01st Mar2005

Eunice Is A Bitch

by Will

The Boston Recap’s on the way, but I interrupt this for a special report:

I’m being set up at work. No lie. No joke. I’m the first one to say, “If it ain’t dramatic, it ain’t williambrucewest.com”, but I’m seriously being set up to take a fall. As much as it pains me to admit this, I’m actually kind of scared….

Barring confidentiality agreements and the like, I’ll try to explain as best I can.

A few weeks ago, I had to document a manager because she processed a SHADY AS SHIT return. There was all kinds of voodoo going on in that transaction, and it just looked fishy. Problem is, this chick and I ain’t exactly best friends. You could cut the tension with a chainsaw.

So, I called my trainer and told her about the transaction, asking for advice. She told me to alert corporate’s security dept. and tell them about the situation. I called, and was told to document the entire situation. Basically, write down everything that had transpired.

Prior to calling around, I’d questioned the manager so that I could better understand her side of the story. But her half-assed answers only led to more questions. In the end, she’d dug herself quite the hole.

So, once I documented the exchange, I faxed it to corporate, per their instructions. Beforehand, I told them, “I’m not comfortable with this because I’m not exactly unbiased. I don’t like this person, but I don’t want to get them in trouble. I just needed advice.” But still, they told me to send it.

Now, as you’ve read in the past, my store has no manager. We have department managers, but no supreme store manager to take care of conflicts like this. With no store manager, I had no one to hold on to the report in-store. So, it just kind of hid in a secret place. I knew where it was, but no one else knew it existed.

Well, while I was in Boston, all Hell broke loose. The bitch decided to “clean the office”, and found what I’d written. I wasn’t to show it to her or anything until I’d heard back from security. Three weeks gone by, and still no word. But apparently, she went off. And started trying to destroy my world.

First, my annual review magically disappeared. It was supposed to be sent in to HR last week, so my potential raise could be considered. But it went missing and HR called to say they’d never received it.

Next, my copy of my post-training assessment…disappeared. Nowhere to be found.

But the kicker, the document I wrote was gone. No clue where it is. Little does she know that security has a copy. Wouldn’t be surprised if she’s destroyed the office copy. But the bitch is still under investigation…

If only she had just left it at that…

Earlier this morning, while looking for a copy of the schedule, I looked in her mailbox. She IS responsible for scheduling, so it seemed likely there’d be a copy in there. But while looking, I saw a bunch of forms with my name at the top. Yup, the bitch had spent my vacation writing me up for shit I wasn’t even responsible for. And, while I had told her what she’d done when I documented her, she had no intention of confronting me. She’d have just put them in my file and gone her merry way. Complete, childish, retaliation. All because her fucking feelings were hurt. Hey, bitch. Don’t fuck around with company paperwork, and maybe you won’t have anything to worry about.

So, apparently, she’s writing me up for every little thing under the sun, just because she can. And I saw that she’s been keeping notes on me. Little stupid shit like, “Will’s outburst at staff meeting”. She’s just mad ’cause I made her look like a bitch to the staff. Surprise, douchebag! The staff already knew you were a bitch! This pisses me off, though, ’cause I haven’t been written up since May 2004. Don’t YOU think it’s gonna look weird that I get written up TWICE, at the same time she discovers she’s been reported? The bitch isn’t even TRYING to hide this. Sheer retaliation!

So, she came in today, and tried her best not to say a thing to me. Meanwhile, our other hoodrat of a manager just thinks it’s a joke. I swear, the whole thing reminds me of the Chris Rock skit. There are black people and…. But I don’t have time to cowtow to the Big Nigga In Charge. I just don’t. I’m too smart for this. I’m better than this…trash. So, why am I so nervous?

‘Cause the store is a different animal. My allies are gone. I’m like Screech when he came back in “The New Class”: Sure I know where all the lockers are, but I still have no one to eat lunch with. If this bitch is gonna be this childish, I can go there. I can totally go there. I just have to commit. Is this really how I want to go out? I may not have a choice, and forgive me for sounding “street”, but I ain’t gonna go out like no punk!

I was pissed the whole day. I kept having “What Would James Lamb Do?” moments. But I didn’t have a Snapple Bottle, and I have a rule aginst cussing someone out before lunch. But what now? I mean, if you’ve been reading, you know I’ve been ready to “peace out” for some time. I just needed the catalyst. This must be said catalyst. Problem is, I’ve got nowhere else to go right now.

It’s sad, too, ’cause I had kinda rededicated myself to H&M over the weekend. Boston was so great. Everything I wanted and more, and I thought to myself, “I can do this! It’ll be a whole new challenge, but I can do this.” And within 30 minutes of being at work, reality pissed on my spirit.

I could honestly never go back again. There’s nothing for me there. In my locker is just a bunch of old Post Express issues. I’ve got no other ties anymore. But I can’t do it logically. I need the money. But I’m seriously just thinking of blowing off the rest of my sick days and then going into vacation days. That’s what they’re for, right? ‘Cause I’m sick of that bitch!

I REALLY want to cuss her out. Just look her in the eye and say, “You’re a dumb bitch”. And you know what? I would, IF I knew what would happen. I’m quite the policy jockey and I’m trying to figure out if it would simply be insubordination, or could they fire me for that. I figure as long as I don’t threaten, it’s not termination-worthy. And since she’s gonna write me up anyway…

You know how you always think of what you’re gonna say AFTER the moment has passed? I’ve been brewing ALL day. Something akin to:

“Eunice, I know it must be hard for you in this world. This is a world for pretty people, and you just can’t let your outer ugliness seep into who you really are. You see, I don’t need this OR you. I have an Ivy League degree, while you have a bad weave, and some say, a penis. I mean, you’re simply one dumb bitch. I’ve got no time for your little BNIC act. You’re not a leader. You’re not personable. It’d be different if you were even tolerable, but you’re not. You’re a bitch. In the truest essence of the word. You’re a soulless bitch, and I hope you miss Hell ’cause you’ll be returning very soon…”

What Would Batman Do? What Would Batman Do? What Would Batman Do?

Batman would rumble. So, tomorrow, we dance. I don’t know what you’re gonna read here tomorrow. Hell, maybe there’ll just be a link to a newspaper article telling of my arrest. But tomorrow, we dance…