Parting shot down

This is one of those that started off with me knowing a bunch of things that had "happened," but which I didn't actually experience in the dream. I knew them as memories, though in reality, they have not occurred. There are some of them which might, though, because I'm in the process right now of changing jobs, and that was the subject of the dream.

I had finished the hiring process with the place I'm interviewing with now. I had a start date, giving me just enough time to provide my current employer and my psychotic, abusive boss with two weeks' notice and then have two days off before starting my new job. I hope that happens, but in reality, employers often don't give new employees start dates that far off, and I'll probably be unable to do anything like that.

I wanted very badly to be ungracious, tell her off, or quit without notice to make her scramble to cover my shift, but instead, I typed up a nice letter about how I was moving on to an environment that I felt was more suited to my professional capabilities. The one thing I could not bring myself to leave out of the letter was that I the work environment had strongly contributed to my decision to seek other employment. Not only is that an important truth, I was sure that if I didn't say it, my employer would try to use the letter as evidence against my retaliation claim with OSHA, because they've been that sneaky and underhanded about everything else. 

I'm printing my "resignation" letter after having read it for what feels like the billionth time. I feel bad writing about the work environment in a notice like this, but I'd be more uncomfortable leaving the company with anything that gave the illusion that we were parting on good terms.

It takes three tries, because I'm so nervous about how this is going to go that I keep choosing the wrong printer, the one that isn't hooked up, instead of the one that is. Finally, I get it to print. I put it in a labeled envelope, for added formality. I throw a jacket on and head out the door to warm up the van.

It's freezing outside, and my old van doesn't want to start. Instead of fighting with it, I decide to walk there instead. Might as well. I've got two weeks before I'll be driving across town to work every day. The thought gives me a boost. I lock the van, go get my coat and gloves, and head up the street with my letter in hand.

The cold air beats on my face, but it's not bad. It's freezing, but not windy. By the time I get to work, though, my nose is red. I should have worn a scarf.

I'm early. From where I live, it actually takes me less time to walk to work than to drive. I take a moment and buy my usual - a quart of chocolate milk - to substitute for the fact that I won't get a lunch break during the first 6 or possibly 7 hours of the 9 hour shift for which I'm scheduled. In two weeks, I won't have to deal with that any more. The place where I'm going doesn't schedule past 8 hours, and has mandatory breaks. That's going to be different for me after 6 years of this place.

I take my purchase, with receipt, into the back room, and hand my boss the envelope. She's on the phone. She doesn't look at it, so she doesn't notice that it says my name, followed by "two weeks' notice" on the front. I wait until she is off the phone. She glances at the envelope, does a double-take, then gets up and walks out of the room.

Okay, fine. I'm not playing her game today. I'm in a good mood.

I wait to clock in. I can hear her "pissed off" laugh, a harsh, pounding laughter she pulls out for occasions when she wants to sound like she's not bothered or upset, but she's actually really steamed. That lets me know she definitely read the front of the envelope and is pretending not to have noticed.

Whatever. Time comes around, and I clock in, walk out, and ask which register I'm on. She tells me. I start the routine for opening that register. I'm about to ask to make sure she did read the front of that envelope, when she abruptly turns and walks into the back room again.

My co-worker asks me what set her off. I tell him. He laughs. I ask what's so funny, and he very quietly says, "She was talking about you on the phone this morning, planning how to break you down by making you work swing shifts for a month. Now, she can't. You just ruined her plans."

We are stocking cigarettes while we talk, grabbing packs out of cartons and stuffing them into the pack rack behind us. It's an unending task, so we're kept pretty busy even though there's not a customer in the store.

She hears our quiet voices, comes out to the front, and says, "You guys going to do any work today, or just stand around talking?" We both stop what we're doing, hands full of cigarettes, and look at her like she's grown a second head. She can see that we're performing job duties. She's just in a bad mood.

I say, "Look, just because you're annoyed about my notice doesn't mean you have to bark at us. You can see that we're working." Now that I don't have to fear unemployment, her behavior doesn't evoke the same impotent, head-down-closed-mouth resentful anger. I'm not caged any more.

My coworker chokes on thin air, coughs and sputters, and escapes the situation by heading over to brew a pot of coffee. He's not abandoning me. He's getting out of my way.

She says, "So, where will you be working?"

I remind her that, as it says in my letter, I'm not disclosing that information. What I didn't say in the letter is my reason, which is that I fully expect her to try to sabotage my new position by showing up and bad-mouthing me to my new boss before she even gets a chance to get to know me.

My boss glares at me and tells me that by refusing to answer her question, I'm being insubordinate, and she can fire me on the spot. I know that's not true. It takes the company two weeks just to write an employee up, and they can't fire me without doing that first. By the time they get anything done, I'll be at my new workplace anyway. She's just blowing smoke, and we're both aware of that.

I smile and wait. Forced to back down from what she said, she starts handing out crap duty, literally. I'm ordered to first clean the restrooms, then take lot duty. No one ever gets both of those chores in one shift, and I know it's meant as a punishment, but it doesn't bother me, because I know that's all she can do.

Then she says, "...and when you get done with that, you can meet me in the cooler."

So, I'm assigned all of the heavy lifting for the day. Okay. I can handle that.

I start the tasks, grabbing the necessary tools. While I'm in the men's room cleaning, I hear someone go into the ladies' and move around. When I go in there, it's a mess, toilet paper everywhere, wetness on the floor, walls, and bowl. I leave the cleaning equipment there, put up the wet floor sign, and go for a bucket. I can't believe she thought this would phase me. All I have to do is sweep up the paper, then pour water on everything before washing and sanitizing. There's a drain in the floor, for crying out loud.

She has this smug look on her face. I smile and wander off with the bucket and broom, as the smug look changes to confusion. When it doesn't take me any longer to do the ladies' room than to do the men's, and I don't complain about it, she has to look and make sure I actually did the chore, taking my coworker with her to witness, because she's assuming I didn't get it done. While she's doing that, I gather the stuff for lot duty. I hear the coworker say, "...looks like she washed the walls, too." as I'm on my way out the door. My boss glares at me, but what can she say? It's clean and dry.

I go through the whole series of tasks for lot without incident, taking about half an hour to get everything done, because for once, it isn't that bad. Usually, she waits until later in the day to send me out, so I'm used to the chore being messier and heavier.

I come back inside and head for the cooler, but she's not there. I find her in the back room, let her know lot is done, and I'm ready for the next thing. She tells me it can't be done that fast, and she's going to go inspect my work for short cuts. I shrug, and ask if she wants me to wait here or start in the cooler. That I'm not concerned pisses her off, and she tells me I'd better check my attitude, as if I said something different. When that also fails to bother me, she sends me on into the cooler and goes outside.

By the time she joins me in the cooler ten minutes later, I've got two "doors" filled with product and am working on the third. I work much faster when I'm in there by myself. She immediately begins working on whatever she can find that involves reaching for things that are over my head. Everywhere I go, she has to put the step ladder right over me, then climb up and reach for stuff, knocking it down so that I have to catch it to keep it from falling on me. I stop working on what I'm doing, go to the other end of the cooler where there are no shelves, and start putting away bottles of pop. She glares at me, starts telling me how worthless she thinks I am, and how it won't matter if I go someplace new because I'm never going to amount to anything. She says I'll end up in as much trouble at my new job as I am with her, calls me lazy and stupid, and accuses me of having issues with people in authority.

That finally gets to me. I've never had trouble at work like this. In my past, to which she is not privy, I've been far above the position I'm in now, and my success in the past was due to my work ethic and professionalism. She doesn't know anything about me, and has no right to make such criticisms. I grit my teeth and continue stocking, reminding myself that I've only got two more weeks to deal with her. She continues berating me, pushing and pushing, talking about the person she's made up in her head for me to be, instead of the person I know that I am. Then she starts talking about what kind of parents must have raised me.

I can handle all of it, until she starts talking about my mother. I know what she's trying to do. She thinks if she pisses me off enough, I'll hit her, and she'll be able to press charges, once again showing me the false image of me she's built up in her mind. I struggle to not lose my temper, but I've been subjected to a half-hour barrage, and I'm worn down. I finally tell her what I'm thinking. I've been a foreign ambassador for my hometown. I've been a business owner, a teacher, a professional artist, and a model. I've been not only above the position I'm in now, but above the position she's in. With the way she treats her subordinates, and the attitude she has toward other people, she'll never be anything more than the fat fish in a little pond that she is now. And it doesn't matter what she says, because I'm out from under her thumb, and there's nothing she can do about that. There's nothing more she can do to me but stupid, petty little things like this.

She turns beet red and rushes me. I try to put the cooler door between us, but she runs around it, slams into me, and knocks me into the beer cave, landing on top of me. She sits up and starts swinging at my face, calling me obscene names the whole time. I'm trying to dodge and block, but she's getting through anyway. A regular customer sees the fight, and rushes in to pull my boss off of me. I scramble away from her, backing up against a rack of 12-pack bottles. The customer is looking at us like we're from another planet, but at the same time, he's kind of grinning, and I know he's thinking, "Cool! Chick fight!"

She immediately cools off, tells the guy that this isn't what it looks like, and I attacked her. He looks at the shiner that's all ready forming under my eye, blood on my lip, bruised arms, and messed up hair, then at her undamaged face, and unruffled demeanor, and says, "Riiiiiight."

She still pulls out her phone, calls the police, and says she wants to press charges. The customer immediately tells me he'll hang around and act as a witness, and I know that the bulk of the assault is on the store's video of the beer cave, but there's no proof of what happened in the cooler, and I'll probably be arrested on her word before the whole thing gets straightened out. I hear her also tell the dispatcher that I stole a quart of chocolate milk, which is sitting in the back room without a receipt. I paid with my check card, so again, I'll be able to prove she's lying, but it's going to take time to get that proof.

She's going to try to make sure I'm unavailable to start my new job. My heart sinks, and I feel totally defeated, wondering if I'm ever going to win one instead of getting trampled all the time.

I woke today feeling pretty depressed, probably because tomorrow is my first day back after being on vacation for a week. My boss hasn't had me at work to harass every day, and I know what happens when she doesn't get her fix. After her week's vacation in December, she was intolerable for days. That's why I ended up taking these days off. I just needed to get the hell away from her. I've really been dreading going back. 

A few minutes ago, I got a phone call that has changed all of that. I just got hired in to the photo center of a bigger chain store. It's going to start out part time, but I've all ready been told I'll be getting more hours soon.

I've actually got a new job. I am out from under her thumb. It's real. And unlike in my nightmares, there's going to be nothing she can do about it. I'll never have to deal with her again.

In the meantime, I'm really glad I'm not dreaming about the scary monster that has been haunting my nightmares for almost a month. Between getting through that, and the good news today, I'm feeling pretty darned good, like a thousand pound weight has been lifted off of my shoulders.

Gotta go - time to start composing my letter.    ˆ֊ˆ  

Shake it up, baby

I'm at work, assigned to the register closest to the door. Everything is going as normal, checking people out and stocking cigarettes. There is a young looking woman at my register who wants to buy a carton of our store brand, but when I ask for ID as required by law for anyone who looks under 30, she gets mad. She yells at me and tells me she's an adult with the right to buy cigarettes just like any other adult.

I tell her I'm happy to sell her anything in the store, but the law says if I think she looks under 30, I'm not allowed to sell cigarettes to her without ID. It's out of my hands. I even sympathize, telling her how my sister-in-law, who is my age, still gets carded entering clubs and bars because she looks twelve, and how she can at least take some solace in the fact that she'll always be prettier than the other ladies her age because she has such an ageless face. She calms down and gets out her ID. She is actually 35 years old, but I would have pegged her at no older than 17. The ID is legit, scans properly and everything. In truth, I really envy this lady, because I had gray hair at 18, and could get into bars without ID at 17. I looked 30 from the time I was 12 through about the age of 35.

After the lady pays for her purchases and walks out the door (with a smile) and is therefore out of earshot, my boss starts crowing to the rest of my coworkers, alleging that I was flirting with and hitting on this young kid, barely old enough to buy cigarettes. Thus begins the argument of "I was not flirting" and "yes you were," followed by "she was not a kid; her ID said 35" and "it must have been fake" followed by "it scanned properly and had no signs of forgery."

There really is nowhere to go with this; I've actually been ordered by higher-ups at work to not document when my boss harasses me. I look at the clock to try to fix the time in my mind so I can write it down at home, angry that I can't deal with a female customer without my boss accusing me of flirting. Where does she think she gets off doing that? I don't flirt with anyone at work. Oddly, I can see that my boss is really getting annoyed by the discussion, too. She's not razzing me with allegations of flirting; she sounds offended. In the back of my mind, something goes off, and I feel like I'm getting snapped at for stepping on a dog's tail.

The other cashier does not pick up on my body language, and teases me about the lady. I say cut it out, and try to demonstrate in every way that I can that I'm not amused. My coworker doesn't get it, and asks why I didn't get a phone number. At this point, I'm nearly seeing red over this. I'm uncomfortable with the situation, unhappy with the insinuation, and concerned that someone will tell the lady about it the next time she comes in and I'll have to deal with that, too. I am really not interested in her, and don't want to have to clear that up with her.

I tell my coworker, "Seriously, cut it out. I'm done with this discussion." I get back to stocking cigarettes.

She replies, "Whatever. I don't care who you pick up at work. I just thought it was funny."

I reply by repeating my point, this time with a frown, a vehement tone of voice, and the stomp of my foot. Right as my foot hits the floor, stuff falls off of all of our shelves. Then, cigarettes fall out of the pack racks over our heads, less than a second after stuff falling from the shelves. I can hear things falling in the back room, too. My first thought is, what the heck? I didn't stomp that hard!

My boss comes out and yells my name. I turn to look at her. She has this incredulous and indignant look on her face. She says, "You'd better slow your..." but is interrupted as the whole room jerks sideways. All of us stumble, trying to keep our balance. I'm in the doorway between the registers and the office  I grab the doorway for support. My boss is holding on to the steel sink in the back room. The cook is right beside her. The refrigerator with wheels that don't lock any more rolls across the room and slams into the freezer.

At the register, the other cashier is thrown to the floor. On the other side of the counter, a customer entering the store falls into the building, landing on his face on the floor. All of this happens in a split second. Momentarily, there is no further shaking. I check that my coworker is ok, then run around the front counter to see that the customer's nose is bleeding. I grab a clean towel and get a handful of ice to wrap in it, run to the customer, and offer that for his nose. As he looks up, it is obvious that the nose is broken. The customer gingerly applies ice, while asking, "What the hell was that?"

I say, "I think it was an..." but am interrupted by further shaking. The floor lurches up and then sideways beneath us, then the whole room seems to just vibrate. The remaining merchandise falls off of the shelves. We can hear stuff falling inside the cooler and hitting the doors and the floor. The customer and I are on the floor, and we can't move. We hear someone scream in the back room, and I think maybe the refrigerator hit someone.

**************************************************

I am in the back room with my boss and the district manager. They are lecturing me about my "temper tantrum." I keep telling them that earthquakes are a natural phenomenon, and that there are news stories about the cause. They tell me that it doesn't matter what I say, the decision has all ready been made and I'm being held responsible. My boss tells me that they're going to have to document this, and I'm required to sign it, or I'll be let go. I read the write up, and it clearly says I caused an earthquake throughout the greater metro area because I was angry about being ribbed by my coworkers about my behavior.

I say, "First of all, I'm not signing this. It's bullshit, and it won't stand up in court. If you fire me for not signing this, I'll get unemployment."

My boss gives me that incredulous, offended look, complete with her patented taken-aback jump-and-gasp that she uses to try to make people believe their own thoughts and feelings (like the feeling of urgency after being denied a restroom trip until over an hour after stating the need to go) are not legitimate or valid.

I outwardly ignore that and continue, "Second, if you really believe that I have such great power over nature and the physical world that I can cause a 4.0 earthquake under your feet and around your entire city, do you really think getting fired from this job is going to phase me? Do you really want to piss off someone who you think can do that? I mean, one of two things is true here. Either you're sane and smart enough to realize that what you're accusing is impossible and this 'documentation' of yours is invalid and illegitimate, or you're crazy or dumb enough to believe I can make the earth shake, but still willing to do something upsetting at the risk of finding out what else I can do. Which is it?"

The district manager tells me that is enough of my "smart mouth" and orders me to sign the paper. I refuse, and am ordered out of the building. My boss dials a number on her phone as the DM is speaking to me, and just as he finishes the order, I hear her telling someone on the phone that she needs police to come and arrest me for causing the city-wide earthquake, and for threatening to cause another one. An officer who happens to be buying coffee at the register by the doorway to the back room hears her, and gets an amused look on his face until I tell him that she's serious, and that's a real phone call.

I hear her arguing with the person on the other end of the phone line that she has "documented proof" in the form of a record of the preceding conversation, then hedging with, "no, it's not a recording, we're writing it down."

I leave the room to go talk to the officer. I tell him my boss and the DM think I caused the recent earthquake. He asks if they know that the epicenter was west of the city to the south of us, and I tell him they don't care. They think I can control nature, cause disasters, and so on, and I'm being fired for having done so. The officer gives me a blank stare. Another customer says, "file for unemployment."

I realize I'm back in the same position I was in after my injury in July, and I'm going to have to fight that battle all over again.

I return to the back room, grab the paper away from my boss, and use the fax machine to copy it. My boss tries to take it away from me and I turn my back on her. I feel her pounding on my back, then hear the officer shouting, "Stand back. That is an assault!" My boss stops hitting me. I turn to see the officer cuffing her. She looks furious. I take the paper, fold it up, and put it into my pocket. She tells me I can't take it because it's company property. I tell her that since it's going in my personnel file, I'm entitled to a copy, and I'm taking it. I tell the officer I'll press assault charges, and he tells me I'm going to have paperwork to fill out. I am filled with a sense of dread at having to deal with this process, even though it's pretty certain to come out in my favor. I hate fighting!

The whole time, I had this Monty-python-esque sense of real unreality. I'm not dead yet. I'm getting better. (No you're not. You're not fooling anyone - get on the cart!) I felt like I was handling the situation the best it could be handled, but at the same time, I was really unsure how things were going to come out. 

I am tired of having dreams about work, and really tired about having earthquake dreams. I know my life is shaken up and I'm all stressed out, but enough all ready! I will be glad when school is out and we can move away from this area.