True high school story. I have never in my life had a worse day at any job, and I’ve had jobs where people threatened to fuck, sue and kill me. I don’t know what the owner was smoking asking me to start that day. I didn’t know how to do anything. I didn’t know what flowers were what, how the cash register worked, how the order system worked, what to say when I answered the (one, non-cordless, incredibly loud) phone. I had no idea who any of the florists were so even when I did answer
the phone I couldn’t identify who the call was for, I didn’t know the
delivery drivers’ routes or their names or the hours they worked.
Certainly no one was in a position to train me. When I asked questions people yelled. I couldn’t blame them. The customer sitch was like that scene in I Am Legend where the creatures keep throwing themselves on the glass. I didn’t understand why these baseball-capped douchebags were coming in at 9 p.m. freaking the fuck out because they’d forgotten it was Valentine’s — like, it’s kind of inescapable, read a calendar, Chipster — and we didn’t have any roses left for them. Men kept coming in demanding something, anything, buy me out of the doghouse somehow. The cherry on top of this shit sundae was the woman who came in hauling an arrangement sent by an apparent stalker and THREW IT AT US. I felt for her, but Jesus.
I wish I could say the job got better, but note to the job market newbies: A boss oblivious enough to hire a 16-year-old with no experience to start on Valentine’s Day without any training is not a boss that fosters an environment any more hospitable than the inside of Satan’s asshole. I lasted six months because I hated quitting anything, but I quit the shit out of that job. It was giving me an ulcer.
But working at a sex shop on Valentine’s Day is apparently SO MUCH WORSE.
Oldie but goodie via, in a roundabout way, Metaquotes.