Checked Out

Yesterday Rebecca brought me a shirt & I told her all that lady's stuff had been washed & bleached & go ahead & press it.  My boss, Allan was right there piddling with something & didn't think much of it.  The next morning, the blouse was hung in my area.

After I had been clocked in for approximately 10 minuets, Allan said he'd like to see me upstairs.  He brought up the shirt & how it had dye transfer on it, how it seemed like I just "check out" at the end of the day, how something going out like this could drive away customers forever, etc, etc.

At one point, I attempted to interrupt, but he stopped me.  I could have told him that Miss Lasseter's clothes were all white and all filthy, that they all had old stains on them.  I wanted to tell him how the dye transfer was not my doing--in forty pounds of white & cream color clothes, how could something bleed onto this one blouse but nothing else?

Allan had already made up his mind I think.  I began to become agitated as he just went on & on as he always does.  I was just...angry.  I could feel the backs of my eyeballs sting & admonished myself.  I began to tear up & hated myself it.  I didn't feel like crying!  I wanted to hit the wall, I wanted to hit Allan.  He just kept droning on!  And I was really wanting a cigarette for the first time in months.  He stopped & asked me a question.  I don't know where this came from, I just blurted out, "I'm crying because I'm sleep deprived!"

I wasn't.  I had a few nights where I'd gotten to bed a bit later than I intended and was a little fatigued but it just came out of my mouth.  Allan asked why; I said I hadn't slept in 3 night.  This led to the astonishing and shocking roundabout questioning of whether or not I was on drugs.

Seriously!  Me!  Of all people.  "I don't want you to take this the wrong way....But do you have any habits I should be aware of?" Allan asked.
"What do you mean by habits?" I asked with a hint of nastiness behind it.  He further explained because of how drugs have affected his family, blah, blah, blah and so forth...

"I smoked pot in high school, I smoked cigarettes for 13 years and I've been drunk 2 or 3 times in my entire life, so NO, I do not have any habits!"

How insulting.  First of all, since so many in his family and one of my former co-workers was on meth, you'd think he might know how to recognize someone who's on the drug.  He said he asked because I'm always moving so fast, then have days where I'm dragging.  And he said repeatedly that he "had to ask".

No you didn't.

How insulting.  Maybe I'm moving fast because I'm going behind others doing their jobs because they're flapping their yap too much, or in Terry's case, because he forgot.  Terry doesn't even know how much I help him because he forgets everything.  I'm moving fast to get caught up, to help press so I can get the hell out of here!  I'm moving fast, not to impress you, but because others are milking the clock & I don't want to spend my every waking moment in this place. 

I didn't say any of this to him.  I was seething & afraid I might begin to sob uncontrollably because I had no where to put this anger.  So, so angry.  I stood up and said, "I made a mistake, it won't happen again!"  And I walked out, already 10 minuets behind in my work.

Maybe he ought to ask Jennifer about the customer, Mrs. Costellanto about & how she left me a $10 tip (the 1st time ever, that I know of at least) for me because of the work I did on her clothes, how she told Jennifer it seemed like I take pride in my work.  Maybe he should ask about Neil Phillips who was pleasantly shocked that he did not have to bring back his naval uniforms because they got to him with the proper military creases.  And do you know they got the proper creases?  Because they came through me first, that's why.

Maybe Allan ought to look at how I take care of every order, every supply delivery, lift things that are too heavy for me, take out the trash, clean piss from the toilet seat several times a day, pick up after grown adults, take of thousands of things that not quote, unquote My Job.  Maybe he ought to think about the hundreds of daily I Don't Care Moments actually happen around here, even including my one that he just happen to see.

Looking back, I think when I did start to tear up, he had asked if I was unhappy with the job, burnt out, etc.  Maybe that's what finally did it.  I've been wanting to quit for a very, very long time. But this is not what he wanted to hear and I have no where else to go at the moment.  Allan, who took a pshycology course a hundred years ago in college (and is SO very proud of that) that he always wants to play therapist.  Look, you're my boss, not my therapist and no, I don't feel like sharing, thank you very much.  He didn't want to hear the truth so I told him what I thought he might like to hear.

The more I thought about everything, the angrier I became.  I was determined to feel better today, mentally and physically.  And he ruined it within 10 minuets.  I guess his pshycology professor didn't mention it better to chew out an employee at the end of the day.  Christina had a problem with a press & asked me to get Allan.  I trudged back upstairs, opened the door, told Allan about the press.  "Oh and do me a favor," I seethed.  "Don't ever ask me again if I'm on drugs."

After Allan finished with the press, he said he was sorry if I took offense (who would be offended?!) and it's something he had to ask (no, you really do not!) and he didn't want me to take it personally (well, you wouldn't, would you?) and as typical Allan often does, went on longer than he needed to (just go away!) and made me madder and madder with each sound that flitted out of his mouth.  I said nothing.  I didn't even want to look at him.  Checked out?  On drugs?  You got some friggin' nerve!

One of the girls in Assembly had called in and this led to a lot indirect contact with Allan as he filled in for the gal.  I never looked him in the eye, not once.  If I absolutely had to respond, it was one-worded, turn around, go back to what I was doing.

I took the white blouse with the dye transfer, soaked it, bleached it, ran it with dye stripper, again.  It did no good.  The stain remained because I'd done this process six months before, again yesterday.  But Allan was convinced that I didn't care and had "checked out" because it was the end of the day.  Heaven forbid Allan should think I wasn't doing my job, so in the end I left the blouse hanging there.  He can deal with it next week if he wants while I'm on vacation. 

Around mid morning, my mom came by with a small potted flower.  Allan was working the front counter so Liz could go take a break.  Mom recognized this & kept her visit very short.  I was still extremely angry from earlier and my mood probably glowed from my body language.  "I was going to get you an orchid but they were all out," Mom said.
"You didn't have to do anything but thank you," I replied.
"We'll see you Saturday?"

She hugged me, told me she loved me and I went back to work.  I was pressing while everyone else was on break so I had the whole back half of the building to myself.  Allan appeared exactly right next to me as he is a known close-talker.  I stepped on his foot, in fact, as I went to place my foot on a press pedal.  "Is everything (stop talking) alright, I really OK?  I saw that you're mom brought flowers....(My birthday is tomorrow, dummy)  Gosh, I feel like kind of a jerk (Good!) for making accusations earlier."  I never looked up, I just kept pressing.  "Well, if there's a problem or anything you want to talk--blah blah, blah, blah, blah, going on forever and ever and I'm growing old here......

"I'm fine."

The rest of the day kind of went on like that.  Soon as I would calmed down, Allan would have to say something to me.  I don't know why.    Oh, at some point in our morning chewing out Allan said to me, "You're one the highest paid here for a reason."  Gee, that makes me feel really good because I'm making like what, two dollars above minimum wage?  I feel so much better now and so very eager to get back to work.

At some point I grabbed Liz and hissed in her ear, "He needs to stop talking to me!" and as I rolled myself through the tool room, I said a little louder than necessary, "And apparently I'm on meth now!"
"By who?  Your mom?" Liz asked with a stupid look on her face.
I shook my head and mouthed silently, "Allan".
Liz's face looked like she'd opened a closet and a scary clown jumped out at her.  "WHAT?!"

I gotta get out of this place.  It's freezing cold in the winter, scorching hot in the summer and dirty year round.  Allan doesn't listen to me.  I know enough of him by now to tell when he's made up his mind about something and to just give up on arguing.  In fact, it was only last week I told him solvent was leaking from the drying.  OH NO!  he said.  That's water--it's condensation!  That has got to be water because it's so hot!  Mmm-hmm.  A week later I had huge puddle of solvent on the floor.

This is pretty much how EVERY conversation goes between us.  I've argued that saving the pressers a little time here or there & leaving it for Assembly would be beneficial.  You want the pressers out of there; that's six people on the clock!  And after they leave, I can shut down the boiler, the air compressor, the fans, the lights--saving more money!  But no, we don't want to give Assembly more to do that would be blasphemy!  Never mind that it's 125 degrees or better in August where the pressers are, but as long as we don't put anything extra on Assembly---whatever, dude.  I been over there and they ain't laboring.  They may be working but they sure as hell are not laboring like the pressers.

It took me months--months!--to convince him that 1.5 gallons of detergent at Sam's or Wal-Mart was much cheaper than the $9, 1 gallon jugs of detergent we were getting from our supplier.  I said, You're going to Sam's anyway, get a basic laundry detergent and save money.  It was about three or four months before he actually did this.

You know what?  I'm not wasting any more of my time or precious energy on trying to help him save money or energy.  Forget it.  I'm done.  I have officially checked out.