Blue Monday

15659912634684995197286577001864.jpg

Among other things.

I’ve been given a slightly more palatable choice: front end assistant. I’d have to push carts and do go-backs (returns) but it wouldn’t be anywhere near as awful as food court.

I’m willing to give it a try. However, I’m keeping my eyes open for postings elsewhere, whether they’re in my store or not. As in, I’m eyeballing other jobs.

No, I’m not putting in my two weeks notice or anything; I’m just keeping my options open. I mean, I sincerely doubt that I’ll fail at this–it’s not really anything I haven’t done before–but having options is a good thing. It keeps my mind occupied and helps keep the anxiety in check.

You have no idea how bad the anxiety has gotten. It’s gone from a maximum of ten to thirteen. Ugh. Lulu helps, Primus does she ever, but I can’t take her to work with me. Which is where the panic attacks have been occuring.

Well, they were. Now I’ve gone from anxious to pissed. Ridiculously pissed. For obvious reasons.

Prime said it best: the time for Costco to worry about my driver’s license–or lack thereof–should have been two and a half to three years ago, when they hired me for that position. He’s absolutely right about that; I’ve had the position for this long and it wasn’t a problem until now. After Dennis died. Yeah, notWiesia basically waited until Dennis, who was wheelchair bound, was good and gone so she could pull this stunt without dealing with the ADA.

Management probably knows this. But they’ll let her do it anyway. Which utterly disgusts me.

I’m feeling like I did while I was at Walmart: I’m a fucking cog in a machine that can be replaced when I’m no longer useful. Like there’s no damn point for me to even be there. Like the fact that I was so willing to roll with the punches, stay late when needed, not make a huge deal when the schedule went straight to shit, come in early when needed, drop everything I was doing just so I could get into work, miss baseball games because of their ineptitude, means precisely nothing to them. My loyalty to the company earned me exactly dick-all and that fucking hurts.

So yeah, I’m keeping my eyes open for jobs elsewhere. Why should I remain so blindly loyal to the corporation? I’ve heard so much about “fairness” and “equality” from management that I want to shout a particular line from The Princess Bride: “You keep using that word, I do not think it means what you think it means.”

Yeah, real fun, as you can imagine. Even better? I’ve had the ‘pleasure’ of working with notWiesia at the doors; I’m not supposed to let any of this “color how I feel about” anyone, so I have to be nice and pleasant and courteous to her, which makes my skin crawl and makes me want to scream. notWiesia probably has no idea how I truly feel right now and I’m trying to keep it that way, but I know that eventually, I will crack. I’ll say something, even if it’s half-mumbled under my breath, and I’ll end up being hauled into the office over it.

Is it really worth fighting over this job, when I know good and damn well she’ll do something like this again? Is it worth the stress and anxiety? Is it worth sacrificing my mental health? Those are the questions I keep asking myself and I struggle with the answers.

Or I did. Because it looks like someone made the decision for me.

About Silverwynde

I'm a Transformers fan, Pokémon player, Brewers fan and all-out general nerd. I rescue abandoned Golett, collect as many Bumblebee decoys and figures as I can find and I've attended every BotCon since 1999. I'm also happily married to a fellow Transfan named Prime and we were both owned by a very intelligent half-Siamese cat, who crossed the Rainbow Bridge on June 16, 2018. We still miss him. But we're now the acting staff of a Maine Coon kitty named Lulu, who pretty much rules the house. Not that we're complaining about that.
This entry was posted in And Now For Something Completely Different and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.