Most retail jobs are shitty, but none are quite as shitty as selling shoes.
The store where I worked was located on the one of the most highly-trafficked, upscale shopping blocks of New York. We sold very expensive, very outlandish men’s and women’s Italian shoes; to a clientele that consisted mostly of European tourists, rude Brighton Beach mafia wives, assorted floozies and rap stars. Since staff was expected to wear the store brand exclusively, this meant that the female contingent had to schlep tall stacks of shoe boxes up and down the steep flight of stairs from the basement stockroom while wearing painful high heels, the lowest of which were three to four inches. We were trained to never return from the stockroom with fewer than three boxes, since even if a customer had requested only one, we were to make at least two “suggestions.” When tall boots were involved, and you were serving more than one customer simultaneously, the height and width of the stacks one was forced to carry was quite spectacular (as were the crashes, when they toppled as one ascended the stairs).
Selling shoes to women is far more aggravating than selling to men, because a startling percentage of females are seriously crazy about their shoe size. Suppose Crazy Female Customer asks to see a shoe, size 8 ½ . She tries it on and then pronounces it too tight. “Ah, I’ll get you a 9…” the salesperson might cheerfully offer. The CFC dismisses this suggestion as vaguely insulting, replying, “No—I’m an 8 ½,” with grave finality. She then repeats this process with a dozen or more additional shoes, perhaps accidentally hitting upon a style that runs so large as to actually fit, in a half-size too small.
My most memorable encounter happened with a male customer, though. He was affluent-looking and approximately 60 years old. It’s necessary to the story to also mention that he was African American. I approached him and asked if he’d like to try on the style he’d been looking at. He gave me a withering look and asked to instead be served by one of my colleagues, whom he asked for by first name– apparently he was a regular customer. I told him that it was her day off, but I’d be happy to assist him. He looked at me with barely disguised contempt, but finally agreed to let me fetch his size. Joy. During the 10 minutes I dealt with him, everything I said was met with an exaggerated withering glance, sometimes even an eye roll and his mouth was contorted as though sucking on a lemon. “What the fuck’s that guy’s problem?” I wondered to myself, as I retrieved another three pair for him from the stockroom. It crossed my mind that the other salesperson who he’d specifically requested happened to be black, whereas I’m white. Since I’d only been friendly and courteous, I was beginning to think that maybe he simply didn’t like white people?
Upon my return from the stockroom, he deigned to speak to me, noting the old Stevie Wonder song playing on the sound system. He said, “I see you’re playing our music.” “Our” music, eh? I took this as confirmation that he was hung up on race. I’d had enough, so I responded dryly that I didn’t see how he had any more claim to the music of Stevie Wonder than me. He gave me another look of scorn, but ultimately bought a pair of shoes and left. The next day, I told my colleague that he’d come in and asked for her, and I referred to him by name since I’d seen his credit card. In retrospect, after she informed me that he was a bigwig at Motown Records, the music comment seemed a little more innocuous than I’d previously thought.
Yes, I’m an idiot.
My Very Worst Job was in a department where I was a part-timer with a boss and another full-timer above me, who I’ll call M. The boss was pretty meek, the type who will avoid anything that might potentially cause a problem. M was, quite frankly, a bitch who had it out for me. My problems with her started when she would conveniently take off on days of major events — events she was responsible for — and have me run the show for her. Then it moved into her taking projects I was working on and claiming them as her own. Finally, she started making up things about me to get me in trouble with the boss. I tried to offer proof that these things weren’t true but I still received “strikes” against me; meanwhile, she was caught falsifying her time card, with no repercussions.
The final straw came when my department received a grant and I volunteered to do the initial research that had to be completed before we could start spending money. I complied a long report with demographic and school district information and emailed to the boss and to M. The boss told me it was good work. M came in a few hours later and immediately sent out an email saying that my research was all wrong. My boss wrote the both of us back reiterating that it was fine. M sent out another email tearing my work to shreds. At that point I felt I couldn’t stay quiet and sent out an email. The first paragraph was carefully worded and I logically defended why my work wasn’t garbage. The second paragraph was one sentence: “However, if you feel that the time I put into this research wasn’t well spent, please feel free to do your own research.”
I hit send and a minute later, I hear her storm out of her office, say to the boss, “I need to speak to you” and slam his door shut. After talking with him she banged the door open and stomped out the front door. The boss then came to me and asked me to apologize to M. I refused – although my email was a little sarcastic, I hadn’t said anything truly offensive and I was trying to defend myself from what felt was an undue attack. I thought I was going to be fired the next day, since I had previous strikes against me. But a few days went by and nothing happened, so I thought I was in the clear. That Friday, the boss came and asked for a favor. We had a school group coming in on Monday and he wanted me to take charge. This was usually his and M’s responsibility, but M was “very religious” and insisted on taking that day off since it was the day after Easter. He, meanwhile, had tickets to our city’s opening day baseball game. I thought that doing this favor would get me back into his graces so I said yes.
Now normally when we have a school group we have volunteers so that one person doesn’t get overwhelmed by 50 urban schoolchildren. We looked at the department calendar but found no volunteers scheduled. The boss called M, who had forgotten to schedule any volunteers. So I showed up on Monday and spent 3 ½ hours by myself with 50 first graders. Then I showed up on Tuesday and got fired. During the speech I got from the boss, I figured out that they wanted to fire me earlier, but decided to wait until I could cover their asses on the day they both wanted off.
I grew up in very rural Northwest Missouri. The town population was about 600. So everyone knows everyone and when I was 14, I was a very popular babysitter. I became something of the “town babysitter” and parents used to fight to get me to watch their kids. One night, this one mom needed me to watch her daughter, so she and her mom could go to a wedding. I had watched the little girl once before, so it wasn’t a big deal. It was a quiet night and the little girl and I were playing and enjoying ourselves. A few hours go by and soon there is a knock at the door. I answer it and it’s another parent saying, “Hi, I heard there was child care? Here.. (hands me the kid) have fun honey” and walks off. Soon more and more parents start dropping their kids off. Keep in mind I’m only 14, so I was too scared and inexperienced to say anything to these “adults.” I eventually end up with 15 kids and the oldest was seven.
I was running around like crazy trying to keep each kid from crying, changing diapers, giving bottles, begging the seven year-old to help me with his little sister — it was pure pandamonium. The seven year-old was of course one of those kids who didn’t listen and was running around jumping off of things, knocking things over and kicking other random things. Finally after a few hours the parents return and most of them had too much to drink. None of them offer or bother to pay me for watching their kids. Finally, the original Mom gets back, hands me $10 and tells me to have a good night. I was so dumbfounded. How could they think it was okay to only pay me $10 for watching 15 kids? I went home and told my mom who was beyond mad. Luckily they never asked me to babysit for them again.
MVWJ was also my first job. No one wanted to hire someone with no experience. NO ONE. So what did I go through college for four years for? Well, I needed to earn money to pay off my student loan. So when I got instantly hired at a park, I was thrilled. The job was 70 miles away, but no one closer want to hire me.
I’m not bitter or anything.
Anyway, I applied in the food and beverage department. I was nervous, waiting in the waiting room with the snooty receptionist. Soon a balding guy in his mid-thirties came out. He grabbed my application, read it, and gave me the once-over. “Come in the back,” he said to me and nodded.
I went. He said, “So you just graduated, eh?” I said yes. “So you have no experience anywhere, right?” I said yes. He nodded thoughtfully, produced a piece of paper and gave it to me. “Read this,” he said.
As I did, he explained that they had an interviewer position available for college grads like me and he thought I was perfect for it. I was a little unsure, and I told him repeatedly that I would need training and had no experience whatsoever. He said that was fine and that I would be trained. I told him I had applied so many times and no one would hire me. He was sympathetic and friendly and I thought Sweet! My first job! Human Resources! Anyway, I preferred an office job to an outdoor one. I jumped on it.
(Heh.)
Well, after that, he said that my job was easy. All I had to do was ask the interviewee prepared questions, stuff like “Why do you want to work here?” etc. I thought it’d be a cinch since, now that I thought about it, I had plenty of experience in interviews, though always as the interviewee. Now I would be on the other side.
Well, a lady came in to fill an application, and my new boss said I would interview her and he would sit aside and watch me do it. I was VERY nervous. It’s one thing to do something you have never done, plus have your boss watching your every move. I was sure I would mess up and I hoped that he wouldn’t fire me.
He didn’t, even though I did stutter and when I held out the paper for her to take, my hand was shaking so bad, it was a wonder that she could grab it. I didn’t know who was more nervous, her or I!
Subsequently, he sat with me through one more interview, then all the sudden took me aside and said he thought my voice was too low and I sounded like a man. I’m a woman, and I though I knew my normal voice wasn’t angels’ harps, was shocked and a little offended by this. He said that I should pitch my voice up higher and made me try. I did my best, feeling like a fool, I talked in a little high squeaky voice. He said it was perfect and ushered me to do another interview. I thought, this is crazy, but did it anyway. So there I was, speaking like Mickey Mouse on helium, to the interviewee–a tough looking muscular guy who looked back at me like I was crazy. I didn’t blame him one little bit. Now I look back and think what I fool I was; I should have got the hell out of there, but I didn’t. I was young and naive and doing what I was told to.
Well, my boss told me later that I did a terrible job. “I was just doing what you told me!” I said and he shook his head in obvious disappointment and just walked away.
It got worse. Obviously, my boss now thought I was a weirdo, because he would take others’ side immediately. Once I was interviewing three girls at once in a group interview, (I had quit the Mickey act by now) which we were allowed to do when they came together. I didn’t see the point of this, but did it anyway. The problem was, as I immediately figured out, one girl would answer and the other two would agree with her.
Of course it was true. I would ask, “So what would you do if someone asks you a question you don’t know the answer to?” Girl #1 would say, “I would SO ask my manager.” Girl #2 said, “Yeah! My manager would, like, so know the answer!” Girl #3 said, “Yeah. What they said.”
The rest of the questions went similarly. I hired the first two girls, but not the third. Big mistake. Her mom called later, demanding to know why her precious daughter had not been hired when her two friends had and accused us of traumatizing and embarassing her. I thought that was ridiculous. My boss asked me what happened, and I said that the third girl just said, “Yeah. Uh huh. Yup.” Enthusiasm was a big part of getting hired, and he knew that. He stared at me like he didn’t believe me and overrode my rule and hired the girl anyway. I thought, fine whatever. He’s the manager. He gets the last word.
The 9-5 days were tedious, I only had two or three interviews, and the nothing to do for six hours. My boss gave me some envelopes to stick labels on. Great. I tried to ask for advice on how to do my job, since I still had NO idea, but my boss never had time for me. His door was open alright, so you could see him in it with his feet up talking to his wife or his friends. A VERY annoying habit of his was to frequently grab a soccer ball off his shelf, played wih it and bounce it at us while grinning and saying sorry. Then running around and doing it again 15 minutes later. I thought this attitude was VERY unprofessional and immature but said nothing. He’s the boss. You couldn’t walk down the hall with being afraid of getting hit on the butt with a bouncing ball. I also noticed only girls got hit. It was something else to see a middle-aged man acting like a spoiled three-year-old.
I was very lenient when interviewing, having gone through what they were going through to get a job. But soon a girl wearing old sweats, baggy holey shirt, and BED SLIPPERS came in to apply for job. I assumed she didn’t know we did interviews on the spot and asked her if she wanted to go and change and come back to be interviewed. She thought for a while, shrugged then said, “No, it’s all right. I don’t care.”
Dress appearance is a big factor in our hiring decision, it counts as one strike. Two strikes and you’re out, according to my boss. I said, “Okay….” and she answered a question wrong. Since it was two strikes, I didn’t hire her.
Later my boss asked me if her slippers were “really” that bad, and did I make a mistake? I told him exactly what she was wearing, and he frowned. Then he said, “Well, she comes from a really good school,” and I reminded him that I lived 70 miles away, how was I supposed to know which schools are good? He shrugged and later hired her, though tried to keep it a secret from me, but I found out.
I was shocked at what people would wear to be interviewed. It seemed that we got all the weirdos. Holes in their shirt, baggy jeans (a big no no) baseball caps, unwashed etc. I felt pity but also a need to do my job right.
One guy actually flashed me. His jeans were so baggy and heavy with thick chains out the enormous pockets that when he got up from the chair, his pants fell down on the floor. He quickly hitched them up again, but not before I saw he had no underwear. Eek!
The final blow came when we had a job fair and over fifty applicants came to apply, and yes, be interviewed. My past experience with group interviews was horrible, so I tried to see them one at a time to get a better feel of their personality. The result was that I wasn’t going to get through all of them. I was afraid I would be blamed, for, I don’t know, being too slow.
So I thought up an idea. I would interview them and do their paperwork tomorrow. I had a pretty good feel of who was a weirdo and who wasn’t, so I would write at the end of they passed or failed. I did it and got through all the interviewees quickly.
Next morning, I was all set to do the paperwork when I noticed it missing from my desk. Then my boss called me to his office and shut the door when I entered. Uh Oh. He threw the paperwork at me and said, “Care to explain this?” in an angry, tight voice, teeth clenched.
I said that I was going to do it today since I had plenty of time, it was perfect, I pointed out, since I had nothing to do all day. His jaw tightened as I explained, and threw another paper at me. Before I could read it, he said that he didn’t think it was working out and could I please resign by signing this?
I remember his cold eyes bored into mine almost hypnotically, like he was trying to get me to sign. I was in shock as all the blood drained from my body. I told him that I didn’t understand why he was firing me and he said that I was fired due to “my error of judgement.” He said that would put my file into the rejection pile and flag it as “rejected forever” meaning that I was never allowed to work there again and he would probably burn it.
At this I pulled myself together and pushed the pen that he was pressing on me, and said with dignity it was all right if he didn’t want me to work there, I wouldn’t, since I don’t want to be somewhere I’m not wanted. But I wasn’t signing anything and I did’t deserve this. As he sat stunned by my refusal, I rushed out of the office, grabbed my purse, and hopped on the interstate highway for home, upset.
I didn’t come back, and reading these stories, I realized that he was trying to cover his ass if I decided to collect unemployment. I didn’t, I didn’t even know about unemployment back then.
November 5th,2010
Bad Bosses,
Firing Squad,
Job Application Drama,
Wasn't in the Job Description | tags:
bad boss,
bad job,
human resources,
job interview,
job interview gone wrong,
job interview questions,
park jobs |
21 Comments
The irony of my MVWJ was that it was supposed to be my very best job ever. I had been working full time hours at part time status for the past three years and this job was a promotion, with full benefits. The only downside (or so I thought), was the 45 minute commute. The first two weeks at the job went well, it was a different atmosphere than the other location I worked at, but I figured I would adjust eventually. However, after I returned back from a vacation I realized that I had made a terrible mistake in taking the promotion at this location. Luckily, while I was on vacation the same exact position had opened up at my old location and I applied for it, thinking I could keep my promotional status and nix my icky commute. Well, turns out that apparently this was the trigger switch to turn my boss into a backstabbing life sucker. When she found out I was trying to transfer out of the store she unleashed hellfire upon me. After her screaming at me in the office for 20 minutes, citing a ton of policies I was violating, I came back at her with my own policies I had memorized, stating that she couldn’t stop me from any of it. From that day forward my life became a living hell.
She would yell at me every shift I worked with her for the most ridiculous things. In the past three years I’d worked for the company I had never had disciplinary action. In the three weeks following me applying for a transfer I was on a “final disciplinary warning,” which in essence, bars you from transferring. Great. Mission accomplished. I was trapped at the location, literally being abused for two months. More work was shoveled on me and when I couldn’t finish it all, I’d be written up. This pattern continued until I just gave up, stopped trying, came to work miserable and left miserable. One day she and another manager cornered me in the office yelling at me, telling me how much I sucked and overall just verbally abused me to the point of tears. They gave me an ultimatum: I could turn it all around, completely change my leading style (basically, act like the tyrannical bitch she was) and I had 30 days to do so or I could step down to my old position, old location, everything. I came back with the answer that I was not going to change who I was just so she could fire me anyway and that I’d leave. She agreed to transfer me back, I agreed to lose my benefits, my pay raise and my title in exchange for what I thought would be peace of mind.
Well, when the week came for me to transfer, I called in asking for my schedule and my old store had no knowledge of my “transfer.” The best part? My boss was on her honeymoon and unavailable to be contacted. Turns out she had transferred out of the store herself, turned my life into a steaming garbage pile and left me to clean up the mess. As it currently sits, I’m unemployed because of her actions.
