PART I
Alright, so after my friend classified my blog as one giant leap passed neurotic, I figure I should simmer down a little bit. In a perfect world, my posts would mimic a giant magnet and draw all the loony, self-deprecating, emotionally retarded people in this world who thankfully, probably make up enough of the population for me to publish a book and become New York Times Best Seller (because that's hardly a difficult feat - Danielle Steele has been doing it since the 80s...
...cough) and a household name; creator of the world's most profane and inane bathroom reader in the history of accepted 'while-you-dump' material. And if this were the case, then I probably should avoid talking about something as personal as my place of work in case my boss of the moment/past decides to pick up my Bathroom Reader in all it's disclosed glory and turn to the chapter on Work and decides to sue me for slander and defaming of the company's reputation. But I've never been one to do take the practical, ass-covering route.
After reading your post, Arlia, I have to disagree. Whoever said that "Minimum work receives minimum pay" was off his or her fucking rocker. Or had to have born before the 1960s when slaving away for 40 years at a job would garner you a pretty little package and pension at the end of your 65th year. Because now, with the hands-on work that doesn't involve the raping and upkeep of computers or tablets or programming the latest upcoming Angry Birds: Deforestation Edition or another app to ensure that we have something to glue our eyes to in order to communicate as little as possible with the outside world; people don't have steady jobs nor do can they be assured that if they perform their duties passably, that they will be rewarded with raises, bonuses, opportunities for advancement, and ultimately, loyalty. Plus, what you earn for a living is not adjusted according to the amount of work put into a job. I think that ideal was eviscerated having always had rank and hierarchies where royalty sat at the top of the pyramid, squandered the land's money in ways they deemed fit, and generally pomped around making sure their bellies were full, their armies were loaded, and the rest of the community who sat at the bottom of the pyramid were intimidated enough into loyalty to go without but still be poised to defend the royal family. Today, people born into money are still provided easier access to higher education, which gives them a fast-track to better jobs, and then the cycle of wealth continues, with most having do far less work than your average middle class-er to sustain their privileged lifestyle. But earning six figures doesn't equal doing back-breaking labour. It means your either extremely well educated, are a talented entrepreneur, can decipher the stock market, are in the entertainment business, are a successful politician, a lawyer, or you've cheated, schemed, or ass-kissed your way into a corporation and are a higher up or a CEO. Now, I know for a fact that while these professions require work as any other jobs do, there is no way that any of them can measure up to the bone-breaking, head-exploding annoyance that is retail. It's hard work, no play, and I'll bet my last fucking dollar that neither Donald Trump, Shaq (who is now doing Bentley commercials), any of the Kardashians, stock brokers, surgeons, or any high profile lawyers have to clean toilets as part of their 'jobs.' Although doctors may have it worse with the whole colonoscopy thing.
Retail is the harbor, the fucking poster boy of minimum wage suckery. The fast food industry, clothing stores, waitressing; welcome to the first step on the stairway of life. You are making the least amount of money that employers can legally pay you, you receive probably about 1/8th of their commitment (because fuck if we aren't a dime a dozen) and you are put in the shittiest, most brain numbing, physically/mentally exhausting and ergonomically unfriendly conditions imaginable. Plus, there is no HR in retail so your only choice is to choke down your forkful of complaints like your mom's pot roast. How do you make a decent living? We gotta work our way up. So from where I'm standing it looks like a piece of paper announcing your Bachelor of Whatever and coughing up upwards of 20,000 dollars is what separates the flipping of burgers for 10.25 from getting 30 an hour to answer phone calls and file important documents. Not that I'm saying all people who earn 6 figures a year don't work their asses off - but I know for a fact that you get your foot in the door or your ass in bed with the right people, and huzzah, you've got money. For instance, you don't have to be a computer genius, a Michelin Star Chef or even a goddamned intellectual to be on Dr. Phil. Actually, it's probably preferred that you aren't.
I understand that there's got to be shitty jobs. What I don't understand is that working shitty jobs entitles you to shitty pay. I believe that having worked in retail for 3 years now gives me the right to do a little bitching. Now I believe any job in which you have to deal with the public, should at least give you benefits. If I have to deal with the ignorance, impertinence, rudeness, cluelessness, cheapness, and the abject idiocy of people on a daily basis, I better fucking know that my therapy is covered. It is in the interest of both the franchise owners, the managers, and the employers that the people sweeping up the shit don't go off and blow the brains out of all of their coworkers out of a crazed, underpaid, monotony-fueled impulse. Take working with coffee for instance. There is no way I am paid or trained enough to deal with coffee drinkers. You all will kill me with your complicated Latte orders (if you want no foam, extra hot, half-sweet, decaf, 1%, double cupped no sleeve, cinammon drizzle, how DARE you get on my ass about you waiting 5 seconds over the two minute mark.) As much as I'd love to be your personal attendant and be there with a napkin to dab your lips for crumbs on command, I'd rather shoot myself into a hole in the ground, thank you.
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