but it's also the co-workers that you usually wind up with. There's some cool people that will end up being your friends, but inevitably there's always those ones that will tell you every fucked up detail of their life within an hour of knowing them. There is comfort in knowing they probably won't show up for work the next day though. There's also the imbeciles that are way too happy to be doing their job. The ones that you overhear telling (and laughing at) the same joke over and over again to anyone that will listen. The ones that tell you to cheer up when you're not even in a bad mood...Until they said that. Ugh, seriously, fuck those people.
Whatever. I'll suck it up. At least my old boss just wrote on my Facebook wall that she wants me to come back at the end of the month. That's a sweet gig, at the timeshare resort. The only problem is I don't know how many shifts they'll give me. When I was laid off, I only had two a week. I just asked her how many shifts they'll have for me, and I'm waiting with bated breath for her reply. Man...I really don't want to work the till again.
**Author's Note - "but inevitably there's always those ones that will tell you every fucked up detail of their life within an hour of knowing them." Before anyone comments on the irony of this statement, I just want to say "Shut up!" Seriously though, I'm talking about really messed up shit. Like that you're married and pregnant with another man's baby, or that your uncle diddled you when you were thirteen. If you put that stuff in a blog anonymously on the internet, though, I'm all for reading it.
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