Kicking and Screaming

For a very short time, six months or so, I managed the jewelry counter at our local Sam’s club.  At that time it was a leased area, owned by a different company, inside of the Sam’s.

I had been working at my first jewelry store for about two years at this point.  We had been through several management changes.  I had applied for the management position with the first jewelry store company, but they hired someone else. 

Someone that I couldn’t stand.  Hate is a strong word, but it was pretty close to hate.

So I was passed up, and an idiot got the job to be my manager (she is the one who stole things, great choice stupid district manager).  I started looking for something new.  I had seen an ad in the newspaper for this Sam’s Club job, and went out and applied.  I showed up for the interview in a nice suit, as this is what you should do, and the District Manager was wearing a sweat shirt and jeans.

I should have known right then that there was something wrong with this place. 

I had two employees.  Neither one of them was even slightly responsible.  They called in sick, they called in for weird things which had to be lies.  I wasn’t “allowed” to fire them or write them up.  The DM “liked” them.  She didn’t work with them or have them ruin her plans, so of course they were “good” in her book.

The jewelry counter was right next to the electronics section.  I watched so many movies on a continuous loop that I had several memorized.  Tommy Boy is permanently seared into my brain. 

So I hated this job.  Mack was three.  After I had worked there for a few months, she would occasionally come out with my parents to shop and to visit with me.

On one of these impromptu shopping trips with her grandparents, I took my lunch break and walked around the store with them.  (Samples for lunch each day was one of the best perks that there was there.)  My Dad hoisted two buckets of cat litter into the cart, and in the process because she wasn’t looking, Mack scratched her chin all up on one of the buckets of cat litter. 

You would have thought she had died.  She was howling, crying, just sobbing over this teeny, tiny little scratch.

From that point on she refused to go to Sam’s club.  Even now, seventeen years later, and she refuses to go to Sam’s.  She absolutely hates it.

Now, not long after Mack scratched her chin, I ended up finally having enough of the entire situation, and walked out one evening.  My parents were going out-of-town, my sister was doing something, and the girl who was supposed to close the store called in supposedly deathly ill.  I called my boss to ask her if she could come in, and she refused.  (She was supposed to work in my store at least one day a week, and she never did.)  Although, she told me at the interview that she never wore jeans to work, I saw her in the same exact pair of jeans, and same exact sweatshirt every single time that she came out to do a store visit.

I hate being lied to.  More than anything.

So I got off the phone with her, and called around trying to find a sitter for Mack.  I was out of luck.  It was a Friday night, people either had plans or they were already babysitting.  I called my boss back.  Asked her again if she could please come in and work, and that I would be in the following day.

She told me that if I left the store I was fired.

I told her that if I left the store, it actually meant that I quit.

She accused me of stealing.  A month prior we had an inventory that was within SEVEN dollars of what our inventory was supposed to be.  SEVEN DOLLARS.  Sure I was stealing, stupid bitch.  She didn’t even know how good that was.  She had never worked retail before.  Never.  I couldn’t believe that she would accuse me of stealing, so to cover my ass I called one of the Sam’s club manager’s to come over and watch me count my cash and watch while I did our inventory counts that are preformed twice a day.  Everything turned out fine.

I cut up my ID Badge, and cut up my Sam’s membership card, and threw them away in the store’s trash.  That should get the point across.

This is the only job I have ever walked out on in my life.  The first and only.  This one time it felt soooo good.


3 Comments on “Kicking and Screaming”

  1. Jen says:

    Oh that does sound like bad news. I’m glad you thought to cover yourself with the other manager!

  2. Holly says:

    The only job I never gave a 2 week notice to was when I worked at Norwest Bank downtown (which I’m pretty sure now is Wells Fargo) in their check proessing division upstairs. I interviewed for, and got, a job at Ruan. As soon as I knew I had the job I walked into Norwest, cleaned out my locker and left without saying a word a to anyone. My first job was at a Dairy Queen and I worked with better, more professional, more mature people at that DQ than I did at Norwest Bank.

  3. libbylogic says:

    Walked out on one job. I was a singing waiter. A bad singing waiter. Well, the waiting part. Walking out I sang “Hurts so good.”

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