A rant, a rant, and another rant!

1. Today at the grocery store I work at, I had my 6-month review. I’ve been waiting a long time for this (6 months) because once you’re with the company for half a year, you get a raise (a whole quarter! Twenty-five cents, folks!) In addition to my whopping raise, I had an evaluation with my manager, who’s worked with me for two months. All this was sprung on me when I arrived at work this afternoon.

My manager explained the rating system: A four meant you were really, really awesome, a one meant you were God-awful, etc. “Nobody gets fours except *Roy, and he’s the general manager,” she explained. I wondered what it took to get a four, then prepared myself to see that I hadn’t received any.

We sat down. She pulled out a sheet of paper with numbers and words and several lines filled with handwritings. She then proceeded to run down each category on the front and back side of the paper, explaining her answers to each question.

“I gave you a two for this, which is average…I also gave you a two for this…again, a two…and two again.”

I got a two in every category. Each and every friggin category. Now let me tell you something. My job is not hard, nor is it stressful. I like to go to work most of the time, and I put on a genuine smile when I do my job. I do. I treat customers like gold. I do. I truly try to be the best I can be. I really, really do.

So you can imagine how…grossly unimpressed, slightly offended I was from this report. Just this past month the company gave me a service award (albeit a small award but still)! I mean, I’ve had people ask me what the hell I’m smiling about, and I have to tell them that I’m just… smiling. Frick! Can’t a woman just smile at work? Isn’t that worth a three, even? Really?

I hate to think that all the effort I put in for the company is “average.” So I’m a part-time employee, okay, and I dole out about 16 hours a week. Sure that’s average. But I try—TRY—to make those 16-some hours count to someone—be it a customer, a manager, or even those fricking people that come in and steal the free donuts and coffee. Sure, I’m not *Roy. Does that mean I can’t get his scores? Are those scores reserved for Roy, because he has a shaved head and does a lot of price checks and gets his name in every newsletter and stuff? I sure hope not. And if so, what’s the point? I try to tell myself that they’re just numbers, not even grades, not even important, but they’re bothersome. This is not my career, true, and true, I’ve been with the company for six months. I don’t expect a plaque or a trophy or even a cookie (one of those terrible preservative-packed discs in the bakery section). At least tell me at my review that I’m accomplishing more than “well, you’ve learned to make a few salads, so that’s nice. Hope to have you making a few more.” With “pretty basic” weaknesses such as “not wearing the slicer gloves,” I sure hope I’m worth more than an average-freaking-two.

On the bright side, I made 25¢ more per hour while listening to her tell me these things.

/end/

2. Radio commercials. Nay, the radio in general. Awful.

A friend and I were just talking the other night about the terrible discrimination in this area. He told me about a commercial he heard for a car wash, that made an awful reference to Chinese people. No one notices these things? Turn on your radio.

Since the radio is the only form of noise my car offers, I listen to it more than I’d like. When the DJ’s aren’t being overtly syrupy and loud and OBNOXIOUS (I would love to phone in and tell them this), I am forced to listen to the commercials. I’ve tried to avoid the radio as best I can, but the jingles are ubiquitous. Tonight I turned on the car to hear two bad spots in a row:

a. Pizza place impersonating Italians

b. Soda pop ad impersonating a dude trying to be smooth/pick up women by impersonating a British person. e.g.: “When you’re trying to pick up chicks, use a British accent to look smart…because all British folk are uber intelligent” (paraphrased, but all of this was stated). There was also a bimbo girl voice (my favorite). Bad, bad, and worse.

Maybe just two rants. But I will create a third:

3. It’s flip flop season. Clean your feet.

/end/

*Name changed to protect…the general manager.