I wanted to title this, "My Boss is a Douchebag", but I didn't know how the public would react.

Anyway, I felt it necessary to post a thread for this because no matter how almost perfect your job is, there's a person or persons there who make you want to sign a petition to legalize murder of the first degree. But now that this is here, I feel obligated to post the first entry in the official "My Boss is a Douchebag" column. Here goes:

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MY BOSS IS A DOUCHEBAG
first entry

I work in a grocery store, which is bad for me in so many ways. Kids at home, if you need a job, casually skip the grocer desparately needing new hires. I say this simply because grocery stores, aside from fast food joints and the like, are horrid places to work, especially if you're an anti-social pissant like myself.

Now that the backstory is set, I shall begin my tale: I work in the Frozen Food department of a local Winn-Dixie, which, for those of you who don't know, is a chain of grocery stores in the Southeastern portion of the United States. There are two other employees that work in this department, three if you count my managers, Mr. Douchebag (that's not a way to conceal his identity; that's my actual nickname for him). Now, Mr. Douchebag, like most managers, makes four dollars more an hour than I do (which is about one hundred and sixty dollars more a week before taxes), and yet, actually works very little. I'm not saying this because I'm jealous of his giant paycheck, I really mean that he's a lazy bastard who rarely works.

The biggest trucks of the week (with an average pallet count of five or six) come on Mondays. Mr. Douchebag is off on Mondays. I used to think that it was a coincidence, but this week, Mr. Douchebag actually worked on Monday (because he requested the weekend off). Guess how many pallets our truck had: TWO. Two pallets that could've easily have been done before I came in to work that day (12:00 p.m.). However, because Mr. Douchebag seldomly works, there was still two pallets in the cooler. Mr. Douchebag came into work at 7:00 a.m., and the truck came in around that time as well. Mr. Douchebag had five hours to finish off two pallets... but because he is a lazy Ess-Oh-Bee, he barely touched one.

Now, I'm not, by any means, great at my job. Hell, I've only been doing grocery work (stocking shelves) for about three months (I'm usually a cashier), but I was still able to get the job done before my coworker arrived (3:30 p.m.).

That ends my first rant, but I've got another one I have to address, which surprisingly, doesn't address Mr. Douchebag (not as much, anyway).

I have to work Sunday night as a cashier (which as I hate doing because I'm an anti-social pissant), from 3:30 p.m. until 1:00 a.m. (what kind of grocery store stays open that late?) because closing cashier just quit. It's no big deal, I'm used to working that late; unfortunately, I have to come in to work on Monday at 7:00 a.m. (only six hours after getting off) to deal with another truck (which'll probably be another five or six pallet'er because Mr. Douchebag is off that day). Eight hours of cashiering followed by four or five (if I'm lucky) hours of sleep followed by working my ass off on a frozen food truck... not my cup of tea.

I know a few of you are gonna be all, "that's not too bad, weakling", and such; but I don't care. To me, that's some pretty harsh work for someone who hasn't dealt with it.

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And so really concludes my rant... if this thread is more popular than I imagine it'd be, then I may post another... that all depends.

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