That’s a Stabbin!

Despite my two week notice, I still had to go to a training class for two days this week. And the nerd in me rejoiced. I love the theorhetics of my job. If my job happened all on paper, and it mattered more what I knew than how I executed it in the face of reality, I would be golden.

But yesterday marked the return to the face of reality. Despite my jaded cynicism, I’m still an limited optimist. See, I drink the koolaid; I think that our Operations Systems are there for a reason, and the best run stores are those that run according to Systems. 

So, I went to work yesterday, and gave it the old college try. There was TTMing and Coaching going on, and I decided it was time to hold people accountable. So what if it was my last two weeks; there was going to be decorum on my last shifts, and it was going to be driven by me.

It started with the iPod. “Jane Doe, you are on order taker, you can’t have your iPod in.”

“I’ve had in on all day.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have. Put it away.”

And after some huffing and puffing, it was put away. 

Except that Jane Doe was now pissed, and proceeded to SLAM the window everytime it closed and opened. 

“Jane, you really can’t be slamming the window. Please stop.”

And then I moved on. “Joan Doe, you’re leaving at seven, so I need you to make sure all the salads are moved over and everything is stocked and cleaned.”

Imagine, Joan Doe didn’t give me a problem. She simply said, “Okay, I’m working on it.” I said thank you and moved on…

…to Jane Doe, who was leaving at 8.

“Jane, I really need you to be working on those dishes. They’re piling up back there.”

“No, I don’t want to do them.”

“Well, if they’re not done by eight, you don’t get to leave, so I suggest you do them now. Seriously, please just go do your dishes.”

I won’t recount anymore of the discussion, because it was both tedious and completely out of control. This girl had a meltdown. The swearing and the screaming on her part led to a phone call on my part to my supervisor, in which I completely lost it and threw my keys across the office and slammed the door in a fit of rage, and a declaration that I wasn’t going to make it the final week and a half.  It was not pretty.

But even uglier was the scene that ensued when I tried to get Jane Doe gracefully out the door, so as not to impact the operations of my restaurant any further. While I was switching drawers, she told whomever she was speaking to on the phone, that she was going to “stab that bitch.”

Three guesses as to who the bitch in question was.

All over dishes. 

God Almighty, I need a nice, serene job. Stat.

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