See, there's a really simple solution to my problem with Nemesis: increase my hours in Personnel and leave me in purgatory. Brilliant! This is the solution which Mr. O has labored long and hard to come up with. See, as I understand it, the real problem is that I don't get enough hours... in personnel, in particular, and if I receive more hours...the problem will go away. What part of this doesn't he understand?
So we did another caravan for a personnel meeting in Jackson. Nemesis made her travel arrangements; I made mine. Can you see my face when she got into my car while I was waiting for one of the Dyersburg associates? Talking about cracked!!! First of all, I didn't invite her to join me and had absolutely no intention of ever asking her to ride with me. The associate and I are smokers and I was looking forward to a chatty, smoke-filled ride to Jackson, approximately 50 miles away. Naturally, I was too polite to tell her to get the hell out of my car. But Abby took her revenge (she didn't like it, either) by refusing to cooperate on the heat. Wouldn't turn off and alternately blew hot and cold air. The heater has not malfunctioned since I've had the car; why today? I had nightmares all week that she would break down on the side of the road and that we'd be stranded but never, in my wildest dreams, did I suspect a malfunction of this nature. Naughty Abby!
The meeting was interesting. They're loading more work on both personnel positions. So I guess that is the major reason why consideration is being given to nixing the cashier duties and concentrating on leaving me in the back. The other option, quickly nixed, was having me split time between two stores. Now the person in the other store had already mentioned that he didn't want a woman working with him so I waited to see what his response was going to be. When he hemmed and hawed, I laid it on the table. Was it my being a woman or was it my age? Just funning, you know. But after all the politically-correct denials, he opined that his manager was open to getting him some help, which he doesn't have at the moment. His loss, my gain. I didn't want to travel to his store, anyway.
Back down the highway to the Big Rip. Abby's running good (with the exception of the heater) and there's a sign noting that there is an accident ahead. I'm in the right lane and a big rig is in the left. We'd held that position for several miles so it's not like he didn't see me. Did he come over on top of me? Yes, he did. Fortunately, there was enough road to my right so that I could smoothly maneuver onto it without harm to me, the car, or my passengers. Dimwit! And you know that he had one of the trucks which DID NOT carry the "how am I driving" notices. 'Cause my passengers had the cell phones at the ready. Made it back to the store with no more problems. Nemesis jumped out and hauled, leaving me and the other associate in the dust. "She has no more use for us," quipped the associate. Yep, I think she nailed that one on the head.
Oh, oh, almost forgot this. You know my "Cooking with Jazz" poster, picked up as a souvenir in the Big Easy and adorning each kitchen wall for about 20 years or more? Well, why did I look up and see it hanging on the wall at the restaurant where we had lunch? Seems I wasn't the only one who loved it at first sight.
Now for the real dirt. Went in on Wednesday to find that personnel was going through its annual evaluation/audit. Hello??? Not a word mentioned about it. I'm wondering why Mr. O is in the store and was told by an associate that we were being evaluated. Hellloo! When I finally made it back to the office, after our trip, I walked in on a consultation between Nemesis and an associate about some paperwork that had been returned from orientation. Now, the paperwork didn't arrive today because she wouldn't have had it. So, seems like you would have mentioned it. And didn't we just hear it stated emphatically in the meeting that anything dealing with training was the training coordinator's baliwick? Helllooo?
That's right Mr. O. Solve the problem. I'm documenting.
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