Sunday, March 19, 2006

Official Crap Weekend

garrrgh. It was horrible. Starting with getting into work on saturday and finding my manager doubled over in her chair, extremely sick and going home as soon as she'd finished set-up.

Ok. Then remember that the assistant manager is on holiday, as is the guy down from himis on his day off, and the other full timer, oh, and guess what, the girl just above me is sick. Who does that leave in charge? Me.

Oh shite.

Ok, things going fine, cover arranged, then weekenders' mum calls in, she has the mumps and can't come into day. Oh dear lord preserve us. Only by the skin of our teeth and the very very wonderfull offer to work to the end of the day do we manages to cover all the posts. Even then, the cover lot don't know what they're doing, and don't want to stay long, so every hour or so i'm having to run through How to Work the Shop - The Basics, one of them just wonders off to have a look around the museum in the middle, and I don't even know if I have the authority to tell her off (turns out I do, yey!)

But we do it. Fine, breath easy.

Then it comes to cashing up, everything ok, one till spot on, the other correct but someone has put a credit sale through as cash, still no biggie. Then we get everything ready to go int the safe and theres two bags of coins sat on the sodding table.

We check the banking, still all good.
The float, £5 up!
I figure its a change thing gone wrong, check the safe. Spot on.

Bahh! Where the hell does £25 just suddenly appear from?!?!?!?!?

So i'm there till an hour and a half after I should have gone home counting and rea counting and checking my sums and everything (I have dyslexia, I'm not good with numbers but it means I am hypersensitive to mistakes and very good at sorting out problems) and just cant see where it could have come from. So in the end I bank it, and leave the new sheets and slips and crap ready to be signed in the morning, write a big long note expleining whats happened. Finally get home tired stressed sick and about ready to cry. I even phone home ahead and make sure my mum doesn't leave before I can get home for a bloody good hug (i'm 24 for gods sakes, but its still the only thing that works sometimes)

This morning was the commute from hell. So much for getting into work early to get things sorted. Again everyone is sick, the cover don't want to stay longer than an hour each, one guy is running late, and the manager goes through the banking from the night before and starts telling me all sorts, i've written down different numbers, made mistakes here and there, and over here, when I know full well what I've written where, and its not what she's telling me. And even when I'm stood there with the banking sheets in my hand exactly as I'd written them the night before, with the figures that she's telling me I should have on the actually on them , she's still telling me I got them wrong. (she also told me that the float was wrong, and that todays taking would be wrong, they wern't. Spot on. Funny that...)

But when the worst I think was when she turns round and says, oh, no problems, we all get into a' tiz' sometimes. Well she can fuck right off there. I was not in a 'tiz'. I had a problem, I worked my way through it and was unable to find the answer. (Maybe if I'd ever been trained to do what I was left to do? perhaps? Liked i'd asked?) I did my best, admitted I couldn't see where the mistake lay, and waited for a more experienced person to tell me where I had gone wrong, so in the future I could avoid maybe. Having someone pat me on the head and say ' yeah, never mind silly girl', not only makes my blood boil, but really doesn't achieve any thing, much does it?

I seem to be having this big issue, maybe its the dyslexia, I don't know. But people seem to be labouring under the impression that i'm stupid.

The fact that I could do their jobs (given the same amount of training and experience) (hell, some of the time even without) with one hand tied to my foot, make no difference.

I want to be my own bloody boss, I'm sick of people who don't have a clue running my life, and I'm especially sick of doing things in stupidly complicated ways because someone decides thats the way to do it. Sick of it.


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