When I graduated high school, I took a summer job with a private business owner to get some extra money before college. Since then, I’ve been trying to forget the experience. And what better way to forget than to post it on the internet?
Exactly. Moving on.
The phone interview was harmless enough. I’d be working every Tuesday and Thursday for $5 an hour, which was gold back then. She was a small business owner who made stained glass jewelry out of her basement. I would manage customer service, take photos of new pieces, and take orders. It was simple.
I lasted two days.
Tuesday: Assess Work Environment. Make Excuses for Oddities.
On my first day, she led me through the kitchen to get to the basement. We passed a pyramid of cheerios in the making, which I’m fairly sure were cemented together with her two-year-old boy’s saliva. The entire house smelled like diapers and bread.
No, go mush some bread into diapers and sprinkle the concoction with baby powder. Then, leave it on your dining room table for a week. I’m not about to relive that smell long enough to explain what it’s like.
She showed me to a computer and taught me to use the camera. While I reorganized her files, she set up shop across the room and started making small talk. By small talk, I mean she asked me if my Dad was hot, rich, and single.
I told her that I couldn’t judge his attractiveness (because come on, woman), that we were alright but not rich, and that he was married to the greatest woman in the world. On this last part, I implied a subtext of BACK OFF, CRAZY WOMAN.
| Mortar Shop |
She continued to ask about the where and when of their marriage. When I mentioned that they’d had me not long after the wedding, she smiled, set down the stained glass nun she was making, and clapped gleefully.
“Oh, how sweet! You must have been conceived on their honeymoon!”That is verbatim because of how deeply I was emotionally scarred by that moment. This is your small talk, lady?
…….Seriously?
Wednesday: Take Day Off. Assure Yourself That You Are Exaggerating.
I told Dad about her questions and instead of demanding I quit, he laughed. Then he laughed harder. Then I went to my room, because he was calling Mom. When she answered, he couldn’t stop laughing long enough to explain what was so damn funny.
Maybe some people just have curious senses of humor or an innate inability to initiate small talk. Or, maybe, I should have quit before I left and saved myself the hurricane of WTF that came next.
Thursday: Bail. RUN!
Twenty minutes into my second day of work, my boss left to take her kid’s lunch to his daycare. Peace, I thought. All is well.
I checked the company email and found a refund request lodged by a Texas jewelry store. The customer attached pictures of what she had ordered from the website: a mermaid pendant, made with deep blues and greens; several pairs of dangle earrings with teardrop beads on the end; and an oyster shell paperweight with a faux pearl in the middle.
Then, she took pictures of what she received: a nun (what’s with the nun obsession?); several pairs of stud earrings; and a smaller oyster shell with an oversized faux pearl in it. This was a seasonal order and she just wanted her money back, since it would be out of season by the time she got the replacements.
| Inmagine |
When my boss came back, I showed her the complaint and asked her if I could run the refund.
“Well,” she huffed. “What I sent is close enough! I don’t see what her problem is. God, that woman is so needy.”
She then spent the next hour talking about my Dad and asking if I’d set up coffee with him. You know, to discuss my progress.
Friday – Monday: Try Desperately to Quit. Fail.
Friday morning came, following a fitful dream about cruise ships where my boss kept popping up from around corners, wondering as to the room in which I was currently being conceived.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and shuffled to the kitchen, thankful for the lack of diaper smell. I opened the kitchen cabinets and suppressed bile at the site of Cheerios. I poured a bowl of Mini Wheats and decided to quit.
| Farm1 |
Over the course of four days, I called her at least a six times and always got voicemail. But come on. Yeah, she’s a little crazy, but I’m not about to quit via voicemail. That’s like piercing your eyelid; it’s tacky and it makes all parties involve wince in pain.
Each of my voicemails said, “Please call me back. I really need to talk to you about Tuesday.”
She never called back. At dinner Monday night, I updated Dad on my progress. He laughed for five solid minutes. I timed it.
Tuesday: Quit Via Phone Call. Feel Terrible AND Liberated.
I was supposed to show up for work at 9:00AM.
At 8:30AM, I called her. No answer.
I called again at 8:45AM. No answer.
I really didn’t want to waste the gas to show up, quit, see her get angry, and then flee in a cloud of gravel dust.
At 8:55AM, she answered!
She was at the daycare, dropping off her boy. She thought I was trying to get into the house and told me to just hang on, since she would only be maybe fifteen minutes. Twenty at most.
How polite.
| Illegal Organ Donor |
I gave her my rehearsed speech about needing to focus more on my summer reading – or whatever BS excuse I figured would be better than explaining just how much she freaked me out and how she needed an overhaul on her business strategy. I imagine that alienating customers with an entirely inaccurate order is not the best way to stay in business.
She huffed, muttered something, and hung up.
My heart sank a little. Yes, I was free, but I had let her down minutes before she had expected me to wait in her driveway for an unspecified time period. How callous could I be?
I called back to apologize (but never ever ask for my job back) and instantly got voicemail. I explained that I hoped she wasn’t upset and I wished her all the best.
I never heard from her again, nor was I paid for the two days of WTF I endured at her behest. I am totally okay with that.
| DeviantArt |