Story: I'm a Method Cashier!
And this was a role I could really sink my teeth into.
Okay, so, first of all, to work at Store there are 2 online applications, an online training course, 3 questionnaires for your references to fill out, 3 interviews (2 alone and 1 group), a background check, an unpaid 4-hr. orientation, a drug test, a pacer test, a polygraph test administered by an F.B.I. agent (and not like the sexy ones on Criminal Minds), a blood oath, and you have to be able to put on lipstick like Molly Ringwald in The Breakfast Club. Jesus, there are less requirements to be elected president. And a cult wouldn't make you jump through this many hoops to join.
My Marketable Skills: I'm a warm body and I'm not an asshole. I'm not going to say "we should hang out outside of work" to my coworkers or mouth off to the customers. Basically, you should hire me because you could do a whole lot worse.
But I couldn't just say that. I couldn't just be honest. It had to be, with tears glistening in my eyes: "It has been my lifelong dream to be a cashier at Store. Cashiering is my passion. I have 3 Ph.D.s in Applied Cashiering, Cashiering Theory, and Experimental Cashiering from Harvard University's School of Cashiering, and I completed a postdoctoral fellowship at Oxford University's St. Cashier Cashiering College. I have 97 years of experience in the field."
So, I get there, for the first interview, in my silly little outfit, mostly stolen from my mom's closet. I walk in and say excuse me to the first employee I see. She clutches her chest, looks bewildered, and says "excuse me" back.
Daniella, apprehensively: "Hi, I'm here for an interview, could I speak to a manager please?"
Employee #1, startled: "Yeah." She walks off and I assume I'm meant to follow her.
My real name sounds vaguely similar to the name of a character from a classic poem you read the Wikipedia summary of in ninth grade English class. The first five letters are the same, but the character's name ends with an a, and mine with an e. Anyway, while we were walking, we introduced ourselves and she said, and I've never have cause to use the word "chortling" before, but if there was ever a time, it was then, "Well, your mother must have been a big The Poet fan, huh?" (as if I've never heard that one before). I mustered a polite chuckle and said nothing.
Employee #1, sneering: "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"
Daniella, wishing for death: "No, I know the poem."
Employee #1, under her breath: "Big deal."
The rest of the walk is silent. We turn a corner and see a boy about my age. She starts calling his name, he fully makes eye contact with her, and then turns and speedwalks away. She keeps calling after him and picks up the pace to reach him, but he outruns her. No need to watch the documentary through your fingers, the antelope is safe this time. It turns out he wasn't even the manager, because I meet her next. The interview goes okay and I get the second one. I ask a different employee this time. She says into her walkie-talkie, "Anthony, Daniella is here for an interview, do you want to deal with that?"
Anthony comes be-bopping up to me at 1,000 mph. When he's still several aisles away, he calls out "Hi, Friend!!" in an acoustic guitar-playing youth pastor voice. He leads me to the office, racing down the aisles like there's an serial killer revving a chainsaw behind him, and by the time I catch up in my pencil skirt and heels, I'm panting and sweating. Maybe this is part of the interview: seeing if you can keep up metaphorically and literally. The weakest shall be sacrificed.
Tony asks me, not why I want to work at Store, but why I want to work in general, as if earning money to eat is a casual hobby, like knitting. He asks me if I've applied anywhere else, like Store is a jealous girlfriend. Then he asks me if I have any questions, and I know you're supposed to have something, so I pull a couple out my ass. After he answers them, he asks if I have any more, and, thinking I'm out of the woods, I say not for now.
Anthony, ominously: "You sure?" Slowly pan back to Daniella.
Daniella, brightly: "I'm sure I'll have more during orientation if I'm hired, but I think I'm covered for now. Thank you!"
(Beat.) Anthony: "Well, you know, I'm just gonna give you some advice: you really should have more questions. But don't worry, I'm gonna go ahead and tell you a little bit more about how the Store family does things."
45 minutes later, he asks for a third set of questions, and then, believe or not, a fourth. Sir, this is my interview. You're not a celebrity guest on The Fucking Tonight Show. If you're so desperate for me to ask you questions, why don't you apply to this job? Or do like the rest of us and pretend you're on Ricki Lake talking about how brave you are to share the story of your divorce from Tim McGraw and how it inspired your new album, "Warm Regards, Dani," currently topping the country charts while you shampoo your hair.
Three business days later, my email: "Congratulations! You have been selected to join the Store Family! Please report for orientation next Wednesday at noon."
Another day, another dollar.
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If you're buying furniture and getting it delivered, ya GOTTA understand that there's gonna be SOME KIND OF FLAW with the products.
The furniture was made by humans, put into a box, that box was put in a truck, then onto a shipping container, then onto a boat, which arrives at a port, then loaded onto a truck, then unloaded into a warehouse, then back onto the truck for delivery, and THEN into your home.
Like dude to me it's a miracle the furniture made it here at all, you're lucky if it's only a knick or scratch.
Anyway, customer care doesn't actually care if you spent $6,969 on a bedset. Do you wanna get a replacement delivery scheduled or not? Stop wasting my time here on this good green earth. 🙄🔫
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