Death Bound: Life Support Edition

Retailtainment

I show up to work, which is this big-box store that's like Walmart, but not Walmart, and I park in associate's parking at the very back of the lot. I don't turn my car off. Instead, while my engine idles, I sit and look at all the other businesses that I'd be much happier to work for.

This has become my ritual.

Eventually, I do shut my engine off, but I do it with a huge amount of disappointment. I get out and slam my door and trudge the seven grueling miles to the grocery-side entrance, like an enslaved man chained to a boulder.

This place— that's not Walmart— sucks. My job... sucks. My day is going to suck, which is a fact spoken from experience, because all the other days spent here have— sucked.

My boss thinks they pay us too well for us to quit. He thinks (and says, and implies) that we'd be stupid for not putting up with the company's shit, because we—the under-educated, keyholding drudge of retail— can't get paid like this anywhere else.

So far, he's right. And that sucks.

I enter the store at 7:02 AM, late, but I'm management, so I have liberties that I take advantage of more and more these days. I'm what's called a CO-Manager, which is one promotion away from being a Store Manager and making even more money, which would mean I'd be even more reliant on this place.

Sooo, no thank you. 

As it is now, I have between eight and ten Assistant Managers, twenty or so Department Managers, and hundreds of hourly associates, all of whom I help oversee. This is not a responsibility that I want.

To put it into perspective, if I had to choose between being Peter Parker, the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, or his Uncle Ben, who tells him, "With great power comes great responsibility," I would choose to be Uncle Ben.

Yes. Hands down. I'd willingly choose to be old Uncle Ben Parker, who gets shot and killed by a burglar on the streets of New York, rather than manage in this god-forsaken Hellhole...

...That's not Walmart.

And yet, here I am, getting ready to commence my shift. I feel my heartbeat quicken. I veer to the left, cutting in front of thirty identical registers, and duck into the men's restroom. I do this partly because I need to pee, but also because I feel like, somehow, hiding will delay my shift from starting. It won't, but I can dream.

As I tinkle, I notice a circular hole in the wall near the ceiling. I don't know why it's there, but it's there. It's big enough to stick an arm through and has a bird nest in it. Again, I don't know why. Maybe bird's just like the warmth of a men's room. I don't know.

The thing is, working in a big-box store can be daunting. The sheer amount of arbitrary shit that happens is incredible. You not only have to deal with random wackiness interrupting your day at the most inconvenient times, but you have to multitask and manage around it, because the company only cares about results.

But, here's the trick. If you'd like to better cope with the randomness, then train your brain to expect to see things you wouldn't otherwise expect, thus normalizing the unexpected and sapping it of its power.

I once had an associate tell me there was a naked man in the breakroom using the microwave to dry his socks, and my initial response was, "Ok, I'll get an assistant manager to deal with it." Turned out, the associate was joking, but for me, after working in a place like this, it was a 100% believable.

Anyhow, a part of me is hoping the bird will crap all over the Produce department and get us shut down for sanitation reasons. But this is hopeful wishing, and unlikely, so I'll get an assistant to deal with it. They can notate it in the Ecolab book. They can place a ticket in the computer requesting help with bird removal. They can deal with home office, if it comes to that.