During my 4-hour shift yesterday, I discovered all the things I hate about the job. Fortunately, it all boils down to two things: the patrons, for obvious reasons, and the employees. God in heaven, I hate my fellow employees. Not all of them, obviously, I'm not that hateful (I probably am) but a very large majority of them. I thought maybe there were tasks I didn't like (inaccurate, I love all the tasks), but it turns out I don't like being told to do them as if I weren't intelligent enough to figure them out on my own.
I can see that items need checked in. I will check in the items. I do not need to be told to check in the items.
I'm searching for a patron. I've been here five weeks. I'm fairly certain that in that time, I've searched for a patron at least one goddamn time (I've searched for patrons countless times in fact. Literally, I've lost track of how often I have had to search for any patron.). I know the command for it. So when I bring up to my supervisor that the record is blah blah blah, I do not need to be reminded how to properly search. What I need is to be told why the record is blah blah blah. But thank you for assuming that in five weeks, I haven't managed to glean the simplest of tasks.
I ask if there is a specific location for new items when taking them off the truck, before they are moved out to the front desk. As in, 'should these items have their own cart before I take them out to the front desk, or can I just stack them with these items?' The answer, for some reason, is an incredibly drawn out and completely unnecessary diatribe on how the person I asked clears off the truck, which includes a lot of laughing at, what I guess are, her own jokes, and has countless 'does that make sense's thrown in. No. It does not make sense. What would make sense is answering my question. My question, to be clear, was not 'could you please explain to me your method of moving items from one location to the next as though I am an absolute idiot?'
(I still don't know if the new items are supposed to be on a separate cart before they go out, so I just do it my way and ignore the consult of whomever happens to remark on it.)
I am corrected by multiple people, multiple times, when I do a task incorrectly. (I think that's the meaning of life though. To be corrected numerous times for the same error even though you've only done it once and you've already learned from, and/or corrected, the mistake.)
There are other people with odd names. Those people do not get stupid as hell jokes made about their name. Which I cannot fathom. One woman is named Rain, you guys. How does Storm merit jokes, but Rain does not? I have never considered going by a different name more than I have in the last two years. (But I'm stubborn, and my name is badass.)
Basically what it comes down with the employees is that everyone assumes I'm an idiot. That alone would be aggravating enough but considering how intelligent I am, (I'm super smart, guys, but you already know that) it makes me hate them. It makes me hate them in ways that blind me with rage. It makes me conscious of everything they do, and how they're doing it incorrectly, and how long it takes them to comprehend they're inaccuracies. It makes me vigilant. I see their mistakes and I think to myself, 'Storm, you could help. You could make them better.' And then I squash that thought because why would I want to help my enemies? I mean, really. It's not like I'll ever move up the ladder before they do, because that isn't how unions work. Instead, I see their mistakes and I think to myself, 'oh god really? Who let's you out in the world?' and it makes me happy.
I'm a bad person.
