Yesterday, as I waited to clock in and head up, I spotted one of the managers. She greeted me, then asked what should be known as a rather loaded question: “Would you like some more hours next week?”
Our hours at the door have been cut. I’m getting 25 total. Of course I said yes.
Here’s where it gets fun. The hours in question? They’ll be in the Food Court. Oh yay.
It seems that the Food Court can’t hold on to employees. Elena, the manager, has been using extra people from the Front End to help plug in the gaps in her schedule. She can’t keep people in her department. It was like this last year; I was in the Food Court for two or three weeks, helping out because there was no one else in there. Food Court is where I started and I can understand why no one wants to stay there; it is an extremely difficult area. The workload is insane and oftentimes, you feel completely under-appreciated. No matter what you do, it feels like it isn’t enough and you’re often asked to move faster and work harder. It’s tough in there. I’m not kidding; when I was moved out of that department and onto the Front End, I felt a mix between shame and relief. The shame came from the circumstances, as I was being told that I just wasn’t a good fit for the department, the relief came from the fact I wouldn’t have to deal with that sort of workload again.
Well, that’s what I thought.
It looks as though, for the next week at least, I’ll be back to it. Sure, I’ll love the extra money, but what I’m doing to get that additional cash is going to be tough. It’s a lot of physical stuff and I haven’t done a lot of this in over a year. I’m hoping I can cope.
It’s going to be a long week.