God's honest truth, if you haven't slaved away at ten bucks an hour, working under constant fluorescent light with nowhere to hide from the blindingly bright light or endured eight straight hours of the most awful combination of pop music on the planet, you need to just shut up about it.
You heard me.
There is nothing redeeming about working in the service industry. Period. It is not gratifying, socially or morally satisfying or financially viable, unless of course, you've reached the climactic pinnacle of management, and that only means you can be used as a scapegoat for an extra .85 an hour. It sucks. It is not fun, in any sense of the word. Generally, you wear a "uniform," and it's never comfortable. At best, you can wear your own clothes, but you have to supplement that with some sort of vest or apron of some sort, which brands you to the visiting consumers as a non-human with the presumed intelligence of a sponge.
I worked in the hospitality business when I was younger, a bartender to be exact. I was revered as a god-like creature, delivering the nectar of forgetfulness and was paid quite well by grateful customers who sipped their Manhattans and never demanded anything other than another drink, "when I had time." I slid in about 4 p.m., worked until 1 a.m., and went home with no less than $150 a night in tips. I was a nymph, a siren, an alcohol-serving angel in shorts and a tank top, and I was beloved, if only for a couple of hours a night.
Working in a consumer based arts and crafts store of lofty proportions on a part-time basis really appealed to me initially, because I am an artist, and I literally know most everything there is to know about crafting from my years researching the industry for my newspaper column for thirteen years. It would be a cinch, I thought. No problem, I thought. I was hired in the framing department of said arts and crafts store, because I had some framing in my background.
Part-time turned into full-time, hours turned into days and days on end, with no weekends off and every single holiday became a dreaded work day. Every Thanksgiving. Every Easter. Every Christmas Eve...no time to spend with loved ones, with relatives, with beloved pets. Driving to work in the dark during time changes, and driving home with just enough time to make dinner and walk the dog before retiring so that I could get up and do it all again. Years of this...six to be exact, and I still make poverty wages, have only every other weekend off and yes, I still work holidays.
The people that come in to these stores are relentless in their demands that you help them immediately, and if you are out of an item, or do not carry an item, they haughtily ask why and who is responsible for being so stupid as to not have what they want. No, we don't carry curtain rods - we are an arts and crafts store. We do not sell planks of wood, live plants or taps for the soles of your shoes. We do not carry house paint, pet leashes or bed linens. We carry arts and crafts supplies. Although, the current times have forced us to sell the occasional home decor item, cheap dollar store items, and As Seen On TV randomness. Most of the younger women that shop here have never worked a retail job and as long as they can have babies, never will. The older generation of shoppers may have had some retail experience, and they recognize the hollow-eyed stare of the worker as she or he asks if they can help you find something, and respond with kindness. Some of the women would rather cut off their left titty than reduce themselves to work with the common folk.
As we worker-bees (of sponge intelligence) navigate the aisles, dodging customers who never move out of the way, who block every conceivable avenue of escape with carts and screaming children, who demand our undivided attention, whether we are carrying a heavy and cumbersome 25-lb. box of mat boards or not, we dream of the dreaded time clock reaching the zero-hour when we can race to the exit door with all the enthusiasm of a newborn colt and get away from the zombies who eat our brains.
Do you people actually believe we enjoy being yelled at, belittled, laughed at or looked down upon? Do you not realize that most of the over-30 workers at retail stores have had lifetimes of other employment and have gone to college and earned degrees-who would not be working in retail as a low-paid employee for the shear fun of it if it were not for some tragic turn of fate?
Be NICE, people. Yes, it is a service-based industry, and we are here to help you, but try to empathize a little with our situations and not be so demanding. Criticizing our lack of being able to stop everything and help you find every single item on your latest Pinterest List so that it saves YOU time does not make us want to smile and wish you a happy holiday. We do not start out our days with the determination that we will be grouchy or hateful. We start out our mornings just like you, only with less time to enjoy our coffee or idle conversation with our significant others. We race to work on time, we jump right into our days, we end our days tired, drained and not filled with any sense of achievement or value. Working in retail at an associate level is hard work, and it's hard both physically and emotionally. Do we try to make it fun? Yes. But your sharp words and condescending tones quickly erase whatever good intentions we had of having a great day. Are we compelled to play nice with you? Yes. But we are not in the public service industry, so do not think you are owed a compliant attitude. You are not.
We are the same as you, and operate on the same sound waves. We treat you as we are treated. We are your reflections and we react. Do we "owe" you good service? Yes. Do you "owe" us respect? Yes.
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