Doing battle with daily dragons

Tuesday, February 22, 2005


Today is Tuesday and that is very sad for me indeed, for it means that tomorrow I must return to Purgatory.

Purgatory (not it’s real name, although it WOULD be an excellent name if we expanded our range a little to include bits of jewelry to wear in places you wouldn’t show your mother) is a small shop specialising in silver jewelry in a small, well-to-do town about 10 minutes away from where we live. I’ve been doing time there for well over a year now and it’s become apparent to me that it’s high time to be off elsewhere.

I won’t bore you with the details of the ineffectual business skills of my boss or her complete lack of people skills. Those who WANT to lead are often those who should be restrained from leading at all costs. Great leaders and heroes come from the reluctant who rise to the occasion, not the wieners at the front of the class who are dying to be hall monitors. The crux of my problem at the moment is The Infiltrator.

My boss has never been able to keep managers long. There have been 5 since I’ve been employed. I’m lead to believe this is a pretty high turnover per-year rate, even for retail. This is because of her aforementioned completely lack of people skills. She is so lacking that 2 of the 5 managers did not even see out a month before they realized that they had made an enormous career error. 1 of them didn’t see out 3 days. Why have I lasted so long, you ask? Well, for one, she pays me LOADS. But also because every time she has demonstrated her lack of people skills on me, I deliver the smackdown and she runs, whimpering to the corner. I have worked with infinitely worse and more dysfunctional people than her and am very uninterested in being chastised by someone who won’t fix a broken toilet seat for ¾ of a year, but will happily pay 50 pounds a month in terrorism insurance. (I’m totally dead serious. I guess we’re pretty high risk, being in fashion accessories.)

The Infiltrator was brought in to replace the latest absconder. From the first moment she opened her mouth to speak to me, I knew that I had to flee.

The Infiltrator’s main character flaw (and there are legion) is her desperate attempt to socially penetrate me in an uncomfortable place. (“What, like the back of a Volkswagen?”) I made the fatal mistake of telling her something about my social life on the first day we were thrown together and ever since, I have had to lie like a flatfish in order to avoid her company after hours. My m.i.l calls this “poo on the shoe” behavior and I feel this is an apt analogy.

Aside from this, she seems to exist in an unusually high state of fuck-up-edness that, even in the Sword of Damocles situations that The Rock Star and I labor under, makes me want to deep kiss the Fates in gratitude for not giving me her life. It is deeply depressing, entirely of her own making and the only subject she can be persuaded to converse on for hours on end.

What exactly can you say to: “I cheated on my husband with my boyfriend and he kicked me out and then my boyfriend dumped me and now i fancy my husband again but he has a girlfriend and i’ve got no money for a night out and i want half the house and…”

You say nothing, nod politely and start methodically trying to chew your own arm off just to get away. This is why I have decided to leave before becoming mad and armless.

But I do not get to leave tomorrow and that is a Sad Thing.